Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 77

Chapter 77: Caine: Unnatural Silence (I)

CAINE

I stalk through the banquet hall, my vision tinged with crimson rage. The Fiddleback wolves cower against the floor tiles, submission rippling through their bodies as my dominance rolls over them. But I don’t care about their fear.

I need answers.

“Halloway!” My roar shakes the crystal chandeliers. “Face me, you coward!”

Jack-Eye’s voice cuts through the mess in my head. Hospital says there’s no patient registered under Grace’s name. No blonde human female admitted in the last 48 hours. She’s gone.

The world stops.

Everything narrows to a pinpoint of blinding rage. My chest constricts. My skin burns.

Grace. My Grace. Gone.

Where is she?

“Halloway!”

Movement flickers at the edge of my vision. The wolves on the floor—supposedly flattened by my dominance—spring to their feet with impossible speed. Eyes gleam with malice, not fear.

Chaos erupts.

Bodies twist and contort. Bones snap and reform at unnatural speed—alpha speed, and yet too many. Their shifts should take longer. They don’t.

I barely dodge the first attack, and claws graze my shoulder. The wound burns like silver, hindering my natural healing.

As expected, something’s deeply wrong with this pack.

Fenris appears beside me, a colossus of midnight fur and crackling blue energy. This was a trap.

The blessings of the Lycan Throne are manifold; my tattoos allow Fenris a body of his own, but they also give me control of mine.

Lycan. Wolf and human. I can use either form at will.

Together, we are a force few can survive. Where Fenris is black, I am white. Where he glows blue, I glow red.

Favored by the gods. Marked to rule.

“I don’t care what it was.” I let the shift take me, welcome the split of bone, the stretch of sinew. “I’ll kill them all.”

A dishwater-blond wolf lunges for my throat. I catch him midair, claws ripping through his ribs. Blood sprays across my muzzle as he drops, lifeless.

Three more charge and I dive low.

My claws tear through soft underbelly, disemboweling one. The others hit Fenris; he snaps a spine in his jaws and crushes another underfoot as he grows another foot in size.

If he keeps this up, he’ll burn out before we get through them all.

I have enough power to get through this, he growls. Now focus!

They keep coming. Ten. Twenty. Too many.

My dominance lashes out, a tidal wave of power capable of stopping a heart. It slides off them like mist.

Then they are not wolves, Fenris says, his voice eerily calm in the havoc. Only graves await those who oppose our throne.

A russet wolf sinks her teeth into my thigh. Pain lances up my leg. I grab her by the scruff and slam her into the marble floor. Her skull cracks, broken as easily as splintered wood. But there’s no time to finish her—two more have already taken her place.

I feel Jack-Eye’s arrival as he tears through the back ranks, but there’s something more important for him to do.

Get to the hospital, I snap. Find Grace.

I can’t leave you—

FIND HER! I rarely touch him with dominance, but there’s no time for hesitation. Grace is in danger.

He hesitates, then vanishes in the chaos.

I’ll clear his path, Fenris snarls, leaping over the pack. He crushes wolves like ants under his paws, drawing attention as Jack-Eye slips through the breach.

Do you feel it? I ask Fenris.

Indeed.

I tear into another throat. Blood mats my white fur crimson. My wounds throb, but adrenaline overrides pain. How many left? I demand; he has a better view of the battlefield.

Less than half.

This is taking too long. My breath is ragged, coming in short, sharp pants.

It won’t be much longer, Fenris assures me.

Stand clear.

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