<h4>Chapter 36: Grace: Eight Hundred Miles</h4>


    Lyre shifts in her seat, her slitted eyes observing our exchange with quiet interest. She doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t try to persuade either of us. Her neutrality is refreshing after years of wolves who thought they knew what was best for me. Though I wonder what she’s thinking about behind her impassive face. We must sound crazy.


    Andrew rubs his hand across his face, losing some of his aggressive denial. Instead, he’s pleading. "You have no idea how dangerous this is. You’re human, Grace."


    I look to Lyre. "How far is Yellowstone from here?"


    "About eight hundred miles," she says calmly, like we’re discussing the weather or something.


    Eight hundred miles. Eight hundred miles between me and the Blue Mountain Pack. Between me and Rafe and Ellie. Between me and the murderous Lycan King.


    "You can’t outrun them," Andrew insists. "Especially not the Lycan King. If he wants you—"


    I roll my eyes. "Andrew, you brought me here under the assumption we <i>could</i> outrun him. Now you’re changing your story because I’m not going to do what you want. You can’t have it both ways."


    "But—"


    "He doesn’t care about me. Trust me." The memory of Caine’s gray eyes shes through my mind—the intensity of his gaze as he wrapped the bandage around my wrist. But I push it away.


    "You’re wrong. He—" Andrew stops himself, huffing something between a sigh and a groan.


    "He...?"


    Grimacing, Andrew shakes his head. "It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re making a mistake. This woman—" he gestures at Lyre, "—you don’t know her. You don’t know what she is."


    Lyre’s lips quirk at that. "He’s not wrong about that."


    I nce between them. Andrew’s obvious mistrust, Lyre’s casual acknowledgment.


    "Are you something other than human?" I ask her directly.


    She tilts her head, catlike. "Does it matter?"


    The question gives me pause. Does it? After everything I’ve been through with wolves, should I fear other supernatural beings just the same?


    But then I think of my life at the pack—the constant reminders of my humanity, my weakness, my otherness.


    "No," I decide. "It doesn’t matter. As long as you’re not nning to hurt me."


    Lyre smiles, revealing teeth that seem just a touch too sharp. "I have no interest in hurting you, Grace. You’re far more interesting alive."


    Andrew makes a strangled noise. "You can’t be serious. Grace, listen to yourself!"


    "You should go back, Andrew. Before they notice you’re missing too."


    "I’m not leaving you with—"


    "You are." My voice hardens. "Because this is my choice. Not yours, not Rafe’s, not Ellie’s. Mine."


    Andrew stares at me, frustration evident in every line of his body. His jaw works as if chewing on words he wants to spit out.


    Lyre scoots out of the dte, stretching her lithe body as she stands. "So when do you want to leave? I’m flexible."


    "Now would be best." The wordse out without my bidding, and I press my lips together, embarrassed. "I mean, if that works for you. I’m not in a position to make demands."


    A small smile ys on her lips as she nods. "Now works. Just need to batten down the hatches."


    She moves through the cramped space with the fluid grace of someone who knows exactly where every inch of their body is. Her hands reach up to unhook a macramé nt hanger, carefully cradling the vine trailing from it.


    "Have to secure everything before driving," she exins, gently arranging the nt into what looks like a modified kitchen cupboard. "Otherwise it all bes projectiles the first time I hit the brakes."


    Andrew’s hand mps around my forearm again, his fingers digging into the same spot he’d grabbed earlier. The pressure makes me wince. "Grace—"


    "Get your hand off her or you’re going to lose it." Lyre doesn’t even turn around, just continues methodically securing her nts. The calm in her voice makes the threat more chilling.


    Andrew’s grip falters but doesn’t release. His breathes faster beside me, and I can feel his indecision. It isn’t fear, but he seems worried. Probably thinks if he pisses me off, Rafe’s going to yell at him—but also if he lets me leave, Rafe’s going to yell at him.


    Lyre ces another nt into the cab, her movements unhurried. "The decision’s been made. Either you get out, or I’ll kick you out."


    The growl rumbling from Andrew’s chest is pure animal—a sound I’ve heard countless times in six years. My heart thunders in my chest, but I refuse to cower. I’ve had enough of being controlled.


    Sliding out of the dte, I shake my arm violently until he finally lets it go. "Let me help you, Lyre."


    For a moment, I think Andrew might lunge at me—his body tenses, his face contorting. But the moment passes. He stands, shoulders tight and fists clenched.


    "Rafe wille for you," he says, voice low and rough. "Hopefully you’ll be a little calmer by then."


    My brows fly up. "Am I not calm?"


    His nostrils re. "You have no idea what you’re doing."


    He acts like he’s capable of fighting off an army to keep me safe, yet even Alpha and Beta fell under the might of the Lycans. It didn’t take very long, either. "At least it’s my mistake to make."


    For several tense moments, Andrew just stands there. His breathing grows heavier, morebored, like he’s physically restraining himself from shifting. Huffing and snarling under his breath, he finally stomps toward the door.


    The entire RV shakes with the force of his exit, the door mming so hard that one of Lyre’s dreamcatchers swings wildly from its hook. The sudden motion makes my stomach lurch—a strange, mingled sensation of physical disorientation and emotional whish.


    Lyre’s handnds gently on my shoulder. "It’ll be fine."


    The simple statement, delivered without drama or excessive reassurance, is strangely calming. I let out a long breath.


    "I’m sorry for bringing drama to your door. You just met me and now you’re dealing with... this." Grabbing a cactus off the kitchen counter, I hand it to her. Offering to help was impulsive, but there’s one problem—I don’t know where anything goes or how to secure a camper for travel. I’ve never even been in one before today.


    She takes the nt from me, securing it in a holder bolted to the wall. "I’m the one who invited it in." Her voice is light, almost amused.


    "You couldn’t have known—"


    "Couldn’t I?" She nces at me, slitted eyes narrowing slightly. "I saw you with him in the store. I knew exactly what you were running from."


    A chill creeps up my spine. "What do you mean?"


    She shrugs, moving to secure a strap across a shelf, keeping books in ce. "Desperation has a particr scent. So does fear. And wolves—well, they have their own distinctive smell."


    My fingers go numb asprehension dawns. "You already knew Andrew was a shifter?"


    "Of course." She gestures vaguely toward her eyes. "I’m not exactly standard issue human myself."


    I’d assumed her eyes were contacts—a theatrical choice to match her vibrant aesthetic. But the casual way she references them suggests otherwise.


    "What are you?"


    "Does it matter?" she asks again, echoing her earlier response.


    This time I don’t hesitate. "No. It doesn’t."


    And I mean it. Whatever Lyre is, she’s offered me freedom. After years of being judged for my humanity, thest thing I want to do is judge someone else for being different.


    "Good answer." She smiles, revealing those slightly-too-sharp teeth again.