Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 8: Grace: Exhausted

As it turns out, there's some sort of massive event happening. The Lycan King is coming.

No one knows why, but there are a lot of whispers. He's been without a new mate for a long time, and has no heir. He's probably on the search for a mate, or so the rumors declare. Then again, the same rumors claim he killed the last one, so I'm not sure how reliable the gossip mill is.

Wolves aren't exactly like humans; their positions aren't handed down solely because of bloodline. A wolf must be an alpha to lead, but not all alpha fathers sire alpha children. Also, females can be an alpha wolf—in theory—but are never accepted as leaders in their own right.

Alphas and Betas, as the leaders of a pack, are always an alpha wolf and beta wolf in designation. There can be many alphas and beta designations within a pack, but only two wolves carry the title.

It's enough to make a human's head spin, but it all makes sense once you're living within a pack, as I am.

With all that said—it is rare to ever produce offspring of higher designation than the parents, though it isn't uncommon for them to be of lower strength. So, two betas can't make an alpha. And two omegas can't make a beta. At least, that's the general rule.

So, in order to have a Lycan Prince—the Lycan King needs an heir.

Though, if one were to ask what happens when a Lycan King dies without one—well, I have no idea. I don't pay much attention to the Lycan court. I'm struggling enough to live in a wolf pack as a human.

"That's enough for today. Clear out!"

The overseeing wolf's bark cuts through the humid evening air. My shoulders sag with relief, the weight of exhaustion settling deep in my bones. I drop the shovel, my blistered hands screaming in protest as I flex my fingers.

of blood from the cuts littering my arms.

of my ill-fitting shoes. The thought of the long walk back to the omega lodge makes me want

by. While there's no one who will protect me at the omega lodge, at least I have a room

momentous occasion. I'm sure the she-wolves who didn't find their mates during the Mate Hunt are primping and prepping in hopes of becoming a Lycan Queen. None of them seem to care about

to me, this chatter is just another

nothing but a single glass of water while doing manual labor. The thirst is almost worse

omega lodge is out of the question—it'll be crawling with

dry throat.

Living here as a human is too

a dingy silhouette against the night sky. No warm lights welcome me, no comforting scents of

hygiene, but those at the bottom of the pack don't always care about

praying I can make it

Look what the

voice stops me in my tracks. She's standing in the darkness, her eyes glinting in the dim light. "You smell terrible. Are you covered in dirt? Don't even think about tracking that

retort. Arguing will only make things worse. "I just need

scrubbing before the Lycan King arrives. Can't have any human stink offending his royal nose,

"But I haven't