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.

only makes it worse, so

not going

and keep my eyes on Thom as he approaches the bed. He doesn’t reach for the sheets as I feared, but instead crouches down to peer at something

he murmurs, reaching

object. A hair elastic. Simple and ordinary, yet my fingers itch to

tiny band. "She used it recently, probably to tie her hair back. There

you track her

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

toward the

bed is a mess, blankets kicked to the foot of the bed. There’s a pillow, but it

room and put them on my bed.

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

the bathroom. "Give me just a second. If she’s within five hundred miles, I should be able to pinpoint her within a five-mile radius. The closer we are,

straighten, a prickling sensation crawling up my spine.

few steps to

sink, his spindly fingers clutching Grace’s hairbrush. His eyes are closed, lips moving in rapid succession as he mumbles in a strange language. It sounds like ten strangled cats attempting to meow after their vocal cords were

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

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 natural butterflies at all, but

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

his screechy voice and splays his hands outward. The butterflies shoot away as if propelled by an invisible force, zooming in twenty different directions; they pass straight through the walls, leaving no trace

the edge of the sink. His breath comes in ragged gasps, sweat beading on his pale forehead and

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

with effort, adjusting those ridiculous glasses. "Just a few minutes, High Alpha." His voice

alarming shade of red, and the vein in his temple pulses visibly

I’ve always found 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