Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 78: Caine: Unnatural Silence (II)

CAINE

Bodies lie scattered around us, some moving, most still.

Fenris, sensing my intention, shrinks himself down to a less imposing size—though still massive by any normal wolf standard. The blue glow around him dims to a gentle aura as he pants, surveying our carnage with grim satisfaction.

I let my shift reverse, bones cracking back into human form. Changing when wounded is never recommended, as it can make everything worse. Pain radiates through my body as wounds reshape themselves. My vision clears from wolf to human.

A Fiddleback nearby twitches, trying to crawl away. I stride toward it, naked and bloodied but unconcerned with such trivial matters. My foot connects with its ribs—not hard enough to break, just enough to turn it over.

"Shift." The word carries only a whisper of my dominance, but it’s enough.

The wolf’s body contorts, bones reshaping at an agonizingly slow pace. This time, the transformation happens as it should—not the unnatural speed from before. Paws elongate into fingers. Fur recedes into skin. Muzzle shortens to a human face.

A woman. Mid-fifties perhaps. Thin face, sharp features. Recognition flickers—Halloway introduced her earlier. Something about treasury management. I didn’t bother committing her name to memory. It was unimportant then, and only mildly useful now.

I place my bare foot against her throat, not pressing down—yet. "Where’s Halloway?"

Her eyes dart wildly around the room. Blood trickles from a cut above her brow. Her arm’s flopped at an unnatural angle and her breath comes in short, desperate gasps.

"I—I don’t know—"

My foot presses down slightly, cutting off her words. "Try again."

Fear sharpens in her eyes. "I don’t—"

My voice remains level, but the pressure on her throat increases. "I don’t have time for your lies."

She swallows hard against my foot. "He’s... he’s looking for your Luna."

My spine turns to ice. "What do you mean?"

The woman coughs, her windpipe constricting beneath my foot. I ease the pressure—just enough to let her speak. Death would be too merciful for what I need now.

she draws a ragged breath. Internal injuries, probably from the shift I forced on her.

"Escaped? Or was

eyes dart sideways,

down again, just enough

chokes out. "Just

If Grace

soon. We will know

soothe the worry and anger

my wounds dripping onto her face. "Why were you stupid

Her voice strengthens despite her broken body. "Her powers eclipse that of even the Lycan Throne.

fear gods, or monsters. But it’s never

eyes. "Who is your Great

though the sound immediately turns into a sputtering, wet cough. "You’ll know soon enough,"

marble floors. Blood paints abstract patterns across white tablecloths. This is the Fiddleback Pack—or

I grab her chin, forcing her to

a bloody grin. "She

every living body scattered across the floor. The fallen wolves arch their backs, spines cracking as they bow upward at impossible

emit defies description, a chorus

ears, but it does nothing to block the sound;

arching like the others. Her

provides a buffer

Fiddleback wolves are

seconds. Skin pulls tight across her cheekbones, then desiccates, cracking

seconds, what was once a

the wolves shrivel beneath their

The screaming stops.

is somehow louder than

approaches cautiously, sniffing one

Where’s Thom? I scan the room, but he’s nowhere to be found. Neither