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 it worse, so I

not

doesn’t reach for the sheets as I feared, but instead crouches down

he murmurs, reaching under the

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

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

you track her with

at it through those ridiculous spectacles. "I can try. It’ll be stronger if I have something

toward the

drift around the room. The bed is a mess, blankets kicked to the foot of the bed. There’s a pillow, but it doesn’t smell like her, only laundry detergent. The

and blanket from her room and

them; I’ll just sleep here, where her

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, the more accurate

crawling up my

few steps to

lips moving in rapid succession as he mumbles in a strange language. It sounds like ten strangled cats

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

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 natural butterflies at

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

barks a final word in his screechy voice and splays his hands outward. The butterflies shoot away as if propelled by an

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

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

ridiculous glasses. "Just a few minutes, High Alpha." His voice sounds raspy, drained. "My seekers will find her if she’s

has flushed an alarming shade of red, and the vein in his

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