Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 38

Chapter 38: Caine: The Price of Stealing

CAINE

"No! I didn’t. She—she wouldn’t let me get near her. I swear it, High Alpha."

Fenris growls low in my head, but Jack-Eye’s hand grasps my shoulder, squeezing hard. "Caine," he says. Just my name, but his tone is full of warning.

I killed the last Alpha. Killing his successor is going to bring more trouble and headache. These are all facts I understand, but my brain is screaming, howling for a blood payment to ease my rage.

"That girl is mine," I whisper, forcing my clenched fingers to relax. The moment tension is released, his face slams to the ground again, still victim to my dominance.

Kill him, Fenris says, as if he wasn’t the one to force a promise of pacifism out of me earlier.

I shake my head, fighting to clear the red haze of bloodlust clouding my vision. The struggle is visceral—a war between my baser instincts and whatever shred of civility I’ve managed to maintain since ascending the Lycan’s throne.

It hasn’t been this hard since... A long time ago, in memories I refuse to recall.

My foot comes down on Raphael’s outstretched hand. Not an accident. Not a mistake. A deliberate, calculated expression of my fury.

Tiny bones crunch beneath my heel, bringing me a sliver of satisfaction, though my face remains blank.

Raphael grunts, jaw clenched tight, fighting to maintain dignity through the pain.

I’m not satisfied with this small display. Digging my heel in deeper, I grind against already fractured bones. Something inside me—something darker than even my normal temperament—wants to hear him break completely.

When Raphael finally releases a high, shrill scream, I feel the barest hint of satisfaction.

"Who does Grace Harper belong to?" My voice drops low, barely above a whisper. The question hangs in the air between us, loaded with threat.

"You," he groans. "She’s yours, High Alpha!"

The fury inside me ebbs slightly at his admission. The submission in his voice calms the savage beast clawing at my chest, at least enough to lift my foot from his hand.

My gaze sweeps across the clearing, taking in the mass of prostrated wolves. Some have their faces pressed so hard against the dirt I wonder if they’re still breathing. Others tremble visibly. Terror and fury mix in a bitter, pungent odor, overpowering even the smell of burning corpses brought in by the breeze.

"Keep your filthy hands off the girl. All of you."

The crowd is frozen, without so much as a twitch in response.

Something nags at the edge of my consciousness. A detail I’ve missed. I scan the gathering again, more carefully this time, cataloguing the faces, the scents, the postures.

That’s when it hits me. Raphael never appointed a beta tonight. It’s a glaring oversight for a succession ceremony. While it isn’t required, it is certainly unusual for a beta-less pack to leave the position empty.

There’s always the possibility his first choice of beta died, but it’s a potential sign of trouble, leaving me uneasy. Especially when I also realize the scent from the girl’s room, the strange wolf who’d challenged Fenris in the forest, is missing.

Fenris.

My wolf responds instantly to my silent call, the tattoos on my skin burning as he materializes beside me, saturating the immediate vicinity with a faint haze of blue light.

Lie, lie, LIE.

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