Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 3
Chapter 3: Grace: Protector
Chapter 3: Grace: Protector
The wind steals every bit of the warmth the strange wolf had gathered, and I crouch behind a tree to block the worst of it.
A slinking shadow skulks forward, slowly coalescing out of the abstract darkness of the forest.
Andrew.
His lithe wolf body slinks forward, lips curled back in a snarl.
My mysterious protector tenses, fur bristling along its spine. Another low, menacing growl rumbles through its chest.
Andrew’s head snaps back, releasing a bone-chilling howl that echoes through the forest. Answering calls rise from all directions. I know those sounds. The pack is coming.
Whoever my furry furnace is, he isn’t known to the pack. Which means he’s an intruder—which means…
The massive wolf at my side snarls, snapping its jaws at the air between itself and Andrew. A clear warning for him to keep his distance.
“Shit.” My soft whisper is enough for my protector’s ears to swivel in my direction, and I press myself against the tree trunk, hoping I don’t get in its way. No, not it. Him, I think.
His identity might be a mystery, but he still kept me warm and safe, at least for the last few hours. I don’t want him hurt.
Pressing a hand against his flank, I whisper, “You need to go. They’re all going to come for you.”
The massive wolf beside me throws back his head, unleashing a howl that shakes the very earth beneath my feet. The sound reverberates through my chest, a primal force that steals the breath from my lungs. Even Andrew, cocky and aggressive moments ago, shrinks back, his ears flattening against his skull.
As the last echoes fade, an eerie silence descends upon the forest.
Then, like a dam breaking, answering howls erupt from every direction. The predatory sounds have goosebumps erupting, as if they weren’t already pimpling my skin, and I shudder even without the wind.
Andrew recovers quickly, circling us with renewed aggression. His lips curl back, exposing gleaming fangs as he snarls. My protector responds in kind, hackles raised and muscles coiled tight beneath his thick fur.
This isn’t my fight, but I’m somehow caught in the crossfire all the same.
The clash comes without warning—at least for me. Some signal I don’t recognize has them both darting forward in a whirlwind of fur and fangs, snarls and snaps.
My protector’s massive size gives him an advantage, but Andrew is quick and nimble. They tumble across the forest floor. Andrew occasionally escapes the strange wolf’s jaws, darting away a few steps with his tail tucked, before dashing back in.
He knows he’s unmatched; his body language screams that he’s on the defense, even to someone like me, who’s rarely seen a true wolf fight. I’m not often around when the betas fight with each other.
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