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.

to his little comments only makes it worse,

you’re not

He doesn’t reach

might work," he murmurs, reaching under

small, dark object. A hair elastic. Simple and ordinary, yet my fingers

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

you track

it through those ridiculous spectacles. "I can try. It’ll be stronger if I have something with a more significant genetic trace, though.

bathroom," I say, nodding toward the en-suite.

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

from her room

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

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

a prickling sensation crawling up my spine.

few steps

Grace’s hairbrush. His eyes are closed, lips moving in rapid succession as he mumbles in a strange language.

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

words taking on a 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,

at them. Magic always has this effect on me; it’s one of the reasons

screechy voice and splays his hands outward. The

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

the itching is most intense.

ridiculous glasses. "Just a few minutes, High Alpha." His voice

has flushed an alarming shade of red, and the

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