Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 266

Chapter 266: Grace: Romance (I)

His fingers still against my shoulder, and for whatever reason, there’s a heavy, foreboding feeling creeping into my heart.

"Were you planning on doing it a second time?" he asks, his voice perfectly even-keeled and yet somehow still so very, very dangerous.

All my danger senses are blaring, making my entire body go stiff.

Then, strangely, there’s a whiff of what feels like a transfer between us. Or maybe it’s my imagination.

More importantly, his question leaves me nonplussed. "Er... How many times do you think a person can do it?" I ask tentatively, wondering if there’s some sort of re-virgining I’ve never heard about. I mean, shifters heal fast, so I guess it’s possible...

But then again, I’m a human, so...?

And yet it feels a bit like I’ve shoved my foot into my mouth as the truck suddenly decelerates.

Uh-oh.

My hand shoots out to brace against the dashboard, even as his hand drops to my waist, holding me back and giving me the stability any reasonable person would crave after a sudden braking on the highway.

Caine pulls onto the shoulder. The occasional car whizzes by without a care.

Then, after a deliberate shift into park, he turns to face me with the full, undiluted weight of his Lycan King aura. His hand slides up my back and behind my neck, and my body, blissfully ignorant to the sudden turmoil of the situation, shivers under his touch.

His fingers curl into the hair at my nape, infinitely gentle, contradicting the absolute storm in his gray eyes. And for whatever reason, I keep feeling like he’s pulling my energy again, only it’s such a whisper I’m pretty sure it’s not happening.

Maybe.

But more importantly: I’m in trouble. For some reason.

"You will not do this with anyone else," he states, still with that absolute level of calm. The kind where my stomach quivers with nervousness.

I nod immediately, even though I’m still not sure why I’m agreeing not to lose my virginity to a second person. Still, I’m not about to argue with a territorial alpha.

That would lead to, well, an argument.

And then it would delay... things.

Much more fun, highly anticipated things.

So no, I’m not opening my mouth this time.

At all.

For sure.

But then my mouth opens on its own and I say blankly, "Can it happen a second time?"

It’s the burning question here, isn’t it?

Both of his brows swoop down, just a tiny fraction, but it’s enough to have me verbally scrambling. "I mean, who else is supposed to be on the menu? Aside from you, there’s no one."

His nostrils flare. The storm behind his eyes dissipates, and his thumb traces a slow line up the side of my throat to the hinge of my jaw. Whatever strange whisper of energy between us disappears.

Then he smiles. "Good girl."

I breathe a mental sigh of relief. Crisis averted.

He rubs his thumb against my jaw a few times, before finally leaning over to kiss my forehead.

Then he turns around and the truck rumbles back to life, as if this brief interlude never happened.

We merge back onto the highway without another word.

* * *

Rose petals.

On the small dining table to the left, a bottle of wine sits in a silver ice bucket that’s perspiring in the warmth of the room. Beside it, two glasses. And beside those, a neat stack of folded clothes. I step closer.

Next to it, a matching pair of underwear that is decidedly not the kind of underwear I would pick for myself. Not because it’s bad, but because it’s the kind that exists solely to be removed.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify