Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 197

197 Grace: Dark Fashion

197 Grace: Dark Fashion

Nothing.

[CAERIEL: The journey matters. Your capacity needed testing.]

Alarm bells ring, and I step back. He has far too much interest written all over his face. “I’m sorry. I have a boyfriend.” Should I have said mate instead? But that would be a little weird.

“Hello?” I gasp out, checking the map once again.

I stare at my screen, rage building in my chest. This cryptic bullshit is all I get for my troubles?

[CAERIEL: Consider us met.]

That’s it? I ran halfway across town, probably making myself a target for every shifter with a grudge, for this dismissive little message?

At first, I thought he was wearing some sort of giant, creepy Grim Reaper cloak, but now I can see it’s some fancy, somewhat archaic–styled long jacket with a deep hood.

I mean, she even thinks I’ve been talking to her father!

He nods.

I have no idea how much the phone costs, but I do know I definitely have no idea how to replace it.

At least if Caine had stayed with me, she wouldn’t have had the balls to grab me as soon as I ran off on my own.

I take it with both hands, feeling suddenly reverent to this strange man with his gothic attire and terrible treatment. “Thanks.”

[CAERIEL: Good job. You can go back now.]

My breath catches.

[GRACE HARPER: Who are you?]

Seriously, a phone.

197 Grace: Dark Fashion

Nobody.

[GRACE HARPER: Are you one of her weird creepy friends?]

I wonder if he’s part of the fan club.

My fingers tremble, and my phone falls to the ground with a clatter. The screen spiders on impact, and I curse softly.

I gulp down air, trying to stand straight despite the knife–like pain in my side. I smack at the stitch, as if I can physically beat the cramp into submission. Each breath hurts, but I force myself upright, spinning in a slow circle to scan my surroundings.

Still empty.

The shifters who were tailing me have disappeared from view, which isn’t as comforting as it sounds. They can track my scent as easily as reading a neon sign. But right now, beating this timer matters more than whatever game of supernatural cat–and–mouse Ellie’s forced me to play.

A new private message.

Yep. This is the right place.

“Caeriel…?”

My phone dings. The countdown has vanished, replaced by a notification.

The response is immediate.

The typing indicator pulses for nearly thirty seconds before his reply appears.

I’m about to respond when movement at the edge of the parking lot catches my eye. A figure appears–tall, impossibly slender, dressed all in black. Carrying a giant, ornate scythe… and a phone.

No time to question it now. The Guardian dot on my screen pulses brighter as I close in. I’m moving fast–unnaturally fast. Not werewolf fast, but definitely not

normal–human–girl–who–gets–winded–walking–up–stairs fast either.

[GRACE HARPER: Are you the person I was supposed to meet?]

Just an empty parking lot surrounding an abandoned building–the old alpha lodge. Half of it stands charred and crumbling, a skeleton of its former grandeur after the fire. that ripped through it a couple decades ago. I don’t know the full story, just fragments.

197 Grace: Dark Fashion

Okay. Not dead. Cool. I’ll take it.

[CAERIEL: And yet you arrived with time to spare, outpacing shifters. Interesting for someone who claims human limitations, isn’t it?]

It’s obviously the Grim Reaper. With a phone.

[GRACE HARPER: My “capacity“? For what? Running? I could’ve told you I’m not exactly track team material.]

I skid to a stop when my phone indicates I’ve reached the destination, with two minutes and twelve seconds to spare. My lungs burn like I’ve inhaled fire. I double over, one hand clutching my side where a stitch pulses with each labored breath.

Then again, she’s clearly lacking any intelligence or rationality whatsoever, so who knows. Maybe it would have made it all worse.

[GRACE HARPER: That’s it? You made me run all the way here just to send me a text message?]

His face rearranges itself into another gorgeous frown.

The scythe is still scary, up close or afar.

Don’t let anyone know I’m your mate, I’d told Caine with all the confidence of a girl whose borne countless hours of bullying in this pack.

Past Grace is Stupid. Capital S and all.

Three dots appear, disappear, appear again. Just like text messages. It makes me wonder what came first–the app or the egg, so to speak.

[CAERIEL: Better.]

Wolves don’t play when it comes to their mates, and a girl like Ellie has too much pride to ever lose to a human like me.

Even the slowest pack member can outpace a human, probably with both ankles broken. And the fence jump? Not exactly in my usual repertoire of skills.

[CAERIEL: Ask Lyre.]