I collapse where I am, curling my knees to my chest. My throat still feels tight.
Caine must think I’m certifiably insane. What kind of person freaks out the way I did? And the mont he grabbed my wrist, I shut down completely.
It wasn’t like he hurt . It wasn’t like he did anything wrong. He was trying to talk to in private. Perfectly understandable.
And yet my entire body reacted like he was about to throw into traffic.
I slide up the bed until I can bury my face in a pillow.
"I’m losing it."
It’s the only explanation.
I smack my forehead against the pillow once. Twice. Three tis. Maybe if I hit hard enough, I can knock so sense back into myself.
Heat crawls up my neck and spreads across my cheeks. Caine was so worried and gentle, he’d even asked if I thought he would hurt . Of course I don’t think he’ll hurt .
Well—not anymore, anyway.
"You’re crazy. You’ve gone insane. You’ve lost your mind."
Each sentence is punctuated with a frustrated thump of my face into fluff.
The embarrassnt is almost worse than the sudden spike of fear. Now, anyway.
My heartbeat gradually evens out, and the flush of heat going up my neck and prickling along my scalp recedes.
But the self-loathing stays.
It doesn’t make sense. Caine wasn’t yelling at . He didn’t grab with any real force. Sure, I couldn’t pull away easily, but it wouldn’t have been impossible.
Nothing about the situation should have triggered such a level of panic.
So why did it feel like—
Darkness. Concrete cold against my feet. The sll of mold and dust. My throat hurts; I’ve been screaming for hours.
Please let out.
I’ll be good.
I promise I’ll be good.
I shake my head violently, forcing the mory back where it belongs. Locked away. Buried deep, where it’s been for four years and counting.
No. That was different. Completely different. It was a big mistake. My mistake.
Even Rafe said it was my fault.
The old Rafe, who cared and loved . Not the new one, who’s cruel and strange and sohow thinks he’d have Ellie on one side and on the other.
I shake it off again, refusing to linger on the whys and wherefores.
Getting in trouble for helping a rogue wolf is not the sa as bringing a cat ho.
I heave a sigh before pushing myself up, forcing my sluggish, overwheld body into movent.
Wallowing in pillows is childish. Get over it and move on, Grace.
I shove my hair back into so semblance of order and cross my legs into the fake zen pose people do when they’re trying to convince themselves they’re not losing their shit.
.
I’m people.
Rolling my shoulders pack like I’m trying to impress lifelong yoga-doers (not ), I suck in a deep breath and let it out in slow, asured fashion.
There’s only one way out of this horrible, mortifying situation.
Just be shaless and pretend nothing happened.
If I pretend nothing happened, maybe Caine won’t say anything either, and we can just... keep pretending. Yeah.
Just pretend I’m not totally insane and apparently prone to freaking out when he cos ho angry.
Except he wasn’t even angry.
Whatever zen I’m supposed to be getting from this is clearly not happening.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, watching the colorful shapes bounce around behind my eyelids. Focusing on them makes it easier to calm down and slow my racing thoughts.
Okay.
Normal Grace is back, and ready to shalessly pretend like she didn’t have an absolute fucking ltdown when her boyfriend dragged her to a private room to discuss bringing an unauthorized cat into the family.
I plaster a smile off my face, but my cheeks ache almost imdiately. I probably look ridiculous.
Scooting off the bed, I approach the dresser mirror, leaning in to examine my pathetic attempt at normalcy.
Yeah. I look like a lunatic. Or maybe soone auditioning to play a haunted doll. The reddened eyes from almost crying don’t help, either.
Co on, Grace. You’ve faked being okay a thousand tis. This is easy.
I shake out my hands out and roll my shoulders back.
Take two.
This ti I think of sothing genuinely pleasant: Bun’s excitent every ti we hand her a carrot stick.
Then I look in the mirror again.
Better. I won’t be making any awards as an actress, but at least I don’t look like I’m plotting a bomb threat or murdering people with a knife and a red wig.
"Just act natural," I coach my reflection. "You’re fine. Everything’s fine. Just a normal girl having a normal day with her kind-of-boyfriend and four supernatural children and a magical dog and—"
"Bun, no!"
The shout cuts through my pep talk, followed imdiately by an unholy screech that can only be described as the sound a demon might make if you stepped on its tail.
Sadie’s barking joins the chorus.
"Enough!" Caine’s voice booms through the camper, and I swear it rattles my bones from here.
So much for zen.
I bolt from the room, nearly catching my hip on the dresser corner.
The scene in the main area is pure chaos.
There’s water everywhere.
Bun’s sippy cup is the clear source, with its lid about five feet from the cup and the straw missing. The toddler herself is in Caine’s arms, wailing like a siren. Jer and Sara are holding Sadie back from sothing, and Ron’s missing.
He pops his head out of the bathroom. Never mind. Ron’s been found.
"It’s hiding in the shower. Should we just leave it there, or do we want to try and catch it with a towel?"
"Close the door and let it calm down," Caine orders, sounding completely calm despite the frazzled environnt.
Andrew opens the door, and Sadie’s barking suddenly resus.
"Shut up, Sadie!" Jer shouts. I’m pretty sure this is not appropriate language for a child his age, but I’m not exactly a professional mother.
"You can’t say that!" Sara shrieks. Well, at least I was right.
"Enough!" The Lycan King orders again, and Sadie whimpers and flattens herself to the ground.
Andrew, still in the doorway, hesitates. "Is this a bad ti?"
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