Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 67

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."

concept is strange. Wolves policing humans while suppressing their

Most of our enforcers work for the department

outside. No children in the yards. No one walking in the streets. It’s too silent,

preparing

humans trust you to

everybody. Crime rates are the lowest in

imagine. Few criminals would survive crossing paths with

those

shifts in his scent.

to my beta, I

a rural pack. Humans would love to live here. Thom’s

And the pack?

little rough around the edges,

should have children running underfoot, testing boundaries, learning their place in the

Something isn’t

my King. His mental voice is syrup-sweet

Enough.

as Marsh pulls into a curved driveway before the largest house

announces. "And the pack

"No communal den?"

is our den," he says simply, shutting off the engine. "The basement level connects

indeed." I keep my voice neutral despite Fenris’s

smiles, clearly taking my observation as approval. "We’ve evolved beyond old

no wild game, no earthy undertones that should mark wolf territory. Just cut grass, chemical

couldn’t smell them, I’d assume only

paces within me. I don’t

gestures toward a set of

distance. A human neighborhood indistinguishable from thousands of others across

unnatural, skirting hard around the edges of pack law. Humans aren’t allowed in pack

entryway gleams. Between the polished hardwood and the shiny chrome fixtures overhead, it feels

My teeth grind together.

Ian is waiting

My

of smiling pack members in graduation gowns, police uniforms, and wedding attire. Every image carefully selected to emphasize

way, they’ve been operating in that dangerous

packs. See how common this kind of lifestyle

to a man with graying hair, his face weathered

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