Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 203

203 Grace: He Might Be Dead

203 Grace: He Might Be Dead

I blink, confused, and scan the area. Where did he-

He’s not moving. At all.

“We should call someone,” I finally mutter, trying not to acknowledge how coldhearted I was just seconds ago. If I don’t admit to it, the kids will never know. “Maybe let Caine

know.”

Why put myself in danger to check on someone like him?

The camper lurches violently, and I grab the back of the bench to keep from falling. My stomach drops like I’m on some demented carnival ride–one where the operator’s trying to kill you and your frying pan is your only defense.

He puts the makeshift weapon back into the sink, where it can resume life as a simple cooking tool.

My eyes stop on a large, dark shape sprawled on the ground yards from the camper. It doesn’t move. Not even a little.

Oh shit.

So basically, a ride that doesn’t (and shouldn’t) exist.

Just a whole lot of squalling from the animals.

“Thanks,” I whisper, taking his hand and letting him help me up from the bench. My legs feel steadier than I expected, and I’m inordinately proud of them for not buckling under my weight.

Sadie and the cat continue their noisy defense, their barking and hissing escalating to a toothache–inducing pitch, and I wave the pan in their general direction and snap, “Hush!”

“Do you…” Ron starts, then clears his throat, asking awkwardly, “Do you think we should check on him?”

But we’re on it anyway.

I risk a glance back. Ron’s got one arm around Sara, who’s clinging to Jer, who looks

203 Grace: He Might Be Dead

like he’s trying desperately not to look terrified. Their eyes are wide, faces pale–well, not Ron’s, but the other two.

But when the blinds finally cooperate, there’s nothing. No snarling Lycan. No face pressed against the window. In fact, no Lycan at the door at all.

To my shock, both animals immediately quiet down. Sadie sits at the door, panting happily, tongue lolling out like she personally dispatched our would–be attacker. The white cat gives us all a look of supreme disgust before stalking down the hallway, clearly done with our amateur protection squad.

But time keeps marching, and nothing happens.

Guess I was just… zoned out. Staring at the man who won’t move and prove he’s still living.

Beside me,

over here?

Jer presses his face against the glass, his breath fogging it. When did he get

But then I remember how he spat the word human, like I’m some sort of disease. “What’s going on?” Sara asks, her voice shaking.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low, so the younger kids can’t hear.

The combined noise level reaches fuck this shit awful quick, but we’re all too busy bracing for the second impact to tell them to shut their fucking muzzles

“You don’t know that,” he fires back, not taking his eyes off the prone body in the street. “Maybe she’s special.”

Sara makes a sound somewhere between a snort and a scoff. “Why are you so stupid? Dogs can’t kill people with barking.”

The blinds stick as I try to push them up. My hand shakes, and I mutter, “Please don’t jump up and scare me,” because my nerves can’t handle a horror–movie face suddenly

I scratch at my neck, thinking it over. He’s a Lycan. One of Caine’s people. I should care- what happens to him, right? That’s what a good person would do.

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