Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 193

193 Grace: Telepathy Failure

193 Grace: Telepathy Failure

Settling into our little corner of Blue Mountain is not as easy as I thought it would be.

And Ron is pretending all of us don’t exist, his face buried in one of Lyre’s books where he’s sitting on the couch. He’s the smartest of us all.

Then she peeks at Caine, who frowns at her with the faintest hint of downturned lips and furrowed brow, and she gulps. Her tune changes rapidly as her face goes even whiter, if possible.

Sara leans over to cup her hand by my ear and stage–whisper, loud enough for literally everyone to hear, “Why are they all here, anyway?”

Bun doesn’t glance up from her M&M–centric archaeology.

The oldest of the Lycans gazes at Ron with a troubled stare, then turns back to his king. “High Alpha…”

Now I’m feeling like it wasn’t enough.

Then opens again.

But what’s far more concerning than their vague familiarity is how they keep swiveling their heads in my direction. And every single time, their nostrils flare wide enough to host a whole farm of honeybees.

Then closes.

I’m still sitting here dumbfounded, with no idea how to deal with this man.

Then Caine, King of the Lycans and apparent champion of the most graceless social maneuvers known to wolfkind, announces to the room: “Grace is not my mate.”

Sara’s face goes white.

I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath through my nose.

And why would he announce the kids as his? Anyone with a nose–which is every single person in this pack–will know they aren’t Lycans. They aren’t even wolf shifters. Jer’s the first one to break the awkward bombshell silence. “Does that mean we have to

193 Grace: Telepathy Failure

call him Dad?” he asks Sara, sounding incredibly worried.

If I were actually an ordinary human girl and not raised by this pack, their behavior would rank somewhere between disturbing and call–the–police territory. But I’ve spent six years in the Blue Mountain Pack. I know how they catalog their world–sight second, sound third, and scent always first.

“No,” I snap.

Caine clears his throat. “You may call me Dad if you wish. Father is also acceptable.” His eyes linger on Sara and Bun. “Daddy would work, too.” 2

“No questions will be taken at this time.”

Does the man think he’s holding a press conference?

The three Lycans standing at attention before their king are vaguely familiar; at least one of them stood guard outside my door for a time.

No one warned me the man was incapable of acting.

Both children look at me with confusion.

We’re all worried.

The words I finally manage to choke out are hoarse and tight. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Sir.”

“Or call him Daddy. I think Daddy will work.”

But Ron, the only one I can rely on, drawls, “Didn’t you two idiots hear? Grace isn’t his mate. He’d never mate with a human.”

And me?

Ron chokes on air.

“No questions,” Caine repeats, taking the opportunity to smile in

He should be.

For one, Caine refuses to leave.

my

direction.

But our relationship telepathy is still not working because he announces, “They are my children. Treat them as such.”

193 Grace: Telepathy Failure

I sit frozen in the middle of the dinette as the three Lycans swivel toward me unison, their expressions a mixture of confusion and dawning horror. I shoot Caine my most desperate fix this right now glare, finishing it off with slightly widened eyes and a tiny head shake in their direction.

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