Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 102

Chapter 102: Grace: Pack

Bun continues to scarf at her piece of buttered toast with all the hunger of someone who hasn’t eaten in a month, even if her chubby little rolls bely her actions.

Her death grip on my shirt has loosened significantly as her focus shifts entirely to the food.

“I see how it is,” I murmur against her hair. “Food trumps fear every time.”

Her eyes, wide and shining, meet mine as she chews. For the tiniest moment, I swear they change from brown to blue, then back again. Another piece of toast disappears into her mouth.

Ron peels a banana and leans over, holding it out in his hand like he’s trying to coax a wild animal. “Want some banana? Your favorite.”

Bun turns at the sound of his voice, her entire body going rigid. The halfhearted smile on Ron’s face falters as her mouth opens and an ear-splitting shriek fills the cave.

No words. Just pure, agonizing, shrill shrieking as she throws herself back against my chest with enough force for me to tip over. I catch myself with one hand on the floor, and Caine jerks toward me like he’s going to catch me. Thankfully, one of the toddler’s flailing fists whacks his hand away before our skin can touch.

“Sorry,” Ron mutters, backing away with the rejected banana. The defeat in his eyes makes my chest ache.

“She’s adjusting,” Caine tells him, pulling Bun out of my arms with practiced efficiency. Even with her wild, maniacal movements, he swoops her into his embrace without a blink.

She screams louder, and he walks away, heading into the kitchen. “Pups who scream don’t eat,” he warns her with a steady, stern voice.

The decibels continue to climb.

Sara scoots a little closer to Ron and snags the toast from his plate.

“Hey!” He scowls, but doesn’t make a move to grab it back.

Without missing a beat, she rolls her eyes. “Oh please, you weren’t even going to eat it. And it’s going cold.”

“It was already cold,” Ron grumbles, but there’s no heat behind it.

Bun’s screaming stops abruptly; she’s angrily chewing on a piece of apple, staring at me over Caine’s shoulder. My ability to translate baby facial expressions is still new, but I’m pretty sure she’s giving me the you’ve-betrayed-me look.

I glance away. Making eye contact seems like a bad idea.

Jer’s stabbing at his eggs without actually eating them, so I focus on him instead. There’s a plate of sliced apples next to me—Caine must have put them there. I slide them toward the kid without a word.

At first, I think he doesn’t notice. Then, without looking up, he reaches for an apple slice and pops it into his mouth. His shoulders drop a fraction of an inch.

It’s all so quietly domestic, my heart swells a little, even as my panic continues in the background of my head.

This is a pack. Not the one I was adopted into, nothing so shallow as to discard each other the moment something changes. But a real pack, nonetheless, messy and awkward and forming before my eyes.

And Caine? He’s a part of it, too.

He seems okay with it. More than me, and I’m the one drawn to these kids in a way I can’t explain, even to myself.

“You okay?” Caine’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. I’m staring at nothing, probably looking crazy, and he’s only a few feet away now, frowning in my direction.

Bun’s no longer reaching for me, both hands full of mushy apple, cheeks bulging. He hasn’t exactly won her over, but it looks like they’ve achieved some sort of truce.

“I’m okay. I was just thinking.”

He watches the children for a moment, his expression thoughtful. They’re almost done eating, but Jer’s only had a few pieces of apple. I’m not sure any egg has made it past the murderous fork to get into his belly. “They’re nervous.”

It’s not a question, but I nod anyway. Owen not being here has them spooked. He’s their savior, so it makes sense.

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