<h4>Chapter 97: Grace: One Tiny Fist</h4>


    My back aches against the cave wall, but I don’t dare move. Bun’s warm weight anchors me where I am, her slight body rising and falling with each breath, rabbit ears asionally twitching against my stomach. I’m not even sure when they appeared. When Caine was done exining how chess was something his father taught him as a child—in an effort to teach strategic thinking for battle, which made his confession seem a little less lighthearted than it was—I’d looked down, and there they were. Little white rabbit ears.


    And a tiny puffing out of her diaper. I can’t smell anything, so I’m about seventy-five percent certain it’s a little puffy rabbit tail and <i>not</i>... something else.


    She’spletely conked out, one tiny fist clutching my shirt like I might disappear if she lets go.


    An inch away—literally just one inch—Caine sits with his back against the same wall, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. He’s not sleeping. I can tell by the rhythm of his breathing. Too measured. Too controlled. The space between us pulses with unspoken tension, an invisible boundary neither of us wants to breach.


    Or, more urately... one we <i>want</i> to breach, yet can’t.


    I shift slightly, and my shoulder nearly grazes his. My entire body goes rigid, muscles locking up as if he’s poison. Or a live, sparking power line.


    This is ridiculous. We’ve had sex (well... partly), but now I’m terrified of our shoulders bumping? And our conversation’se to aplete, grinding halt.


    Maybe I’ve made everything worse with my boundaries. Maybe I should’ve just let whatever this is between us unfold naturally instead of trying to control it. But every time I think about giving in, there’s something inside me begging to stick to it.


    I nce at his profile in the dim light. There’s stubble covering his jaw, darker than this morning. His eyshes are long and lush, and instead of envy my first thought goes to eventual children and if they’ll have his eyshes.


    Now I get it, what he said about imagining a life together. Kids. The whole shebang and probably the little dog too.


    Well—no, nix the dog. No cats, either. Wolf shifters don’t do pets.


    Dinner, yes. Pets? Not so much.


    And yet, despite me throwing down rules and needs and confusing him with where my heart’s at, he’s still here. Staying. His shoulder next to mine, respecting my space but not continuing distance.


    My heart thumps hard.


    No psychopathic serial killer would treat a girl like this. Then again, Ted Bundy got married—no. No more negative thoughts.


    What happened with Brax and the others wasn’t murder. It was pack justice.


    Dwelling on it is only going to keep me stagnant.


    I’m halfway between waking and dreaming when shuffling footsteps jerk me back into fully awake.


    Ron emerges from the darkness of the sleeping alcove, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. His dark hair stands up in tufts, making him look younger than fifteen-ish. He’s tall andnky, but scrawny. Still a child.


    He freezes with one foot in the air when he sees us, his eyes widening as they lock onto Bun curled against my chest.


    "She usuallyes to me," he says, confusion etched across his face. He shifts ufortably, ncing between me, Caine, and the sleeping toddler. "Not even Owen gets to put her back to sleep."


    The way Ron looks at her—protective, confused, a little hurt—makes me wonder if I’ve stepped into a role that wasn’t mine to take.


    "I’m sorry," I whisper. "She just climbed into myp and fell asleep. I didn’t want to wake her."


    He approaches cautiously, crouching down beside us. "I can take her back to bed," he offers, reaching out his hands. "She kicks in her sleep sometimes. You’ll get more rest without her."


    His fingers barely brush Bun’s shoulder before she stirs, her face scrunching up in immediate distress. Her tiny hand tightens in my shirt as she swats blindly at Ron with her other arm.


    "No!" she cries out, her voice thick with sleep but unmistakably adamant. Her entire body curls tighter against me, rabbit ears ttening against her head.


    My arms tighten around her, trying to give her a sense of security, soothe her back into sleep. "Shh, it’s okay," I murmur, one hand stroking her back in gentle circles. "You’re safe. Everything’s okay."


    The older kid pulls back, looking at me like I’ve performed some kind of magic trick. The rejection in his eyes hits me harder than I expected. This isn’t apetition, but somehow it feels like I’ve won something I never signed up for.


    "Leave her."


    Caine’s voice cuts through the silence, low and firm, without a hint of aggression but filled with quiet authority. His eyes are open now, fixed on the teenager with unwavering intensity.


    Ron straightens immediately, his posture shifting from confused kid to alert shifter. It’s subtle but unmistakable—the way his shoulders pull back, chin lifting slightly. A response to an alpha’smand.


    "Sorry," he mutters, backing away a step. "I just thought..."


    "She’s fine where she is," Caine says, his tone softer, but no less final.


    I nce between them, feeling the weight of Bun growing heavier in my arms. "Actually, I should probably put her to bed properly." Struggling to my feet without jostling her is a new skill, one I’m going to have master as soon as humanly possible. My legs prickle with pins and needles after sitting so long, but I manage to stand without stumbling.


    It’s a small victory, but I’ll take it.


    Caine rises in one fluid motion beside me, close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from his body without actually touching him. He doesn’t offer to help, doesn’t try to take Bun—he just stands there, a silent presence at my back, until I navigate toward the sleeping area.


    The children’s alcove is warmer than the main cave. While the makeshift beds are all just piles of nkets, Sara and Jer are sleeping so deeply, they don’t even twitch as I stumble inside.


    I lower Bun gently onto her bed, trying to disentangle her fingers from my shirt. She whimpers, her face crumpling at the loss of contact.


    "It’s okay," I whisper, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. "I’m not going far. Just sleep now, baby girl."


    Something about her pulls at me in ways I can’t exin—a fierce protectiveness I’ve never felt before. I tuck the nket around her tiny form, marveling at how someone so small could carve out such a huge space in my heart in such a short time.


    "Sweet dreams," I murmur, leaning down to press a light kiss to her forehead.


    Her fingers finally release my shirt, but immediatelytch onto my pinky finger instead. I wait, watching as her breathing evens out again, her grip gradually loosening as she slips deeper into sleep.


    When I’m sure she won’t wake, I carefully extract my finger and rise to leave—only to freeze at the sound of voices from the main room.


    "Tell me about them."


    Caine’s voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it,ced with genuine curiosity rather than demand.


    I ease back into the shadows between the sleeping area and the main cave, hesitant to interrupt whatever conversation is unfolding.


    "Where did youe from?" he continues. "What happened to their parents?"


    From my hidden vantage point, I can see Ron’s face, illuminated by the faint glow of string lights. He looks wary, chewing on his bottom lip like he’s weighing how much to share.


    "Don’t know about our parents," he finally says, eyes fixed on some distant point. "Never had any. Owen found us all separate. Different ces, different times. I’ve been around the longest." He shrugs. "But the story’s the same for all of us. Shifters don’t like it when their kidse out wrong."


    My heart squeezes painfully in my chest as I watch his expression, hardened into practiced indifference. "Bun was the worst off. She’s the first one toe here as a baby. She was starving. Wouldn’t eat for anyone."


    Fuck.


    The mental image is enough to bring tears to my eyes, my stomach threatening nausea.


    "How old were you and the others?"


    Ron’s eyes flick toward the sleeping area—toward me, though I don’t think he can see me in the shadows. Then again, he’s a shifter.


    "Old enough to know we can’t trust people easy." He blinks in my direction, his lips curving up on one side. Just a little. Almost imperceptible. "They all like Grace, though."


    "And you?"


    The kid’s stare doesn’t waver, his eyes locked onto mine. He <i>definitely</i> sees me, making this standing around listening in a little creepy. Then he looks away. "She’s probably the best thing to ever walk into this cave. None of us remember our moms. She feels like one."


    He pauses.


    "She’s a little young to be mine. But an older sister, maybe. One who sticks around."


    I lean against the cool stone wall, listening, heart thudding painfully in my chest as I realize just how much these children have endured—and how much I’ve unwittingly stepped into.