Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 253

Chapter 253: Grace: Facts Aren’t Facting

Curling up in the trunk of a broken down car is not my idea of fun.

On a scale of one to ten, I’m pretty sure we’re deep in the negatives. Times two. Squared. Or something.

Wait. If we multiply negative numbers—okay. Scratch that. Math isn’t my strong suit. Whatever. The point is, I’m so damn far down the negative rabbit hole I’ve devolved into dreaming of twisting Andrew’s head until it pops off and flies away like a deflating balloon, complete with all the spitty-farty sounds and background laugh tracks.

I fucking hate laugh tracks.

Anyway.

The point is, obviously, it wasn’t my idea to get into this damn hole of darkness.

And if I want to be fair—which I don’t—it isn’t exactly Andrew’s fault, either. Precisely. Kind of.

In fact, I’m not entirely certain how it happened.

One second there was a cat. Then I was trying to call Caine to save our sorry asses. Then Andrew got all squirrely—which wolves, by the way, do very well when they’re antsy pantsy anxious—and suddenly there was a yowl, Andrew swearing, the trunk popping open somehow, then Andrew fell on me, I fell into the trunk, and the next thing I knew it was dark.

Oh, and Andrew’s lost his keys. Which is why my homicidal fantasies involve his poor neck getting twisted. Also, according to him, he stepped on the cat, which started the entire fiasco.

How do I know he’s lost his keys?

Because he’s swearing about it. His voice is pretty muffled from in here but he’s crawling around under the car trying to find them before, and I quote, "Ellie and her goddamn lackeys get here."

Oh—did I mention my favorite nemesis is on her way?

Pretty sure whatever god is in charge of luck hates me.

If I had my phone, I’d complain to someone. But I don’t. Because, you know, I fell, and it fell, and... yes.

So I’m stuck in the darkness of a trunk that smells strangely like sweaty feet and sardines, hoping a certain Luna doesn’t come to murder me in plain sight, wondering where the fuck Andrew lost his keys when he had them only minutes before.

Oh, and the coin? It’s not burning anymore.

Again, not great at math, but if I add it all up, I’m guessing all this bad luck has something to do with it. And the whole time being rewound shebang. And—

"Found it," I hear Andrew mumble, which sounds strangely subdued for such a great moment.

"You found them?"

"What?"

"Did you find them?" I raise my voice to fight the blockade of metal and whatever weird scratchy fabric people line cars with.

"No, I said, ’oh, shit.’"

He sounds strangely calm.

"Why are we oh shitting?" I figure it can’t be terrible considering he isn’t in a panic.

"Ellie’s here."

Okay, I’m wrong. Again, bad at math. Or the facts aren’t facting.

Seriously, being in a trunk sucks. I can’t see anything, hear anything properly, or—you know—run for my life.

Now I know what a sitting duck feels like.

I’m not panicking.

I’m not panicking.

My heart’s just trying to beat its way out of my ribcage like some demented drummer who missed every class on rhythm. Totally normal. Completely fine. Yep. Nothing to—

The car goes ballistic.

I shriek.

Can’t help it. The whole damn vehicle shakes like someone just drop-kicked it, and metal groans above me like a tortured banshee as my stomach lurches sideways, ready to ditch my body for greener pastures.

"What the f—"

Light floods in.

I blink against the sudden brightness, spots dancing across my vision as Andrew’s hand clamps around my wrist and yanks me out without a warning or quick check to make sure I’m, you know, sane. Which I’m not.

His chivalrous brute force has me stumbling out of the trunk on newborn giraffe legs, and I groan, completely forgetting the urgency of the moment. "Ow, Jesus, Mary, and Santa’s little elves, couldn’t you be a little—"

"Move."

Andrew yanks again, this time forcing me upright, and I finally get my bearings enough to see what the hell is going on.

I regret it immediately.

But.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify