Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 41: Caine: Tracking (II)

CAINE

We reach Grace’s door, and I pause, inhaling deeply. Her scent lingers, but it’s already growing fainter. She’s already been gone for two days, and the knowledge makes my blood simmer. I spent a day and a half going to the Forest Springs Pack and back for nothing; if this warlock doesn’t deliver results, the weak grasp I have on my sanity might slip after all.

"What about defensive spells?" The question surprises me as much as it does him.

Thom blinks rapidly. "I—well, I can ward off a bee."

So, useless.

The vague thought in my head to keep him around to protect her fades in an instant.

We wouldn’t have to worry about her safety if you’d charmed her a little. Would it have really killed you to smile at her even once? Maybe apologize for killing the man who was once her father?

My molars grind together. "Who was the one to rip out his throat, Fenris?"

At your order, he says. Don’t make me the same as you. She liked me. She doesn’t like you.

Knowing it’s true only makes the damn itch worse, and I slam Grace’s door open with a grunt. Her scent comes in a rush, and I inhale deeply.

The itch fades.

"Find what you need," I tell Thom. "But don’t touch anything more than necessary."

The warlock nods and steps inside, his eyes sweeping the space with professional interest. I remain in the doorway, arms folded, watching as he moves cautiously through the room that held her.

You still don’t see it, Fenris says.

makes it worse, so

Even now, you’re not

keep my eyes on Thom as he approaches the bed. He doesn’t reach for the sheets as

might work," he murmurs,

Simple and ordinary,

is strong on this," Thom says, examining the tiny band. "She used it recently, probably to tie her hair back. There are some strands in

track

elastic up to the light, squinting at it through those ridiculous spectacles. "I can try. It’ll be stronger if

I say, nodding toward the

bathroom, my eyes drift around the room. The bed is a mess, blankets kicked to the foot of the bed.

her room

bring them; I’ll just sleep here, where her scent is

miles, I should be able to pinpoint her within a five-mile radius. The closer we are, the more

prickling sensation crawling up

few steps to the

warlock hunches over the sink, his spindly fingers clutching Grace’s hairbrush. His eyes are closed, lips moving in rapid succession as he mumbles in a strange

faint breeze materializing from nowhere.

wings glow with an unnatural light

itch, the sensation crawling across my skin like ants. I resist the urge to claw at them. Magic

splays his hands outward. The butterflies shoot

on his pale forehead and dripping down his temples. The entire display has left him

the back of my neck, where the itching is most intense.

glasses. "Just a few minutes, High Alpha." His voice sounds raspy, drained.

over, noting how his hand trembles against the counter. His face has flushed an alarming shade of red, and the vein in his temple pulses visibly beneath his skin. All this from a simple tracking

wolf prejudice against magic-users pointless. Look at him—a dozen flying paper weights and he needs to catch his breath. They’re just as weak as humans, only with magical