Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 185

185 Grace: Middle of the Night

185 Grace: Middle of the Night

When the storm wakes me at two thirty–seven in the morning, it’s a relief.

The phone’s built–in flashlight comes in handy as I stealthily close both bathroom doors before finally flicking on the overhead lights, blinking a little in the sudden brightness.

Outside, the sound of an occasional car makes it through the walls. But where we are, in the back of the parking lot, there isn’t much going on, leaving things surprisingly quiet.

I shiver.

Which is exactly what I want him to do.

The bathroom door swings open.

I dampen a washcloth under the tap, careful to keep the water pressure low. You can hear everything in this camper, from people moving around to every time the water’s being used. Privacy is an illusion.

My pulse hammers against my wrist, my throat, between my thighs, until I’m dizzy.

Awkward, when I’m still standing here naked and he’s still… looking at me.

It’s quiet.

Jesus.

Neither of us moves. Neither of us breathes. The storm outside seems to pause with us, only to give up the illusion as thunder claps.

And who knows how we’ll be resting tomorrow night.

Lyre hadn’t given much explanation when I explained it to her, not that we had much time to talk about it in between… everything else. Just said Bun needed the stabilization, and I should know my limits. But, of course, the Lycan King doesn’t agree, saying if I knew my limits I wouldn’t have fallen unconscious.

No matter how many times I smell the man, I can’t quite pin down what he smells like. It’s just uniquely him and right now, it’s overpowering in the bathroom as he steps

10:13

185 Grace: Middle of the Night

inside and closes the door.

The tiny square of cloth wasn’t really hiding anything, but I suddenly feel even more naked than I was before, my skin covered in goosebumps as his breathing comes faster.

I consider checking the battery levels to see if running the AC for a few hours would drain us too much. The thought of cool air makes me close my eyes in longing, but I dismiss it immediately. It’s more likely to wake up the others, and we all need rest after such a long road trip.

“Nope, I croak, destroying the sexiness of my nudity with my own voice. Classic. “Just

me.”

The washcloth in my hand is useless as a shield, and his gaze roves over my body without shame, taking in my nudity without a single apology. “You’re awake.”

I clear my throat, and his stare finally meets mine.

The cold water brings relief as I squeeze the now–wet cloth over my skin, rivulets sliding down to catch in my waistband. Without thinking twice, I kick off my pants,

too.

Which begs the question: what’s wrong with Caine, for him to require it at all times?

Not that I’m admitting to it.

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