Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 145

45 Grace: The Deal with Pillows

I sit upright in bed, glaring at Caine, who clutches my old pillow against his chest like some kind of security blanket. His knuckles are white against the pale cotton, and he’s avoiding my eyes with the dedication of someone who’s been caught doing something deeply embarrassing.

“This one’s more comfortable for you,” he says, nodding at the pillow he just slid under my head.

“What is your deal with pillows?” The words snap out of me before I can stop them.

His entire body straightens further. “I don’t have a deal with pillows.”

The silence stretches.

And stretches.

He doesn’t say anything else, just stands there, rigid and awkward, clutching the damn pillow to his chest.

I sigh, and he immediately asks, “Why are you so angry?”

“I’m not angry.” The response is automatic, defensive, and a total lie to my current state of emotions.

He raises an eyebrow, skepticism written across every part of his face, and I wince.

“I’m not,” I insist. The truth is, I do think the pillow thing is creepy. Weird. Inexplicable. But saying so would hurt his feelings, and despite how irritated I am in this moment, I don’t actually want to do that.

“No. You’re angry,” he says firmly, like he already knows. Which… he isn’t wrong, so he does, but even his certainty grates on my nerves. “You’ve been angry for a while. And I don’t understand what I did wrong”

I groan, pressing my palms against my face. I’m not prepared for this emotional reckoning. Not now. I was still busy pouting and being outraged and hadn’t worked through my feelings completely. The storm left me dizzy and off–kilter, and I was relying on sleep to fix it.

I exhale slowly, dropping my hands to my lap, twisting the blanket between my fingers.

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145 Grace. The Deal With Pillows

It’s warm in here since we kicked off the air conditioner, but the faint hint of a cool breeze is at least coming through the windows,

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m going crazy.” My voice comes out tiny and pathetic, lowering further into a mumble as I continue, “But every time you won’t let the kids even near

me…

I lower my hands, pecking out from behind a curtain of blonde hair I’m still not used to seeing in my peripheral vision.

Caine is finally looking at me again. His brow is furrowed, eyes serious, the storm–gray of them focused entirely on my face. The intensity of his stare makes my skin prickle. “Bun took your energy,” he says calmly. “Of course I can’t let her touch you.”

“What?”

My brain screeches to a halt. Did he just say-

“Bun took your energy,” he repeats, with the flat certainty of someone stating water is

wet.

I stare at him, mouth slightly open, trying to process these words that make no sense. “What are you talking about?” I’ve held Bun so much and she’s never taken my

before.

your e

Energy

“She took energy. I came in here and you were unconscious, still holding her. Bun is fatal to you right now, and I’m not risking it. With any of the kids.”

My heart twists. “Fatal?”

Caine nods once, sharp and precise. “It must have been triggered with her shift during the storm. It might be… why she calmed down.”

My head suddenly hurts. A lot. I squeeze both sides of my head together, feeling a little like my skull is trying to split apart. “Are we sure? Maybe I just fainted.” I was feeling particularly lethargic and tired, but then again, I did just come out of the hospital… well, was kidnapped out of it. An altruistic kidnapping, if you will.

But denial is strong within me, because we’re talking about Bun. Sweet little baby Bun, who needs hugs and kisses and constant affection. I can’t just not touch her. “This doesn’t make sense. I was just… tired. Exhausted. The storm was weird. I’m not used mothering four kids.”

“You were dying, Grace.”

The certainty in his voice chills me again. He believes what he’s saying. And… I doj too.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” I demand, my anger flaring hot again. Better to be angry than deal with whatever’s really going on, because I can’t touch Bun. “Why keep it a secret and just… just manage me like I’m some kind of invalid? You’ve been treating me like glass, keeping the kids away, doing everything yourself, calling me ‘darling in front of those old people-”

Caine sits awkwardly at the edge of the bed, perching there like it’s going to collapse beneath him. By the way it’s dipping, it might. He.clears his throat and scoots up a little closer, and the mattress no longer dips. Of course, this now means he’s only a couple inches away from me.

He reaches out a hand, resting it gently on my knee, covered by the blanket. There’s a vague, soft flush of something going into him from me, but it’s muffled. Like something’s in the way.

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