Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 66: Caine: Strange (I)

CAINE

The Fiddleback Pack is unusual, settling most of their central pack territory in the middle of a human city.

There are rows of cookie-cutter homes, differentiated only by paint color. Manicured lawns, where even the trees look trained. White fences.

The back of my neck itches, and I resist the urge to scratch at it. "How do your wolves stand this?"

Marsh glances at me from behind the wheel, his expression placid. "Stand what, High Alpha?"

"This." I gesture at the subdivision sprawling around us. "Boxed in like sheep. No room to breathe."

A yard the size of a postage stamp comes into view, a plastic swing set crammed into one corner. The thought of a pup confined to such a space makes Fenris bristle.

"We’re used to it." Marsh shrugs, turning down another identical street. "Most of us were born here."

"That’s worse."

Fenris growls agreement in my head.

"Why live among humans like this? Most packs claim territory where their wolves can run free."

Marsh’s fingers tap against the steering wheel. "Numbers, mostly. Our pack isn’t large enough to maintain extensive territory. The subdivision houses all of us. Seventy-four wolves total."

Seventy-four. Barely enough for a functional pack hierarchy. My pack numbers over a thousand.

"And the humans don’t care?"

"We’ve adapted." Marsh’s voice carries a hint of pride. "Integration gives us options our ancestors never had. Jobs. Education. Resources. The humans think we’re just another community association with strict property rules."

The car slows as we pass a human woman pushing a stroller. She waves, and Marsh returns the gesture with practiced ease.

"And if one of you shifts accidentally?"

"Hasn’t happened in fifteen years. Our control is exceptional."

I observe his profile. Though young—perhaps twenty-five at most—he carries himself with the confidence of someone comfortable in his environment. No strain of keeping his wolf leashed. No yearning for wilderness.

"Is that why your pack uses these unusual titles? Deputy Marshal?"

Marsh’s eyebrows lift. "Oh, Deputy Marshal?" A smile touches the corner of his mouth. "It’s because we’ve taken on as law enforcement around here. We keep it clean."

is strange. Wolves policing humans

Most of our

no less uniform. There’s no presence outside. No children in the

they preparing a

trust you to police

has benefits for everybody. Crime rates

Few criminals would survive crossing paths with

those who break

in

link to my beta, I ask, What is the situation

Surprisingly luxurious for such a rural pack. Humans would love

And the pack?

around the edges,

Every healthy pack should have

Something isn’t right

watching, my King. His mental voice is syrup-sweet

Enough.

before the largest house yet. Stone facade, three-car garage.

Ian’s residence," Marsh announces. "And the pack

"No communal den?"

den," he says simply, shutting off the engine. "The basement level connects to several neighboring homes through tunnels.

pack has adapted indeed." I keep my voice

smiles, clearly taking my observation as approval.

no wild game, no earthy undertones that should mark wolf territory. Just cut grass, chemical cleaners, and the faint metallic

assume only humans lived in

paces within me. I don’t like

Marsh gestures toward

human neighborhood indistinguishable from thousands of others across the country. Nothing to suggest the

the edges of pack law. Humans aren’t allowed in pack territory. But moving the territory to them? That’s something else

the shiny

My teeth grind together.

waiting

room? My

and wedding attire. Every image

about my arrival. By living this way, they’ve been operating in that dangerous territory between pack law and

I should visit more of these rural packs. See how

his face weathered but unremarkable. Alpha scent, but diluted.