Grace of a Wolf

Chapter 175: Caine: Her Reaction

CAINE

My first instinct is anger, but between Fenris’s nagging and the look on Grace’s face the moment I walk through the door, it disappears.

She’s so pale I’m certain she’ll faint at any moment, and her entire body’s trembling as a disturbingly familiar, sour scent rolls off her.

Fuck the cat. And the dog.

This is a bigger problem.

Grabbing her wrist, I drag her to Lyre’s bedroom, trying to block the pounding in my head.

You shouldn’t just snatch her like that. It makes it worse.

I know.

I fucking know.

But if I open my mouth right now, who knows what’ll come out.

Your restraint would be commendable if you weren’t scaring her even more. Still, I suppose it’s progress.

My wolf is on my last damn nerve.

I pull Grace to the bed, setting her on the edge of it before releasing her wrist. She jerks it to her chest immediately, rubbing it with her other hand as if I hurt her.

This doesn’t seem like a conversation we should have near the children, but my attempt to buy us privacy seems to have made the entire situation worse.

Her eyes fix on the floor, shoulders bunched so tight they nearly touch her ears. The scent of terror is thick in the air, and it makes my stomach twist.

Grace is afraid of me.

It isn’t the first time. Her fear was present through most of our beginning encounters, but it hurts to scent it now. We’ve come so far from the girl who flinched every time I so much as looked her way.

You’ve made it worse, Fenris notes, like I don’t have fucking eyeballs.

Every instinct demands I touch her, pull her against me until her trembling stops. But this ridiculous issue with transference...

My molars grind together as I fight to keep my temper at bay. No point in fuming over something she can’t control; it will only make her worry. Grace seems to take the blame for things onto her shoulders, even if it isn’t her responsibility to bear.

Even when she’s trying to put boundaries between us, she backtracks when I get angry, or softens her words. Things she doesn’t need to do in front of me.

For some people, this is an ingrained reaction of the weak before the strong. But this isn’t what’s happening with Grace.

You act like you’re the one who’s noticed all this about her. Give me some credit, will you?

I kneel in front of her, making sure to keep space between us. Her hands twist in her lap, shaking with the force of her grip. Her blueberry muffin scent is thicker in here, and keeps me calm even as her fear agitates something deep inside.

I wish Brax could come back to life so we can kill him again. This time, I’d do it myself. But slower, torturing him until he’s begging for relief.

"Why are you like this?" I demand, sounding more aggressive than I mean to be.

Great job, idiot.

Grace’s lips barely move. "I don’t know. I’m sorry."

I frown. This isn’t the woman who stood toe-to-toe with me at the camper site, arguing about car seats. She has fire in her veins and a spark in her soul; this is like a pathetic shell of herself.

She looks broken.

Keeping my breathing calm takes more effort than it should, and I keep a tight hold on my alpha aura. Even a flicker of it at this state will make her withdraw further, and I can’t have that.

"This isn’t like you," I say, keeping my voice soft and even. "Why are you afraid?" noveldrama

She shakes her head.

"Do you think I’ll hit you?"

She shakes her head again, quicker and sharper this time, but still doesn’t look at my face.

She seemed to think you would be very angry about the cat, Fenris points out, finally being helpful instead of just annoyingly observant. Like she expected an argument.

But it isn’t as if we haven’t argued before. She stood toe to toe with me only hours earlier.

If it isn’t the argument... is it my anger? But she’s faced that, too.

Which means...

Punishment, Fenris murmurs. She’s afraid of punishment.

I exhale slowly. "I don’t care about the stupid cat, Grace. Fenris already told me everything."

That makes her look up, finally. Her grass-green eyes go wide, reddened with the hint of tears brimming.

The sight makes my chest tighten.

"Aren’t you angry?"

I sigh, rubbing my hands over my face. What the hell kind of monster does she think I am?

Considering your past—

Lay. Off.

Normally, with the adrenaline rush I felt the moment I saw her terrified face, I’d be pacing. Burning off the energy flooding through my veins.

But moving would only spook her more. It’s like handling a wolf gone feral.

"No, Grace. I’m not angry."

Her brows pull together like she doesn’t believe me, and she studies my face. Fenris huffs in the back of my mind.

"You’re capable of making decisions in the moment," I say, keeping my voice even. "And while I’m not thrilled you stepped outside where any bastard could see you, it’s not like I don’t understand why you did it."

She looks so damn small sitting there. Vulnerable.

"I’m not your jailer, Grace. The demands I make are for safety reasons, not to control your every move."

She nods, quick and jerky, but her eyes remain unfocused. I might as well be talking to a wall. She’s not really here with me—she’s somewhere else entirely. Somewhere I can’t reach her.

"Was Brax often angry with you?"

Her eyes slide away from my face, focusing somewhere off to the side.

Finally, she shakes her head. "Not often. He took very good care of me."

A growl rumbles up from my chest before I can stop it. "Don’t lie to me, Grace."

She flinches, drawing further into herself. Her scent spikes with fear again—sharp and sour.

Control yourself, you imbecile, Fenris snaps, his disgust evident. You’re making it worse.

I know, damn it.

I clear my throat and start over. "What I saw of your treatment was terrible."

Grace meets my eyes for just a second before looking down at the floor again. "That was after. He treated me like his own before."

"That doesn’t explain why you’re reacting like this now. I’ve been annoyed before, and you’ve never shut down like this." I gesture to her hunched form. "This isn’t normal."

She gives a one-shouldered shrug. "I’m not lying. He did treat me well. But sometimes... only when I was really in trouble, he would get mad."

She’s being evasive, and I’m not sure how far I can push.

Grace settles her hands in her lap but picks at her fingernails. The urge to place my hand over hers and stop the nervous fidgeting is almost overwhelming, but I resist. At least it’s better than rubbing her wrist like I assaulted her.

If you want to get technical—

Enough.

—never mind, then.

"I think there’s more you aren’t telling me," I say. "When you’re ready to talk about it, I’m ready to listen. But I’m not angry about the cat, and I’m not going to lecture you. So can you please relax?"