Page 12 of Grace of a Wolf 2
You're worried because you almost killed Grace. Instead of admitting it, you're lashing out at everyone else. Kings have pride, but only an idiot king would be so childish.
I clench my jaw, pointedly ignoring Fenris's sanctimonious lecture. The silence stretches between us, heavy with his accusations and my refusal to engage.
My phone vibrates, screen lighting up with a new notification. Every muscle in my body tenses as I check it.
LYRE:
She's fine.
"She's fine?" I growl at the screen, as if it might reveal more information under threat. "What the hell does that mean?"
Two words. Two fucking words after making me wait fifteen minutes. The vague message only amplifies my anxiety rather than alleviating it.
It's good Grace is fine,Fenris says, taking the moral high ground he seems determined to make his home. It's all an act, though. I can feel the anxiety radiating from his corner of my brain.
I type back furiously, thumbs punching the screen. I hate phones.
CAINE:
Define 'fine'. Is she awake? Still resting? Test results back??
The three dots appear, indicating Lyre's typing a response, then disappear. Appear again. Disappear. My patience frays with each flicker.
Ask nicely,Fenris suggests.
"Fuck off."
A middle-aged man walking past gives me a startled look before quickening his pace. I bare my teeth at his retreating back.
My phone remains stubbornly silent. No typing dots. No response.
"Goddammit." I pace across the gas station parking lot, unable to stand still while my mate lies in that sterile building across the street. The distance—mere hundreds of feet—feels like miles. An insurmountable barrier erected between us.
Fine. I'll try it Fenris's way.
CAINE:
Please update me on her condition. Is she conscious?
The response comes almost immediately.
LYRE:
She's awake. Still waiting on test results. She needs more rest. I'm sure they'll keep her overnight.
I exhale sharply, relief flooding through me. She's awake. Conscious. Speaking. The tightness in my chest loosens just enough to breathe properly.
CAINE:
Can I come back?
Another immediate response:
LYRE:
No.
My claws extend reflexively, scraping against my phone case. A growl builds in my throat, rumbling so loud a car pulling into the gas station diverts to another pump farther from me.
