Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 41

Chapter 41: Caine: Tracking (II)

CAINE

We reach Grace’s door, and I pause, inhaling deeply. Her scent lingers, but it’s already growing fainter. She’s already been gone for two days, and the knowledge makes my blood simmer. I spent a day and a half going to the Forest Springs Pack and back for nothing; if this warlock doesn’t deliver results, the weak grasp I have on my sanity might slip after all.

"What about defensive spells?" The question surprises me as much as it does him.

Thom blinks rapidly. "I—well, I can ward off a bee."

So, useless.

The vague thought in my head to keep him around to protect her fades in an instant.

We wouldn’t have to worry about her safety if you’d charmed her a little. Would it have really killed you to smile at her even once? Maybe apologize for killing the man who was once her father?

My molars grind together. "Who was the one to rip out his throat, Fenris?"

At your order, he says. Don’t make me the same as you. She liked me. She doesn’t like you.

Knowing it’s true only makes the damn itch worse, and I slam Grace’s door open with a grunt. Her scent comes in a rush, and I inhale deeply.

The itch fades.

"Find what you need," I tell Thom. "But don’t touch anything more than necessary."

The warlock nods and steps inside, his eyes sweeping the space with professional interest. I remain in the doorway, arms folded, watching as he moves cautiously through the room that held her.

You still don’t see it, Fenris says.

Reacting to his little comments only makes it worse, so I stay silent.

Seriously? Even now, you’re not going to admit it?

I grind my teeth and keep my eyes on Thom as he approaches the bed. He doesn’t reach for the sheets as I feared, but instead crouches down to peer at something beneath.

"This might work," he murmurs, reaching under the bed frame.

His hand emerges clutching a small, dark object. A hair elastic. Simple and ordinary, yet my fingers itch to grab it from him.

"Her essence is strong on this," Thom says, examining the tiny band. "She used it recently, probably to tie her hair back. There are some strands in here still."

"Can you track her with it?"

Thom holds the elastic up to the light, squinting at it through those ridiculous spectacles. "I can try. It’ll be stronger if I have something with a more significant genetic trace, though. Hair with follicles attached would be ideal."

"The bathroom," I say, nodding toward the en-suite. "Check her brush."

As Thom disappears into the bathroom, my eyes drift around the room. The bed is a mess, blankets kicked to the foot of the bed. There’s a pillow, but it doesn’t smell like her, only laundry detergent. The sheets, though...

Jack-Eye. Bring the sheets and blanket from her room and put them on my bed. No—leave them here.

I don’t need to bring them; I’ll just sleep here, where her scent is strong.

"Got some," Thom calls out from the bathroom. "Give me just a second. If she’s within five hundred miles, I should be able to pinpoint her within a five-mile radius. The closer we are, the more accurate it will be."

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