Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 177

177 Grace: Fake It Til You Make It

I collapse where I am, curling my knees to my chest. My throat still feels tight.

Caine must think I’m certifiably insane. What kind of person freaks out the way I did? And the moment he grabbed my wrist, I shut down completely.

It wasn’t like he hurt me. It wasn’t like he did anything wrong. He was trying to talk to me in private. Perfectly understandable.

And yet my entire body reacted like he was about to throw me into traffic.

I slide

up the bed until I can bury my face in a pillow.

“I’m losing it.”

It’s the only explanation.

I smack my forehead against the pillow once. Twice. Three times. Maybe if I hit hard enough, I can knock some sense back into myself.

Heat crawls up my neck and spreads across my cheeks. Caine was so worried and gentle, he’d even asked if I thought he would hurt me. Of course I don’t think he’ll hurt

1. me.

Well–not anymore, anyway.

“You’re crazy. You’ve gone insane. You’ye lost your mind.”

Each sentence is punctuated with a frustrated thump of my face into fluff.

The embarrassment is almost worse than the sudden spike of fear. Now, anyway.

My heartbeat gradually evens out, and the flush of heat going up my neck and prickling along my scalp recedes.

But the self–loathing stays.

It doesn’t make sense. Caine wasn’t yelling at me. He didn’t grab me with any real force. Sure, I couldn’t pull away easily, but it wouldn’t have been impossible.

Nothing about the situation should have triggered such a level of panic.

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177 Grace: Fake It Til You Make It

So why did it feel like-

Darkness. Concrete cold against my feet. The smell of mold and dust. My throat hurts I’ve been screaming for hours.

Please let me out.

I’ll be good.

I promise I’ll be good.

I shake my head violently, forcing the memory back where it belongs. Locked away. Buried deep, where it’s been for four years and counting.

No. That was different. Completely different. It was a big mistake. My mistake.

Even Rafe said it was my fault.

The old Rafe, who cared and loved me. Not the new one, who’s cruel and strange and somehow thinks he’d have Ellie on one side and me on the other.

I shake it off again, refusing to linger on the whys and wherefores.

Getting in trouble for helping a rogue wolf is not the same as bringing a cat home.

I heave a sigh before pushing myself up, forcing my sluggish, overwhelmed body into

movement.

Wallowing in pillows is childish. Get over it and move on, Grace.

I shove my hair back into some semblance of order and cross my legs into the fake zen pose people do when they’re trying to convince themselves they’re not losing their shit.

Me.

I’m people.

shion. Rolling my shoulders pack like I’m trying to impress lifelong yoga–doers (not me), I

Come on, Grace. You’ve faked being okay a thousand times. This is easy.

“Just act natural,” I coach my reflection. “You’re fine. Everything’s fine. Just a normal

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