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."

Wolves policing

Halloway—Alpha Ian—was elected ten years ago. Most

houses growing larger but no less uniform. There’s no presence outside. No

preparing a

the humans trust

presence has benefits for everybody. Crime rates are the

crossing

happens to those

shifts in his

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

immediately. Surprisingly luxurious for such a rural pack. Humans would love to

And the pack?

rough around the edges, but

attention. Every healthy pack should have children running underfoot, testing

watch. Something isn’t

my King. His mental voice is syrup-sweet

Enough.

the connection as Marsh pulls into a curved driveway before the largest house yet. Stone facade, three-car garage. Several cars are parked

residence," Marsh announces. "And the

"No communal den?"

our den," he says simply, shutting off the engine. "The basement level connects to several neighboring homes through tunnels. For full moons and pack

adapted indeed." I keep my voice

observation as approval. "We’ve evolved

scents, no wild game, no earthy undertones that should mark wolf territory. Just

assume

within me. I don’t like

gestures toward

perfect rows of houses stretching into the distance. A human neighborhood indistinguishable from thousands of others across the

skirting hard around the edges of pack law. Humans aren’t allowed in pack territory. But moving

hardwood and the shiny chrome fixtures overhead,

My teeth grind together.

Ian is waiting

My lip

and wedding attire. Every image carefully

they’ve been operating in that dangerous territory between pack

more of these rural packs. See

his face weathered but unremarkable. Alpha

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