Grace of a Wolf-Chapter 39: Grace: How Can You Miss It?

Over the next two days, Lyre drags her camper—and me—across the country. It’s actually only across one state line, but it’s still farther than I’ve ever traveled before.

The driving itself isn’t long each day; Lyre says she never drives more than three hundred miles a day when she’s hauling a camper. Still, the routine is more tiring than I expect.

And Andrew follows behind every step of the way, clearly obsessed with keeping his eye on me. I’m sure it’s to tell Rafe where I am, but it isn’t like a new Alpha can just wander across the country to take me back. ƒreewebɳovel.com

Still, it’s not a great feeling to know you’re being essentially stalked. He doesn’t hide what he’s doing, but he isn’t not doing it, either...

The high noon sun is bright and merciless, which means the camper’s going to be an oven when we finally make it to our stop tonight. We still have another hundred miles to drive before finding a rest stop tonight.

"Food run," Lyre announces, exiting the highway. "They have a dump station here, too. Why don’t you order while I get some diesel and clear out the tanks?"

I’ve learned a lot in the past forty-eight hours, and most of it involves how much work is involved in keeping a camper convenient. Like toilets. I never really thought about where waste goes when you flush, but it’s not as though we have plumbing in the parking lots of giant retail conglomerates.

We have a supply of fresh water for hygiene and dishes, but we also have separate drinking water. And tanks beneath the RV somewhere, magically holding all the gross stuff until we make it to a dump site. Lyre keeps talking about full hook-ups when we get to her friend’s place in Yellowstone, which will make our lives easier, but so far I haven’t had to lift a finger. Lyre does all the work.

"Got it. Bacon cheeseburger?"

I push open the passenger door, my blonde hair—still strange to see in mirrors—blowing across my face, thanks to the strong breeze. It smells like gasoline and fried food, which is now synonymous with freedom in my head.

"Give me about twenty minutes," Lyre calls after me. "Get something for me too. Nothing with pickles."

I nod and slip her credit card into my pocket. The first time she handed it to me, I’d stared at the plastic rectangle like it might burn my fingers. Now it feels normal, even as guilt gnaws at me for using a stranger’s money.

The automatic doors slide open with a mechanical hiss, cool air-conditioned comfort wrapping around me as I step inside. The cashier barely glances up from her magazine—another blessing of human society. No nostrils flaring to catch my scent, no scowls when they see I don’t belong. Even Lyre, with her rainbow hair, wouldn’t get a second look.

It’s so... anonymous. I love it.

But I need to find a job soon. Lyre’s generosity has limits, even if she hasn’t mentioned them. Strange how someone who seems so detached can be so thoughtful—letting me use her card, teaching me how to dye my hair, taking me in without asking for anything in return.

If angel shifters existed, she’d probably be one.

There’s a giant fast food restaurant taking up a third of the building. Several truckers are already scattered around, and there’s a mom with a toddler in the back corner.

So wholesome. So human.

The only thing polluting this pristine bastion of human society is Andrew, five steps behind me. He pulled into the gas station right after us, of course.

My mouth waters as I scan the illuminated menu board. "Two bacon cheeseburgers, large fries, and..." I pause, remembering Lyre’s aversion to pickles. "And make sure there’s no pickles on either."

The hair on my neck rises as I pass Lyre’s card over. Andrew’s glowering, like he always does, but who knows what’s triggered him this time. We haven’t exchanged a word since I told him I wasn’t going back to Rafe; I’m trying to pretend he doesn’t exist. Hopefully he’ll get bored and leave once we get to Yellowstone and settle in.

The sensation of being stalked is not pleasant, but I’m getting used to it.

Who am I kidding? It’s weird and sucks.

There’s only one place I’m free, and I turn take the card and receipt and walk as casually as I can to the bathroom. It’s always good to visit one when we stop anyway, but it’s also the one place Andrew won’t follow me.

The women’s bathroom smells vaguely of vomit, urine, and some sort of orange-scented cleaner. Not pleasant, but at least Andrew’s eyeballs aren’t drilling into the back of my head.

It doesn’t take long to do what needs to be done, and I keep the water running for a while as I stand in front of the mirror, toying with my blonde hair. It’s going to take forever to get used to, but I think I like it.

Lyre says my skin tone seems to be more cool than neutral and my blonde is a little too warm, but I don’t really get it. In theory, I understand her words and the concept of warm and cool undertones. In practice? My skin just looks like skin to me...

Oh, damn. I’ve been staring at myself in the mirror too long. Our food’s probably ready by now.

Sighing, I push open the bathroom door, only to jump back when I nearly collide with a solid chest.

Andrew stands directly in front of the door, arms crossed as he frowns down at me. "I was about to check on you."

Nope. This is the final straw.

"Are you seriously waiting outside the women’s bathroom?" I hiss, glancing around to make sure no one’s watching.

They aren’t. Everyone’s involved in their own lives, and nobody cares about what’s happening in this tiny little corridor.

His frown remains on his face. "I’m just making sure you’re safe."

"In the women’s bathroom?"

"You could have been unconscious."

"Jesus, Andrew." Covering my face with my hands in an attempt to keep myself from screaming in frustration, I count my breaths. He remains silent as I breathe in deep. One. Two. Five. Ten times. "You can’t follow me into the women’s bathroom."

"I wouldn’t have stayed—"

Dropping my hands, I snap, "That’s not the point!"

His mouth clicks shut, before he finally mutters, "I was just worried."

Somehow, despite Andrew being the one in the wrong, I’m the one who feels guilty. "Just—stay away from me. Go back to Rafe and live your life. Stop following me around."

"I’m doing what I need to do," he says stubbornly, staring over my head instead of looking at my angry face.

Arguing with him is pointless.

Shouldering past, I try not to stomp too hard as I head back to the counter, where my order’s waiting. Lyre’s nowhere in sight, but she did say it would be almost a half-hour before she was done.

I should have waited before ordering.

I grab the tray with our food and head to the table furthest away from any strangers. Another thing I’ve learned over the past two days—humans like to talk.

I’ve had some really fascinating conversations while standing in line. These aren’t bad experiences, but Andrew’s soured my mood, and I have no interest in looking at anyone’s face today.

Except Lyre’s, of course.

Andrew pulls out the chair at the table directly next to mine, and my mood plummets further.

A sigh escapes me before I can stop it. I’ve lived with wolves long enough to know what this is—territory marking. He’s making sure everyone knows I’m under his protection, which would be sweet if I actually wanted it. It’s also stupid, because humans don’t do this kind of thing.

"You’re ruining my appetite." I slide Lyre’s burger to the empty spot across from me, pushing the remaining one toward me and leaving the fries centered. My stomach growls despite my annoyance.

Andrew rests his arms on the table, his eyes never leaving my face. He has no food, and I wonder how he’s been surviving without buying anything to eat or drink.

"Just pretend I’m air," he says, sounding serious and not at all joking.

My words are a soft whisper, but I know he can hear every word: "Air doesn’t scowl like you do."

I pick at a few fries. They’re crisp and well-salted, but my appetite’s run off since Andrew’s trying to stare holes into my face. The ketchup packet remains unopened in my hand as I wait for Lyre to appear. I check the time on the wall clock—she should be done soon.

My gaze drifts to the window, where I’m surprised to see a white cat watching my every move.

It’s sitting on the sidewalk just feet away from my window, and it’s huge. Not big enough to be confused with a tiger or something, but large enough the word housecat seems... wrong. Maybe it’s one of those wild hybrid cats.

Its posture is unnaturally still, and its eyes—bright blue—are fixed directly on me.

"I think someone’s lost their cat," I murmur, more to myself than to Andrew.

"What cat?"

I want to be irritated by his question, but I’m the one who spoke out loud. He probably thinks I’m holding a conversation.

Sighing, I point toward the window. "That one. The white one sitting right there." The animal hasn’t moved an inch, its tail curled neatly around its paws. It’s almost statue-like.

Andrew follows my finger, his brow furrowing as he peers through the glass. He stares for a long moment, then turns back to me with a blank expression.

"I don’t see anything."

A chill runs down my spine. "What do you mean? It’s right there. The huge white cat staring at us."

His eyes narrow as he looks again. "There’s nothing there, Grace."

I lean forward, pressing my palms against the table as I focus on the creature. It’s impossible to miss—it must weigh thirty pounds at least, with a coat so white it almost hurts to look at.

"How can you not see it? It’s massive." I gesture more emphatically. "Right there. White cat, blue eyes, staring straight at me."

Andrew’s face changes, concern replacing irritation. "There’s no cat, Grace."