Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 259

Chapter 259: Grace: Saved? (1)

Ellie’s face gets all pinched as she stares at me. "Are you going to get that?"

That being my phone, I guess, since it just beeped.

I scoff. "Are you kidding me? I’m not getting near that cat if you pay me." Did she not just witness everything herself? It’s become abundantly apparent the cat doesn’t want me touching my phone. I’m not about to argue with it.

I’m also not going to let my phone just go, but a direct confrontation with a snarling furnado is not my strong suit. My hands and arms throb and ache, the pain enough to twist my stomach, and my phone’s being held hostage by evil in a fur suit while I stand here like an idiot.

But...

My eyes go from the cat to the cranky, murderous Ellie, an idea forming.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You’re a Luna-class wolf," I point out.

Her shoulders go back and her chin goes up. "Of course." Apparently her bone-deep pride is still intact through whatever she’s been going through.

So I turn up the sweetness level of my smile as I continue, "You’ve been combat-trained since you were young, right?"

"Of course," she repeats arrogantly, with an annoying little curve to her lips. "Even Rafe would struggle in a true fight against me."

"So," I point out, saccharine as can be, "One little cat wouldn’t be a big deal for someone as great as you."

Her face falls immediately. "Do you think I’m an idiot?"

Well, it was worth trying. Flattery went nowhere, so I turn to reason. "Look, we need my phone, and I’m not even strong enough to fight one little bitty house cat. You, of all people, would know how weak I am."

Her green eyes are more suspicious than ever, and I hurry to cinch my case. "It’ll be barely more effort than breathing for you, but then we could finally get out of here." Hopefully.

Ellie frowns at me for a long beat. Her jaw works side to side like she’s chewing through every possible angle of my request, searching for the trap.

Then she turns to the cat.

A low growl builds in her chest. This isn’t the kind of posing growl you’ll hear at parties and pack meetings, but the I’m going to kill you kind, where it resonates through the air and ground and into your very bones.

I shiver.

The cat doesn’t budge.

If anything, it settles deeper into its loaf position on top of my phone, tucks its paws tighter beneath its chest, and closes its eyes. The purring intensifies into a lazy, rattling drone.

Ellie’s upper lip curls as her growl intensifies to a snarl, and she takes a single step forward.

That’s it.

Just the one step.

But the world... cracks.

No sound precedes it. No warning sign.

She’s done with the cat, done with this place, done with questions. Her expression says she’s picked the one variable she can control, and that variable is... making me stop breathing.

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