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.

the body’s way of protecting itself from trauma, right? And God knows I’m in need of some protection here. More mental than anything at the

I’m somehow marked by a psychopathic wolf-king who smells like he should be an underwear model and looks like a

with a little more care, right? Instead I was kidnapped, thrown to the ground, kind

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

king subjugating a

swear the entire room

and closes, but no sound comes

up, his storm-gray eyes finding

he swallows. "There was... there was a presence. A

voice

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 assumed

silence that follows feels like glass about to shatter. I press my hands against my throat, remembering that night, and how I’d told the

Mountain Pack Alpha." The king’s voice drips with lethal calm.

the weight of Lycan dominance. He’s nearly prostrated, as weak as the others, as

"And?"

out choked, as if each one causes him physical pain.

laugh cuts through the silence. 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 by a step toward Alpha. "The mighty Blue Mountain Pack. So incompetent they can’t distinguish between a rogue’s scent and that of

boots stop directly in front of the man I’d considered a father for

hitches. "High Alpha,

"Silence."

snaps shut so fast I hear his

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

gaze sweeps over them. Even when their heads aren’t

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 him

like stones into still water, rippling through every body here. "Every. Last. One." The glow intensifies around him, a beautiful blue, and there’s no mistaking it—it’s the same

"Fenrisúlfr."

the king, and my brain short-circuits. No. That’s impossible. Impossible. He was left behind, where I’d