Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 61

Chapter 61: Grace: Transference (I)

My body feels like it’s been used as a car crash dummy. Voices filter through the cotton stuffed between my ears, muffled and distant at first, then gradually sharpening into familiar tones. Angry tones.

“Absolutely not. Stay ten feet away at all times.” Lyre.

An unmistakably familiar growl. “You aren’t in charge here.”

“No, but they are, and you’re sucking her dry every time you make contact. Keep your damn mutt off her, too.”

A snarl. Definitely Fenris.

“Stop looking at me like that. You’re a mutt without manners.”

Consciousness hovers just out of reach, and honestly, slipping back into oblivion seems like the smart option. Nothing good waits in a room where Lyre and the Lycan King are squaring off. Death wish, party of one.

“Her energy is finally stabilizing, and you two want to go right in and take what she’s gathered—”

“If touching hurts, why are you letting them touch her?”

“They’re not feeding off her like she’s an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

Oh. This sounds… not great.

A cool touch slides along my inner arm, followed by a sharp sting. Something tugs at my skin, and the sensation drags me closer to full awareness. Not Lyre’s touch—someone else’s. Cold and strange-feeling.

“BP is 90/60. Heart rate stable at 64.” An unfamiliar voice, clipped and professional. “Okay, the IV’s in.”

“All right. Let’s push some fluids.” Another stranger.

Kind of sounds like I’m in a hospital.

“Let’s get ready to move her.”

“You’re not taking her,” Caine snaps.

Okay, maybe not a hospital. Oh. They probably called an ambulance. Now it makes sense.

“They can if they need to,” Lyre argues.

Fenris whines.

My eyes flutter.

“She moved,” Caine says immediately, tension vibrating through his voice. “Grace?”

Play dead, I tell myself. Just five more minutes of unconsciousness before facing whatever catastrophe awaits.

But the light beyond my eyelids burns red through the thin membrane, and someone’s fumbling with my arm again, and everything feels wrong and strange and cold, and hiding isn’t an option anymore.

I peel my eyes open with a groan. The ceiling light stabs straight into my brain.

“Too bright,” I croak, voice like sandpaper.

“She’s awake.” Caine again, closer now. I might not be able to see, but I can sense him looming.

He’s a very looming kind of person.

The word looming is starting to sound weird after using it twice in a row. Even worse with the third.

“I’ll turn off the lights,” Lyre offers, sounding further away than Caine.

A hand grabs mine, and I vaguely sense an inner movement as soon as the contact is made. It’s strange, like… Like someone’s turned on a faucet, and something inside of me is gushing out, directly to the point of skin contact—

Something beeps. A lot.

“Stop touching her, you idiot!”

“I was just trying to—”

“Sir, you need to step back.”

A growl.

My wish comes true, and unconsciousness takes me away again.

* * *

This time, when consciousness creeps back into my head, it’s quiet.

I tentatively open my eyes, breathing out a soft sigh when lights don’t stab into my eyeballs this time. There’s a faint amber glow illuminating the tiled ceiling above.

Now, for sure, I’m at a hospital.

A rustling sound catches my attention. I turn my head, the left side of my neck protesting, stiff from however long I’ve been laying here on a crinkly plastic pillow.

Lyre’s standing next to me, her rainbow hair mussed and wild. Her cat-slit eyes look exhausted, with dark circles underneath. She tilts her head, studying me in silence.

“Hi,” I croak. My voice sounds like I’ve been gargling gravel. How long was I out?

“Hello there, sunshine.” Lyre’s voice carries its usual musical lilt. “How are you feeling?”

“Yeah, but he isn’t.”

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