Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 265

Chapter 265: Grace: On the Way

My cuticles don’t stand a chance.

I pick at the left thumb first, then the right, then circle back to the left because there’s a hangnail that absolutely needs my full attention right now. Not the man beside me. Not the silence expanding between us like a held breath.

Caine drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting loose on his thigh, and he looks... relaxed. Content, even. Just another day on the road, certainly not a situation where he declared he’d mark me tonight, agreed to discuss it on the way like a seductive promise, and then proceeded to discuss exactly nothing.

Zip.

Zilch.

Not a single word.

No; that’s a lie. He did ask considerately if I was cold when I shivered a bit ago.

Am not, in fact, cold. Just still turned on and a little wiggly, thank you.

But the silence has gone a long way in cooling me down... kind of.

I glance at him.

He watches the road.

I glance again.

Same road... and same silence.

The man who wanted to have the conversation appears to have left the vehicle. In his place sits someone who looks borderline pleased with the quiet, as if everything’s going exactly how he planned.

I shift in my seat, crossing one leg over the other. Then uncrossing it when I see flakes of dirt and maybe blood hit the floor.

"Are you uncomfortable?"

His level voice breaks the silence, and it takes everything in me not to jump ten feet off my ass.

Caine might not seem like he’s paying attention, but it’s clear he’s noticing everything I do.

"No," I lie out of habit. Then, after a long pause, I correct myself with, "Yes."

His brow wings up just a little, but he doesn’t look my way, still watching the road like a blind curve’s coming up any second.

It isn’t. It’s very, very straight and very, very boring.

But considering he started the conversation, I explain, "I need a shower. And new clothes." And probably a tetanus shot, but a shower’s a good start.

Caine’s gaze finally flicks to me, drops to my ruined shirt—or maybe just my boobs—then returns to the road. One corner of his mouth twitches before his lips thin.

My attention catches on his thigh. There are rusty smears, where my blood transferred without either of us noticing.

"You’ve got blood on your pants." Not the sexy, deflowered virginal kind, either, though that definitely was on the menu before we both collectively dialed into reality.

He doesn’t look down, just taps the wheel a few times before answering calmly, "I’m aware."

"Oh." Our conversation is going nowhere, kind of like when we first met. "Doesn’t it bother you?"

That gets a reaction. A muscle flicks in his cheek and the look he gives me is brief but scorching. "It won’t be a problem soon."

He has a point; soon they’ll be off and... oh dear. My imagination’s running amok.

My cheeks go wildly red as my previous simmer returns to a not-so-gentle boil. Damn.

But I pretend not to notice the awkwardness as I press on, hoping he doesn’t notice how I’m ogling his thighs now instead of just being worried about the, uh, mess: "You could use a change of clothes, too."

"I have a change of—"

He stops mid-sentence, snapping his mouth closed. Then he grimaces, an expression far too vivid for his usually brooding face. Then, most bizarre of all, his lips purse a little, and I swear to all that’s unholy in my lower half, the man looks reluctant.

Reluctant is not a word I associate with Caine.

If he doesn’t want to do something, who can force him?

It’s enough to make a girl’s curiosity go wild.

But after all that, he clears his throat and says, "I have clothes."

Leaving my curiosity unsated, damn it.

"Well, I don’t have anything." I gesture at myself—no matter how you slice it, I’m a walking disaster, unfit for public viewing. "I’ll need to stop somewhere." But then I wonder who will let me through their doors. Any reputable establishment would probably call the police as soon as they saw me, thinking I’ve been kidnapped.

Which, technically, I was once, but—wow, that seems like a long time ago.

Caine remains silent, as he usually does. Then he nods a little. "You’re right."

I blink a little, nonplussed. How am I supposed to continue this conversation?

"Should we stop by—"

But before my sentence can finish he’s pulled his phone out and pressed number one on speed dial.

I swallow the rest of my words.

It rings once before the line connects, and a voice punches through the speaker with enough volume that I hear it clear across the cab.

"What now?"

"Oh, sure. Hang up on me when I ask anything important, but call me when you need a personal shopper."

Then Jack-Eye continues sarcastically, "Should I order the flowers too? Maybe some chocolate? A—"

[CHAOS: Don’t worry; I’m here to help.]

[CHAOS: By the way, can you tell Lyrielle I was helpful?]

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