Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 42

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.

comments only makes it worse,

Even now, you’re not going to admit

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

work," he murmurs,

elastic. Simple and ordinary, yet my fingers itch

this," Thom says, examining the tiny band. "She used it recently,

you track her with

ridiculous spectacles. "I can try. It’ll be stronger if I have

toward the en-suite. "Check

blankets kicked to the foot of the bed. There’s a pillow, but it doesn’t

Bring the sheets and blanket from her room and put them on my

them; I’ll just sleep here, where her

If she’s within five hundred miles, I should be able to pinpoint her within a five-mile

prickling sensation crawling up

only a few steps to

His eyes are closed, lips moving in rapid succession as he

materializing from nowhere. The bathroom mirror fogs, then

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 looks identical—not

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

a final word in his screechy voice and splays his hands outward. The butterflies shoot away

on his pale

neck, where the itching is

His voice sounds raspy,

trembles against the counter. His face has flushed an alarming shade of red, and the vein in his temple pulses visibly

at him—a dozen flying paper weights and he needs to catch his breath. They’re just as

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