Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 195

Chapter 195: Grace: Buzzles

Out of nowhere, Caine was suddenly in a downright awful mood and wouldn’t stop glowering at his Lycan friends. But at least he finally left, even if he did basically stomp out of here with a dark cloud hanging over him.

I stand in the doorway watching them go, my feelings a jumbled mess of relief and something that feels suspiciously like abandonment. The camper seems emptier without his overwhelming presence filling every corner. Quieter.

Lonelier.

My eyes follow Caine’s broad shoulders as he marches away with his men, his entire body rigid and his fists clenched at his sides. Even from here, I can feel the waves of anger radiating off him.

Suddenly, he stops, spins on his heel, and strides back to me with purpose in every step.

I stiffen.

Did he notice how I felt?

My heart jumps into my throat as he looms in front of me, one step below where I’m standing. Close enough I could reach out and brush my fingertips against his long, silky eyelashes, with the perfect amount of curl mine require tools to replicate.

"Don’t worry about what they said," he murmurs, his voice pitched low so only I can hear.

I blink down at him, mouth opening to explain that his terrible acting is what I’m worried about—but he’s already gone, stalking back the way he came.

His shoulders look even more tense than before, if that’s possible.

I rub my face with my palm and sigh. This is going to be a lot harder than I thought. Caine playing the role of "not my mate" looks an awful lot like Caine is my mate and going to murder people if they hurt my feelings.

Not exactly subtle.

A few yards away, several Blue Mountain wolves linger, watching everything unfold. Their faces carry familiar expressions, the kind weighing me down year after year. I didn’t realize how oppressive they all were until I’d left.

Smug superiority. Disgust. Disdain.

But for once, those looks don’t make my stomach twist with shame.

One of them—a shifter I vaguely recognize but can’t name—catches my eye deliberately. His lip curls in a sneer, and he spits on the ground, giving me a smirk before sauntering away.

My terrible, plummeting mood rises immediately.

It worked. Our terrible acting job actually worked.

Fighting the smile threatening to curve my lips, I step back inside and close the door, watching as more Blue Mountain shifters stare with smug, awful faces in our direction.

They’d started out curious and now look down on me. They’d never do that if they were scared of the Lycan King’s reaction.

Caine’s inexplicable bad mood out of nowhere saved the day.

The brief victory is great, even as it feels hollow. I know what comes next—the insults will get bolder, the "accidental" shouldering in hallways harder, the whispered comments louder. They’ll push until they find my breaking point, and I’m not exactly looking forward to living under this pressure again.

But as long as they leave the kids alone, it’ll be fine. I’ve survived this treatment my entire life. I can handle it again, especially when it’s only temporary.

I won’t be here forever.

Once this mission is over, I’ll be hundreds of miles away again, living my best life away from the oppression of the Blue Mountain Pack and my dark history here.

"What the heck was that?" Sara asks the moment the door clicks shut, her red eyes wide.

"What the hell was that?" Jer echoes, practically vibrating with indignation. "Aren’t you the Queen? Why’s he acting like you aren’t his mate?"

"Hell!" Bun shouts gleefully, bouncing on her pudgy legs. Thankfully, no ears sprout out of her hair today. We’ll have to keep her inside as much as possible so they don’t appear at the wrong moment.

If she’d stick to one set of ears, it would be easier to explain away. But we don’t need rumors of her ears going from cats to rabbits at any given opportunity.

"Language!" I snap automatically. It’s starting to feel like second nature.

When I look up, three pairs of eyes are trained on me with varying degrees of bewilderment. Even Ron has joined the staring brigade.

"Sorry," I say, forcing my voice to steady. "That was weird, right? Everything’s a little... complicated here."

"He said you’re not his mate," Sara says, crossing her skinny arms over her chest. "But that’s not true. You’re the Queen!"

"And he said we’re his kids," Jer adds, his voice rising to ear-piercing decibel. "Which is totally crazy because we just met him! Now I have to call him Dad?!"

Ron just looks curious.

And Bun? Well, she’s Bun. A fly came in at some point, and now she’s trying to catch it. Without breaking eye contact, Sara pulls her off the table and sets her on the ground, leaving her free to toddle after flying insects.

I drag a hand through my hair. "Look, it’s... We’re pretending, okay? Caine and I are pretending we’re not together, and he’s pretending you’re his children, not mine."

"So you’re our mom?"

"No, idiot." Jer gives Sara a disgusted look. "She said we’re pretending to not be hers."

"Then who’s our mom? Ron, do you know?"

Ron nods, with a faint smile twitching at his lips. "It’s Grace."

"No, that’s not—" I start, but Sara beats me to it.

"Stupid, she just said she’s not our mom."

"If he’s our dad, Grace is definitely the mom."

Sara snickers. "I think she thinks you’re the dad."

"Look. You guys just need to... act normal. Stay in the camper as much as possible. If anyone asks, yes, Caine is your father, and no, I’m not connected to you at all. I’m just... here. No—better yet, I’m your babysitter."

"That’s a really bad plan," Jer says bluntly.

"If you’ve got a better one, I’m all ears."

He opens his mouth, then closes it again, defeated. "You can be our grandma?"

Ron laughs out loud. "Brilliant, Jeridiot."

"Thought so." I stand up, shifting Bun to my hip. "Now, who’s hungry? We should eat something before we get too—"

My fucking phone dings, vibrating harder than I’ve ever felt it vibrate. I check it, my face paling a little at the notification I received.

The mission about meeting with the Guardian has updated.

[Meet the Guardian within 10 minutes, or penalties will be applied.]

There’s a bunch of numbers underneath, looking like some sort of coordinates. I press my thumb against it, and a map pops up, complete with arrows and a line for directions.

"I want mac and cheese," Sara announces, flouncing into the kitchen to check the pantry cabinet.

"I want pizza," Jer counters.

Ron, watching me, returns to the reliable and steadfast kid he usually is. "We’re having sandwiches. It looks like Grace is leaving."

I glance up, blinking a little in his direction. "Uh—yeah. I have to go..."

My phone buzzles again. New word: vibration with epic intensity, okay?

A quick glance informs me a countdown has started.

A fucking countdown.

This mission means business, and I’m terrified over what these damn penalties might be. Some clarity would be nice, but without them, I have to think about worst case scenarios.

Like zombie invasions, per my dreams.

"I have to go right now. Ron, watch the kids. No one go outside. Sandwiches only, and don’t touch the propane. I’ll be back as soon as I can."

My words tumble all over themselves as I brush a quick kiss over Bun’s curls and hunt my shoes in the pile by the door.

I’m not exactly certain how far this Guardian is, but I have the bad feeling I’m going to have to run to make it in time.