Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 97

Chapter 97: Grace: One Tiny Fist

My back aches against the cave wall, but I don’t dare move. Bun’s warm weight anchors me where I am, her slight body rising and falling with each breath, rabbit ears occasionally twitching against my stomach. I’m not even sure when they appeared. When Caine was done explaining how chess was something his father taught him as a child—in an effort to teach strategic thinking for battle, which made his confession seem a little less lighthearted than it was—I’d looked down, and there they were. Little white rabbit ears.

And a tiny puff coming out of her diaper. I can’t smell anything, so I’m about seventy-five percent certain it’s a little puffy rabbit tail and not… something else.

She’s completely conked out, one tiny fist clutching my shirt like I might disappear if she lets go.

An inch away—literally just one inch—Caine sits with his back against the same wall, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. He’s not sleeping. I can tell by the rhythm of his breathing. Too measured. Too controlled. The space between us pulses with unspoken tension, an invisible boundary neither of us wants to breach.

Or, more accurately… one we want to breach, yet can’t.

I shift slightly, and my shoulder nearly grazes his. My entire body goes rigid, muscles locking up as if he’s poison. Or a live, sparking power line.

This is ridiculous. We’ve had sex (well… partly), but now I’m terrified of our shoulders bumping? And our conversation’s come to a complete, grinding halt.

Maybe I’ve made everything worse with my boundaries. Maybe I should’ve just let whatever this is between us unfold naturally instead of trying to control it. But every time I think about giving in, there’s something inside me begging to stick to it.

I glance at his profile in the dim light. There’s stubble covering his jaw, darker than this morning. His eyelashes are long and lush, and instead of envy my first thought goes to eventual children and if they’ll have his eyelashes.

Now I get it, what he said about imagining a life together. Kids. The whole shebang and probably the little dog too.

Well—no, nix the dog. No cats, either. Wolf shifters don’t do pets.

Dinner, yes. Pets? Not so much.

And yet, despite me throwing down rules and needs and confusing him with where my heart’s at, he’s still here. Staying. His shoulder next to mine, respecting my space but not continuing distance.

My heart thumps hard.

No psychopathic serial killer would treat a girl like this. Then again, Ted Bundy got married—no. No more negative thoughts.

What happened with Brax and the others wasn’t murder. It was pack justice.

Dwelling on it is only going to keep me stagnant.

I’m halfway between waking and dreaming when shuffling footsteps jerk me back into fully awake.

Ron emerges from the darkness of the sleeping alcove, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. His dark hair stands up in tufts, making him look younger than fifteen-ish. He’s tall and lanky, but scrawny. Still a child.

He freezes with one foot in the air when he sees us, his eyes widening as they lock onto Bun curled against my chest.

“She usually comes to me,” he says, confusion etched across his face. He shifts uncomfortably, glancing between me, Caine, and the sleeping toddler. “Not even Owen gets to put her back to sleep.”

The way Ron looks at her—protective, confused, a little hurt—makes me wonder if I’ve stepped into a role that wasn’t mine to take.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “She just climbed into my lap and fell asleep. I didn’t want to wake her.”

He approaches cautiously, crouching down beside us. “I can take her back to bed,” he offers, reaching out his hands. “She kicks in her sleep sometimes. You’ll get more rest without her.”

His fingers barely brush Bun’s shoulder before she stirs, her face scrunching up in immediate distress. Her tiny hand tightens in my shirt as she swats blindly at Ron with her other arm.

“No!” she cries out, her voice thick with sleep but unmistakably adamant. Her entire body curls tighter against me, rabbit ears flattening against her head.

My arms tighten around her, trying to give her a sense of security, soothe her back into sleep. “Shh, it’s okay,” I murmur, one hand stroking her back in gentle circles. “You’re safe. Everything’s okay.”

The older kid pulls back, looking at me like I’ve performed some kind of magic trick. The rejection in his eyes hits me harder than I expected. This isn’t a competition, but somehow it feels like I’ve won something I never signed up for.

“Leave her.”

Caine’s voice cuts through the silence, low and firm, without a hint of aggression but filled with quiet authority. His eyes are open now, fixed on the teenager with unwavering intensity.

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