Wolf's Grace

Chapter 198: Grace: No Effect on Her Chastity "Fascination with the banal has never been one of my vices," Caeriel says, sounding displeased and... snooty.

It takes a little longer than I'd like to admit for his insults to pierce through the haze of confusion over meeting a Grim Reaper (with a phone!) in an abandoned parking lot, but once it does, I frown in his direction. "Maybe ask for favors less creepily, then." This man can probably killwith a flick of his wrist, but somehow I can't help the snark coming out ofevery tI talk.

I don't like him.

He doesn't seem like a good person.

And I really hope he isn't Lyre's friend, because we might have to have a small chat about who she keeps around her. I know she isn't super fond of Caine, but at least Caine wouldn't makerun to meet him and then makeleave...

Then again, he might do it to someone else.

Still, something in my gut insists Caeriel is bad news bears, and I have no interest in becoming friends with the man.

Caeriel rubs a slender, pale finger against his forehead as he lets out a calm, distinctly condescending sigh. "Rest assured, any favors would have no effect on your chastity." Then he looks atwith faint disgust, his eyes going from my head to my toes in one smooth, dismissive flick. Well, excusefor reading his strangely intent aura wrong.

I cross my arms over my chest, my fingers digging into my arms as I mutter, "I don't think we're close enough for favors, though." His lips twist, then tighten into a thin line, and his silver eyes narrow slightly.

"Did she tell you about me?" His voice drops lower, and the intensity of his presence increases. A familiar oppression makes it hard to breathe in the suddenly thick air.

The hairs on my arms stand up and my stomach twists. Warning signals go off in every corner of my brain. Yeah. This is definitely the guy Lyre didn't want to talk about, and I'm kind of starting to see why.

This man's got obsession written all over him.

"Who?" I ask, playing stupid.

"Lyrielle." The way he says her nis gross, too familiar and foreign. There's a strange accent in the way he says it, not like how I read it in my head, and the way he practically purrs it? No way.

If he wasn't a pale-skinned emo Grim Reaper, I'd imagine him with greased-back hair and a smarmy smile.

I eye him warily, trying not to let my unease show too plainly on my face. My pulse quickens as Caeriel takes a deliberate step forward, and the air grows even denser, making it impossible to breathe through my nose.

"Tellexactly what Lyrielle has said," he demands, his voice quiet but carrying an unmistakable command. "Every inflection. Every syllable." His eyes meet mine with unshakable fervor, and no matter how I try to drag my gaze away, I can't.

A cold shiver runs down my spine.

My throat tightens.

"Didn't you say I can leave?" I manage, even if the words cout in little more than a squeak. "I think I'll leave now." The countdown is over. I've fulfilled whatever bizarre obligation thisdemanded. And somewhere not far behind me, there are shifters probably still hunting me.

The last thing I need is to linger here with someone with an ambiguous connection to the most powerful person I know. Especially in an abandoned parking lot. When he has a giant fucking scythe.

I want to ask a lot of questions about his outfit and the scythe, but it's clear distance is the better part of life and valor here.

His perfect features arrange themselves into a scowl. "Answer my questions first." Somehow I'm able to look away this time, and I make a whole show out of checking my phone, my fingers trembling as I swipe through random screens. Maybe if I look busy enough, he'll get the hint.

"What are you doing?" I clear my throat, refusing to meet his stare again. I'm a little worried it'll be impossible to look away if I do. "Checking the mission parameters. And nowhere does it say I have to answer personal questions just because you wantto. In fact, my mission's complete. Done. Finished. Which means I can leave." His expression darkens further, but I plow ahead before he can cutoff.

"It was nice to meet you," I say with forced politeness, already taking a step backward. "But I'm busy. A lot to do, people to see. Missions to accomplish." Caeriel steps forward for every step I take back. Not creepy at. Fucking. All.

"There's no rush to leave," he says, still calm. "We'll be spending a lot of ttogether." My stomach drops. No, thank you.

But instead of thinking it, the words blurt out of my mouth with no control whatsoever: "No, thank you!" His lips twist into something you might consider a smile—on anyone else. On him, it just looks like he's studying an interesting bug before deciding how to squash it.

He chuckles, but the sound just sends slivers of ice through my sluggishly-working veins. "You don't have a choice. You can't complete this mission without me. But I'll let you run for now, scared little girl. It looks like your friends are searching for you." Son of a bitch. This must mean Ellie and her goons have caught up.

My heart rate doubles as I risk a glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see Ellie standing there.

The parking lot remains empty.

But my gut knows he's not lying.

I'm trapped between two kinds of predators, and I have no idea which is worse.

"Go on," Caeriel says, making a shooing motion with one hand His fingers are long and pale, like they've never seen sunlight. "Run, little girl."

The way he says it-like he's givingpermission, like I need it-sparks S something hot and angry.in my chest. I lift my chin, even as I take several hasty steps backward. "I don't need your permission to leave." "No," he agrees pleasantly. "But you'll need my help eventually. Divinity doesn't make mistakes with its assignments." I open my mouth to argue, but the sound of footsteps cutsoff. Multiple sets, moving fast. Getting closer. Funny, I don't think my hearing's ever been quite this acute before.

Caeriel tilts his head, listening. "Three of them. The black-haired female is leading." He sounds almost bored. "She's quite angry." "How do you—"

"Death follows anger like a faithful hound." His eyes slide back to mine, and this tI can't look away. "Her is time! NO anger toward you is especially potent. What did you do to her, I wonder?" "Existed," I mutter, taking another step back as my eyes frantically scan for my best exit strategy. "That's usually enough." The corner of his mouth quirks up. "Fascinating." The footsteps get louder.

I need to move, now.

"Nice to meet you. Let's not do it again." My choice is already made as I turn and bolt.

"You'll call for me," he says, his voice carrying easily despite its softness. "Sooner than you think." What a creep.

But I have more immediate problems.