Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 40: Caine: Tracking (I)

There’s an itch under my skin I can’t get rid of, and it isn’t helping my temper. I’ve already been to Forest Springs, only to find out Grace isn’t anywhere in their territory. Their Alpha, however, is a reasonable man.

He traded his pet warlock for his life. I didn’t spill a single drop of blood, something I’ll have to remember to tell the girl later; it’ll show her I’m capable of holding back.

The thought of her relief when I tell her helps soothe the itch, until Fenris snaps, You still don’t get it, you idiot.

He’s barely said a word to me since we discovered Grace missing two nights ago.

My new warlock’s hands shake as he takes her pillow from me. My fingers twitch. I want to snatch it back—the soft bundle of polyester fluff still smells like her.

"This will do nicely," he says, his voice thin and reedy. The Forest Springs Alpha wasn’t lying when he said his pet magic user was skittish. What’s his name again?

Thom, Fenris snarls.

Right, Thom.

My lip curls. "I don’t need your commentary, Thom. Just find her."

The warlock adjusts his peculiar glasses—thick, smoked lenses with copper wire wrapping around the frames. They look ridiculous, but I know their purpose. They shield his eyes from what witches call "magical ambience"—the glow that surrounds every living thing that normal people can’t see.

You drove her away, Fenris growls, his presence swelling with accusation. Our mate is gone because of you.

"She’s not our mate," I mutter, too low for the warlock to hear.

Lies

.

paces our shared consciousness, claws dragging against the mental barriers I’ve erected to keep him contained. He’s becoming more unruly by the hour. Since the moment we realized Grace had fled, he’s been half-feral, snapping and snarling. The guard for her bedroom is yet another body she’s going to hold

he isn’t the one

pillow to his face, inhaling deeply. Fenris howls, and I fight to keep my hands at my side and

widening further behind his ridiculous glasses. "Uh, sir—High Alpha—I was just checking the density

one more time, I might have to punch his

a little more of her

my lips peeling back to reveal

face. The

the ground. Her scent is the only thing keeping me calm. I can’t

if you hadn’t scared her off, Fenris says, sounding

across the pillow’s surface, erasing any trace of Thom’s scent. The gesture feels ridiculous even as I do it, but I can’t

me," I bark at the

as we exit my quarters. Grace’s room sits on the opposite side of the lodge—a deliberate choice on my part, though now the

going about their duties. Each time we pass a pack member, they spare a curious glance at Thom before curling their lips in disgust. One even growls low in his throat, causing Thom

Interesting.

toward a she-wolf who’s

further. "What, the growling? The looks? Yes, High Alpha. Spellbloods

"Why?"

that we’re unnatural. Makes it

"Stupid belief," I grunt.

in Thom is immediate. His posture straightens, and he scurries closer

It’s completely short-sighted! The prejudice against spellbloods goes back centuries, but it’s based on misunderstanding. Magic is just another natural force, like your shifting ability. We’re not so