Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 91

Chapter 91: Grace: Conflict Resolution

“Good night, Bun,” I whisper, tucking the blanket around the toddler’s tiny shoulders. Her eyelids droop, but she still fights sleep like it’s her mortal enemy.

“Quack,” she mumbles, her duck bill morphing back to human lips mid-yawn.

Sara rolls her eyes from her nest of blankets. “Just ignore her. She’ll be asleep in thirty seconds.”

The feral baby protests with a grumpy babble, but it’s soft.

I smooth down a wayward curl on her forehead. “Sleep tight, baby.”

True to Sara’s prediction, soft snores rise from her little bed of blankets before I’ve even made it five steps away. The rest of the makeshift bedroom settles into comfortable silence—Ron’s already asleep, Jer’s fighting it, and Sara’s watching me leave.

I linger in the main room, fluffing a pillow that doesn’t need fluffing, zipping and unzipping my hoodie. It’s strange how quickly these kids have wound themselves around my heart. It’s only been a few hours, but my heart’s all-in on their orphaned life.

When I finally glance up, I spot Caine sitting alone, one arm resting on his bent knee, his gaze fixed on nothing. The harsh angles of his face are shadowed in the dim light of the cave.

I ease down to the floor across from him. Not close enough to touch, but not so far that I have to raise my voice. My knee is only inches from his.

He doesn’t acknowledge me, but the slight tick in his jaw gives him away. He knows I’m here.

I watch him for a moment, gathering courage. “Earlier… Lyre said something about you tearing this city apart. What does that mean?”

His jaw ticks again. The silence stretches, punctuated only by the soft breathing of semi-sleeping children.

“Don’t—” I pause, searching for the right word, “—sugarcoat it for me.”

His eyes flick toward me, then away.

“I don’t need the noble version. I’d like the real one.” I pull my knees to my chest, hugging them close. “Lyre explained things to me. I already know you’re not some psychopathic serial killer or whatever.”

Caine’s head snaps toward me, genuine surprise breaking through his stony expression. “You thought I was a serial killer?”

“Oh. No. Of course not.” Yes, yes, I did. “Maybe a little bit.” A lot.

Something shifts in his face—the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile, but close enough that for a second, the tension cracks.

He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. The gesture is so unexpectedly vulnerable, it catches me off guard.

“I wouldn’t attack a pack without cause,” he says finally. “Blue Mountain gave me one.”

I raise an eyebrow, not bothering to hide my skepticism. Uh-huh. I was there.

Caine meets my gaze directly, and I resist the urge to look away from his storm-gray eyes. They’re too intense. Too probing.

Too… pretty.

“Brax has been a problem for years. Always smiling, always compliant. But he was never truly loyal. I had my eye on him for a long time. Not all packs are thrilled with having the Throne filled once again.”

Asking for details would interrupt him, so I keep my mouth shut, even though I’m desperate to know more about what Brax did. My brain’s been avoiding the past, still struggling to reconcile the man I once saw as a father figure and the one who abandoned me without a second thought once I returned from the Mate Hunt, still… human. Because I am one.

Caine hesitates, the strong line of his jaw tightening as he glances away. “Still… maybe my reaction was a little extreme.”

I scratch at my jaw with a laugh. “Well, you didn’t kill everyone.

” The kids seem to think he did, but after Lyre smacked me with a bit of reality, I now understand—it was proof of Caine’s restraint.

I stare at him for a second too long, my brain switching from I like how he smells to whatever was happening in our conversation. Then my mouth drops open.

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