Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 17: Grace: Everything Goes South

"Answer!" The king’s roar shakes dust from the rafters.

Rafe’s face presses against the floor, his shoulders trembling. "High Alpha, I didn’t—she was never marked—"

"Silence!"

As if he hadn’t been demanding an answer a literal moment ago.

The temperature spikes. A faint glow emanates from the king’s skin, pulsing in time with his rage. The shadows of his tattoos seem to reach out, grasping at nothing.

My head spins. This is chaos. Insanity.

Alpha’s forehead touches the ground, well and properly cowed this time. "High Alpha, please. We didn’t know she bore your mark. How could we expect a human to bear the High Alpha’s claim?"

The pressure in the room doubles. Voices cry out as every shifter in the Blue Mountain Pack presses themselves flat against the floor. The king’s power fills every corner, every crevice, until the very air feels ready to ignite.

But still, it barely touches me. Like I’m wrapped in some invisible barrier that keeps the worst of it at bay. The king turns, and our eyes meet. Gray like storm clouds, just like that night in the forest. Just like the wolf that protected me.

Oh.

Oh, no.

It’s strange—impossible, really—but the pieces click together, and my stomach drops. The massive wolf with the ethereal blue glow and the Lycan King, with his own faint glow. They’re one and the same, aren’t they?

But wait—I’ve never heard of a wolf and their shifter body being separate.

Still, somehow I know I’m right. It rings true down to my soul.

"She was unmarked, High Alpha. I swear it," Rafe says, and Ellie’s hand is still holding onto his arm, trembling violently.

Everything feels distant, like I’m watching a play unfold. Or a TV show. The king’s power thrums through the room, but my mind fixates on the oddest details—the way dust motes dance in the air, how Beta’s left boot has a scuff mark, the way the Lycan King’s cologne-like smell wafts through the air, thicker than before. Maybe it’s from his alpha dominance.

way of protecting itself from trauma, right? And God knows I’m in need of some protection

still grappling with the idea I’m somehow marked by a psychopathic wolf-king who smells like he should be an underwear model and looks like a mobster. He said mine, but he

he’d treat me with a little more care, right? Instead I was kidnapped, thrown to the ground, kind of choked... Okay, yeah, I have to be in shock. The list of things I’ve gone through is

takes one step forward. The sound of his boot against the marble floor echoes through the silent room. It’s a soft sound, a bare scuff, but that’s how dead the air is in this place. Even when he crouches he towers over Rafe, close

demon king subjugating a

drops like ice, and I swear the entire room

closes, but no sound comes

snaps up, his storm-gray eyes finding Alpha. "Was she truly

bobs as he swallows. "There was... there was a

king’s voice carries

words come swiftly, as if hurrying the pace will save him from the man’s fury. "When we found her, she was alone and the strange wolf was gone. We

like glass about to shatter. I press my hands against

Alpha." The king’s voice drips with lethal calm. "Was there a scent

prostrated, as weak as the others, as if he’s not an alpha

"And?"

a rogue wolf." The words come out choked, as if each one causes

It’s not a pleasant sound—my

his face again. It’s closed off, cold and distant, as if speaking to air and not living, breathing people. Every word he speaks is punctuated

your nose needs... retraining." His boots stop directly in front of the man I’d considered a father for six years. "Or did you simply choose to

breath hitches.

"Silence."

like a whip. Alpha’s mouth snaps shut so fast I hear his teeth

that can’t recognize their king’s scent." He shakes his head, a terrible smile playing on his lips. "What other basic skills

laughter ripples through the prostrated crowd, quickly stifled when the king’s gaze sweeps over them. Even when their heads

beyond mere incompetence." His voice carries to every corner of the room. "This speaks to a fundamental failure of

to the floor. Even from here, I can see

Last. One." The glow intensifies around him, a beautiful blue, and there’s no mistaking it—it’s the same

"Fenrisúlfr."

and my brain short-circuits. No. That’s impossible.