Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 197

197 Grace: Dark Fashion

197 Grace: Dark Fashion

Nothing.

[CAERIEL: The journey matters. Your capacity needed testing.]

Alarm bells ring, and I step back. He has far too much interest written all over his face. “I’m sorry. I have a boyfriend.” Should I have said mate instead? But that would be a little weird.

“Hello?” I gasp out, checking the map once again.

I stare at my screen, rage building in my chest. This cryptic bullshit is all I get for my troubles?

[CAERIEL: Consider us met.]

That’s it? I ran halfway across town, probably making myself a target for every shifter with a grudge, for this dismissive little message?

At first, I thought he was wearing some sort of giant, creepy Grim Reaper cloak, but now I can see it’s some fancy, somewhat archaic–styled long jacket with a deep hood.

I mean, she even thinks I’ve been talking to her father!

He nods.

I have no idea how much the phone costs, but I do know I definitely have no idea how to replace it.

At least if Caine had stayed with me, she wouldn’t have had the balls to grab me as soon as I ran off on my own.

I take it with both hands, feeling suddenly reverent to this strange man with his gothic attire and terrible treatment. “Thanks.”

[CAERIEL: Good job. You can go back now.]

My breath catches.

[GRACE HARPER: Who are you?]

Seriously, a phone.

197 Grace: Dark Fashion

Nobody.

[GRACE HARPER: Are you one of her weird creepy friends?]

I wonder if he’s part of the fan club.

My fingers tremble, and my phone falls to the ground with a clatter. The screen spiders on impact, and I curse softly.

I gulp down air, trying to stand straight despite the knife–like pain in my side. I smack at the stitch, as if I can physically beat the cramp into submission. Each breath hurts, but I force myself upright, spinning in a slow circle to scan my surroundings.

Still empty.

The shifters who were tailing me have disappeared from view, which isn’t as comforting as it sounds. They can track my scent as easily as reading a neon sign. But right now, beating this timer matters more than whatever game of supernatural cat–and–mouse Ellie’s forced me to play.

A new private message.

Yep. This is the right place.

“Caeriel…?”

My phone dings. The countdown has vanished, replaced by a notification.

The response is immediate.

The typing indicator pulses for nearly thirty seconds before his reply appears.

I’m about to respond when movement at the edge of the parking lot catches my eye. A figure appears–tall, impossibly slender, dressed all in black. Carrying a giant, ornate scythe… and a phone.

No time to question it now. The Guardian dot on my screen pulses brighter as I close in. I’m moving fast–unnaturally fast. Not werewolf fast, but definitely not

normal–human–girl–who–gets–winded–walking–up–stairs fast either.

[GRACE HARPER: Are you the person I was supposed to meet?]

Just an empty parking lot surrounding an abandoned building–the old alpha lodge. Half of it stands charred and crumbling, a skeleton of its former grandeur after the fire. that ripped through it a couple decades ago. I don’t know the full story, just fragments.

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