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.

little comments only makes

not going to

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

might work," he murmurs, reaching

dark object. A hair elastic. Simple and ordinary,

it recently, probably to tie her hair

you track her

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

I say, nodding toward

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

sheets and blanket from her room and put them on my bed.

don’t need to bring them; I’ll just sleep here, where

the bathroom. "Give me just a second. If she’s within five hundred miles, I should be able to pinpoint her within a

sensation crawling up my spine.

only a few steps to the

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

shifts, a faint breeze materializing from nowhere. The bathroom mirror fogs, then

peculiar cadence, and twenty white butterflies burst into existence around his head. Translucent wings glow with an unnatural light as they flutter in an organized pattern, circling Thom’s face like a living crown. Each one

my skin like ants. I resist the urge to claw at them. Magic always has this effect on me; it’s one

word in his screechy voice and splays his hands outward. The butterflies shoot away as if

breath comes in ragged gasps, sweat beading on his pale forehead

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

straightens with effort, adjusting those ridiculous glasses. "Just a few minutes, High Alpha." His voice sounds raspy, drained. "My seekers will find

look him over, noting how his hand trembles against the counter. His face has flushed an alarming shade of red, and the vein

exactly why I’ve always found wolf prejudice against magic-users pointless. Look at him—a dozen flying paper weights and he needs to catch his