193 Grace: Telepathy Failure
193 Grace: Telepathy Failure
Settling into our little corner of Blue Mountain is not as easy as I thought it would be.
And Ron is pretending all of us don’t exist, his face buried in one of Lyre’s books where he’s sitting on the couch. He’s the smartest of us all.
Then she peeks at Caine, who frowns at her with the faintest hint of downturned lips and furrowed brow, and she gulps. Her tune changes rapidly as her face goes even whiter, if possible.
Sara leans over to cup her hand by my ear and stage–whisper, loud enough for literally everyone to hear, “Why are they all here, anyway?”
Bun doesn’t glance up from her M&M–centric archaeology.
The oldest of the Lycans gazes at Ron with a troubled stare, then turns back to his king. “High Alpha…”
Now I’m feeling like it wasn’t enough.
Then opens again.
But what’s far more concerning than their vague familiarity is how they keep swiveling their heads in my direction. And every single time, their nostrils flare wide enough to host a whole farm of honeybees.
Then closes.
I’m still sitting here dumbfounded, with no idea how to deal with this man.
Then Caine, King of the Lycans and apparent champion of the most graceless social maneuvers known to wolfkind, announces to the room: “Grace is not my mate.”
Sara’s face goes white.
I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath through my nose.
And why would he announce the kids as his? Anyone with a nose–which is every single person in this pack–will know they aren’t Lycans. They aren’t even wolf shifters. Jer’s the first one to break the awkward bombshell silence. “Does that mean we have to
193 Grace: Telepathy Failure
call him Dad?” he asks Sara, sounding incredibly worried.
If I were actually an ordinary human girl and not raised by this pack, their behavior would rank somewhere between disturbing and call–the–police territory. But I’ve spent six years in the Blue Mountain Pack. I know how they catalog their world–sight second, sound third, and scent always first.
“No,” I snap.
Caine clears his throat. “You may call me Dad if you wish. Father is also acceptable.” His eyes linger on Sara and Bun. “Daddy would work, too.” 2
“No questions will be taken at this time.”
Does the man think he’s holding a press conference?
The three Lycans standing at attention before their king are vaguely familiar; at least one of them stood guard outside my door for a time.
No one warned me the man was incapable of acting.
Both children look at me with confusion.
We’re all worried.
The words I finally manage to choke out are hoarse and tight. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Sir.”
“Or call him Daddy. I think Daddy will work.”
But Ron, the only one I can rely on, drawls, “Didn’t you two idiots hear? Grace isn’t his mate. He’d never mate with a human.”
And me?
Ron chokes on air.
“No questions,” Caine repeats, taking the opportunity to smile in
He should be.
For one, Caine refuses to leave.
my
direction.
But our relationship telepathy is still not working because he announces, “They are my children. Treat them as such.”
193 Grace: Telepathy Failure
My boyfriend’s an idiot.
“High Alpha-” three different voices chorus in unison, and Caine holds up a hand to interrupt them.
Strange how perspective changes things, though I’m more than a little worried my humanity’s going astray. 2
Caine’s lips twitch upward at one corner, actually amused by this catastrophe. All three of his Lycan goons go rigid, their eyes widening. It would be amusing on their grim, scarred faces full of disapproval and curiosity–if it didn’t make my entire, brilliant plan shatter into tiny little pieces.
For two, having three more burly Lycans in Lyre’s camper has stretched its occupancy
to max limit.
This doesn’t make it less nerve–wracking, though.
Caine glances at me, and I shake my head tightly. He should just pretend he doesn’t know or care about them.
Repeatedly.
For three, every time I look out the damn window there’s at least five Blue Mountain
shifters staring at us.
My face twitches.
Jer asks Sara, “Aren’t they mates?”
Bun, meanwhile, focuses on her mushy cookie as she sits in my lap, content to ignore the world for the tiny pieces of M&M she’s determined to dig out with her fingernails.
erfect
I sit frozen in the middle of the dinette as the three Lycans swivel toward me unison, their expressions a mixture of confusion and dawning horror. I shoot Caine my most desperate fix this right now glare, finishing it off with slightly widened eyes and a tiny head shake in their direction.
My shoulders stiffen.
Jer, who apparently missed the day they taught children about indoor voices and social awareness, leans across Sara’s lap and announces at full volume, “Why do they keep staring at you like that? Shouldn’t they be bowing in front of their queen?”
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193 Grace: Telepathy Failure
Considering how little traffic this place gets, it’s very clear they’re here to snoop. Which means my whole don’t let people know you’re my mate plan is going fucking swimmingly, on top of being incredibly worried the children will be mistreated by the assholes outside. 1
“Who are these children?” he continues, ignoring his king’s order.
The three Lycans share an awkward glance, and Jer whispers, “So do we call him Daddy or Sir?”
“I think so,” Sara says at the same time.
Jer and Sara look at each other, then at me, then at Caine.
“I have no idea,” I mutter back, shooting Caine a milk–curdling glare.
They’re scenting me.
I’d made it perfectly clear–perfectly. fucking. clear.–he was supposed to keep his distance.
My mouth opens.
The blood drains from my face so fast I go light–headed.
Everyone except Caine, who’s standing in front of us preening like a goddamn wolf in a chicken coop.
He looks directly at me and gives a small, satisfied nod like he’s just brilliantly defused a bomb instead of strapping additional explosives to it.
Sara mumbles, “Just don’t talk to him and we won’t ever have to worry about it.”
Sara replies, “I think so?”
-The man mercifully smooths his face into a blank royal mask. He clears his throat,
immediately recapturing his subordinates‘ attention.
Funny–when Heft here, I was still feeling guilty and terrible over all the deaths the Lycan King brought here.
Sara, bless her oblivious heart, doesn’t catch a single nuance of this disaster as she hisses back, “Maybe they’re rude and he’s going to chop off their heads. Just shut up and watch.”
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