Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 113

Chapter 113: Grace: Daddy Material

The display for Lyre’s solar power says 1,384W in, 98% battery, and then a number to actually make my stomach flip:

Estimated Runtime: 3h 12m.

Three hours? That’s it?

I glance at the humming AC vents, the dehumidifier pulling swamp air from every corner, and the fridge. We’re pulling too much. Even with solar pouring in, it’s not enough.

How is that possible with 98%?

My fingers hover over the thermostat. I can’t shut everything off, but maybe I can cut the second AC. That’s one less thing bleeding our battery dry.

But first I have to figure out how.

“What’s wrong?” Caine’s voice comes from directly behind me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body without him actually touching me.

I step quickly to the side, putting six more inches between us. “I have no idea what any of this means.” I gesture at the panel. “How much power do we have? How long before we’re out? I don’t know anything about solar.”

All I know is it’s expensive, which makes me wonder even more about how Lyre gets by.

He leans in to examine the display, his dark brows furrowed. The muscles in his arm tense as he braces himself against the wall, making sure not to brush against me. We’ve become experts at this careful dance of almost-contact.

“I know jack-shit about solar,” he admits, straightening. “But I’ve worked with generators before. Does she have one?”

“I…” I realize I don’t know. “I’ve never seen her use one.”

Caine nods once. “I’ll check the outside storage.”

He moves toward the door, navigating around Jer’s dinosaur rampage—literally, he’s bouncing between the kitchenette and living room, going on about lasers and dinosaurs—and Bun’s sudden fixation with light fixtures.

The toddler climbs onto the dinette table and reaches for the light with gleeful determination.

“Bun, no!” I lunge across the room, catching her just before she can grab the swinging pendant light. She squeals in protest as I set her down on the bench seat, my heart hopscotching its way to a normal rate. “Stay low, okay? No climbing.”

She immediately starts to crawl under the table instead.

I sigh, exhaustion washing over me. Lyre had texted, telling me to take the bedroom, since we’ll need the extra sleeping space. It’s a small load off my mind.

The sleeping arrangements make sense in theory: me, Sara, and Bun in Lyre’s queen bed; Ron and Jer on the daybed I’d used, though it’ll be a tight squeeze; Caine on the couch. In practice, I’m not sure any of us will actually sleep.

Caine moves to the window, sliding up the blinds to survey our surroundings. I join him, staying far enough away that our shoulders don’t touch, but I sneakily breathe deep to experience his scent a little more thoroughly. Seriously, he smells so good.

I get the whole wearing your boyfriend’s clothes because they smell like him thing I’ve heard about. I would wear his shirts every day just for that alone.

Our boondocking spot—turns out boondocking just means no hookups at a campground, aka “being off-grid”—is basically a wide dirt clearing nestled in shallow hills. No trees for shade, just scrubby plants and packed earth. The fifth-wheel sits in a slightly lower area where recent rain has created muddy tire ruts and small puddles. A few other RVs dot the landscape, but they’re parked far enough away, they’re just metal rectangles on the horizon.

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