Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 99: Grace: Too Young For This

"The Great One. Isabeau. She’s who’s after us."

Ron’s words come out flat and even, like he isn’t talking about the scariest person in his life. My heart clenches further at how he doesn’t even have the freedom to be a scared child.

Granted, he’s what... fifteen? Fourteen? I’m sure he doesn’t want to break down in front of strangers.

But he should be able to, if he wanted.

"Lyre took care of her, I think. You should be safe now." She hadn’t mentioned names or any real details, but I’m assuming the sanguimancer Lyre dealt with is the same as the monster Ron and the children are hiding from.

Caine gives a slight nod. "She did. I recall the name."

Ron shakes his head and looks back at the sleeping children. "She’ll be back. She’s been around for ages. Older than a witch’s ti—uh." His face goes pink. "Older than your grandparents, even. Blood witches don’t die easy. And she’s got minions. It isn’t safe."

"But Lyre said she killed her," I point out. "I thought—"

"Killing her body doesn’t kill her magic. And she’s not the only one. There are others, all over the world. They hunt kids like us. We might be the oldest ones still living."

"But why? Why would they hunt you?"

Ron looks directly at me, his eyes empty in a way that scares me more than rage ever could. "Because we’re batteries."

"Batteries?" I repeat blankly.

Caine shifts beside me, cutting off the faintest rumble out of his chest.

"Sanguimancers feed on the energy of the living. Soulspliced energy is even better for ’em. That’s what Owen calls us—soulspliced. Aberrants. Our energy runs different. Stronger. More... conductive." He rubs his hands together, and shudders. "Normal shifters give them power, sure. But us? We’re like their own personal nuclear reactors. They’ll kill thousands to capture one of us."

My brain struggles to process the idea of young, defenseless children used as batteries. They’re children. Even Brax took care of me until I was an adult—whatever his reasoning might be.

But there were some in the pack...

Maybe they would have sided with this strange Isabeau.

"Most don’t survive long. Blood witches will feed on every last drop if you let them."

"That’s..." I can’t find the right words. Horrific? Evil? Those seem inadequate.

Ron shrugs, like this is just the facts of life and I should be used to it by now. But it’s not. This is strange and bizarre and so beyond normal, and every part of me aches to grab him and hug him and show him there’s a better world out there. Even if he’s taller than I am and has the faint hint of a mustache on his upper lip, all I can see is a young child, alone and unloved in this world.

"The irony is what they do creates more of us," he says, unusually talkative now that we’re on the subject. I don’t know if he wants to educate us or if he just needs to get it all off his chest. Caine remains quiet as he talks, letting him say as much as he wishes. I want to beg him to stop. To never speak of it again. I’d rather him live pretending none of this ever happened.

But it’s his reality, so he continues, "Every time they destroy one, the imbalance grows wider, and more come to fill the void. So they’re making more batteries by draining them over and over. They just need to keep making babies, and more aberrants will pop out."

The cave suddenly feels colder. I wrap my arms around myself as my stomach twists into knots.

"That’s what Fiddleback wanted us to be," Ron adds, his voice now barely audible.

Caine grunts. "That explains..."

trails off and doesn’t

grip into my forearms. They might even draw blood. My entire body keeps trembling, and I can’t make it stop. "What was Fiddleback, exactly? Aren’t they the

a

mind flashes to livestock, to animals kept in pens, forced to reproduce for

possible, right? Who’s evil enough for this kind

much," he continues, eyes fixed on some distant point. "Old wolves were kept around to make babies. That’s

I

of power—they’d be sent away once they were two or so. They’re

cracks. Five isn’t nearly long enough. "Why only...

ratio." His clinical tone makes it worse somehow. "Younger, and they’re not strong enough yet. Older, and

my throat. "And ’elsewhere’? Where is

blows out a deep breath.

a tiny bottle. A glass one,

I begin

nods. "My mom was one of Halloway’s

matter-of-fact—breaks my heart.

He shrugs. "Just her face. Saw

"And your father?"

the worst, though." His lip curls in disgust.

think of Alpha Brax, of how he cast me aside the moment he learned I wasn’t his biological daughter. I

ask,

over the years." Ron’s eyes dart back to the alcove. "Most don’t make

you did,"

Ron’s face hardens. "Yeah."

and Sara? And Bun? Are they all

They’re just from local families.

pack, then? In the program?" If the other shifter families

head. "No. Any shifter they could grab. Sometimes new families would move here without knowing, though. Or they’d bamboozle ’em. Humans, too. Sometimes they

the ones who survived... what happened

eyes, hollow and direct.

Oh.

Of course.

make sense. A

Mom a product of something like

if we had a breeding program somewhere in our pack, wouldn’t I? I mean, they can’t hide it from everyone,

don’t know whether to cry or vomit. I do neither. I just sit there,

us. Ron doesn’t seem inclined to fill it. He’s said his piece, laid bare the

kissing Rafe for the first

you even know these things?" It comes out somewhere between accusation and plea. Because no child should know these things. No fifteen-year-old should talk about breeding

don’t get to stay a kid when

is a privilege we can revoke. An expiration date

the tension in his body palpable. His face is carefully composed, but I can see the storm raging, can feel it in the air crackling around him.

Calm, as if we hadn’t listened to the horrors of a

He turns and heads toward the alcove,

would be insanity to

be an angel, to sacrifice himself for these kids. To