Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 117: Caine: Interference

CAINE

The greasy paper bag of fast food slides across the seat as I turn onto the highway, releasing a cloud of salt, grease, and artificial flavors that fills the cab. I’ve already wolfed down my own burger—pun not intended.

Fast food isn’t really just for the children. It’s the secret vice of the Lycan King. Fenris can inhale his weight in burgers, if he really wanted to.

Bring me some, he insists, intruding on my thoughts. He must have dialed in when I was eating mine.

I already ordered you two. And that’s all you get.

Good enough.

My hand brushes the seat where Grace sat earlier, sending up a puff of blueberry and the faint hint of cave. The tension in my shoulders eases slightly, almost imperceptibly, but enough to notice the difference. Like a muscle unknotting after days of strain.

I need more of her scent.

Mental note: have Grace sleep in my clothes. Then I’ll wear them after. Pathetic, maybe, but my bond won’t be denied its due.

The small white bag from the bakery counter sits separate from the rest—a single blueberry muffin. The irony isn’t lost on me. Grace smells like the damn things, and now I’m bringing her one like some kind of offering. As if I’m trying to feed her what she already is.

But I can’t help it. Every time I see one, I think of her.

Outside, the sky isn’t right, leaning further into the scale of strange. The green-gray has deepened to something that reminds me of a fresh bruise—purpling at the edges, sickly yellow where light struggles through. The clouds aren’t just moving; they’re churning, boiling against each other like living things fighting for territory.

The shadows on the road stretch wrong. Too long for this time of day. Too dark. And they move—not with the clouds passing over the sun, but with a life of their own.

Driving is a white-knuckle affair, or would be if I was human.

and my nerves remain steady as I pass several erratic drivers in the two minutes

My radio clicks on.

from the speakers. White noise rises and falls

the truck broadside, and the whole vehicle shudders, my back end skidding

the as pedal. My wipers are already on high, but they’re streaking now instead

rain’s too...

flicker on with a click, then off. Then on again. I didn’t

temperature gauge spins in a complete circle, and the clock scrambles

now, I’ve slowed down to a pathetic twenty miles per

the truck lurching forward, then again. A metallic whine cuts through the static from the radio—high-pitched, like steel being bent

my composure is starting

of the steady, even rhythm they should have. It’s pouring now, sheets of water

ears pop with sudden pressure, and the truck stutters

the engine cuts out completely.

I turn the key.

Click. Click.

Nothing.

It’s dead.

vehicles sit abandoned or occupied by confused drivers. Some people stand outside in the rain, yelling across the noise at each other. Others just stare upward, arms limp

assault, like someone flipped a cosmic tap to maximum. It hammers the roof

of the humans dash back into

I reach for Fenris.

What’s happening there?

The she-dog keeps pacing near the camper. I’ve chased her

and the kids—are they