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.

in shock. It would make sense if I am. Shock is 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 moment, but who knows—things can change at any

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.

was kidnapped, thrown to the ground, kind of choked... Okay, yeah, I have

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

demon king subjugating

entire room is holding their breath, waiting to watch the

opens and closes, but no sound

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

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

voice

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 assumed it fled when we approached. But Grace, she

shatter. I press my hands against my throat, remembering that night, and how I’d

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

beneath the weight of Lycan dominance. He’s nearly prostrated, as weak as the others, as if he’s not an alpha at

"And?"

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

cuts through the silence. It’s not a pleasant sound—my soul cringes

I can finally see 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

directly in front of the man I’d considered a father for six years. "Or did you simply

breath hitches. "High Alpha,

"Silence."

snaps shut so

his lips. "What other basic skills have

over them. Even when their heads aren’t raised, they must be able to feel the weight

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

floor. Even from here, I can see

pack requires re-education." The king’s words fall, 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 ethereal

"Fenrisúlfr."

materializes beside the king, and my brain short-circuits. No. That’s