《Grace of a Wolf》


 Chapter 1: Grace: Awakening to Pursuit

    <h4>Chapter 1: Grace: Awakening to Pursuit</h4>


    As a human, I should be miles away from anyrge shifter event. Especially the annual Mate Hunt.


    A hunt for mates. Doesn''t that sound barbaric? Yeah, it''s as bad as it sounds.


    Several packs in the area gather as their newly minted adult wolves shift. Females are let into the woods first and are given an hour''s head start, just before sundown. Then it''s time for the males, ostensibly thrown out to hunt down the scent of their fated (or chosen) mates.


    It isn''t an event for the faint of heart, and it''s definitely no ce for someone who can''t shift. So why the fuck am I here, running my little human heart out, chased by what sounds like an entire pack of wolves?


    Great question. I don''t know, either.


    Alpha warned me to stay home with all the windows and doors locked, saying you can never trust a hormonal wolf during the Hunt. And that''s exactly what I did, because I''ve seen and heard of too many horror stories to want anything to do with a night like tonight.


    But somehow, I opened my eyes to a canopy of trees over my head, half blocking out the light of the full moon. To near-freezing winds brushing against my half-naked skin. To the sound of howling, near and far.


    And an unfamiliar, unsettling crunch to my left.


    As soon as my brain function caught up to the situation, I got up and ran. Maybe not the smartest thing¡ªI had no idea where I was running to¡ªbut every inch of my body was <i>screaming</i> danger, and there was zero percent of me interested in learning the origins of that suspicious sound.


    And now I''m here.


    Surrounded by howls fueled by the thrill of the hunt.


    Feet bleeding. Lungs freezing.


    Fuck, fuck, <i>fuck.</i>


    The distinct terror of being hunted has my blood cold and sluggish in my veins, even as my heart pounds erratically. Or maybe it''s the fall chill. We''re only a couple degrees above freezing tonight, and however I got here¡ªmy clothes werepromised in the process.


    Bra and underwear. At least I have those.


    No shoes, of course.


    My skin''s riddled with goosebumps and branches whip at my skin, leaving marks and scratches I''m sure I''ll regretter. Unlike the pack I''ve been adopted into, I have no innate talent at maneuvering in the wild. My feet pound against leaves, probably leaving an easy trail to follow. But is standing around any better? Uh, probably not.


    Then again, running just triggers their prey drive¡ª


    Fuck. I have no fucking clue, so I keep running.


    My breath is ragged, choppy. Each gulp of air is like icicles stabbing into my lungs.


    Alpha¡ªthe man who more or less adopted me six years ago¡ªis going to be furious. Butter fury doesn''t help me in the moment. I learned that lesson a long time ago. Not everyone''s willing to have a human around a wolf pack, and a few of them are willing to show me their displeasure in private.


    This might be one of those times.


    Super <i>not </i>my idea of fun.


    My foot catches on something, sending pain straight through my ankle.


    The world spins, and my face ms against the ground before I can break my fall. Dirt and blood fill my mouth; I''m surrounded in twigs and dead leaves.


    I cough and sputter, trying to clear my airway. My arms shake as I push myself up, spitting out clumps of earth.


    "Shit," I hiss, pain shooting through my ankle as I attempt to stand. It buckles, and I copse again.


    A crashing sound from the underbrush sends my heart into overdrive. I freeze, terror gripping me as a slender gray wolf bursts into view. It skids to a halt, panting heavily. Golden eyes lock onto mine.


    I blink, recognition dawning. "Andrew?" Could it be?


    The air is rent with cracks and snaps, the wolf shifting stretching until slender, shorter-than-average Andrew stands before me, naked and scowling. "What the hell are you doing here, Grace? Dressed like that?"


    His tone catches me off guard. Andrew''s always been indifferent to me at best, but this is different. Colder. More hostile.


    "I don''t know," I stammer, struggling to my feet. "I woke up out here. Do you know where Rafe is?"


    Maybe Raphael can keep me safe during the sexual haze of the Mate Hunt. He said he had no interest in joining, of course¡ªthough no wolf has a choice. It''s a required event once you''re of age. He''ll be happy to have an excuse to desert the dubious festivities.


    But Andrew''s expression darkens at the mention of my boyfriend¡ªhis best friend.


    "You shouldn''t be here," he growls. "Turn back. Now."


    "What? Why? Andrew, what''s going on?"


    He opens his mouth to respond, but the sound of more wolves crashing through the forest cuts him off. Two dash past, a familiar gray form and a smaller red one. My breath catches as I recognize Raphael''s wolf. But something''s wrong. He''s nuzzling the red wolf, yful and intimate in a way that makes my stomach churn.


    Raphael freezes when he spots me, his entire body going rigid. In an instant¡ªfaster than Andrew, thanks to his alpha ranking¡ªhe shifts back to human form, blue eyes zing.


    "What are you doing here?" he snarls, his voice harsh and unrecognizable.


    I flinch, taken aback by his anger. "Rafe, I¡ª"


    The red wolf shifts then, taking little longer than Rafe. She must be a higher-ranking wolf. Maybe even Luna-ss.


    For some reason...


    No. For <i>obvious</i> reasons, that knowledge makes my stomach twist into knots.


    She''s the most beautiful girl I''ve ever seen. Long ck hair frames an absofuckinglutely wless face. Not a single freckle, or pimple, or <i>anything</i>. Just smooth, ss skin. Her green eyes are sharp and gorgeous, impossibly emerald-bright. She steps closer to Raphael, one hand on his arm, her gaze fixed on me with thinly veiled hostility.


    Who am I kidding? It isn''t veiled at all.


    "Mate," she purrs, "who is this?"


    Mate? Who? <i>Him?</i>


    It can''t be. That''s Rafe. <i>My</i> Rafe.


    But by the way his jaw clenches and he avoids my gaze, that''s exactly who she''s talking to.


    <i>My</i> boyfriend. <i>Her</i> mate.


    My world shatters. Never mind that I''m practically naked in a forest full of sex-crazed wolves: My dreams of the future are shattering.


    Only hours after he assured me that tonight won''t change anything between us.


    My boyfriend¡ªis he still my boyfriend?¡ªdoesn''t look at the new girl. His <i>mate</i>. Fuck, I suddenly hate that word.


    Instead, his eyes finally meet mine, a sh of something crossing his face. Is it guilt? "No one," he says tly. "She''s no one important. Just a human adopted by the pack."


    I stumble back, unable to process what I''m hearing. This can''t be real. It has to be some kind of nightmare.


    "Rafe," I whisper, "what''s happening?"


    He looks away, jaw clenched. "You need to leave, Grace. Now."


    "But¡ª"


    "Now!" he roars, eyes shing gold.


    His mate¡ªwhoever she is¡ªsmirks, pressing herself against Raphael''s side. "You heard him, little human. Run along now. The Mate Hunt is no ce for a little girl like you."


    Andrew shifts ufortably. "Grace, I''ll escort you back to¡ª"


    "No," Raphael cuts in. "You should return to the Hunt. I''ll make sure she leaves."


    "Mate!" the ck-haired vision protests, and he touches her face.


    "Stay here. I''ll be right back." So gentle. So sweet. The same tone he used to use toward me.


    How can things change in an instant?


    Of course I know about mating bonds. I''ve been living among wolf shifters for six years. But Rafe was supposed to be different.


    Was supposed to be on my side.


    My other half.


    He stalks towards me, snatching my arm in a rough grip, like a fucking stranger. Worse than a stranger. Like someone who doesn''t give a shit at the pain he''s causing me.


    I struggle to pull my arm out of his grasp, to no avail, limping along behind him.


    "Rafe, stop! You''re hurting me!"


    He releases me abruptly, as if burned. For a moment, I see a flicker of the boy I love in his eyes. But it''s gone in an instant, reced by cold fury.


    "What were you thinking?" he hisses. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to be out here tonight?"


    "I don''t know how I got here! I woke up in the woods, and¡ª"


    "Bullshit," he snaps. "You were trying to interfere. Trying to make sure I didn''t find my mate."


    Shock has me standing still, stunned by the usation. "I didn''t¡ªI wouldn''t¡ª!"


    "Was this how it was always going to be between us? Always insecure and forcing me to prove my loyalty?"


    A gust of wind whips through, sending a violent tremor down my spine. Goosebumps prickle all over my exposed skin, but the chill in my bones, in my <i>heart</i>, isn''t just from the weather or myck of clothes. It''s from the ice in Raphael''s perfect blue eyes. From the venom in his words.


    His usation cuts deeper than the frigid air. How can he speak to me like this? Like I''m nothing more than an annoyance, a burden he''s finally free to cast aside?


    "Rafe, please," I whisper, my voice trembling. "I swear I didn''t¡ª"


    "Save it," he snaps, cutting me off. "There''s no excuse for this. You never should have stepped foot out here tonight."


    My heart shrivels under his anger, leaving me empty and aching. The Raphael I know¡ªthe one who held me close and promised me forever¡ªwould never treat me this way. He''d listen. He''d understand.


    But the man before me is a stranger, cold and uncaring.


    "How can you do this?" I ask, struggling to keep my voice steady. "How can you treat me like this? Just a few hours ago, you were holding me. Kissing me. Swearing we''d be together forever. How can all that change in <i>hours</i>, Rafe?"


    His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "That was before. This is now."


    "Before what? Before you met some random she-wolf who batted her eyshes at you?"


    The words are out before I can stop them, fueled by hurt and disbelief. In an instant, Raphael''s eyes sh gold, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Before I can blink, his hand is around my throat, squeezing.


    "Don''t you ever speak about my mate that way again," he snarls, his face inches from mine.


    I can''t breathe. My fingers w at his hand, desperate to break his grip. ck spots dance at the edges of my vision as panic sets in.


    Rafe wouldn''t hurt me. He wouldn''t. He <i>promised</i>.


    But as the pressure increases, a terrifying thought crashes over me. What if this is it? What if he kills me right here, right now?


    Just as my lungs start to burn, his grip loosens. He blinks, as ifing out of a trance. His fingers loosen, leaving me to crumple to the ground. Coughing. Gasping. Tears sting my eyes as I gulp in lungfuls of air, greedy for oxygen. For survival.


    "We''re over, Grace."


    Three words. That''s all it takes to shatter my worldpletely.


    I look up, but can''t see him. Not clearly, anyway. My vision''s too blurry from the tears I''m desperately trying to hold in, and it''s too dark. "Who is she?" The words are choked and hard to hear, but he understands immediately.


    "My fated mate," he snaps, as if it should be obvious. As if that exins everything.


    "So... that''s it?" I struggle to my feet, legs shaking, trying my best to ignore the agony in my ankle. It throbs, refusing to y second fiddle to this insane melodrama. "You''re just going to throw everything we had away? For someone you just met?"


    Raphael''s beautiful ocean-blue eyes are distant. Like he''s looking right through me. "This is why humans don''t belong in wolf packs. You don''t understand. You can''t."


    The casual cruelty in his voice steals my breath all over again. He isn''t the boy I fell in love with. He isn''t my Rafe.


    Not the one who assured me it was okay to be human.


    That he''d take care of me forever.


    That myck of wolf didn''t matter.


    "Get home safe," he says, his tone devoid of any real concern. Then he shifts, fur rippling over skin, and disappears into the darkness.


    I stand there, shivering and alone, as the sound of his retreating paws fades into the night. The forest suddenly feels impossibly vast.


    How did everything go so wrong so fast?

 Chapter 2: Grace: Abandoned

    <h4>Chapter 2: Grace: Abandoned</h4>


    How long do I stand there, eyes straining in the darkness that steadily grows?


    Who knows. I sure don''t.


    The howls change; many are still hunting. Several have found their mates. Is Rafe howling out there, sharing a joyous run with his newfound mate?


    That pretty little red wolf, the gorgeous woman within¡ªshe''s everything I''m not.


    My breath puffs out in wispy smoke, a visual reminder of the temperature, even though my body''s already long cold.


    My teeth chatter as I wrap my arms around myself, finally roused out of my fugue state to ponder more immediate concerns. Like how to get home.


    I''ve never been great at reading the stars. Alpha always warned me I should learn these basic skills; I don''t have an internalpass, and I''m terrible at tracking. But I live with wolves, so I don''t spend many nights outside alone. It''s too dangerous.


    The forest stretches endlessly, nothing but shadows and the rustling of leaves and howls in the distance.


    At least no one seems to be around me. Hopefully that means I''m close to home. I pick a direction at random, praying it leads me out of this nightmare.


    Who would do this to me, setting me up for such a cruel fate? The questions swirl in my mind, but answers are out of reach. Yes, there are asional pranks when you live with wolves. There''s some harassment. There''s even a solid amount of bullying I endure in silence.


    But this? To threaten my life, to put me in the middle of the Mate Hunt, knowing at any time a frustrated wolf could hunt me down?


    Human women are fully aware of the statistics; unmated shifter males are their biggest fear. Any male shifter in human territory is automatically suspect whenever a sexual assault casees up.


    It''s no secret in the shiftermunity; it''s a struggle every pack deals with. Most of the assaults are from rogue wolves, but not all. It''s one of the many reasons they''re not wee among most humanmunities.


    So who would be this cruel, knowing my likely fate?


    As much as I can be disliked among the pack, I''m not generally <i>hated</i>.


    The forest floor bites into my bare feet with every step. Twigs snap, leaves crunch, and sharp rocks dig into my soles. My toes curl against the cold, damp earth. Each step sends a jolt of pain up my leg from my throbbing ankle.


    I crash through the underbrush, all grace abandoned. Branches whip across my face and arms, leaving stinging welts in their wake.


    <i>"Move quietly. Blend with the forest. Especially because you''re human, you''ll need to move like a wolf."</i>


    Rafe''s voice echoes in my head, unbidden. Tears prick at my eyes as I remember his patient instructions, his warm hands guiding me through the woods. How many nights did we spend out here, him teaching me to navigate the wilderness?


    No. I shove the memories away, blinking furiously against the moisture threatening to spill over.


    But they keeping, relentless as the cold seeping into my bones.


    <i>"Watch where you step. See how I ce my foot? Roll from heel to toe, avoid anything that might snap or rustle."</i>


    I stumble over a root, nearly falling face-first into the leaf litter. Every move I make announces my presence.


    <i>"You''re doing great, Grace. Soon you''ll be moving as well as any wolf."</i>


    A choked sob escapes my lips before I can stop it. Rafe''s proud smile, the warmth in his eyes as he watched me improve¡ªit''s all tainted now. Poisoned by the cold dismissal in those same eyes mere hours ago.


    Fuck this mated bullshit.


    Who wants a man that changes so much over a little bit of pheromones?


    I limp onward, each step a battle against pain and exhaustion. Shadows dance at the edge of my vision, taking the shape of prowling wolves. Every so often I jerk around, convinced something''s following me.


    But there''s nothing there.


    Even distant howls have gone silent.


    <i>"If you ever feel lost or scared, just listen. The forest will guide you home."</i>


    Home. The word rings hollow now. The person I thought was my future has turned his back on me.


    Another twig snaps beneath my foot, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet night. It''s only then I realize that even the sound of insects has hushed.


    That''s not good.


    There''s a predator somewhere.


    I freeze, heart pounding as I strain my ears for any sign of pursuit. Nothing but the whisper of wind through leaves. Another far-off howl. And another, echoing off the trees.


    But nothing close, despite the eerie silence.


    I force myself to keep moving, ignoring the burning in my muscles and the ache in my chest that has nothing to do with physical exertion. Howte is it? I can''t feel my toes. Or my fingers.


    And each tree looks the same as thest, each shadow hiding potential dangers.


    <i>"Remember, Grace. You''re stronger than you know. Don''t ever let anyone make you feel less than you are."</i>


    Rafe''s words were once a source offort. Of strength. Now, they''re a knife. One of those serrated ones with the weird little hooks at the end. When you pull them out, they destroy everything.


    How quickly those sentiments changed when faced with his true mate. How easily I was discarded, all our shared moments rendered meaningless.


    Tears blur my vision as I push through a thick patch of undergrowth. Thorns slice over my skin, but I barely feel the sting. It''s nothingpared to the pain tearing through my heart.


    I emerge into a small clearing. No trees overhead. No creepy shadows. Just silver-blue moonlight resting against impossibly lush grass, unmarred by dead leaves.


    It''s unnaturally perfect here.


    In the distance, a wolf howls. No matter how many years I''ve lived with this pack, the sound always sends a chill down my spine. Primal instinct, Alpha always said.


    How many times had I stood beside Rafe, watching in awe as he shifted and added his voice to the pack''s song?


    Now, that howl holds no wonder, no beauty.


    Just bitterness and pain.


    I rub my hands over my arms, a futile attempt to generate warmth. My teeth chatter as I stumble forward, eyes darting around the eerily perfect clearing. Something about this ce feels off, but I can''t put my finger on why.


    Have I been here before? The grass, untouched by fallen leaves, gleams silver-blue in the moonlight. It''s beautiful, but wrong. Unnatural.


    A frown tugs at my lips. This forest is my home¡ªor was. I''ve explored so much of it with Rafe. But I have no memory of this ce.


    If only it were daylight. The sun would guide me, even with my poor sense of direction. I could find my way back so easily then.


    A twig snaps.


    My head whips up, heart leaping into my throat. The unnatural silence presses in, suffocating. No insects chirp. No night birds call. Even the wind seems to hold its breath.


    Something moves in the shadows.


    I freeze, eyes straining against the darkness. Another rustle. Closer now.


    And then¡ª


    Oh. God.


    A massive wolf emerges from the treeline. No, not just massive. Colossal. Monstrous.


    I''ve seen Alpha in his wolf form. I''ve admired Rafe''s powerful build. This creature dwarfs them both. It could swallow Rafe''s wolf in a single bite. How could it even hide among the trees? It''s impossiblyrge.


    Midnight-ck fur absorbs the moonlight, as if the very essence of shadow clings to its pelt. But there¡ªa faint blue glow pulses beneath, like veins of starlight.


    My breath catches. My heart pounds so hard I''m sure the beast can hear it.


    This isn''t possible. Wolves don''t get this big. They don''t glow.


    I blink hard, certain I must be hallucinating. Maybe I hit my head. Maybe I''m lying unconscious in the forest, and this is all some fever dream.


    The wolf takes a step forward. The ground trembles.


    Not a dream, then.


    I should run. Every instinct screams at me to flee. But my legs won''t move. I''m rooted to the spot, caught in the creature''s gaze.


    Its eyes. God, its eyes. They burn with an intelligence far beyond any animal I''ve ever encountered. Even the shifters in their wolf forms don''t have eyes like this. They''re like storm clouds, gray and turbulent.


    Ancient. Knowing. Powerful.


    And fixed directly on me, of course. Probably heard meing from a mile away. Stupid, <i>stupid</i> Grace. Should have done my best to be quiet, even if it took me a year to get home. At least I''d <i>get</i> home, and not get eaten¡ªor worse¡ªby a massive wolf that glows.


    "You''re trespassing on Blue Mountain Pack''snd," I tell the wolf with bravado that doesn''t actually exist in my body.


    My legs are trembling and I''m pretty sure it can smell my exhaustion and pain. There''s no way I''m going to scare off a wolf by myself. I can only hope they fear Alpha''s reputation.


    The wolf just snorts. Alpha''s fearsome reputation does nothing for it, I guess.


    My heart hammers as it pads closer, each step deliberate and unhurried. Moonlight catches its fur, but I swear it just sucks it right in, creating darkness around it.


    "Stay back," I warn it, trying to stay strong despite the waver in my voice.


    I''m not that brave, okay? I''m just a human. Wolves are terrifying creatures. Try standing up to one in the wild; knowing the power in their bodies, it''s impossible to stay calm when a strange one approaches you.


    They''re not like dogs¡ªnot that we have dogs around here. They want nothing to do with wolves.


    I take a step backward, desperate to maintain distance, but my ankle gives way beneath me. My ass meets grass a secondter.


    Panic floods my system. I scramble to get back on my feet, hands scrabbling against the earth. But before I can right myself, the wolf does something unexpected.


    Itys down.


    The massive creature settles onto its belly, mere feet away from me. Its ears prick forward, head tilted in what can only be described as curiosity. I freeze, my breath caught in my throat.


    This isn''t the behavior of a predator about to attack. The wolf''s bodynguage speaks of interest rather than aggression. Yet my muscles remain coiled tight, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.


    "What do you want?" I whisper, as if raising the volume of my words might shatter the uneasy peace.


    The wolf''s ears twitch at the sound of my voice. Its eyes, luminous in the darkness, remain fixed on me with an unnerving intensity.


    A gust of wind whips through the trees, and violent shivers rattle my bones. Whoever threw me into the wild with just a bra and underwear is a sadistic bastard. It''s <i>cold</i> at night. Near-freezing.


    The wolf must notice my difort, because it lets out a soft chuff. It tilts its head the other way, as if trying to puzzle me out.


    "I don''t suppose you have a nket hidden in that fur coat of yours?"


    The wolf''s tail thumps once against the ground, but of course it doesn''t answer. Great. Now I''m making jokes at a potentially deadly creature. Shock must have set in.


    I take a deep, steadying breath, trying to assess my situation. I''m alone in the woods, injured, and face-to-face with a wolfrger than any I''ve ever seen. And yet... it doesn''t seem intent on harming me.


    Maybe it''s supposed to be here? But I think I''d have heard about a giant-ass wolf. People talk about Alpha''s size all the time, saying he''s massive. They''ve clearly never seen this guy.


    "Are you here for the Mate Hunt?"


    The wolf''s ear twitches. I''m positive it''s a shifter, but why won''t it shift to talk to me? Why remain in wolf form if it doesn''t want to attack?


    Another shiver wracks my body, and I wrap my arms around myself, trying to conserve what little warmth I have left. The wolf watches this action with what almost looks like concern. Or maybe it''s just wishful thinking.


    "Don''t suppose you''d be willing to share some of that body heat?" I joke weakly. "No? Didn''t think so."


    To my utter shock, the wolf rises to its feet. My breath catches, fear spiking through me once more. But instead of attacking, it takes a step closer, then another.


    Panic courses through me. Why is iting after me now? I thought we''d already established that it doesn''t want to eat me. "What are you doing?" I ask, my voice just a teensy bit on this side of shrill.


    The wolf doesn''t answer, of course. It simply continues its approach until it''s right beside me. Then, with a grace that belies its massive size, it lowers itself to the ground once more. This time, however, it presses its warm, furry body against my side.


    I sit there, rigid with disbelief, as the wolf''s warmth seeps into me. It''s like sitting next to a furry furnace.


    A stinky one.


    There''s also a musky scent that''s not quite unpleasant, but hard to ignore.


    "Thank you," I tell this strange shifter who prefers to remain anonymous.


    It wraps its tail around me, like a nket warding off the frigid wind, as itys its head on its paws, closing its eyes.


    As the minutes tick by and the wolf makes no move to harm me, I gradually rx. The warmth of its body and the steady rhythm of its breathing lull me into a state of calm I wouldn''t have thought possible given the circumstances.


    Every so often, a howl breaks the night, making me jerk. That''ll probably go on until morning. The wolf nces at the sky each time, ears flicking around as it listens, but doesn''t once respond.


    As feeling returns to my limbs, mostly in painful pins-and-needles prickling, my mind drifts to thoughts of home. The pack house isn''t far¡ªmaybe an hour''s walk through familiar territory. But it''s cold, and I have a feeling my living furnace has no interest in bing my portable one.


    "nning on heading out before sunrise?" I ask, already knowing the answer.


    The wolf exhales heavily through its nose, a sound that seems to say, <i>"Not a chance."</i>


    I sigh, resigning myself to a night in the forest. At least I''m not alone anymore. The thought of Raphael shes through my mind, bringing a fresh wave of pain. I push it away, focusing instead on the steady rise and fall of the wolf''s chest.


    Its tail remains draped over me like a living nket, and I find myself absently stroking the thick fur. It''s softer than I expected, almost silky beneath my fingertips.


    "Why don''t you shift? We could actually talk, you know."


    The wolf''s head lifts, gray eyes fixing me with an unreadable stare. Then, without warning, it pulls its tail away. The rush of cold air takes away the warmth I gathered in a mere second, and I can''t suppress a bout of violent tremors.


    Just as quickly as it left, the tail returns, curling around me once more. The wolf lets out a huff that sounds suspiciously like exasperation. Message received, loud and clear.


    "Okay, okay. I get it," I mutter, burrowing deeper into its warmth. "No shifting. Got it."


    The realization of what this stranger is doing for me¡ªa human they don''t even know¡ªhas gratitude welling up deep inside, threatening to spill over in the form of tears. I refuse to shed tears over this situation. Over Rafe. Over... all of it.


    "Thank you," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. "You''re very kind. I mean it."


    The wolf doesn''t acknowledge my words, simplyying its massive head back on its paws. But I swear I feel its body rx just a fraction more against mine.


    As the night wears on, the adrenaline that''s been keeping me alert begins to fade. My eyelids grow heavy as I struggle to stay awake. It''s a losing battle. The rhythmic sound of the wolf''s breathing lulls me into a state of half-sleep, my thoughts growing fuzzy and disconnected.


    I drift in and out of consciousness, never fully asleep but not quite awake either. In this twilight state, memories and dreams blur together. Raphael''s face swims before me, but it''s different somehow¡ªcolder, more distant. Then it shifts, melting into the warm, stormy gray eyes of the wolf beside me.


    A particrly loud howl jerks me back to awareness for a moment. The wolf''s ears twitch, but it doesn''t move otherwise. I settle back against its side, allowing myself to be pulled under once more.


    I''m not sure how much time passes like this. Minutes? Hours? It feels like I''ve been suspended in this strange, dreamlike state forever when suddenly, everything changes.


    The body beneath me goes rigid. A deep, rumbling growl vibrates through the wolf''s chest and into mine, snapping me fully awake in an instant. My heart leaps into my throat as I scramble to sit up, every nerve on high alert.


    "What is it?" I whisper, scanning the darkness for any sign of danger. "What''s wrong?"


    The wolf doesn''t answer, of course. It''s on its feet now, hackles raised and teeth bared at something I can''t see. The growl continues, low and menacing.

 Chapter 3: Grace: Protector

    <h4>Chapter 3: Grace: Protector</h4>


    Chapter 3: Grace: Protector


    The wind steals every bit of the warmth the strange wolf had gathered, and I crouch behind a tree to block the worst of it.


    A slinking shadow skulks forward, slowly coalescing out of the abstract darkness of the forest.


    Andrew.


    His lithe wolf body slinks forward, lips curled back in a snarl.


    My mysterious protector tenses, fur bristling along its spine. Another low, menacing growl rumbles through its chest.


    Andrew''s head snaps back, releasing a bone-chilling howl that echoes through the forest. Answering calls rise from all directions. I know those sounds. The pack ising.


    Whoever my furry furnace is, he isn''t known to the pack. Which means he''s an intruder¡ªwhich means...


    The massive wolf at my side snarls, snapping its jaws at the air between itself and Andrew. A clear warning for him to keep his distance.


    "Shit." My soft whisper is enough for my protector''s ears to swivel in my direction, and I press myself against the tree trunk, hoping I don''t get in its way. No, not <i>it</i>. Him, I think.


    His identity might be a mystery, but he still kept me warm and safe, at least for thest few hours. I don''t want him hurt.


    Pressing a hand against his nk, I whisper, "You need to go. They''re all going toe for you."


    The massive wolf beside me throws back his head, unleashing a howl that shakes the very earth beneath my feet. The sound reverberates through my chest, a primal force that steals the breath from my lungs. Even Andrew, cocky and aggressive moments ago, shrinks back, his ears ttening against his skull.


    As thest echoes fade, an eerie silence descends upon the forest.


    Then, like a dam breaking, answering howls erupt from every direction. The predatory sounds have goosebumps erupting, as if they weren''t already pimpling my skin, and I shudder even without the wind.


    Andrew recovers quickly, circling us with renewed aggression. His lips curl back, exposing gleaming fangs as he snarls. My protector responds in kind, hackles raised and muscles coiled tight beneath his thick fur.


    This isn''t my fight, but I''m somehow caught in the crossfire all the same.


    The shes without warning¡ªat least for me. Some signal I don''t recognize has them both darting forward in a whirlwind of fur and fangs, snarls and snaps.


    My protector''s massive size gives him an advantage, but Andrew is quick and nimble. They tumble across the forest floor. Andrew asionally escapes the strange wolf''s jaws, darting away a few steps with his tail tucked, before dashing back in.


    He knows he''s unmatched; his bodynguage screams that he''s on the defense, even to someone like me, who''s rarely seen a true wolf fight. I''m not often around when the betas fight with each other.


    I can barely follow the action, but even I can see the moment the tide turns. My protector''s jaws close around Andrew''s hind leg, and the smaller gray wolf lets out a piercing shriek of pain.


    The sound cuts through me like a knife. Andrew might hate me, but he''s still Rafe''s best friend. Still someone I''ve grown up with for the past several years...


    Andrew wrenches free, limping badly as he scrambles away. His yelps of pain fade into the distance as he flees, leaving behind tufts of fur and spatters of blood on the forest floor.


    Relief floods through me, but only for a second. Reality ps into me as my protector stands tall and arrogant, watching Andrew''s pathetic retreat.


    The rest of the pack ising. I can hear them drawing closer, their howls growing louder with each passing second. My wolf isn''t safe.


    My mysterious protector turns back to me, his storm-sky eyes gleaming with what almost looks like satisfaction. But there''s no time for that now. He needs to leave, to get as far away from here as possible before the pack descends upon us.


    Without thinking, I dash forward. My palm connects with his hindquarters in a resounding smack that startles us both. "Go!" I yell, my voice cracking with desperation. "Run! You need to get out of here before theye!"


    The wolf whirls around in a sleek movement that has me cringing, preparing for retaliation. But there''s no time for regrets. "They''reing. All of them. You need to keep yourself safe. Go!"


    He tilts his head, one paw raised as he inspects me. A wolf''s gaze is intense, but this time I almost feel like prostrating myself to the ground and lifting my neck. Like I''m a wolf myself.


    There''s a presence to him that even Alphacks.


    He can''t be some random shifter. He must be another alpha wolf himself¡ªa rogue, probably.


    The approaching howls have me almost in tears from frustration. The pack is close now, too close. Any moment, they''ll burst through the trees.


    "Run!" I shout again, waving my arms. "Get out of here!"


    The wolf takes a step toward me, and for a wild moment, I think he might try to drag me along with him. But then he pauses, ears swiveling as he tracks the sounds of the approaching pack.


    Our eyes lock one final time, and I swear I see something like regret in those dark gray depths. Then he''s gone. The massive form melts into the shadows of the forest, leaving me alone once more.


    I slump against the nearest tree, suddenly exhausted. All my adrenaline dumps in an instant, leaving me shivering against the rough bark. My hands shake as I run them through my tangled hair, wishing I didn''t feel like sobbing at my protector''s absence.


    The pack ising. With all of them here, at least <i>one</i> of them should have the presence of mind to bring me back to Alpha and get me away from this hunt. It should be long over by now.


    But home doesn''t feel very much like home anymore.


    Rafe was my only ally in this pack. Without him, I''m a miserable and lonely human, adopted on a strange whim even Alpha''s never fully exined. Just that he knew my parents long ago.


    He takes care of me well enough, I guess. But he isn''t <i>home</i>. Not like Rafe.


    And now I''m alone, without even a furry furnace to keep mepany.

 Chapter 4: Grace: A Sudden Change

    <h4>Chapter 4: Grace: A Sudden Change</h4>


    "Grace."


    Alpha''smanding voice has my head snapping up before my brain is even functioning. I must have fallen asleep.


    A threadbare nket falls to the floor as I sit up; someone covered me when I fell asleep on the couch. Several adult wolves had swarmed the clearing only minutes after my protector fled, and¡ªthankfully¡ªwere not a part of the sexual haze of the Mate Hunt, but established and mated adults who quickly dragged me home, like a recalcitrant child.


    <i>What were you doing?</i> they all asked me in exasperation, like I wanted to be there.


    No one listened when I tried to exin what happened.


    "Alpha," I greet my adoptive father, clearing my throat when my voice croaks. "I''m sorry. I must have fallen asleep."


    He waves one massive hand, scrutinizing me with a frown. "Tell me what happened."


    Alpha''s piercing gaze bores into me, and I can''t shake the feeling something''s off. His usual stoic demeanor has morphed into something unsettling. I swallow hard, my throat dry as sandpaper.


    "I woke up in the middle of the forest during the Mate Hunt. My clothes were gone. I don''t know how I got there."


    He''s shockingly unaffected by the wordsing out of his mouth, looking more impatient than anything. "What else?"


    "It wasn''t safe, so I ran. I was trying to get home, but got lost. A strange wolf found me and kept me warm when I got lost. Andrew found us a whileter and they both fought, and the wolf ran away."


    With each word, Alpha''s frown deepens, etching harsh lines across his face. The air grows thick, oppressive, making it hard for me to breathe. Oxygen makes it into my lungs with shallow, open-mouth breaths as his aura presses down on me.


    I''m dizzy. And confused.


    Alpha''s never used his aura on me before. He says humans are too weak to stand up to it. Now, I see why.


    It''s like he''s stealing the air from around me. ck spots dot my vision.


    "Are you hiding anything from me, Grace?"


    His tone makes me shudder. He doesn''t sound like my adoptive father. He sounds... angry. "What do you mean?"


    Alpha''s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching. "Are you hiding a shift from me, girl?"


    I stare at him, mouth agape, struggling to process his words. "I... what? I''m human. How could I possibly hide a shift?" What insane question is that?


    The change in Alpha is instantaneous and terrifying. His face contorts, features twisting into something inhuman. Gone is the stern but caring father figure I''ve known all these years. In his ce stands a stranger, regarding me with cold disdain.


    "Alpha?" My voice quivers, barely above a whisper.


    He takes a step closer, looming over me. "Don''t lie to me, girl. Did you shift?"


    I shake my head frantically. "No! No, I didn''t shift. I''m human!"


    Alpha''s hand shoots out, his fingers digging into my jaw. A strangled gasp escapes my lips as he pulls me forward. His eyes ze golden, feral and unfamiliar. The air thickens, pressing down on me like a physical weight.


    "Shift. Now."


    Hismand ms into me, an invisible force threatening to crush my bones. My lungs struggle against the pressure, each breath a battle.


    "I can''t," I wheeze. "Please, I''m human¡ª"


    "Shift!"


    The order reverberates through my body, setting every nerve ending on fire. My vision hazes, darkness creeping at the edges. I want to obey, to do anything to make this stop, but there''s nothing to obey with. No wolf hiding beneath my skin.


    "Alpha, please¡ª"


    His grip tightens, nails biting into my flesh. "Shift, damn you!"


    The world tilts and spins. My legs give out, but Alpha''s grip keeps me upright. Spots dance across my vision as he shakes me, eachmand more forceful than thest.


    Suddenly, I''m airborne. My back ms against the floor, driving what little air remains from my lungs. Iy there, boneless, gasping like a fish out of water. The crushing weight of Alpha''s presence lifts, allowing me to draw in ragged, desperate breaths.


    Through the haze of pain and confusion, I force my eyes open. Alpha towers over me, his face a mask of disgust and contempt. The recement father I''ve known all these years is gone, reced by this cold, furious stranger.


    A voice filters through the ringing in my ears. Beta. When did he arrive?


    Alpha''s words cut through the fog, clear and devastating. "We wasted these years. She''s truly just a human. The bitch betrayed me."


    Betrayed? The usation stings worse than the physical pain. How could I betray him? I''ve done nothing but try to belong, to prove my worth. Being human in a wolf pack is not an easy life.


    "Alpha," I croak, struggling to push myself up. My arms tremble, threatening to give out.


    But they ignore me.


    "To ignore a mate bond," Beta says, spitting on the ground. "It is good she doesn''t share your blood, Alpha. Your line would be weakened with a mother like hers. An honorless whore."


    Alpha growls. "To sire a human with my mate mark on her neck... I would kill her again if I could."


    Shock steals the very breath from my lungs, what bit of it I''ve managed to gather with my ragged gasps.


    My mother... mated to Alpha? It can''t be true. She was human, just like me. Wasn''t she?


    I stare at Alpha''s back, willing him to turn around. To tell me he''s joking. That all of this is nothing more than some fever dream.


    "What are you talking about?" My voice trembles, barely a whisper, but loud enough for his keen senses. "My mother was human. She couldn''t have been your mate."


    "Your mother was a liar and a whore. She betrayed our bond."


    My mind reels. It''s impossible. It has to be.


    "What should I do with the girl?"


    Alpha turns, his upper lip lifted in a sneer. "She is no daughter of mine. Send her to serve the omegas. It''ll keep them silent for a while."


    "Understood, Alpha."

 Chapter 5: Caine: She’s Human

    <h4>Chapter 5: Caine: She''s Human</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    <i>I want to see her.</i>


    My wolf''s whine is loud and pathetic in my mental eardrum, but I ignore it. He''s had a bug up his ass ever since sneaking into the Blue Mountain Pack''s Mate Hunt against my orders.


    He was supposed to be checking on the Blue Mountain Alpha''s movements, not hunting down some human girl...


    The crack of bone against bone echoes through the training room. My beta''s fist connects with my jaw, a hit that should knock any other wolf unconscious.


    "Your head''s not in this." Jack-Eye circles me on the mat, his red hair loose from its tie. "When was thest time Inded a hit that easy? When we were fifteen?"


    I spit blood onto the floor. The copper taste lingers on my tongue. "Again."


    "Why don''t you just tell me what''s going on? You''ve been a prime dick of a boss for days."


    <i>She smells delicious. Like blueberry muffins and spring mornings. </i>Fenris''s voice drifts through my mind, taunting.


    "Shut up," I snap.


    Jack-Eye''s brow raises. "I didn''t say anything."


    My fingers curl into fists. The tattoos beneath my shirt burn, a constant reminder of the blessing of the Lycan throne. A blessing that''s turned into a curse these past days.


    Fenris huffs. <i>You can''t keep me away from her.</i>


    "Watch me." Iunch at Jack-Eye, channeling my frustration into each strike.


    He blocks, barely. "Who are you talking to? Fenris giving you trouble?"


    A low growl rumbles through my chest. "Focus on the fight."


    "You first!" Jack-Eye sweeps my legs.


    I hit the mat. The impact shoots through my spine, but I roll and spring back up. Sweat drips down my chest, soaking through my shirt.


    <i>She needs us, </i>Fenris insists.


    "She needs nothing from us." It takes only a second to close the gap between us. My fist connects with Jack-Eye''s ribs. The satisfying crunch does nothing to silence Fenris.


    Jack-Eye stumbles back, wheezing. "She? There''s a woman involved?"


    My eyes narrow as he abandons all pretense of sparring. "Drop it," I warn him, as if he isn''t my best friend on top of being my beta.


    "You let Fenris go to Blue Mountain''s territory." He straightens, pressing a hand to his side as he calctes the situation. "During their Mate Hunt. Did you find yours?"


    <i>Tell him. Tell him how perfect she is. How she trusted us in the forest.</i>


    "Fenris, I swear¡ª"


    <i>You can''t deny what you felt. What we both felt.</i>


    Jack-Eye''s eyes narrow. "You did. You found your mate, didn''t you? Your wolf''s obsessed with someone."


    My mrs grind together. "My wolf needs to remember his ce."


    <i>My ce is wherever she is.</i>


    The room spins. The tattoos burn hotter, Fenris fighting against our bond. I grab the nearest wall, steadying myself.


    "Caine?" Jack-Eye steps forward.


    "Stay back!"


    <i>I''m going to her. Tonight. With or without your permission.</i>


    "Like hell you are." The words tear from my throat in a growl.


    Pain rips through my chest. The tattoos glow blue beneath my shirt, pulsing with each of Fenris''s attempts to break free. My knees buckle.


    "What''s happening?" Jack-Eye''s voice sounds distant.


    <i>She''s alone. Scared. They cast her out. They''ve washed away my scent.</i>


    "That''s not our problem."


    <i>It became our problem when you let me protect her that night.</i>


    My fingers dig into the mat. "I didn''t let you do anything. You ran off without my consent."


    "Who is she?" Jack-Eye crouches beside me, his overly friendly voice grating on my ears.


    <i>Tell him. Tell him how you watched through my eyes as she curled against our fur. How your heart stopped when she smiled.</i>


    "Enough!"


    The tattoos re, and blue light fills the room. When it fades, Fenris stands before us, his massive form casting shadows across the floor. His storm-gray eyes lock with mine.


    <i>"You can''t stop me, Caine."</i> Fenris''s voice echoes in both my mind and the room, flowing out with a pulse of alpha aura, causing Jack-Eye to stumble. <i>"Not this time."</i>


    "Fuck. I hate when he does that."


    "Get back here." I push to my feet, but Fenris turns away.


    <i>"I''m done watching you deny what we both know."</i> His ws click against the floor as he walks. <i>"She''s ours to protect."</i>


    "She''s human. There''s never been a fated connection between a Lycan and a human, and you know it."


    Fenris pauses at the door. <i>"She''s ours."</i>


    The blue glow intensifies, and he vanishes. The sudden emptiness in my mind confirms he''s gone, racing toward Blue Mountain territory. Toward her.


    "Want to tell me what that was about?" Jack-Eye''s voice breaks through my rage.


    I groan. He''s the most persistent bastard, and he has a strange love of the humans'' movies. Ones with inexplicably dramatic plot lines. He won''t stop until he knows everything. "No."


    "Tough. Your wolf just manifested without your permission and ran off to some woman. Start talking."


    I m my fist into the wall. The concrete cracks, blood running down my knuckles. "There''s nothing to say."


    My beta doesn''t even blink, unaffected by my anger. It''s not directed at him, anyway, and he knows it. "Right. Because it''s totally normal for the Lycan King''s wolf to break free and chase after a human girl."


    "Don''t."


    "Is she why you''ve been distracted? Why you''ve been letting mend hits that shouldn''t connect?"


    The blood drips onto the floor. One drop. Two. Three. "She''s nothing."


    "Tell that to Fenris." Jack-Eye moves to the door. "I''ll track him¡ª"


    "No." The wordes out as a growl, and it''s not because a vision of Jack-Eyeforting the strange woman is more irritating than Fenris''s obsession with her. It can''t possibly be that. She''s just a human girl. "I''ll deal with this myself."


    Jack-Eye grins. "You know, I think we haven''t visited the Blue Mountain Pack in years. They''re about due for an official delegation, which is under the beta''s purview¡ª"


    My eyes narrow at Jack-Eye''s smirk. The blood on my knuckles has already dried, cuts already healed, but the sting remains. "Whatever scheme you''re plotting, drop it."


    "You know what would be hrious?" He leans his back against the wall, crossing his arms. "If word got out that the mighty Lycan King is searching for his mate. They''d wee the delegation with open arms."


    "Don''t even think about it."


    "Come on. Think about the possibilities." He gestures with his hands, painting an invisible picture. "The mysterious and brooding High Alpha, finally ready to open his heart again¡ª"


    "I will rip out your tongue."


    "It would put those other rumors to rest. The ones about..." His voice trails off, but the meaning hangs heavy in the air.


    "The rumors help more than they hinder." Ice coats each word. Fear keeps order better than respect.


    Jack-Eye''s expression sobers. "And how exactly do you n to exin that to the new girl? ''Wee to the pack, by the way, everyone thinks I murdered myst mate''?"


    A growl builds in my chest, low and threatening. "I''m not bringing some human girl into the pack."

 Chapter 6: Grace: Revoked Privileges

    <h4>Chapter 6: Grace: Revoked Privileges</h4>


    The way everything changes so quickly, like I never existed as Alpha''s daughter, is shocking. In a week, all my privileges have been stripped away. Even things I didn''t realize were a privilege.


    Like clothes.


    A private bathroom.


    Even my name.


    "Hey!"


    Yeah, that''s my new name.


    "Hey! You!"


    Stopping mid-step, I turn, only to find myself wanting to be swallowed whole. Seriously, a sinkhole opening up right beneath me would be heaven right now.


    It''s Rafe''s mate.


    The sight of her approaching sends a jolt through my system, my heart lurching painfully in my chest. She''s even more stunning up close, her long ck hair cascading over her shoulders like a silken waterfall, those piercing green eyes pure poison as they watch me.


    "Remember me?" Her voice drips with honeyed venom.


    She''s not alone. A few she-wolves follow along behind her. Some are faces I recognize; part of the pack. The others are strangers.


    "I..." My voice catches in my throat, barely a whisper. "Yes."


    My pride is nonexistent these days. It''s nothing to lower my gaze to the ground in front of her. It doesn''t tear me up inside at all.


    Who am I kidding? It''s shredding me apart.


    "Good. I''d hate to think I made such a small impression."


    She circles me, and I can feel her gaze raking over my body. I''m no longer dressed in <i>my</i> clothes; clothes that fit. Instead, I''m in an oversized t-shirt with holes in the hem and jeans that are only held up thanks to a cloth belt. Everything Alpha ever gave me was taken away.


    "My, my. How the mighty have fallen." She tuts, shaking her head in mock sympathy. "Your alpha''s little pet has been reduced to this. A fake daughter, trying to weasel her way into the pack under his good graces."


    The way she''s twisted facts around make me want to snap back, to defend myself, but what''s the point? I''m nothing now. No one is on my side here.


    "What do you want?" Keeping my voice level and calm is the only win I''m going to get today.


    She stops in front of me, tilting her head to the side. "Want? Oh, darling. I already have everything I want." Her smile widens, revealing perfect white teeth. "Rafe, the pack, the future. It''s all mine now. Haven''t you heard?"


    Yes, actually. It''s all the wolves can talk about; the sessful mateship of our pack to the neighboring Forest Springs Pack. I even know her name now.


    Ellie. Her dad''s the Alpha of Forest Springs.


    Her <i>real</i> dad. Biological. Wolf and all. Not like me. I''m just Rafe''s castaway, the abandoned adopted daughter of his Alpha.


    The casual way she ims it all, as if it''s her birthright, makes my blood boil. But there''s nothing I can do. She''s won, and we both know it.


    "I just wanted to see it for myself," she continues, reaching out to twirl a strand of my greasy hair around her finger. Baths are also a privilege I''ve had to give up; there''s never enough hot water. Or time. "The human girl who thought she could y with wolves."


    I flinch away from her touch, my skin crawling. "I never yed¡ª"


    "Shh." She presses a finger to my lips, silencing me. "It doesn''t matter now, does it? You''re where you belong. Among the dregs of the pack."


    Her words hit home, each one a fresh wound. I blink back tears, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Despite telling myself that I wouldn''t rise to the asion, she got it out of me anyway. And so easily, too.


    "You know," she leans in close, her breath hot against my ear, "Rafe told me all about you. How you clung to him, desperate for attention. It was pathetic, really."


    My heart shatters anew. Did Rafe really say those things? The thought of himughing at me behind my back, mocking my feelings... The same person who once dered his love to the moon. Who swore he''d keep me safe.


    "That''s not true," I whisper, but it sounds weak and unconvincing.


    I guess there''s still a part of me in denial about the wolf he''s be.


    Sheughs, the sound like tinkling bells. Even in her venom, it''s a beautiful sound. "Oh, sweetie. Did you really think he cared for you? A human? He was just amusing himself." She circles me again. "A little game to pass the time until he found his true mate. Me."


    The possessive way she says it makes my stomach churn.


    Maybe her pretty designer clothes wouldn''t be so elegant with my vomit all over her. I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms, breathing in sharp, shallow breaths.


    If I throw up on her, I''m just going to have to clean it up.


    That wouldn''t be worth the brief joy.


    "Face it, Grace." She spits my name like it''s poison on her tongue. "You were never anything more than a temporary distraction. A human toy for a bored wolf."


    I flinch. Why can she hurt me with these stupid words? Why is the mention of Rafe such an intense wound? I should be cold. Angry. Waiting for revenge or something.


    But none of thates. Only the further shriveling of my soul.


    "Now," she says, her tone suddenly businesslike, "let''s establish some ground rules, shall we?"


    I blink at her, confused. "Rules?"


    "Yes, rules. Pay attention." She taps my forehead with her perfectly manicured nail. "You''re to stay away from Rafe. No talking to him, no looking at him, nothing. As far as you''re concerned, he doesn''t exist. He''s mine now. The sooner you ept that, the easier your miserable little life will be."


    She leans in close, her green eyes boring into mine. "And if I catch you so much as breathing in his direction, I''ll make sure you regret it. Understood?"


    I nod mutely, unable to form words past the lump in my throat.


    "Good girl," she coos, patting my cheek condescendingly. "Run along now. I''m sure you have some important omega duties to attend to."


    She turns on her heel and saunters away, leaving me standing there, shattered and alone. I watch her go, her graceful movements a stark contrast to my own awkward, human gait. Her little posse of she-wolves follow behind, giggling and whispering among themselves.


    Oh, yes. Laugh at the pathetic human girl. Ha, ha.


    As soon as she''s out of sight, I crumple to the ground, my legs no longer able to support me. The tears I''ve been holding back finally spill over, hot and bitter on my cheeks.


    A human among wolves. Alone. Unwanted. Forgotten.

 Chapter 7: Grace: Put to Work

    <h4>Chapter 7: Grace: Put to Work</h4>


    My new life routine is simple.


    Wake up every morning before the sun rises. Cook and feed everyone in the omega lodge¡ªboth male and female. Clean when everyone leaves for the day. Do the piles ofundry. Lunch, thankfully, isn''t my problem¡ªbut it also means I don''t get to eat. And then, of course, dinner, and more cleaning.


    There are other staff who work at the omega lodge, but unlike me, they''re proper omega wolves. Anything they don''t feel like doingnds on my shoulders, and if I don''t get them done, it''s somehow my fault.


    The first week of my new lifestyle ended with me being whipped five nights straight.


    It isn''t a normal punishment for shirking your duties. They just wanted an excuse to do it.


    It wasn''t a secret that many of the pack hated having a human brought in, when Alpha first adopted me. Like me, they lived in ignorance of my mother''s identity. I''m sure they would have recognized her if they saw a picture, but I don''t have anything like that. Only my memories.


    It wasn''t until the night of the Mate Hunt, when Alpha kicked me out of his home and family, that the pack learned the truth.


    Mom was once mated to Alpha. Not as a proper Luna, of course. Mom, like me, was human. But she still bore his mating mark and was treated as his mate within the pack¡ªuntil one day she disappeared, never to be seen again. From the gossip running rampant these days, I quickly learned that everyone thought she was dead.


    My father¡ªmy <i>real</i> father¡ªis also my biological father. They were killed in a house invasion gone wrong on my twelfth birthday. Three dayster, I was taken in by a supposed family friend: Alpha.


    His apparent care and warm home were more appealing than any foster home, even if I had to live among wolves.


    If I''d known, I would have begged the foster system to keep me, but I doubt it would have made a difference. I had a home to go to, and someone willing to foot the bill. Why would they keep me in that situation?


    I sigh, my hands sinking into the mountain of cleanundry before me. The scent of detergent tickles my nose as I sort through the pile, grimacing at the sheer number of boxers. Men''s underwear. Great.


    "At least they''re clean," I mutter, folding each pair with quick, efficient movements.


    My fingers brush against the soft cotton, and I can''t help but think of Rafe. Did I ever fold hisundry? Of course not. That was a task reserved for the pack''s domestic staff, not Alpha''s daughter.


    But I dreamed of being his wife. His mate. Dreamed of doing theundry, of greeting him at the door with a home-cooked meal.


    Now here I am, reduced to handling strangers'' intimates.


    I shake my head, banishing thoughts of my ex.


    Focus on the task at hand, Grace. One pair at a time.


    The basket marked ''Jason'' slowly fills with neatly folded clothes. T-shirts, jeans, socks, and yes, those dreaded boxers. I smooth out a wrinkle in a shirt, wondering idly about the man who wears it. Is he kind? Cruel? Does he even know my name?


    Probably not. To most of the pack, I''m just the human. The outsider. The one who doesn''t belong.


    I ce thest item in Jason''s basket and set it aside, ready for delivery. A small victory in a day full of endless chores.


    "Human girl! Get up here!"


    The shrill voice of the head omega cuts through the air, echoing from the kitchen.


    My feet drag as I make my way to the kitchen, dreading whatever new task awaits me. The linoleum floor creaks under my weight, announcing my arrival before I even reach the doorway.


    The head omega is a stern-faced woman named Margo. She dresses like a secretary, with a ck suit and hair pulled back into a ssic bun, and always with a phone in hand. She''s also burly enough that, if I was asked with a gun to my head, I would have assumed her to be a bear shifter.


    While I was still Alpha''s daughter, she treated me with respect.


    Now, I''m dirt beneath her shoe.


    "There you are," she says, her tone clipped. "You''re needed at the main lodge. They''re short-handed."


    "Yes, ma''am." I''ve learned to treat her with respect; she''s the one who orders my punishments at the end of the night. I''ve watched as she ordered tenshes, five nights in a row. Her expression never changed.


    This woman wouldn''t care if I died of exhaustion, as long as my work was done.


    She looks me over, her lips pinched in disapproval. "Is that all you have to wear?"


    ncing at my oversized hoodie and sweatpants¡ªone of my three outfits these days¡ªI can only say, "Yes."


    She sighs, clearly frustrated. "You''ll need to find something else to wear. Wearing that reflects poorly on Alpha."


    I blink at her words, the only outward evidence of my surprise. Since when do any of these wolves care? They''ve been mocking me since my downfall, saying human trash doesn''t even deserve the clothes on my back.


    Margo grimaces, shooing me away. "I''ll find you something. For now, help them at the main lodge."


    * * *


    Arriving at the main lodge is a bit of a nerve-wracking affair.


    Being holed up at the omega lodge buried beneath a mountain of chores had one bright side: I never had to worry about running into Rafe.


    Being in the main part of town, where all the wolves gather, increases that risk exponentially. I have no desire to run into him, either alone or with Ellie. My heart''s still wounded and bleeding; it doesn''t need to be torn apart any further.


    The air outside the omega lodge crackles with an unfamiliar energy. Our small werewolf city, usually a picture of serene efficiency, now buzzes with frantic activity. Wolves dart to and fro, their movements urgent and purposeful. The central garden, once a lush oasis of tranquility, lies in ruins. Dirt flies as workers tear up flowerbeds and uproot shrubs with ruthless efficiency.


    What in the world...?


    The giant main lodge looms ahead, and I quicken my pace.


    "Grace!"


    I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat. That voice. No. Please, no.


    But luck, as always, isn''t on my side. From the corner of my eye, I catch a sh of golden hair. Rafe. And beside him, dark hair gleaming in the sunlight, Ellie. Two picture-perfect mates, arm-in-arm.


    I don''t wait to see more, rushing for the front doors of the main lodge. I burst through the entrance, chest heaving in relief, only to collide with a wall of muscle. Stumbling back, I look up into Beta''s scowling face.


    "Watch where you''re going, human," he growls, lip curling in disgust.


    He used to pat my head and tell me everything would be okay. Used to¡ª


    Ugh. No point in dwelling in memories of false care.


    "I''m sorry. Margo sent me¡ª"


    "I don''t care what that omega wants," Beta cuts me off. His eyes narrow, sweeping over my disheveled appearance. "But since you''re here now, make yourself useful."


    Before I can protest, he turns and barks at a nearby wolf. "You there! I''ve got someone to help you move those bushes."


    "What?" I gasp, but Beta''s already shoving me toward the door. "Wait, I¡ª"


    "Get to work," he snarls, and suddenly I''m outside again, blinking in the harsh sunlight.


    A burly wolf grabs my arm, dragging me toward the ravaged garden. "Come on, we don''t have all day."


    I stumble after him. From a random errand to doing manualbor I''m in no way equipped to handle. Awesome.


    Just another day in the life, I guess.


    It''s clear no one cares what I''m supposed to be doing. To them, I''m just another pair of hands. Expendable. Receable.


    The wolf releases me with a grunt, gesturing at a row of uprooted bushes. "Start hauling these to thepost pile. And be quick about it."


    I stare at the bushes, my stomach sinking. They''re enormous, their root balls easily the size of my torso. There''s no way I can lift these on my own.


    "Is there some sort of equipment for this, or¡ª"


    He snorts. "Equipment? Just lift it up and take it over."


    Yeah, that''s about what I expected.


    They know I''m human; they have to realize this task is just about impossible. But he storms off to do something else in the raucous atmosphere of the garden renovation.


    Gritting my teeth, I bend down and wrap my arms around the nearest bush. Branches and leaves stab at my face as I struggle to lift it.


    It doesn''t budge.


    Panic rises in my throat. If I can''t do this, they''ll punish me. Or worse, throw me out entirely. And then where would I go? I''m an adult now. There''s no program in the human world to save me from homelessness and ack of money.


    I''m educated¡ªif you count a werewolf high school diploma as educated.


    But that''s about it.


    I try again, straining with all my might. My muscles scream in protest, but slowly, inch by agonizing inch, the bush lifts off the ground.


    "That''s it," a gruff voice says behind me. I guess he''s back. "Now move it to the pile."


    Sweat drips into my eyes as I stagger forward, the bush''s weight threatening to crush me at any moment. Each step is a battle, my arms trembling with the effort of keeping the massive nt aloft.


    After what feels like an eternity, I reach thepost pile. With a gasp of relief, I let the bush tumble from my grasp.


    "Good," the man grunts. "Now do it again."


    I turn back to the garden, my heart sinking at the sight of the dozens of bushes still waiting to be moved. This is going to be a long, painful day.


    As I trudge back to grab another bush, movement near the lodge catches my eye. Rafe and Ellie stand on the steps, watching the activity in the garden. Watching <i>me</i>.


    Ellie''s lips curl into a smirk as she leans in close to Rafe, whispering something in his ear. Whatever she says makes himugh, his eyes never leaving my struggling form.

 Chapter 8: Grace: Exhausted

    <h4>Chapter 8: Grace: Exhausted</h4>


    As it turns out, there''s some sort of massive event happening. The Lycan King ising.


    No one knows why, but there are a lot of whispers. He''s been without a new mate for a long time, and has no heir. He''s probably on the search for a mate, or so the rumors dere. Then again, the same rumors im he killed thest one, so I''m not sure how reliable the gossip mill is.


    Wolves aren''t exactly like humans; their positions aren''t handed down solely because of bloodline. A wolf must be an alpha to lead, but not all alpha fathers sire alpha children. Also, females can be an alpha wolf¡ªin theory¡ªbut are never epted as leaders in their own right.


    Alphas and Betas, as the leaders of a pack, are always an alpha wolf and beta wolf in designation. There can be many alphas and beta designations within a pack, but only two wolves carry the title.


    It''s enough to make a human''s head spin, but it all makes sense once you''re living within a pack, as I am.


    With all that said¡ªit is rare to ever produce offspring of higher designation than the parents, though it isn''t umon for them to be of lower strength. So, two betas can''t make an alpha. And two omegas can''t make a beta. At least, that''s the general rule.


    So, in order to have a Lycan Prince¡ªthe Lycan King needs an heir.


    Though, if one were to ask what happens when a Lycan King dies without one¡ªwell, I have no idea. I don''t pay much attention to the Lycan court. I''m struggling enough to live in a wolf pack as a human.


    "That''s enough for today. Clear out!"


    The overseeing wolf''s bark cuts through the humid evening air. My shoulders sag with relief, the weight of exhaustion settling deep in my bones. I drop the shovel, my blistered hands screaming in protest as I flex my fingers.


    Sweat and dirt cake my skin, mingling with streaks of blood from the cuts littering my arms. Each step sends jolts of pain through my feet.


    There are numerous blisters rubbing raw against the inside of my ill-fitting shoes. The thought of the long walk back to the omega lodge makes me want to curl up right here in the torn-up garden.


    But if I do that, I''ll be free game to any of my tormenters passing by. While there''s no one who will protect me at the omega lodge, at least I have a room to hide in.


    I force myself to move, one agonizing step after another. The pack bustles around me, their excited chatter about the Lycan King''s impending visit grating on my nerves. To them, it''s a momentous asion. I''m sure the she-wolves who didn''t find their mates during the Mate Hunt are primping and prepping in hopes of bing a Lycan Queen. None of them seem to care about the widespread rumor that he killed hisst mate.


    But to me, this chatter is just another reminder of how I don''t belong.


    My stomach growls, a painful reminder that I''ve had nothing but a single ss of water while doing manualbor. The thirst is almost worse than the hunger, my throat dry and scratchy.


    As I trudge along the darkening path, my mind wanders to the Lycan King''s arrival. Where will I hide? The omega lodge is out of the question¡ªit''ll be crawling with visiting wolves. My old room in Alpha''s house is no longer an option.


    A bitterugh tears at my dry throat. Life in the wolf pack sucks.


    I can''t stay here forever. It''s impossible. Living here as a human is too dangerous.


    The omega lodge looms ahead, a dingy silhouette against the night sky. No warm lights wee me, noforting scents of home-cooked meals. Just the acrid stench of unwashed bodies and stale air.


    Some omegas don''t keep themselves clean. Wolves are usually pretty finicky about their hygiene, but those at the bottom of the pack don''t always care about it.


    I slip inside, praying I can make it to the showers without¡ª


    "Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in."


    Margo''s sneering voice stops me in my tracks. She''s standing in the darkness, her eyes glinting in the dim light. "You smell terrible. Are you covered in dirt? Don''t even think about tracking that filth through here."


    I bite back a retort. Arguing will only make things worse. "I just need to shower and sleep."


    "There''s no time to sleep. The kitchens need scrubbing before the Lycan King arrives. Can''t have any human stink offending his royal nose, can we?"


    My heart sinks. "But I haven''t eaten¡ª"


    "Not my problem." Margo''s dismissiveness is cold. "Now get moving."


    I shuffle towards the kitchen, my body screaming in protest. The thought of hours of more work makes me want to cry.


    The kitchen is a disaster zone. Pots and pans piled high, counters sticky with spills, floors caked with who-knows-what.


    It''s clear no one''s done a thing while I wasn''t around.


    I grab a sponge and get to work, trying to ignore the gnawing emptiness in my stomach.


    As I scrub, my mind drifts back to the Lycan King''sst visit. I was barely thirteen, peeking through the curtains as sleek ck cars rolled up the driveway. The wolves that emerged were nothing like our pack. They moved with a fluid grace that spoke of power beyond anything I''d ever seen.


    One of them¡ªa tall, imposing figure with eyes that seemed to glow¡ªhad looked right at my window. I''d ducked away, heart pounding, Alpha''s warnings ringing in my ears.


    Now, yearster, the thought of facing those wolves without even the illusion of Alpha''s protection sends a chill down my spine. Where can I possibly hide? Alpha always told me to stay hidden during their visit. They hate humans.


    My arms ache as I attack a particrly stubborn stain. Maybe I could sneak into one of the unused storage sheds on the outskirts of pack territory. It would be cramped and ufortable, but at least I''d be out of sight.


    For some reason, as I clean the kitchen from top to bottom, my arms and back screaming with the effort, I can''t shake the feeling of those glowing eyes looking my way.

 Chapter 9: Grace: Unwelcome Advances

    <h4>Chapter 9: Grace: Unwee Advances</h4>


    I have to leave the pack.


    This realization is a long timeing, but when I wake up to Rafe''s face staring down at me, in the rtive safety of <i>my own room</i>, it''s a decision made for me.


    I''m not safe anywhere. Not even where I sleep.


    "Don''t shout," he whispers, cing a hand over my mouth.


    I wasn''t going to, anyway. No one woulde to my aid here.


    My nod seems to relieve him, because he lets me go and sits on my bed without asking for permission.


    I sit up, my fingers clutching the nket and pulling it over my chest. The thin fabric offers little protection, but it''s all I have against Rafe''s piercing blue gaze. I''m still wearing my clothes from yesterday, but being in my bed¡ªin my room¡ªleaves me feeling vulnerable.


    My heart pounds, a traitorous rhythm that threatens to betray my resolve.


    "What are you doing here?"


    Rafe''s sun-bright hair catches the dim light, a halo around his perfect features. His blue eyes, once a source offort, now make my stomach twist.


    All I can see is how he dumped me for Ellie the moment he realized they were mates.


    "How are you doing, Grace?"


    His hand reaches for mine. I flinch away, pressing myself against the headboard.


    "What are you doing here?" The wordse out sharper this time.


    Rafe''s shoulders slump, and he runs a hand through his hair, mussing the perfect strands. "I''m worried about you."


    A harshugh escapes my lips before I can stop it. "That''s rich."


    "I mean it, Grace. I care about you."


    "You have a funny way of showing it."


    His sad facade fades as his jaw clenches. There''s a tick beneath his skin, a twitching that only serves to remind me he''s changed. Like a personality transnt. Or, worse¡ªI never knew him at all. "It''splicated."


    "No, it''s not. You chose her. You made that perfectly clear."


    There''s a sh of amber bleeding into the blue of his eyes. Myck of submission must anger his wolf, too. "It''s not that simple. The mate bond¡ª"


    "Save it." I cut him off, wishing my words came out with more scorn and less trembling. "I don''t want to hear about your precious mate bond."


    Rafe leans forward, his scent washing over me. Trees and earth and everything I once called home. "Grace, please. I never meant to hurt you."


    "But you did." The words hang between us, heavy and undeniable. Making me sound way too fragile.


    He reaches for me again, and this time I let him take my hand. His touch sends sparks racing up my arm, and I hate myself for the way my body responds to him.


    "I miss you," he whispers.


    For a moment, I let myself believe him. Let myself imagine a world where we could go back to the way things were. But then I remember Ellie''s cruel smile. His indifference in the forest, when I was near-naked and terrified. And how impossible it is for me to remain in this abusive pack.


    I pull my hand away. "You don''t get to miss me. You don''t get toe in here and act like you care."


    "I do care!" Rafe''s voice rises, and I flinch. He takes a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself. "I know things are different now, but that doesn''t mean I''ve stopped caring about you."


    "Different?" The word is so fucking pathetic for this situation, leaving me with no way to express how I feel. So Iugh. A brittle, sharp, broken sound. "Like how your new mate treats me like dirt? How the entire pack looks at me like I''m nothing?"


    Rafe''s face twists into something ugly, before it smooths out again. He leans forward, grabbing my hand and holding tight, not letting me go. "I''ll talk to Ellie. I''ll make sure she treats you better."


    "You don''t get it, do you?" I shake my head, disbelief coursing through me. "It''s not just about how Ellie treats me. It''s about how you let her treat me. How you stand by and watch while I''m humiliated and abused."


    "I can''t go against my mate, Grace. You know that."


    "Then why are you here?" I demand, anger finally overtaking the hurt. "What do you want from me?"


    Rafe''s eyes darken, and suddenly he''s too close. His hand cups my cheek, and I hate the way I lean into his touch. Like a bad fucking habit. "I want you," he breathes.


    For a heartbeat, I''m tempted. To give in, to let him kiss me, to pretend that nothing has changed. It would be so much easier.


    I hate him.


    But I miss him. So much.


    He was my everything. I dreamed of a future with him. I loved him.


    I shove him away, scrambling out of bed. "Get out."


    "Grace¡ª"


    "No." I stand tall, even as my legs shake beneath me. The temptation of the familiar is terrifying. "You don''t get to have both of us. You made your choice, Rafe. Now live with it."


    His face hardens, that alpha presence I once found so attractive now feeling oppressive. "You''re mine, Grace. You''ve always been mine."


    "Yours?" It''s amazing how much my heart hurts. Again. "No, I''m not. I''m human, remember? I don''t belong to this pack, and I certainly don''t belong to you."


    Rafe stands, towering over me. His eyes ze with amber fire; his wolf is fighting for control. He steps forward, and I step back, only for the wall to hit my back.


    "You <i>are</i> mine," he insists, resting a hand on the wall beside my head. "You''re just angry with me. It''s okay, Gracie. I understand. I get it. I hurt you."


    He lifts a hand, brushing it against my jaw in a whisper-soft caress that has my stomach churning.


    This is not the Rafe I loved.


    He wasn''t stupid like this. He cared about my feelings. My thoughts. He wanted me to be true to myself. He loved me for me.


    He didn''t ever im to own me.


    "Please leave." My demands downgrade to pleas. "I just want to be left alone. If Ellie finds out you''re here¡ª"


    "She won''t find out," he breathes, his eyes drawn to my lips. "We''ll keep it quiet. I promise I won''t let you get hurt, Grace."


    "Rafe, she''s not stupid. She''ll know¡ª"


    He swoops in to kiss me, but I get my hand between our lips just in time. My heart races at the anger darkening his eyes, even as his hand strokes my cheek in a gentle caress. "It''s okay, Gracie. I''ll make it okay. We can still be together in the end. I know I said things that hurt you, but it was all in the hunting haze."


    He presses his lips against my hand, in soft, sensual kisses that only make my skin crawl.


    "I made a mistake, Grace. But I''m going to get you back. You''ll see. You were meant for me."


    * * *


    Rafe eventually leaves.


    And I shower, because his touch leaves me feeling filthy.


    Which, of course, means Margo screams at me for being a filthyze-about, then sends me back to the main lodge to continue work on the garden, despite having had only a couple hours of sleep.


    In short? Rafe ruined my entire day, all to steal a few kisses behind his precious mate''s back.


    Instead of heading to the garden, like Margo demands, I sneak back into my room to pack the few things I now have. But a girl needs clothes. And shoes that fit. And food.


    Those aren''t in my room.


    The kitchen is too busy, so I can''t steal food from there. But there''s a mini pantry on each floor, filled with simple things like graham crackers, water bottles, and beef jerky.


    I''ve stolen a few things from them before, but Margo caught me with empty wrappers on the first day. I never tried to take snacks again.


    This time? I don''t care. I have arge backpack (which, I admit, I stole from someone''s room) and I fill it with as much as I can. There''s even a machete (also stolen from someone''s room). I do have to sneak around to avoid Margo, but I score a pair of shoes (yes, stolen from someone''s room). They fit better than what I was given... because they''re <i>my</i> shoes, given away to a random omega, all to show me how little I mean to the pack.


    My heart pounds against my ribs as I slip out of the omega lodge. The weight of the stolen backpack feels like an anchor, threatening to drag me back into the hell I''m desperate to escape. Each step away from the building sends a jolt of adrenaline through my veins.


    Surely someone will stop me. A hand will grab my shoulder, or Margo''s shrill voice will cut through the air. But nothing happens.


    The forest looms ahead.


    I don''t bother trying to hide my trail. What''s the point? They''re wolves. They''ll catch my scent no matter what I do. Instead, I stick to the well-worn path, my stolen shoes¡ª<i>my </i>shoes¡ªcarrying me deeper into the forest.


    The n, if you can call it that, is simple. Follow the trail until I reach the river, then use the water to mask my scent. It''s not foolproof, but it''s all I''ve got. My real hope lies in the chaos back at the pack. With the Lycan King''s impending arrival, maybe they won''t notice I''m gone until it''s toote.


    Leaving is an impulsive decision, obviously. But I can''t stay.


    I''ll die there. Either from a jealous mate, or overwork, or unchecked bullying by angry wolves. And, if Rafe doesn''t stop whatever delusions he''s on, I''m going to end up vited with more than a stolen kiss.


    The forest air fills my lungs, crisp and clean. It should feel like freedom, but all I taste is fear. What am I doing? Where am I going? The questions swirl in my mind, threatening to overwhelm me.


    No money. No real n. Just a backpack full of stolen goods and a desperate need to escape. The thought of finding some sort of help in the city is a thin thread of hope I cling to.


    The trail winds through the trees, familiar yet suddenly alien. How many times had I walked this path with Rafe? The memory of his touch, onceforting, now makes my skin crawl. I push the thought away, focusing on the sound of my footsteps and the rustle of leaves overhead.


    A twig snaps somewhere to my left. I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat. Is this it? Have they found me already? I strain my ears, listening for the telltale sound of wolf paws on forest floor.


    Nothing.


    Just a squirrel, scampering up a nearby tree. I let out a shaky breath, forcing my legs to move again.

 Chapter 10: Grace: Great Escape

    <h4>Chapter 10: Grace: Great Escape</h4>


    The beam of my shlight flickers, casting eerie shadows across the forest floor. My heart skips a beat. Not now. Please, not now. I tap the stic casing, and the light steadies.


    Thank God.


    A gust of wind whips through the trees, sending a shiver down my spine. The temperature''s dropping fast. I fumble with my backpack, fishing out the extra sweater I''d snagged from the omega lodge. It smells of mothballs and desperation, but it''s warm. I pull it over my head, grateful for the addedyer.


    My stomach rumbles painfully with hunger. I''ve sipped at water and snacked on jerky through the day, but my supplies are finite. I can''t eat them too quickly.


    I tear off a small piece of jerky with my teeth, chewing slowly. Like it''s gum.


    One foot in front of the other. That''s all I can focus on now. My legs ache, muscles screaming for rest. My blisters tore open miles ago. But I can''t stop. Not yet. I need to reach humans.


    The river''s behind me, its rushing waters a distant memory. I pray it''s enough to throw them off my scent. Not forever¡ªI''m not stupid enough to hope for that. I just need time.


    Margo''s probably realized I''m gone by now. The thought sends a fresh wave of panic through me. Will theye looking? Part of me hopes they will. That someone, anyone, cares enough to wonder where I''ve gone.


    But that''s the old Grace talking. The one who still believed she belonged. I know better now.


    "Let them forget about me," I mutter, though the words are bitter on my tongue. "It''s what they''ve always wanted, anyway."


    Okay, yeah. I''m feeling a little sorry for myself, but it isn''t all hopeless.


    The irony isn''t lost on me. A week ago, the idea of being forgotten would have shattered me. Now? It might be my only chance at freedom.


    Each step takes me further from the home I''ve had for years. It would be a lie to say I have confidence in surviving with humans. I''m not even sure how things work in the human world anymore.


    The forest grows denser, the trees closing in around me. My tiny shlight barely prates the gloom. Shadows dance at the edge of my vision, ying tricks on my exhausted mind.


    A branch scrapes across my cheek, drawing blood. I wince, touching the spot gingerly. It stings, a sharp reminder of how ill-equipped I am for this journey. What was I thinking? I''m no survivalist. Just a human girl, alone in a world of wolves.


    Had I known this day woulde, I would have cked off a lot less in training. Though, no one ever expected me out on some sort of survival-level mission, so maybe it wouldn''t have helped that much.


    My foot catches on a root, sending me sprawling. The shlight flies from my hand, ttering against a rock. The light flickers once, twice, then dies. Darkness engulfs me.


    "No, no, no," I whisper, scrambling on hands and knees. My fingers brush against the cold stic, and I shake it frantically. The light flickers back on, sending a rush of shaky relief through my limbs.


    Unlike wolves, I can''t see in the dark.


    I <i>need</i> this light.


    Something tters to my left and I freeze.


    My eyes dart around, searching for movement in the inky darkness beyond my shlight''s beam.


    Nothing.


    Probably just a rabbit. Or another squirrel. I force myself to exhale slowly, willing my racing heart to calm. But the seed of doubt has been nted, and it takes root quickly in the fertile soil of my fear.


    I start walking again, my pace a touch quicker than before.


    A rustle in the underbrush to my right. I whip my head around, the beam of light dancing wildly across the forest floor.


    Again, nothing. But the prickling sensation at the base of my neck intensifies.


    <i>You''re being paranoid, Grace. No one''s following you. They don''t care enough to bother.</i>


    The thought should beforting, but it only twists the knife of loneliness deeper.


    An owl hoots in the distance, the sound carrying clearly through the still night air. I jump, a small yelp escaping my lips before I can stop it. The noise seems to echo, bouncing off the trees anding back to mock me.


    Pathetic.


    I grit my teeth, anger ring hot in my chest. "Get it together," I mutter to myself. "You''re not some helpless damsel. You can do this."


    A distant howl cuts through the night, freezing the blood in my veins. I stop dead in my tracks, ears straining to pinpoint the direction. It came from behind me, far off but clear.


    No. No, it can''t be. They''re not looking for me. They don''t care enough to bother.


    But what if they are?


    The thought sends a fresh surge of adrenaline coursing through my body. I pick up my pace, no longer caring about stealth. My footsteps seem thunderously loud in the quiet forest, but I can''t bring myself to slow down. The need to put distance between myself and that howl overrides everything else.


    Branches whip at my face as I push through the undergrowth, leaving stinging scratches in their wake. My lungs burn with each ragged breath.


    A heavy weight ms into my back, knocking the air from my lungs. I hit the forest floor hard, leaves and twigs digging into my palms as I scream.


    Heart pounding, I scramble to my feet, spinning around wildly.


    A massive ck wolf stands mere feet away. A familiar ethereal glow surrounds him, casting the nearby trees in an otherworldly light.


    My savior.


    He pants heavily, sides heaving with each breath. His head tilts to one side, regarding me with a human-like curiosity. There''s no aggression in his stance, just... interest.


    "You," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the thundering of my own pulse.


    The wolf''s ears prick forward at the sound. He takes a step closer, and I instinctively back away. My heel catches on a root, nearly sending me sprawling again.


    He pauses, head cocking to the other side now. A low whine escapes him, sounding apologetic.


    I swallow hard, trying to steady my breathing. "Why are you back? I told you to go."


    But, of course, he doesn''t answer.

 Chapter 11: Grace: Rules

    <h4>Chapter 11: Grace: Rules</h4>


    Time isn''t my friend, so Iy down the ground rules. "Look. I''m trying to get out of here, okay? You cane with me if you want, but no more skulking around in the shadows. And definitely no pouncing on me anymore. If I sprain my ankle, I''m never getting out of here. Got it?"


    Not even a flick of his ears to show acknowledgement.


    He has to be a shifter, though. There''s no way some random, glowing wolf just exists on its own in the wild.


    "You''re a rogue, right?"


    Ear flick.


    I guess that''s his way of saying yes. "Okay. I don''t know why you won''t shift, but that''s not my business. Either help me or stay out of my way. That''s all I''m asking."


    No ear flick, or tail wag, or any change in his bodynguage whatsoever.


    Fine. Don''t answer. Two can y the quiet game.


    Turning my attention to my mission, I nce around. Which way was I headed?


    East, because I need to head east toward the city. But which way is east? Now that I''m all turned around, I''m not sure. The stars peek through branches above, but their patterns mean nothing to me. That <i>definitely</i> is something we covered in training, and would be helpful to know about now.


    My feet crunch over dead leaves as I pick a direction that seems right and start walking. The wolf''s massive paw steps behind me pause. A low rumble draws my attention back to him as he winds around me.


    He nts himself in my path, blocking the way forward.


    "What now?"


    His head tilts to the right, ears perked forward.


    "That way?"


    Another ear flick. Progress.


    I change course, following his suggestion. The tension in my shoulders eases as he falls into step beside me. His ethereal glow provides better light than my dying shlight ever did.


    My hand reaches out, brushing over his side. The fur feels softer than I expected, almost silk-like between my fingers. He doesn''t pull away.


    His presence keeps the worst of my fears at bay, lulling me intofort.


    "I''m heading to Sterling City," I say, breaking the silence after a while. "It''s the closest human settlement I know of. Should be about east of pack territory."


    Not sure how far east, but I do know it isn''t far¡ªby car. Walking is a different story.


    His steady pace never falters.


    "I can''t stay with the pack anymore. Humans don''t belong in wolf packs. I was stupid to think otherwise."


    A branch snaps under my boot, but I''m no longer paranoid about making a little noise.


    "The thing is, I don''t know the first thing about being human. I lived a normal human life until Alpha took me in, but that was a long time ago. A <i>really</i> long time ago. Haven''t been back since."


    The wolf''s ears swivel toward me, listening.


    "I don''t even know how to get a job, or rent an apartment, or¡ª"


    My foot catches on an exposed root. The ground rushes up to meet my face, but sharp teeth snag the back of my shirt. The wolf''s quick reaction saves me from eating dirt.


    He lets go once I''m back on my feet.


    "Thanks."


    Ear swivel again.


    See? He''s listening. We''re having a conversation.


    It''s shocking how lonely I feel. It hasn''t been that long since I was happy. Only days, really. And yet it feels like months since thest time I could talk to someonefortably.


    I''m not usually this much of a talker. It isn''t like I won''t, but I spent most of my time around Rafe listening.


    Well, whatever. The wolf doesn''t seem to mind, and¡ª


    "Fenris, why the hell did you bring her here?"


    ¡ªshit.


    My heart plummets to Earth''s core, taking my blood pressure with it. My knees? Traitorous things, they buckle, causing me to stumble three paces, ending in a drunken sway.


    Someone grabs my arm with a hand that''s hard and cold as iron, hauling me upright as my feet scramble.


    It takes a few seconds, but my brain and body sync back up. My heart starts beating again, even if it is a little too fast and furious, and I curse myself nine ways from Sunday for being so stupid as to trust some random fucking shifter in pack territory.


    Of <i>course</i> he brought me back.


    Of. Fucking. Course.


    <i>Idiot!</i>


    As I''m busy berating myself, iron-hand-guy spins me around.


    My breath catches in my throat as I stare up at the man towering over me. His scowl is enough to shrivel my soul and everyst millimeter of my self-worth, and I <i>know</i> his frosty gray eyes areing for my dreams.


    The nightmare kind.


    He''s handsome, too. Because of course he is. All dark and broody and serial killer-esque.


    ck tattoos snake up his neck and disappear beneath the cor of his shirt, intricate designs that shouldn''t exist on a shifter''s skin. The patterns seem to shift in the moonlight, as if alive with their own dark energy.


    He smells like a walking ad for some expensive cologne. The kind with half-naked guys on TV. Warm, dark, sexy. Nothing like Rafe, who smells like the forest.


    This is something else entirely, something I can''t name, though it makes my head spin. Or maybe it''s my bottomed-out blood pressure.


    "I asked you a question." His voice rolls through me like thunder, deep andmanding. Each word drips with barely contained violence. Also, I''m pretty sure he didn''t ask me anything.


    But maybe he did, when I was busy ogling him.


    My mouth opens, but no soundes out. The grip on my arm tightens, and pain shoots through my muscles. It feels like he''s going to pop it right off, no chainsaw necessary.


    He steps closer, and I catch more details I wish I hadn''t. A scar cuts through his left eyebrow. He has a scar under his bottom lip, like he used to have a piercing there. Those gray eyes hold secrets darker than the spaces between stars.


    Okay, thest part is really just the lower half of my bodying online to whatever strange pheromones he''s putting out.


    Everything about him screams danger. Power. Authority. And sex. Lots of sex.


    My brain is suddenly inundated with way too many theories on how the man''s chest looks under his shirt, in ways it never did with Rafe.


    And then, through the sudden sexual haze that clouds my intellect, it clicks.


    The massive ck wolf. The ethereal glow. The way he moved through the forest like he owned it.


    The Lycan King.


    Oh, God. Or Moon Goddess. Or who-the-fuck-ever deity is up there.


    I''ve been wandering through the woods with the most dangerous shifter alive, treating him like some kind of pet. Telling him my pathetic life story.


    My knees threaten to give out again, but his grip keeps me upright. The forest spins around me as the full weight of my situation crashes down.


    I''m alone in the dark with the wolf king who supposedly murdered hisst mate¡ª


    A soft whine cuts through my panicked mental gibberish, and I blink rapidly at the glowing ck wolf standing next to the strange man, poking his wet nose against my arm, where it''s gripped so tightly I''m positive blood flow has stopped.


    Okay. Backtrack. Wolf is still there. So, not the Lycan King? Maybe a rogue. Rogue king? Do those exist? Or maybe a serial kille¡ª


    Pain shoots through my arm as he shakes me hard, growling some question at me. A shriek tears from my throat, echoing through the trees. The sound startles even me¡ªhigh, piercing, full of raw terror. Like I''m being actively murdered.


    Panicked self-preservation has arrived. A littlete, but better than never, I guess.


    The massive wolf''s growl vibrates through my bones. Before I can blink, he rams his shoulder into the man''s side. The impact knocks his iron grip loose, and I stumble backward.


    My feet move before my brain catches up.


    I turn and run.


    "What the fuck, Fenris?"


    His enraged voice carries through the trees, spurring me faster. My lungs burn. Roots and fallen branches grab at my feet, but terror keeps me upright and pure luck keeps me from spraining my ankle.


    The darkness swallows me whole. Without the wolf''s ethereal glow, I can barely see where I''m going. My hands stretch out in front of me, batting away branches before they can take out my eyes.


    Thorns tear at my clothes. Every obstacle threatens to send me sprawling, and at least one sends a shooting pain through my ankle, leaving me with a limp.


    But I keep going. I can''t slow down.


    The Lycan King (maybe). I just ran from the Lycan King (maybe). Or he''s a serial killer. Or something.


    Oh God, oh God, oh God.


    A heavy weight explodes against my back, and my consciousness decides then and there to give up.

 Chapter 12: Caine: She’s Not Mine

    <h4>Chapter 12: Caine: She''s Not Mine</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    My wolf''s glower burns into my back as I finish tying his little human obsession''s hands together.


    "Will you stop that? I''m not going to hurt her." Not yet, anyway. Or maybe ever.


    <i>"She was running away."</i>


    "Yes, and isn''t that interesting?" Grunting, I push myself off the ground, stretching my back. My entire body''s sore from sparring, and I just had to chase my wolf''s little rabbit through the woods for no reason at all.


    I wasn''t even trying to scare her. She just ran for no reason.


    Fenris scoffs. <i>"You know what effect you have on others. You should have treated her more gently. She''s going to hurt when she wakes up."</i>


    One little tackle to the ground and she even lost consciousness. She''s pathetically weak, and the faint prick of guilt against my conscience is unwee. "Not my problem, Fenris. We agreed you would stay away from her until I finished my investigation."


    To his credit, Fenris doesn''t argue, instead padding over to rub his head all over the human girl.


    Her obnoxious blueberry muffin scent wafts through the air, and I grimace. It''s mixed with the scent of other wolves; one stands out stronger than the rest. My skin crawls and tightens, and I tell myself it''s because human scents should never mix with wolves. "We''ll have to find a ce to put her until tomorrow."


    A distinct sense of disapproval emanates from my bond with Fenris, but I ignore it.


    <i>"Just keep her with us. Is that so hard?"</i>


    "Stop it. You know the restrictions. I''m only here to investigate why they hid her existence and brought a human into a Mate Hunt. This is Bran''s second time untingw."


    Fenris scoffs. <i>"You would be hard-pressed to find a pack who hasn''t broken this one. Humans are historically desirable."</i>


    "Humans are weak, and bringing them into any pack is considered kidnapping under internationalws¡ª"


    <i>"Only if they don''t like it."</i>


    My eyes narrow as I stare down my wolf. "This investigation will proceed <iwfully</i>. Get your obsession under control, Fenris. Humans only bring trouble to a pack. And stop marking her." My voicees out rougher than intended as Fenris continues rubbing his massive head over the girl''s unconscious form. "You''re acting like a pup with a new toy."


    <i>"Her scent is tainted with other wolves."</i>


    "And that''s none of our concern." The words are like rotten blood in my mouth as I get another whiff of the foreign wolf scents clinging to her skin. The one is particrly strong, and I want to scrub her skin raw until it''s gone. My jaw clenches. "Back off."


    <i>"Make me."</i>


    The girl''s sweet scent floods my nostrils¡ªwarm blueberries and fresh-baked muffins. Nauseatingly sweet. Artificial. Wrong. My body responds anyway, and I me Fenris''s obsession seeping through our bond.


    I nudge her hip with my boot. No response; she''s still out cold.


    <i>"Gentle,"</i> Fenris growls.


    "Shut up." My fingers curl into fists as another wave of that possessive wolf scent hits me. Someone''s been all over her, marking her like she''s his territory. It''s fresh.


    <i>"Now who''s obsessing?"</i>


    "It''s your fault. You won''t shut up about her." I grab her arm, hauling her over my shoulder. Her body molds against mine, soft and warm. I have to ignore how perfect her body feels, but blood rushes against my will. "We''ll just keep her somewhere secure until tomorrow."


    <i>"You feel it too. There''s only one exnation for this pull."</i>


    "Enough." My tattoos burn with warning. "She''s nothing but a legal headache. Focus on the investigation."


    Fenris disappears, and my tattoos grow warm. There''s always something missing inside of me when he manifests into his separate form; when he returns, the connection between us is stronger. Sharper.


    Each step jostles her body against mine. Her curves press into my shoulder, soft and warm. Blood rushes south with a vengeance, and I bite back a curse.


    "Fuck."


    <i>Having trouble? </i>Fenris''s smug satisfaction bleeds through our bond.


    "Shut up."


    Her scent wraps around me with each movement. My fingers dig into her thigh to keep her steady. Another step, another shift of her body. My jaw clenches, and I use my other hand to stabilize her at the waist. And if a few of my fingers dig a little lower, into the soft flesh of her ass¡ªit''s an unavoidable ident, that''s all.


    <i>You could always carry her properly.</i>


    "Not happening."


    <i>Your loss. Though I must say, your struggle is entertaining.</i>


    "We know nothing about this girl or why she''s out here. For all we know, she could be a spy."


    <i>A spy? </i>Fenris''s mentalugh echoes through my skull.<i> She''s been outcasted. Can''t you see she''s the victim here?</i>


    Her body slides against mine again. I adjust my grip, sliding my hand a little higher up her thigh. It''s just to keep her steady, to limit her bouncing around up there. Nothing more. "An outcast wouldn''t reek of another wolf''s im."


    Fenris goes quiet. The silence stretches, heavy with something dark and possessive.


    <i>It doesn''t matter who thinks they have a im on her. </i>His voice turns eerily mild. <i>She''s ours now.</i>


    A dark chuckle escapes my throat; his true self is finally bleeding out. "What do you think she''ll do when she realizes you aren''t a sweet little puppy?"


    <i>It doesn''t matter. She''s ours.</i>


    The calm certainty in Fenris''s voice is far tooforting, making me almost feel like he''s right. Like he''s brainwashing me with his determination. "This obsession of yours is going too far."


    <i>Is it?</i>


    "Yes."


    <i>Then will you return her to the wolf who''sid his im all over her?</i>


    My fingers dig deeper into her thigh. It''s impossible to ignore the alien scent coating her body. She''s saturated in it. There''s a level of intimacy there... Red bleeds into my vision. "Fuck."


    My tattoos burn as Fenris''s emotions crash against mine, amplifying the possessive fury until my hands shake.


    "This isn''t¡ª" My jaw clenches as another wave of the other wolf''s scent hits me. "We''re only here to investigate."


    <i>Keep telling yourself that. Your grip says otherwise.</i>


    I force my fingers to loosen, but they tighten again of their own ord when she shifts against me. The soft curves of her body press closer, and my blood burns hotter. "It''s your fault. You''re pushing these feelings through our bond."


    <i>Am I? Then why does your skin crawl every time you catch his scent on her?</i>


    "Shut up."


    <i>Why does your hand keep sliding higher up her thigh?</i>


    "I said, shut up." But he''s right. My palm has crept up, fingers spread possessively across her flesh, my fingers just inches from a warm and weing heat. I jerk my hand back down, cursing when she almost slides off my shoulder.


    <i>Face it. You feel it too.</i>


    "What I feel is irritation at being stuck with your new toy."


    <i>She''s not a toy.</i>


    I scoff. "Then what is she?"


    <i>You know what she is. You''ve known since you first caught her scent.</i>


    Denial courses through me, and I growl, "Don''t even think it."


    <i>Why not? Because she''s human? Or because you''re afraid?</i>


    My fingers flex against her thigh again. "She''s human. It''s impossible."


    <i>Then exin why every inch of you rebels against another wolf''s im on her.</i>


    I can''t. I can''t exin why my skin feels too tight, why my blood burns, why I want to hunt down whoever touched her and tear out his throat. I can''t exin why her scent calls to me even as it repulses me, why my hands keep wandering, why everything in me screams <i>mine</i>.


    She''s just a human.

 Chapter 13: Grace: Kidnapped

    <h4>Chapter 13: Grace: Kidnapped</h4>


    My head throbs with each pulse of my heart and my stomach churns. A sharp ache shoots through my shoulders as consciousness creeps back. My wrists burn, bound tight behind my back; whatever''s holding me captive bites into my wrists. There''s a gag binding my mouth, and it takes everything in me not to panic and try to shove it out with my tongue; I can breathe, but it feels like I can''t.


    Aside from some chirping from birds, there''s no other sound to be heard.


    I open my eyes to look around.


    Still in the forest¡ªsomewhere. Dawn''s covered the area in a soft haze, the grass misted over. I should be cold, but something warm is covering me.


    A quick nce tells me it''s a giant ck tail.


    Heat radiates against my back, and the hint of ethereal light tells me exactly who the massive tail belongs to. Each breath he takes lifts my body slightly where I''m pressed against his side.


    My furry captor sleeps curled around me like some kind of protective barrier. The irony would be funny if I wasn''t tied up.


    Damn it. I thought he was my friend, and he betrayed me. This is why you don''t go around picking up strays.


    The events ofst night crash back in a flood; the serial killer/Lycan King/weird stranger with tattoos isn''t around, but he''s clearly not worried about me getting away.


    Arms bound behind my back, gag in mouth, and giant wolf on guard, even if he''s asleep. Check, check, and check. There''s no escape in my future, but I test the ropes anyway, unsurprised when they don''t budge. The more I struggle, the tighter they be, cutting off cirction to my fingers.


    The wolf''s twitches, and a soft whine escapes his throat. Whatever he''s dreaming about has his massive paws twitching against the ground.


    My shoulders scream as I try to sit up, stiff and aching from my position on the ground. The movement pulls at muscles I didn''t know existed. The gag muffles my groan of pain.


    The wolf''s tail tightens around my waist like a furry seat belt.


    "Mmmph!" The shocked sound I make is embarrassing, but the gag at least muffles it into something unrecognizable.


    His ear flicks. One gray eye cracks open, fixing on my face.


    I narrow my eyes at him, trying to radiate all my disapproval and betrayal in his direction.


    The wolf lifts his head and yawns, disying rows of teeth that could snap my bones like twigs. His tongue lolls out, and he has the audacity to look pleased with himself.


    His tail wags once, thumping against my hip. He stretches, pressing closer against my back. His nose nudges my cheek, and his breath fans hot across my face.


    Dew has soaked through my jeans where I lie on the ground, my fingers have gone numb from the ropes, and this oversized furball acts like we''re on some kind of camping trip.


    The gag makes it impossible to tell him exactly what I think about this situation. About him. About everything. It''s going through my head with a lot of curse words, though. If I''m going to die anyway, I may as well tell him exactly what I think of his disloyalty.


    The wolf stands, shaking out his coat. Sparks of light dance through his fur like fireflies. He circles me once, twice, sniffing at the ropes, and I''ll <i>die</i> before I admit the disappearance of his warmth sucks.


    "Just untie me," I say through the gag, though ites out as unintelligible mumbling.


    He sits back on his haunches and cocks his head to one side. Those storm cloud eyes study me with far too much intelligence.


    "Please?" I try to make my eyes wide and innocent. It works in movies, though not usually on wolves.


    His tail sweeps across the ground. Amusement radiates from every line of his massive body. I don''t know how, because nothing changes, but I can <i>feel</i> it in my bones. He''sughing on the inside.


    A branch snaps in the distance. The wolf''s head whips toward the sound, ears forward. A low growl rumbles from his chest.


    My heart kicks into overdrive. Fight or flight instinct screams at me to run, but I can barely wiggle my toes, let alone stand.


    The wolf''s fur bristles along his spine. The glow intensifies until it hurts to look at him directly. He positions himself between me and whatever approaches, muscles coiled tight beneath his shimmering coat.


    "Oh, fuck off, Fenris. I''m not going to eat her."


    The voice makes every muscle in my body seize as the wolf growls in a grumbling sort of way before settling onto the ground, like a dog who''s been told toy down.


    The stranger steps into view, and my heart stops to see those dark tattoos on his neck. His gray eyes are disturbingly simr to the wolf''s¡ªFenris, this man calls him¡ªso I assume they''re... brothers, or something?


    "You survived the night," he says, as if he''s displeased.


    My throat closes behind the gag. Fenris huffs and settles his massive head on his paws, but doesn''t look my way even once.


    Disloyal as a damn dog, once anyone shows up with a milk bone. I knew it.


    The stranger''s boots crush and destroy fallen leaves as he approaches, the sound far more intimidating than it would be under any other circumstance. My skin prickles as he crouches in front of me with a long sigh.


    His fingers grip my chin, rough and calloused, sending goosebumps down my spine. He jerks my face to one side, then the other. The inspection makes me feel a bit like a budget cow at auction, and his touch burns against my skin.


    At least I''m not thinking about him shirtless anymore.


    Though, now that I think of it¡ª


    No. What the hell is wrong with my brain? He must have some insane power to take over a woman''s thoughts and throw them straight into the gutter. He''s my kidnapper, and kidnapping is literally zero percent sexy.


    "Interesting." His thumb brushes my cheek, and I flinch. "A human girl who reeks of shifter." His lip curls. "Tell me, are you mated to one of those Blue Mountain mutts?"


    The question makes me flinch. Rafe''s face shes through my mind, and Ellie right beside him. Bile rises in my throat. I shake my head. My eyes burn with unshed tears.


    His fingers tighten on my jaw. "Don''t lie to me, little human. I can smell him all over you."


    Fenris growls, and the sound vibrates through my bones.


    "Quiet," the man snaps without looking away from my face. "Answer me truthfully. Are you mated to one of them?" The anger in his voice leaves me terrified. If he hates the Blue Mountain Pack this much, he must not be the Lycan King¡ªmy bet is <i>definitely</i> on deranged serial killer, even if I can''t quite figure out why the wolf would help him out.


    I shake my head again, even as his fingers dig tighter into my jaw. <i>Please believe me. Please.</i>


    His nostrils re as he scents the air around me. "Then why do you carry their stench? Are you one of those human whores who like to fuck wolves?"


    Oh, hell no. I''ve heard of pack bunnies; Rafe''s told me about them.


    This time, I jerk my head out of his grip to shake my head in vigorous denial. No, definitely not one of those, either.


    His narrowed eyes roam over my face. "I guess I won''t get answers out of someone like you. It''s better to go straight to the source."


    The stranger rises to his feet in one fluid motion, his height towering over my bound form. My protests turn into muffled nonsense behind the gag, but he acts like I don''t exist.


    <i>Just take out the gag and let me exin!</i>


    Hisplete dismissal of my presence burns worse than the ropes cutting into my wrists. Here I am, tied up and gagged, and he won''t even give me a chance to exin? Even worse, it sounds like he''s going to go straight to the pack¡ªwhich means they''re going to know exactly where I am.


    Fuck me.

 Chapter 14: Grace: Sent Back

    <h4>Chapter 14: Grace: Sent Back</h4>


    By evening, I¡¯m still alive¡ªbut now I don¡¯t want to be.


    The man¡¯s an absolute psychopath.


    <i>Psycho. Path.</i>


    Since when does "go straight to the source" mean <i>waltz into the middle of the grand event weing the fucking Lycan King?</i>


    And, even if that <i>is</i> what it meant¡ªwhich <i>it isn¡¯t</i>¡ªwhat madman throws a bound and gagged woman to the floor in the middle of the room?


    Him. That¡¯s who.


    My skin burns with everyone¡¯s eyes on me, and I know my face is redder than a tomato. <i>Everyone</i> can see the state I¡¯m in, and there isn¡¯t a single friendly gaze in the bunch.


    The meticulously decorated event hall is gorgeous, filled with random, expensive-looking floral arrangements. Everyone in the pack is here, from Alpha and Beta down to the lowliest omega; the main lodge is the only building on packndsrge enough to handle a crowd this size.


    There¡¯s a long table at the front of the room to seat the guest of honor and his party on one side, and Alpha and other high-ranking wolves of the Blue Mountain Pack on the other; it¡¯s a standard seating arrangement.


    Several Lycans already sit there, leaning forward with interest, but the Lycan King¡¯s seat¡ªnext to Alpha¡ªis empty.


    And Alpha...


    My heart sinks at the look on his face.


    Alpha¡¯s knuckles nch white against the dark wood of the table. His jaw clenches so tight, a muscle twitches beneath his skin. A vein in his forehead pulses steadily.


    "What is the meaning of this?" His voicees out low, controlled¡ªthe kind of control that precedes an explosion.


    The stranger yanks me up by my bound arms, forcing me onto my feet. Pins and needles attack my legs, leaving me swaying against his grip. A whimper escapes through the gag, and I find myself missing my betrayer wolf friend. He might be disloyal, but at least he cares about keeping me warm and alive.


    "Found this thing in the woods." The man¡¯s grip tightens on my arm, and I can already tell they¡¯re leaving bruises. Though that¡¯s the least of my problems right now. "I thought you might want to exin why a human smells so much like your pack, Brax."


    The color drains from Alpha¡¯s face at the challenge, and he bows his head in a show of submission I¡¯ve never seen from him before.


    "My deepest apologies, High Alpha. I should have informed you of her presence beforehand."


    Wait. For Alpha to treat him with such deference... So this psychopath really <i>is</i> the Lycan King?


    "A rogue wolf pack attacked her family when she was young." Alpha¡¯s voice softens with false sympathy. "We found her alone, traumatized. I couldn¡¯t leave an innocent child to die."


    My jaw would drop if it wasn¡¯t already forced wide open from the gag in my mouth. Lies spill from Alpha¡¯s mouth, smooth as honey.


    "She grew up among us, causing no trouble. Until recently." Alpha¡¯s eyes narrow. "When she began interfering with pack matters."


    The Lycan King¡¯s grip loosens, but the relief is short-lived as his scrutiny burns through me. "You took in a <i>human</i> child, Brax?" There¡¯s a warning underlying his words, but I¡¯m not sure why.


    "An act of mercy, nothing more. We kept her separate from pack business, taught her to be useful." Alpha spreads his hands. "What else could we do? The human systems would have failed her. We raised her as well as we could, taking responsibility for the rogues in our territory."


    Bile rises in my throat. All those years calling him my adoptive father, believing he cared about me, only for him to speak of me like I¡¯m a stray dog he picked up off the street.


    "And now she runs." The king¡¯s voice carries notes of steel. "Why?"


    Alpha¡¯s mouth tightens. "She developed... inappropriate attachments. When those proved impossible, she fled rather than ept her ce."


    My chest constricts. Inappropriate attachments? Now he¡¯s making my rtionship with Rafe sound dirty and twisted. I search the crowd for Rafe¡¯s face, though my field of vision is limited without twisting my head around.


    He¡¯s off to the side of the hall, not ranked high enough to be sitting at the main table. Instead, he stands with Ellie, who looks positively gleeful over my predicament. His expression is nk, showing no reaction to my father¡¯s¡ªno, to Alpha¡¯s words.


    "How interesting." The king¡¯s voice is so nd, I can¡¯t tell what he¡¯s thinking. Then again, he¡¯s clearly insane. "That you¡¯d risk harboring a human all these years, purely out of the goodness of your heart, and then throw her away."


    Alpha¡¯s throat bobs. "We¡¯ve always strived to be merciful when possible, High Alpha."


    The stranger¡ªthe <i>Lycan King</i>¡ªturns to me, leaning down to yank the gag out of my mouth, his fingers scraping against my cheek as he does so. The rough fabric scrapes against the corners of my mouth, and I wince at the sharp sting.


    My tongue feels like sandpaper, and I work my jaw to ease the ache.


    "Well?" His gray eyes bore into mine. "Is what he says true?"


    Oh, <i>now</i> he wants me to answer his questions? He¡¯s definitely a madman.


    The weight of Alpha¡¯s stare burns into the side of my face. I chance a nce his way and immediately regret it. The promise of retribution in his dark re makes my stomach clench.


    My split lip throbs. The metallic taste of blood lingers on my tongue. One word from me could destroy Alpha¡¯s entire narrative, and the truth is heavy in my chest, begging to be released. But I¡¯ve lived among wolves long enough to know¡ªwolves don¡¯t trust humans. Pack is ultimately pack, and humans are <i>other</i>.


    The silence stretches thin as the Lycan King looms before me, awaiting his answer. Patient. Dangerous.


    A bead of sweat rolls down my spine. The room feels too hot, too crowded. Every breath carries the mingled scents of wolves, almost overpowered by the Lycan King¡¯s dark, musky scent. My head spins.


    My mouth opens, but no soundes out. What can I possibly say that won¡¯t end with my throat torn out?


    "I¡ª"


    Alpha¡¯s palm ms against the table. The sound cracks through the room like a gunshot, and I flinch back violently. Wine sloshes from sses, and somewhere, a fork tters to the floor. At least I¡¯m not the only one startled.


    "You dare show your face here?" Alpha roars, apparently unwilling to let me have my say¡ªeven if he has to overtake the Lycan King¡¯s act. "After your actions?"


    My throat closes up, and my lungs shrivel, leaving me to pant frantically for air. This isn¡¯t the man who once held me through nightmares and tears, telling me I was safe with him. This is a stranger wearing his face, twisted and evil.


    It doesn¡¯t matter how brave I want to be; I¡¯m bound prey in front of an apex predator. There¡¯s only fear left in me, and the desperate wish to survive.


    "I didn¡¯t¡ª"


    "Silence!" the Lycan King snaps, and I snap my mouth shut. But he¡¯s not looking at me; his stony gaze is on Alpha. "You have had your turn to speak, Brax."

 Chapter 15: Grace: Demand for Answers

    <h4>Chapter 15: Grace: Demand for Answers</h4>


    From the way Alpha¡¯s ring at me, I¡¯m pretty sure he wants me dead. Well, living isn¡¯t all that great right now.


    The Lycan King looks at me again. "Answer the question, human."


    But my panicked brain can¡¯t quite recall what it was. Averting my gaze from his intense gray eyes, my eyes dart around the room, flinching away from Alpha¡¯s glower.


    Instead, I look at the Lycans sitting at the table. One of them has fiery red hair and freckles all over his cheeks, and he leans his elbows on the table, smiling faintly when our eyes meet. Out of everyone waiting for me to speak, he¡¯s the only one who seems remotely approachable.


    It gives me a tiny boost of courage, enough to take a deep breath and remember the question posed to me. "My biological parents were killed six years ago. Alpha..." My words falter as gray eyes sh, and an instinctive part of my brain insists he doesn¡¯t like me using my adoptive father¡¯s title, even if it doesn¡¯t make much sense. What else are you supposed to call your pack alpha? "Um, Alpha Brax came three dayster, saying he was a family friend, and adopted me as his daughter. I¡¯ve lived as his daughter for six years."


    Alpha ms his fist on the table again. "Lying cunt!"


    The explosive sound has me jumping back a step, and I focus on the Lycan King and his strange tattoos. It¡¯s easier than looking at his eyes, stormy yet cold. His winter storm temperament is easier to weather than Alpha¡¯s fury, though.


    "Go on," the royal in front of me says, his Adam¡¯s apple moving as he talks. One of his tattoos stretches and moveszily along, as if it¡¯s noticed me watching. Impossible, of course, but at least it gives my brain something totch onto that isn¡¯t... terrifying.


    Then again, the man¡¯s my kidnapper. He could be the worse option.


    "For six years, I was known as the alpha¡¯s adopted human daughter¡ª"


    A sigh. "You already said this."


    "Um." Licking my dry lips, I dare to nce up.


    The Lycan King seems to have lost interest in my words, ncing instead to the red-haired Lycan at the table. But this is my chance to set the record straight, and I need to take it. "In that time, I developed a friendship with someone in the pack, and it turned into a rtionship. I suppose it could be considered inappropriate, as I am only human. But that isn¡¯t why I ran, sir." Wait, how do you address wolf royalty? "Uh, Your Majesty."


    Soft snickers ripple through the crowd behind me; I must have chosen wrong. My cheeks burn, but the sound dies instantly as the Lycan King¡¯s hand rises, quelling theughter.


    "Um." Another lick of my dry lips; my mouth is parched, my throat sore now from talking without a drop of water. "I was drugged, I think, and thrown into the forest during the Mate Hunt. I don¡¯t remember how I got there, and woke up alone."


    Wood splinters. The table cracks in two as Alpha¡¯s fist connects with its surface. Chunks of polished oak scatter across the marble floor. "Enough with your lies!"


    A roar rips through the room, making my bones vibrate. "Sit, Brax!" The Lycan King¡¯s voice drops to a deadly whisper. "Or I¡¯ll take this as a challenge to my authority."


    Alpha¡¯s chest heaves. Veins pop on his neck as he res at the king. One heartbeat. Two. Three. But he submits, shoulders slumping as he drops back into his chair.


    The red-haired Lycan¡¯s lips twitch. He kicks the table away and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he watches, like it¡¯s dinner theater.


    "Continue your damn story." The king¡¯s words crack like a whip, this time at me.


    "I¡ª" My throat closes up. "I found out that my mother was once Alpha¡¯s mate." Whispers. A lot of whispers, and gasps too; I guess not everyone knew. "He thought I was his daughter, but I¡¯m not. Just human. When I didn¡¯t shift, he¡ª" My voice cracks, despite trying to keep it steady. "He, um, threw me out and sent me to work at the omega lodge."


    A peek at the Lycan King¡¯s face tells me nothing. Does he believe me, or not?


    The words are sour and stuffy in my mouth, hard to push out, but somehow I manage to admit, "I left because there¡¯s no ce for me here anymore. The pack sees me as less than nothing, so I ran. I want to go back to live as a human, with humans."


    My eyes burn, but I refuse to cry, blinking as fast as I can to keep them at bay.


    "A strange story," the Lycan King says. There¡¯s absolutely nothing in his voice to tell me if he believes my words.


    "A false story," Alpha says, but I don¡¯t look at him. I can¡¯t. His gaze is burning into the side of my face, but I refuse to acknowledge it.


    "Who is it?" the Lycan King asks, and I blink, my eyes rising to meet his again. There¡¯s a muscle twitching in his cheek, his eyes narrowed and dark.


    Going through my own words in my head, I can¡¯t figure out what¡¯s unclear. "Excuse me?"


    His hand snaps out, fingers locking around my throat, and my heart ms against my ribs. <i>Not again.</i> The room spins. Why is it always the throat? Is strangtion something that speaks to their more primal side?


    Stupid question when I¡¯m about to die, but...


    "Please." The wordes out as a wheeze, though I can still breathe. "Everything I said is true."


    "Who. Is. It?" Each word drops like ice, his fingers tightening with each syble.


    My hands fly to his wrist, but I might as well try to bend steel. The tattoos on his arm writhe and twist, serpentine patterns that make my vision blur. A whimper escapes my lips, and I suck down air.


    Easily.


    <i>Very </i>easily.


    In fact, he¡¯s not strangling me at all, though his fingers might leave marks on the sides of my neck.


    My heart rate slows a smidgen. "Your Majesty, I swear I¡¯m¡ª"


    "<i>The rtionship</i>." His breath fans across my face; it smells like peppermint. "Who is it?"


    Oh. My mouth goes even drier¡ªnot that I thought it was possible.


    "Answer me." The king¡¯s voice drops lower, a growl that vibrates through his fingers and into my bones. The pressure increases, but only at the tips of his fingers. My lungs are still free to fill themselves with oxygen.


    "Rafe," I whisper. "Raphael Wilder." Pointing in his direction, I can see in my peripheral vision Ellie is still beside him, but the details are unclear. My field of view is dominated by the Lycan King¡¯s face.


    I wonder how Rafe looks. Apologetic? Or is he going to deny it all? Will he spew lies like Alpha, or admit what I say is true? Probably the former.


    A snarl rips through the room. The king¡¯s eyes sh, his pupils expanding until there¡¯s nothing left but darkness rimmed in quicksilver.


    Quickly, I add, "But it¡¯s over now. He¡ªum, he found his mate at the Hunt."


    Something flickers across the king¡¯s face. His fingers twitch against my throat, and for a heartbeat, I think he might snap my neck right here. But then he releases me, leaving me to stumble back, chest heaving with each gulping breath.


    I could breathe, but it was still hard through the panic.


    "Come forward," the kingmands, turning to Rafe. "Let me see who dares touch what¡¯s mine."


    My stomach drops.


    Wait. What?

 Chapter 16: Grace: What’s His

    <h4>Chapter 16: Grace: What¡¯s His</h4>


    <i>Mine.</i>


    The world buzzes in my ears, and time seems to slow.


    Alpha¡¯s standing now, veins protruding from his neck as he shouts at the Lycan King. Ellie¡¯s yanking on Rafe¡¯s arm, but he isn¡¯t looking at her. He¡¯s looking at <i>me</i>, his blue eyes dark and angry, as if I¡¯ve somehow done something wrong.


    My wrists and legs hurt where the rope still bites into my skin; there¡¯s no doubt I¡¯m the king¡¯s captive, not anything he considers precious. And yet there¡¯s my brain, lost and stuttering over his words.


    <i>Let me see who dares touch what¡¯s mine</i>.


    Me? His?


    My eyes return to the Lycan King, the source of this mess. His back is to me as he confronts my pack.


    Muscles ripple beneath his shirt, each movement deliberate and controlled. The ck ink of his tattoos shifts across his skin; at first, I thought of them as serpentine and slithery, but right now I can see they¡¯re more like soft ropes of shadow caressing his skin. The patterns almost dance, mesmerizing in their fluid grace.


    A bead of sweat rolls down Alpha¡¯s temple as sound slowlyes back into focus, no longer buzzing in my ears. "High Alpha! What im could you possibly have on this human?"


    The Lycan King¡¯s shoulders tense, his head tilting ever so slightly. "You dare demand exnations from me? Tell me, Brax, what gives you the right to question your king?"


    Alpha lowers his head in submission. "High Alpha, I do not mean to demand anything¡ªI only ask for rification." His words are polite, but his wordse through gritted teeth.


    Murmurs ripple through the crowd as the tension rackets up. And who turned the thermostat up to ny? It¡¯s so hot, it feels like noon in midsummer.


    "I was the one. Grace and I have been dating for years." Rafe¡¯s voice cuts through the crowd as he strides forward, chin lifted high, every bit the entitled future alpha he was raised to be¡ªbut he looks like a child ying hero to my eyes, iparable to the Lycan King standing before us.


    "Rafe, stop!" Ellie¡¯s hiss carries even over the murmuring crowd. Perfectly manicured nails dig into his forearm. "You¡¯re making a scene. Think about what you¡¯re doing."


    Rafe shakes her off, never once ncing back¡ªhis eyes are still locked on mine.


    "Don¡¯t you dare humiliate me like this." Ellie¡¯s whisper carries the edge of a growl. "Not in front of everyone. Not for <i>that</i>."


    The ink beneath the Lycan King¡¯s skin darkens, like storm clouds gathering before lightning strikes. His fingers flex at his sides, and I can¡¯t tear my eyes from the way the shadows seem to follow his movements, as if the tattoos themselves share his fury.


    "You im what¡¯s mine?" The king asks, his words more growled than spoken.


    Rafe¡¯s arrogant saunter pauses; his blue eyes tear away from me to focus on the alpha of alphas and king of wolves, finally seeming to understand he¡¯s in danger.


    He frowns, sweeping a hand in my general direction. "She¡¯s part of our pack, High Alpha. Unmated and unimed. If any im was made, it would have been mine."


    "The boy speaks truth, High Alpha." Brax¡¯s voice carries an edge of desperation beneath his usual authority. "Your words suggest you¡¯veid im without cause. As if she were your..." He swallows hard, then continues without finishing. "Their rtionship predates your arrival."


    My throat burns where the Lycan King¡¯s fingers pressed moments ago, and I wish these damn ropes were no longer holding me here. If I had the chance, I would run¡ªas far and as fast as I can, away from this ce.


    Danger. It¡¯s dangerous here, and the king is about to explode.


    I don¡¯t understand why, but I understand this: There¡¯s no way I¡¯m going to be unscathed in the crossfire of his temper.


    "She was involved with this..." The Lycan King¡¯s lip curls as he regards Rafe. "This pup. But that¡¯s ended now, hasn¡¯t it, Brax?"


    Alpha nods so fast I worry his head might detach. "Yes, High Alpha. Ended when he found his true mate." He gestures to Ellie, who smiles tightly, her fingers still digging into Rafe¡¯s arm, like talons holding onto her prey.


    The king¡¯s voice drops to a soft rumble. "And you¡¯re certain this arrogant pup understands it is ended?"


    The question hangs in the air. Rafe¡¯s shoulders square, but I catch the slight tremor in his hands. His earlier bravado cracks under the weight of the king¡¯s attention.


    "I¡ª" Rafe starts, but Ellie¡¯s sharp nails dig into his arm.


    "Of course he understands," she deres loudly. "Tell him, Rafe. Tell him it¡¯s over."


    Rafe¡¯s mouth opens and closes, caught between Ellie¡¯s demands and the king¡¯s scrutiny. For the first time since I¡¯ve known him, he looks small. Finally, he lowers his head. "Yes, High Alpha. It is over. Ellie is my fated mate, found during the Mate Hunt."


    The air thickens, pressing against my skin like a physical weight. My bound legs buckle, and I fall backward onto my butt with an undignified thump. A wave of pure dominance rolls through the room, and wolves drop to their knees left and right.


    "You haveid your im, and yet you dare touch what¡¯s mine?" The king¡¯s voice thunders through the hall. The shadows of his tattoos writhe beneath his skin, no longer fluid but sharp and jagged.


    My chest constricts. Each breathes shorter than thest as the pressure builds. But something¡¯s off¡ªthe others are gasping, wing at their throats. Even Beta crashes to his knees, his face twisted in submission. Ellie follows, then Rafe, then Alpha. One by one, they fall like dominoes.


    The Lycans at the broken table remain sitting. Watching. Unfazed.


    And me? Sure, my heart pounds against my ribs, and sweat beads on my forehead, but I¡¯m not choking like the others. The king¡¯s power feels more like a heavy nket than the crushing force that¡¯s brought an entire pack of shifters to their knees.

 Chapter 17: Grace: Everything Goes South

    <h4>Chapter 17: Grace: Everything Goes South</h4>


    "Answer!" The king¡¯s roar shakes dust from the rafters.


    Rafe¡¯s face presses against the floor, his shoulders trembling. "High Alpha, I didn¡¯t¡ªshe was never marked¡ª"


    "Silence!"


    As if he hadn¡¯t been demanding an answer a literal moment ago.


    The temperature spikes. A faint glow emanates from the king¡¯s skin, pulsing in time with his rage. The shadows of his tattoos seem to reach out, grasping at nothing.


    My head spins. This is chaos. <i>Insanity</i>.


    Alpha¡¯s forehead touches the ground, well and properly cowed this time. "High Alpha, please. We didn¡¯t know she bore your mark. How could we expect a human to bear the High Alpha¡¯s im?"


    The pressure in the room doubles. Voices cry out as every shifter in the Blue Mountain Pack presses themselves t against the floor. The king¡¯s power fills every corner, every crevice, until the very air feels ready to ignite.


    But still, it barely touches me. Like I¡¯m wrapped in some invisible barrier that keeps the worst of it at bay. The king turns, and our eyes meet. Gray like storm clouds, just like that night in the forest. Just like the wolf that protected me.


    Oh.


    Oh, no.


    It¡¯s strange¡ªimpossible, really¡ªbut the pieces click together, and my stomach drops. The massive wolf with the ethereal blue glow and the Lycan King, with his own faint glow. They¡¯re one and the same, aren¡¯t they?


    But wait¡ªI¡¯ve never heard of a wolf and their shifter body being separate.


    Still, somehow I know I¡¯m right. It rings true down to my soul.


    "She was unmarked, High Alpha. I swear it," Rafe says, and Ellie¡¯s hand is still holding onto his arm, trembling violently.


    Everything feels distant, like I¡¯m watching a y unfold. Or a TV show. The king¡¯s power thrums through the room, but my mind fixates on the oddest details¡ªthe way dust motes dance in the air, how Beta¡¯s left boot has a scuff mark, the way the Lycan King¡¯s cologne-like smell wafts through the air, thicker than before. Maybe it¡¯s from his alpha dominance.


    Oh. Maybe I¡¯m in shock. It would make sense if I am. Shock is the body¡¯s way of protecting itself from trauma, right? And God knows I¡¯m in need of some protection here. More mental than anything at the moment, but who knows¡ªthings can change at any moment.


    There¡¯s also a full half of my brain still grappling with the idea I¡¯m somehow marked by a psychopathic wolf-king who smells like he should be an underwear model and looks like a mobster. He said <i>mine</i>, but he doesn¡¯t treat me like I am.


    If he really meant it, he¡¯d treat me with a little more care, right? Instead I was kidnapped, thrown to the ground, kind of choked... Okay, yeah, I have to be in shock. The list of things I¡¯ve gone through is getting a little too long.


    The king takes one step forward. The sound of his boot against the marble floor echoes through the silent room. It¡¯s a soft sound, a bare scuff, but that¡¯s how dead the air is in this ce. Even when he crouches he towers over Rafe, close enough now that his breath stirs his golden, picture-perfect hair.


    Like a demon king subjugating a hero.


    "Are you certain?" Each word drops like ice, and I swear the entire room is holding their breath, waiting to watch the end of this horrible y.


    Rafe¡¯s mouth opens and closes, but no soundes out.


    The king¡¯s head snaps up, his storm-gray eyes finding Alpha. "Was she truly unimed after the Mate Hunt?"


    Alpha¡¯s face goes ck. His throat bobs as he swallows. "There was... there was a presence. A wolf we didn¡¯t recognize."


    "And?" The king¡¯s voice carries a dangerous edge.


    The wordse swiftly, as if hurrying the pace will save him from the man¡¯s fury. "When we found her, she was alone and the strange wolf was gone. We assumed it fled when we approached. But Grace, she never showed signs of being marked or imed."


    The silence that follows feels like ss about to shatter. I press my hands against my throat, remembering that night, and how I¡¯d told the wolf to run.


    "Tell me, Blue Mountain Pack Alpha." The king¡¯s voice drips with lethal calm. "Was there a scent covering her that night?"


    My former adoptive father seems small now, oppressed beneath the weight of Lycan dominance. He¡¯s nearly prostrated, as weak as the others, as if he¡¯s not an alpha at all. "There was... a scent, High Alpha." He sounds resigned.


    "And?"


    "We assumed it belonged to a rogue wolf." The wordse out choked, as if each one causes him physical pain. Maybe they do.


    Augh cuts through the silence. It¡¯s not a pleasant sound¡ªmy soul cringes from it.


    "Fascinating." The king turns away from Rafe, and I can finally see his face again. It¡¯s closed off, cold and distant, as if speaking to air and not living, breathing people. Every word he speaks is punctuated by a step toward Alpha. "The mighty Blue Mountain Pack. So ipetent they can¡¯t distinguish between a rogue¡¯s scent and that of a Lycan.


    "Perhaps we should discuss your education, Brax. Clearly, your nose needs... retraining." His boots stop directly in front of the man I¡¯d considered a father for six years. "Or did you simply choose to ignore what you smelled?"


    Alpha¡¯s breath hitches. "High Alpha, please¡ª"


    "Silence."


    Themand cracks like a whip. Alpha¡¯s mouth snaps shut so fast I hear his teeth click.


    "A pack that can¡¯t recognize their king¡¯s scent." He shakes his head, a terrible smile ying on his lips. "What other basic skills have you neglected to master? The difference between up and down? Perhaps you mistake rabbits for deer?"


    Scattered nervousughter ripples through the prostrated crowd, quickly stifled when the king¡¯s gaze sweeps over them. Even when their heads aren¡¯t raised, they must be able to feel the weight of his attention.


    "This goes beyond mere ipetence." His voice carries to every corner of the room. "This speaks to a fundamental failure of leadership."


    Brax remains frozen, face pressed to the floor. Even from here, I can see him trembling.


    "Your pack requires re-education." The king¡¯s words fall, like stones into still water, rippling through every body here. "Every. Last. One." The glow intensifies around him, a beautiful blue, and there¡¯s no mistaking it¡ªit¡¯s the same ethereal light as the wolf.


    "Fenris¨²lfr."


    A massive ck, glowing wolf materializes beside the king, and my brain short-circuits. No. That¡¯s impossible. <i>Impossible</i>. He was left behind, where I¡¯d been tied up for the entire day.


    He can¡¯t just appear out of thin air like that.


    Fenris¡¯s ethereal blue glow pulses in time with the king¡¯s aura; he towers over the crouched forms of my former pack, his shoulders level with the king¡¯s chest. He doesn¡¯t look back at me once.


    The king¡¯s voice carries an edge of satisfaction. "Re-educate them."


    Themand barely registers in my ears when Fenris lunges. My scream tears through the silence as his massive jaws mp around Alpha¡¯s shoulder. Blood sprays across the marble floor.


    "No!" The word rips from my throat before I can stop it. As much as Alpha has hurt me, he¡¯s still the man who raised me for six years.


    Brax¡¯s agonized howl morphs into a snarl as he shifts. His bones crack and reform in an instant. Even as arge wolf himself, he¡¯s dwarfed by Fenris.


    The room erupts as the Lycan King¡¯s dominance drops from the air. The sound of shifts erupt from every direction and wolves surge forward, fur bristling, teeth bared, growls and snarls rending the air.


    The Blue Mountain Pack rallies around their alpha, their unified howls shaking dust from the rafters.


    But they¡¯re not the only ones here.


    The Lycans rise from their seats, their transformations fluid and graceful. Where the Blue Mountain wolves arerge, these creatures are enormous. Every one of them isrger than Alpha, and Fenris growsrger still, until his shoulders brush the ceiling. Every step of a paw is a crunch of someone¡¯s bone, apanied by screams and shrieks of pain.


    Power radiates from them in waves, and I retch against the floor, my stomach twisted from... everything.


    Fenris releases Brax, who stumbles back into the protective circle of his pack. Blood mats his gray fur, but his lips are pulled back in a vicious snarl. Rafe and Beta nk him.


    The first sh sounds like thunder. Bodies collide in a fury of teeth and ws, and my vision goes ck.


    Something warm covers my eyes. "Don¡¯t look," the king murmurs, his breath tickling my ear with the faint scent of peppermint. He sounds annoyed as he adds, "Humans aren¡¯t strong enough to watch this sort of thing."


    My stomach swoops low as the ropes on my wrists, then ankles, go tight with sharp tugs before loosening abruptly. I¡¯m free, except the Lycan King¡¯s chest is pressed against my back, his warmth bleeding into me.


    There¡¯s nowhere to run as the sound of death and mayhem continues.

 Chapter 18: Grace: Pillow

    <h4>Chapter 18: Grace: Pillow</h4>


    The next morning dawns with somber silence and a pile of bodies in front of the main lodge.


    Alpha¡¯s is on top for everyone to see, but it¡¯s the sheer number that makes me want to vomit every time I look out the window. I was right when I thought the Lycan King was a serial killer. He instigated a riot and caused the death of... how many? Twenty? Thirty?


    <i>He¡¯s a madman</i>.


    And I still don¡¯t understand why he did it.


    Alpha¡¯s dead. So is Beta. I don¡¯t know where Rafe is, but I did see Andrew this morning, limping as he helped gather the bodies.


    The door creaks. I whirl around, heart in my throat, expecting the mass murderer in question to be standing there.


    A red-haired Lycan stands in the doorway, the same one who smirked at my predicamentst night. His posture is formal, almost stiff. "Caine thought these might fit you." He extends a stack of fabric.


    I don¡¯t move to take it, watching him with suspicion. Caine must be the Lycan King¡¯s name, but that¡¯s just an assumption. It could be any of them.


    After standing there for a solid ten seconds, he sighs and walks inside, not bothering to ask for permission as he brushes by me. He ces them on the bed before backing away with measured steps. "There¡¯s a bathroom through that door if you¡¯d like to freshen up."


    I already know that. It isn¡¯t my first time in the main lodge¡¯s guest quarters, though I¡¯ve never stayed in them overnight. It¡¯s interesting, though, that he¡¯s so concerned about me. Bringing me clothes, urging me to shower?


    He¡ªand his kin¡ªmassacred my adoptive pack. The Lycan King himself bound me with rope before dragging me to this ce.


    It¡¯s strange. So strange.


    The door clicks shut behind the red-haired Lycan and I sigh, heading to the bed to inspect what he brought.


    Shirts, blouses, jeans, and cks. I guess so I can pick whatever I¡¯m mostfortable with? There¡¯s a pair of sneakers underneath them all, ck with rose gold ents, and they look brand new. No socks, though. Or underwear. And yet there¡¯s a bra, though a quick nce at the tag says it¡¯s a little too big, both in bust and cup.


    A soft thump outside the door reminds me I¡¯m trapped in here, with a guard stationed in the hall.


    This is insane. People don¡¯t just get kidnapped by wolf shifters anymore. They don¡¯t witness massacres, have their entire <i>city</i> get taken over, or get imed by the king. This isn¡¯t a movie, or a book. It¡¯s my life.


    As a normal human, I would be worrying about college and my future. As a human in a wolf pack, my life is already different from other people¡ªbut not <i>this </i>different.


    I grab the in ck t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans from the pile. Simple,fortable, and not tainted by the events ofst night. Perfect for whatever nightmare awaits me next.


    The bathroom door¡¯s lock clicks into ce, but I test it three times. A flimsy barrier between me and whatever guards lurk outside, but it¡¯s something. The sound of running water fills the space as I turn the shower on full st.


    Steam rises, fogging the mirror. My reflection blurs, and for a moment, I see the ghost of who I used to be¡ªAlpha¡¯s daughter, Rafe¡¯s girlfriend, part of a pack. Now what am I? A prisoner? A prize?


    Who fucking knows. Enlightening me doesn¡¯t seem high on anyone¡¯s priority list.


    The hot water stings my skin, but I keep it quick. No time to contemte my situation under the spray. My muscles ache from being bound, throat still tender from... everything.


    The thought of putting on dirty underwear makes my skin crawl, so I wash them by hand in the sink. Soap suds swirl down the drain as I scrub them clean, along with my bra. Both items end up hanging over the shower rod to dry.


    My long, wet hair goes into a messy bun, where it¡¯ll take forever to dry¡ªbut at least it won¡¯t soak my shirt. The only towel in the bathroom was a hand towel. It is what it is.


    Comfortable, dressed, and clean¡ªat least as clean as soap and scrubbing hard can do, though it feels like everyone¡¯s deaths will forever stain my skin¡ªI open the door to my jail cell.


    A scream tears from my throat before I can stop it. The Lycan King lounges on his side, on my bed, like he owns it¡ªwhich, technically, he probably does now. But that¡¯s not what makes my blood run cold.


    He¡¯s holding my pillow to his face and sniffing it.


    "What are you¡ªwhy are you¡ª<i>what are you doing</i>?!"


    Outrage outweighs fear in this absurd moment, as I clutch the doorknob and stare into the eyes of this murderous stranger.


    His cold gaze slowly lifts to mine as he takes a deep whiff.


    My fingers flex and curl at my sides. The urge to snatch my pillow from his grasp wars with the instinct to stay perfectly still and keep from antagonizing a killer. And worse than either is the part of me wanting to get closer and sniff him back, bury myself in that cologne-ad scent of his.


    It¡¯s like my mind¡¯s gone as insane as the man in front of me, even as it catalogues every part of his face to memory, whilementing the fact he¡¯s clothed. Casual clothes, just like yesterday. Shirt. Pants. All ck.


    What am I thinking? The man¡¯s a murderer. What does it say about me, when my brain can be so obsessed with his beauty while the evidence of his misdeeds is literally <i>piled</i> outside this building?


    His face remains buried in my pillow, and the silence stretches thin between us. Each inhale of his makes my skin crawl. What kind of person¡ªking or not¡ªbreaks into someone¡¯s room to smell their pillow?


    A psychotic person, that¡¯s who.


    The mattress creaks as he finally sits up, gray eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that pins me in ce. "I hate muffins."


    I blink. Once. Twice. My mouth opens, but no soundes out.


    "Especially blueberry ones." His nose wrinkles with distaste.


    What in the...? Why would I care about his breakfast preferences?


    I want to point out that I didn¡¯t ask, or that this is the strangest conversation opener I¡¯ve ever heard, but my throat closes up. Because this isn¡¯t just some weird guy with boundary issues. This is the Lycan King. The same one who had Fenris rip out Alpha¡¯s throatst night.


    Maybe he¡¯s telling me because he ns to make me his ve? That makes sense, I guess. Doesn¡¯t exin why he¡¯s smelling my pillow, but one problem at a time.


    So I stand here, dripping water onto the carpet, staring at him like he¡¯s speaking anothernguage. Which, honestly, he might as well be.


    The Lycan King crosses one leg over the other, his arm draped across his thigh with casual elegance that doesn¡¯t match the predatory gleam in his eyes.


    Seconds continue to tick on as he doesn¡¯t move or blink.


    My wet hair drips down my neck. The silence stretches until it feels like a physical thing between us, heavy and thick. I wonder if I¡¯m going to die today, and the thought is almost casual as it flits through my head.


    Fear is strangely distant, even as it keeps me frozen. Maybe it¡¯s shock. Does shockst this long?


    "Your hair is brown," he says suddenly, and for some reason I actually roll my eyes up, like I¡¯m trying to see for myself.


    Of course my hair¡¯s brown. It¡¯s been brown since the day I was born. "Yes..."


    "But your eyes are green."


    My hand twitches; another strange reflex where I want to touch them, as if that will confirm his statement. "Ah¡ªyes."


    He grunts. "I thought they¡¯d be blue. Like blueberries."


    There¡¯s no particr animosity in the way he speaks or watches me, though my skin still crawls under his attention.


    Maybe...


    Maybe he¡¯s not evil, but justpletely unhinged. The way he¡¯s fixated on my pillow, rambling about muffins? It reminds me of some of the more unstable wolves in the pack. The ones who go missing after a while, never to be seen again. Alpha said it was from spending too much time in their wolf form, where they lost touch with their human side.


    I clear my throat. "Are you¡ªis your name Caine?" May as well get that bit of curiosity out of my head.


    He inclines his head in a slow, regal gesture. I think it¡¯s his way of saying yes, but it¡¯s the most arrogant way I¡¯ve ever seen it done.


    "Could I have my pillow back?"


    Caine¡¯s eyes flicker. "No."


    Then he stands in one fluid motion, my pillow clutched to his chest like a trophy. Without another word, he strides to the door and leaves, taking it with him.


    I stare at the closed door, mouth hanging open. What just happened? Did the Lycan King¡ªthe most powerful shifter in existence, the man who just orchestrated a bloodbath¡ªseriously just steal my <i>pillow</i>?


    The absurdity of it hits me, and I sink onto the now-pillowless bed. A hystericalugh bubbles up in my throat. Of all the scenarios I imagined when I woke up, the Lycan King bing a pillow thief wasn¡¯t one of them.


    "I wish he¡¯d just kill me and get it over with," I mumble, staring out the window. At the sky, so I don¡¯t focus on the bodies.


    It¡¯s blue. Fluffy clouds pass by, indifferent to the suffering below, and I wonder¡ªagain¡ªwhat he¡¯s going to do with me.

 Chapter 19: Grace: Aftermath

    <h4>Chapter 19: Grace: Aftermath</h4>


    The rest of the morning passes without incident.


    Or food.


    My stomach growls. The clock on the wall ticks past noon, and each second is another twist of my belly. It¡¯s been over a day since I¡¯ve eaten, but at least I have free ess to water now.


    Small mercies.


    But I can¡¯t stay in this room forever, can I?


    My fingers tap against my lower lip as I stare at the door. It¡¯s a standard wood-grain door, probably hollow, with a simple knob. Nothing extravagant or strange, and yet my heart stutters at the thought of what lies beyond it.


    Life isn¡¯t the same anymore. Alpha¡¯s dead, and I¡¯ve lost all protection. What do Lycans do with humans? Alpha never let me see them before, saying it was dangerous. It¡¯s clear that¡¯s one thing he didn¡¯t lie about. Honestly, the fact I¡¯m even alive when so many are dead...


    "This is ridiculous." My voice is soft in the silence, but speaking at all seems to build my courage to push off the bed and ignore how my legs shake as I take one step, then another.


    The brass doorknob is cool under my palm. I curl my fingers around it, but my grip trembles.


    My stomach growls again, loud enough to echo off the walls. The sound startles me out of my frozen state, and I open the door. Just a tiny inch of space, not really enough to peek through.


    I press my ear to the gap but hear only silence. No footsteps. No voices. No breathing.


    The door opens wider under my palm. I peek through the crack, scanning the hallway beyond. Carpeted floor. Framedndscapes along the wall. Bright light overhead.


    A massive figure looms in the hallway. Dark eyes lock onto mine, set in a face carved from granite. The Lycan¡¯s lip curls, revealing the edge of a fang, and I swear I can hear a growl rumbling my way.


    I m the door shut and scurry back to my bed, breathing hard.


    <i>Dangerous. That was dangerous.</i>


    He was not happy to see me. I¡¯m definitely a prisoner, not that I had much doubt over the situation. I may not understand <i>why</i>, but at least I know <i>what</i> I am.


    Goosebumps race up my arms and I rub them hard, wishing I was braver. Stronger. A lot sneakier, too. It would be nice if I could just disappear. In fact, if that damn wolf¡ªFenris¡ªhadn¡¯te around in the forest, I¡¯d be in the city by now.


    Stupid, oversized, disloyal dog.


    Three sharp knocks crack against the door and I jump as the red-haired Lycan walks inside, not waiting for me to answer.


    His eyes flicker to the bed in a moment so brief, I¡¯m not sure I actually see it happen.


    "Miss Harper," he says, sounding indifferent to my fate, "You wille with me now."


    Not <i>please follow me</i>. No information on where I¡¯m going, or why. Just a t order, with no emotion on his face.


    My throat closes up, making it hard to breathe. After witnessing what happened to my former pack, thest thing I want is to follow any Lycan anywhere.


    "Miss Harper." Steel threads through his tone. "Now."


    * * *


    Everything¡¯s different.


    The event hall has been scrubbed clean, all the decorations gone. Days of preparation have disappeared overnight and no hint of the bloodbath remains. Vaguely, I recall a pile of <i>stuff</i> from my window. It didn¡¯t seem very important while a pile of dead bodies took center stage, but it makes sense now. Everything was tossed.


    It¡¯s as somber as a funeral in here. Pack members shuffle past with downcast eyes, their shoulders slumped. No greetings exchanged, no morning pleasantries¡ªjust the soft scuffle of footsteps against the floor.


    A pack without an Alpha is a dead pack, and that¡¯s exactly how they¡¯re acting. I wonder what our fate is now. I¡¯ve heard stories about the Lycan King, to some extent, but not enough to give me any information. Do packs like this disintegrate after the Alpha is murdered?


    And how much do I really care? But it¡¯s hard <i>not</i> to care, after seeing... everything. It isn¡¯t like I¡¯m loyal to the same people who turned their backs on me. I want nothing to do with them!


    But... a massacre is extreme.


    Though, I guess it makes sense why all wolf packs would be subordinate under the Lycan King. They¡¯re probably all scared of having their throats cut out, just like Alpha. As far as I¡¯ve ever understood, the Blue Mountain Pack isn¡¯t weak, and yet they stood no chance against a mere handful of Lycans.


    Somber thoughts are doing nothing for the uneasiness crawling all over my skin, but I can¡¯t push them away.


    My escort¡¯s red hair gleams under the chandelier lights as he strides forward. His presence is enough to clear his path; it doesn¡¯t matter what anyone is doing, they scurry back ten feet to avoid contact. They don¡¯t seem to notice I¡¯m following behind, their fearful nces focused on the Lycan. He doesn¡¯t have the terrifying presence of the Lycan King, and yet they can¡¯t even lift their heads as he passes by.


    A woman drops her cleaning supplies, the tter echoing through the silence. She scrambles to pick them off the floor, her hands shaking. The Lycan doesn¡¯t break stride, though everyone else turns to look. In fact, he¡¯s not even ncing back to make sure I¡¯m following.


    Then again, why would he? It¡¯s not like I can go anywhere else, I guess.


    My stomach growls as I walk behind, watching the space between us grow. It isn¡¯t an intentional defiance, but a side effect of his pacing. He doesn¡¯t seem to realize I can¡¯t keep up yet.


    Maybe I should jog to catch up¡ª


    Fingers mp around my wrist, yanking me backward.


    I spin around and freeze. Ellie¡¯s perfect features twist into something monstrous, her teeth bared. Her manicured nails dig crescents into my skin as her nostrils re. Her green eyes are so much more vibrant than mine, hard and cold as emeralds, and they¡¯re currently shing with gold.


    "You," she hisses, the venom in her voice palpable as I cringe against her grip. "Why are you still here?"

 Chapter 20: Grace: Intelligence is Lacking

    <h4>Chapter 20: Grace: Intelligence is Lacking</h4>


    "Let me go!" Tugging my wrist back just causes more pain; I¡¯ll never get away by relying on strength. I wouldn¡¯t win against even the weakest wolf, and Ellie is not weak. But I can¡¯t just sit there and do nothing, so I keep trying.


    "This is all because of you," she snaps, her fingers tightening to the point it feels my bones are being crushed. "Coming in here and causing a misunderstanding between our pack and the Lycans."


    <i>Our</i> pack, she says, as if she¡¯s already Luna or something.


    Not that I¡¯mpeting, or even want to, but don¡¯t I have a little more im to this pack than she does? Even if I¡¯ve be an abandoned human, I at least lived among these people for six years.


    There¡¯s no point in arguing semantics, though. I don¡¯t want this pack anymore; I want to leave.


    "Let me go," I say again, trying to pry her fingers off with my other hand. They don¡¯t budge, and she snatches my other wrist as if I¡¯m a child, with the same bone-crushing grasp.


    The pain¡¯s enough to send me to my knees, but I don¡¯t want to go down in a pathetic heap in front of <i>her</i>, of all people.


    "Is there a problem here?" The Lycan¡¯s finally noticed I¡¯m no longer behind him, striding toward Ellie from across the room.


    Relief floods through me as he approaches, but it evaporates just as quickly. His expression remains neutral as he watches Ellie crush my wrists, not a flicker of concern crossing his features.


    "Lycan Beta." Ellie¡¯s voice drips honey, her grip never loosening. "I was just having some words with the disgrace."


    My stomach churns at her use of that word. Not that it¡¯s the first time I¡¯ve heard it, but somehow it cuts deepering from her perfect lips, especially in front of someone who could actually help. If he wanted to.


    But he doesn¡¯t. The Lycan Beta¡¯s gaze slides between us, assessing, measuring. Like he¡¯s watching a mildly interesting experiment rather than someone in pain.


    My wrists throb, and I can feel the bones grinding together under Ellie¡¯s supernatural strength.


    The Lycan Beta¡¯s nostrils re, probably catching the scent of my fear, my pain. These wolves, they can smell everything¡ªtears, blood, terror. And yet he stands there, unmoved.


    What did I expect? These are the same Lycans who turned the event hall into a ughterhousest night. The same ones who piled bodies outside the building like a haphazard Lego pile. One girl¡¯s crushed wrists probably don¡¯t even register on their scale of eptable violence.


    Ellie¡¯s fingers tighten further, and a small whimper escapes me before I can stop it. The Beta¡¯s continued silence is all the permission she needs.


    I should have known better than to hope for mercy from monsters¡ª


    "Who are you?" the Lycan asks Ellie bluntly, and her grip falters.


    "Lycan Beta, my name is Ellie Thornton, mate to Raphael Wilder, the new Alpha of the Blue Mountain Pack."


    My knees almost buckle, but I lock them before I fall. Rafe is alive. Not just alive¡ªhe¡¯s Alpha now.


    But I can¡¯t process it. My mind stutters over the reality that Rafe survived while Alpha died. That in the aftermath of carnage, he imed leadership. That somehow, in the space of hours, everything has shifted again.


    "The new Alpha?" The Lycan Beta¡¯s voice carries a dangerous edge.


    Ellie¡¯s fingers finally release my wrists; she sounds cautious now, no longer deranged with her hatred of me. "Yes, Lycan Beta. Raphael is the former Alpha¡¯s heir."


    I cradle my arm against my chest, angry red marks blooming where her grip crushed blood vessels. The Beta¡¯s gaze drops to the bruises.


    "Does the Blue Mountain Pack make a habit of touching what doesn¡¯t belong to them?"


    A chill runs through me at his words. The way he says it¡ªlike I¡¯m property.


    Ellie¡¯s perfect posture falters. "I apologize, Lycan Beta. I acted rashly." Her voice drips with rehearsed contrition. "You see, this human has been the source of much discord between our pack and yours. I only wish to understand why."


    My throat tightens as she continues, each word precise and calcted.


    "I will personally investigate her situation. After all, we want nothing but peace between our packs now."


    The Beta¡¯s attention hasn¡¯t left my wrists. Something in his stance shifts, a predatory stillness that makes my skin crawl. "Will you now?"


    "Of course. It¡¯s clear she¡¯s caused enough trouble already."


    The Lycan Beta¡¯s lips curl into something between a sneer and a smile. "Your loyalty ismendable. Your intelligence, however, seems to becking."


    Ellie¡¯s perfect posture crumbles. The change in her demeanor is so sudden, it¡¯s like watching a flower wilt in fast motion. Gone is the self-assured female who crushed my wrists moments ago.


    "The Lycan King made his stance quite clear." His voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "Or did you miss that part while cowering on your knees?"


    A shudder runs through me at the memory ofst night¡ªthe way everyone dropped except me. The raw power that had filled the room. The blood that followed.


    Ellie¡¯s gaze darts between me and the Beta, uncertainty clouding her features. "High Alpha said harboring humans goes against internationalw." Her voice wavers. "The Blue Mountain Pack intends to follow suchw to the letter."


    "And this human is no longer the Blue Mountain Pack¡¯s concern." The Beta¡¯s words slice through the air like ice. "Your new Alpha would do well to remember whose leniency allowed him to live."


    The threat in his voice makes my blood run cold. Ellie pales, her perfectplexion turning ashen.


    She takes another step back, then another, until she¡¯s far enough away that even I can breathe easier. "I apologize, Lycan Beta. We will leave her fate to your discretion."


    The Lycan Beta spins away from her, meeting my gaze briefly. "Follow."


    I stumble after him, my bruised wrist throbbing as I cradle it against my chest. So many questions fill my head.


    A chill runs down my spine, and I nce over my shoulder. Ellie stands frozen where we left her, her perfect features twisted into something ugly. The hatred in her eyes burns into me, raw and primal.

 Chapter 21: Caine: You’re an Idiot

    <h4>Chapter 21: Caine: You¡¯re an Idiot</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    Even without being manifested, I can feel my wolf staring holes into my head.


    <i>You¡¯re an idiot,</i> Fenris observes for the twentieth time today.


    Ignoring him, I nudge a te closer to the empty seat across from me. The table is covered in a feast; tes of scrambled eggs, bacon, ham, biscuits, scones...


    This pack runs well enough, and it¡¯s objectively a loss to have murdered its Alphast night. While Jack-Eye hasn¡¯t spoken to me about my sudden decision, I know it¡¯s going to be a headache when we get back to our territory. Once news reaches the other packs, protests wille to the throne. Other packs will even send envoys.


    There¡¯s no way to sugarcoat an act of war, even for the Lycan King. If I want to keep the peace I¡¯ve forced onto our people, I can¡¯t go around killing Alphas¡ªbut his treatment of <i>her</i>...


    <i>Was it much better than yours?</i> Fenris asks, with a bit of a snarl in his mental voice. He¡¯s still angry with me for acting as if I was going to choke the girl.


    "I didn¡¯t hurt her. She¡¯s alive, isn¡¯t she?"


    He sighs. How was she supposed to know you wouldn¡¯t hurt her?


    Nagging isn¡¯t a usual part of our rtionship, and his insistence on taking care of this human is frustrating. I¡¯d spent all morning cleaning up our mess, and even kept her golden-haired lover alive to take over as Alpha. She should appreciate my restraint, considering the mess I created over her.


    <i>You¡¯re going to regret thinking like that.</i>


    Ignoring Fenris¡¯ warning, I drop into the chair, drumming my fingers against the table. Where is Jack-Eye with the girl? The food is nearly cold, and the girl hasn¡¯t eaten all day.


    <i>That¡¯s your fault. You forgot about her.</i>


    "Shut up." The words escape through clenched teeth. Besides, I didn¡¯t forget about her. I just forgot to feed her.


    <i>You¡¯re an idiot,</i> my wolf opines again, sounding disgusted.


    "Get out of my head." My knuckles whiten around the edge of the table. "I¡¯m only feeding her because she needs to stay alive until we sort this mess out. She goes back to the humans after our investigation isplete."


    Fenris snorts. <i>And how do you n to investigate when you ughtered everyone who might have answers?</i>


    Pain shoots through my temples. I squeeze the bridge of my nose, a snarl building in my chest. "There are survivors." It isn¡¯t like I massacred the entire pack. Just a chunk of it. Enough to make an example and take the edge off the anger burning in my chest. "The girl will answer my questions."


    <i>Will she? Then why didn¡¯t you ask her some when you went to visit her?</i>


    Because the entire room smelled like her. Because as soon as I walked in, I was drawn to the bed, where everything was drenched in her obnoxious blueberry muffin scent. Because it was all I could do not to throw her onto it when she came out of the bathroom, wet and steamy¡ªso I stole her pillow instead, taking it to my bed.


    Fenris remains silent, but his smug presence is overbearing in my head. I want nothing more to punch that son of a bitch wolf in his muzzle the next time he manifests.


    Footsteps echo down the hall. My head snaps up, nostrils ring at her scent before she even enters. Jack-Eye opens the door, and there she is.


    The human girl steps inside, her brown hair falling in waves around her shoulders. Dark circles ring her grass-green eyes, her skin pale fromck of food. Not that I care. This is purely Fenris¡¯s obsession making me notice these details.


    <i>I wonder what possessed me to think you were intelligent enough to be King.</i>


    Ignoring Fenris¡¯s sarcasm, I watch her hesitate beside her chair. Her eyes dart between me and the spread of food, her throat working as she swallows. Her entire body is stiff, and she keeps cradling her hands against her chest. Does she really think I¡¯m going to hurt her?


    <i>Why wouldn¡¯t she? What part of you has shown you won¡¯t?</i>


    The skin around my eyes tighten, and I fight the urge to scowl at the frail human, saturating this room in the scent of muffins. I might have tied and gagged her, but it isn¡¯t like I hurt her. Scared her, maybe, but she should realize how much restraint I¡¯ve shown¡ª


    <i>As you keep pointing out when it¡¯s convenient for you, she¡¯s human. Not a shifter. Violence is not normal in their world.</i>


    I scoff. Human news glorifies violence.


    Fenris sighs.


    My beta¡¯s hand brushes her arm as he pulls out her chair. "Sit," he tells her, and she does, though with hesitation.


    My fingers dig into the table¡¯s edge. That casual touch sets my blood boiling. Even if it¡¯s just Jack-Eye being courteous, the sight of his fingers grazing her skin makes me want to separate his hand from his wrist.


    "Get out," I snarl.


    The girl flinches, shrinking into herself. Jack-Eye raises an eyebrow in my direction, but doesn¡¯t argue. If anything, that bastard smirks.


    "Call me if you need me."


    The door clicks shut behind him, but the sound of his retreating footsteps does nothing to calm the rage coursing through my veins.


    I dig my elbow into the wooden arm of my chair, focusing on the dull ache that spreads through the joint. The pain grounds me, keeps my wolf¡¯s influence at bay. Keeps me from reaching across the table and¡ª


    <i>And what?</i> Fenris asks, sounding far too smug. He has front-seat views to the obscene visions in my head. Hell, he probably put them there.


    <i>I didn¡¯t. That¡¯s all you.</i>


    The girl rubs her wrist, head bowed. Her scent fills my nose with that maddening sweetness. The dark circles under her eyes stand out against her pale skin, and a muscle in my jaw ticks. "Eat before you faint."


    She startles like a spooked deer, those green eyes darting up to meet mine before skittering away. Her gaze drifts across the room, taking in the sitting area with its plush chairs and ornate furniture.


    "Where am I?"


    My fingers curl into my palm. "My bedroom."


    Her spine goes rigid. Those grass-green eyes snap to the open door across the room, where she can see the bed just beyond. The bed where her pillow now rests. Her heart rate spikes, flooding the air with the acrid scent of fear.


    <i>You¡¯re scaring her again.</i>


    A growl builds in my chest. I shove to my feet, the chair scraping against hardwood. Snatching her empty te, I stab my fork into the spread before me. Scrambled eggs. Sausages. Bacon. A full slice of ham. Some strange, square potatoes. Scones. Each itemnds with a tter.


    The te hits the table in front of her with a loud thud, and she jumps again. "Eat," I order, handing her the fork.


    There¡¯s still a caustic undertone to her sweet scent, and her fingers tremble as she reaches for the utensil. Not once do her eyes meet mine, though she¡¯s faced me in worse situations. Earlier, her face was flushed in embarrassment as she demanded to know why I was in her bed. Now, she¡¯s a frightened rabbit.


    I don¡¯t like that.

 Chapter 22: Grace: Eat

    <h4>Chapter 22: Grace: Eat</h4>


    There¡¯s food heaped onto the te in front of me, turning into a small mountain of breakfast. I was starving, but now the egregious stack of food¡ªenough to feed three people¡ªleaves me nauseated.


    "I¡¯m not hungry," I lie, even though I¡¯ll regret itter.


    "Eat," the overbearing monarch says, his voice so cold I swear there¡¯s an icy breeze in my ear.


    But who can eat when there¡¯s a strange man standing over them, arms crossed, watching with a death re? Nope. Not happening. My stomach roils and rebels, even though it was begging me for food just a while ago.


    I must not move fast enough for his liking, because he takes back the fork he¡¯d given me and stabs arge bite of egg, shoving it at my face like I¡¯m a child. "You haven¡¯t eaten. You need to."


    He¡¯s still waiting, acting as if he can wait all day for me to eat what he¡¯s offering. It¡¯s awkward¡ªbeyond weird, really¡ªbut I lean forward and open my mouth. Cold metal clinks against my teeth as I try to manage the massive portion of scrambled eggs. Half of it falls back to the te while I struggle to chew what made it in, heat rising in my cheeks over the mess I¡¯m making.


    His pupils dte as he watches me, and he spears a thick sausage link next, bringing it toward my lips.


    No way. Once was enough.


    "Wait." I hold up my hands to fend him off, though the effort feels futile. "I can feed myself."


    "Your mouth¡¯s too small." His voicees out rough, yet his face betrays nothing but clinical observation.


    My cheeks burn hotter. I grab a napkin and wipe away bits of egg from the corners of my mouth. "It¡¯s not that my mouth is small. That bite was just too big."


    "You just need practice." He doesn¡¯t lower the fork.


    The sausage hovers between us. It¡¯s spicy, just the way Alpha always liked them. My stomach seems to have decided on hunger over nausea, and rumbles, begging me for sustenance.


    "I can feed myself." Snatching the fork out of his hand, I take a defiant bite of sausage, a little flustered when grease spurts out and drips down my chin. It isn¡¯t the image of an independent adult woman I wanted to portray, but at least I¡¯ve sessfully gained control of feeding myself.


    Or so you¡¯d think.


    He shoves a piece of bacon at me. "Try this, too."


    I chew as fast as I can, wanting to tell him to back off. The moment my lips part, crispy bacon slides between them. His storm-gray eyes fix on my mouth, intense enough to send warning signals down my spine. The bedroom door stands open behind him, and my stomach drops as I remember we¡¯re alone in his suite.


    Did he really summon me here to¡ª


    "You¡¯re making a mess." His voicees out low and rumbly, almost like a purr.


    The rough pad of his thumb swipes across my chin, wiping away grease, and my body betrays me with a jolt of heat. His touch leaves a trail of fire across my skin, and my thighs clench. What is wrong with me? This man murdered Alpha. He¡¯s holding me captive. He¡¯s dangerous and clearly unhinged and¡ª


    I jerk my head away from his touch, face burning. My knees snap together under the table as I try to get myself under control.


    A knock echoes through the suite, interrupting the strangely sexual moment. Thank you, God. I think I need to see a priest and confess all my sins, but very few shifter packs allow a church onto their territory.


    "Enter."


    Surely he¡¯ll step back now and give me space to breathe... but he doesn¡¯t.


    Caine doesn¡¯t move an inch. He reaches for a napkin, still looming over me as if the person at the door doesn¡¯t exist. His fingers thread through my hair, gripping the back of my head to hold me still while he dabs at my face with meticulous care.


    "The Blue Mountain Pack¡¯s new Alpha requests an audience," a voice says from the doorway, and I recognize the red-haired Lycan¡¯s voice immediately.


    "Tell him I¡¯m upied." Caine squints at my chin before letting go of my hair, apparently satisfied.


    "You¡¯re the one who called him here." The Lycan Beta¡¯s voice sounds distinctly amused, and I wonder if he¡¯s smiling or still showing a deadpan face. He¡¯d seemed friendly enough yesterday, before the attacks.


    The simple act of holding a fork seems strange to me now, my movements jerky and trembling as I stab at a small, fluffy cloud of egg. A thousand thoughts race through my mind¡ªmost of them cursing myself for being some strange style of pervert around dangerous men¡ªand I don¡¯t pay attention to what I¡¯m doing, only to be surprised when pain floods through my wrist.


    The fork tters onto my te in haphazard fashion, and I take a deep breath through the pain radiating from forearm to palm. Ellie must have sprained my wrist; it hurt all the way here, but seeing the Lycan King had put my body on high alert, and I¡¯d almost forgotten about it.


    "I changed my mind." Caine still doesn¡¯t turn around to talk to his beta, frowning instead as his gaze lingers on my hand. I swear the temperature in the room drops ten degrees.


    "He¡¯s already¡ª"


    A low, grumbly sound vibrates through the air. It takes a second for me to realize he¡¯s growling. It isn¡¯t a vicious, violent sort of growl, but more... discontent. The Lycan King never once turns around; only the words he grits out show he¡¯s listening. "Get. Out."


    The door clicks shut without further argument, leaving me alone with a murderer who makes my body wish he was an angel.


    I focus on the te, determined to eat and get out of here as fast as possible. Grabbing the fork only makes the pain worse, and a quiet hiss escapes my lips before I can stop it.


    "What¡¯s wrong with your hand?" His voice is sharp, demanding answers as if he¡¯s entitled to know everything about me.


    "Nothing." I switch the fork to my left hand, awkward and clumsy as I try to spear a piece of egg. My right hand finds refuge in myp, hidden under the edge of the table. "I¡¯m fine."


    "Don¡¯t lie to me."


    "I¡¯m not¡ª"


    His hand shoots out, unerring as they dive beneath the table. His fingers wrap around my forearm and I yelp as he draws my injured wrist up for inspection. His touch is surprisingly gentle despite his harsh tone, but that doesn¡¯t stop the way my heart pounds against my ribs.


    "Who did this?"


    "No one. I fell." I have no idea why I¡¯m lying to protect Ellie, but this situation feels dangerous.


    His grip tightens a fraction, but I¡¯m pretty sure his fingers won¡¯t leave bruises. Is he being gentle with me? The same man who tied me up, left me in a forest, and choked me? Then again, this is the same psycho who stole my pillow. There¡¯s no point trying to make sense out of his actions.


    "Try again," he says, as my brain scrambles to understand what he¡¯s doing.

 Chapter 23: Grace: Not Clear At All

    <h4>Chapter 23: Grace: Not Clear At All</h4>


    I press my lips together, not sure what to do. If I tell him Ellie hurt me, he might... hurt her, right?


    No, wait. This line of reasoning has no basis in reality. He doesn¡¯t care about me. If he was going to get upset over someone grabbing my wrist, his beta wouldn¡¯t have stood there so calmly while she did it. Ergo, there¡¯s no point in protecting Ellie. I don¡¯t even like her. She¡¯s an objectively terrible person.


    Sighing, I tug my arm out of his grasp, mildly surprised when he lets go. His brow creases as he stares at my hand. "I just had a little altercation with Rafe¡¯s mate earlier. Since I¡¯m human, I get hurt pretty easily."


    "Altercation?" Brooding eyes shift from my wrist to my face. "Didn¡¯t I make it clear you¡¯re mine?"


    I stare at him, my mind nk. The absurdity of his im only rises after yesterday. "No? I don¡¯t think it¡¯s very clear at all, actually."


    His tense jaw goes ck, his narrowed eyes now wide at my response. He opens his mouth, then closes it, tilting his head as he inspects my face. "What did you say?" he finally asks, his voice much higher than normal.


    He¡¯s probably not used to being contradicted, but what does he expect with his strange behavior? Nothing¡¯s clear at all! "I said no, you didn¡¯t make it clear. What does being <i>yours</i> even mean?" My hands shake, and I sp them into myp tightly. I can¡¯t keep looking at his face, so I look at the wall behind him instead.


    <i>This is a terrible idea. He¡¯s going to kill me for going against him. He doesn¡¯t like his authority challenged. </i>But my mouth keeps going. "First, you tell the entire pack I¡¯m yours¡ªwhich I¡¯m not. Then you tell them my presence here is illegal and I¡¯m the problem between the packs. So which is it? Am I your property, or am I a criminal you need to get rid of?"


    His nostrils re. The muscles in his jaw work as if he¡¯s grinding his teeth. "I never said¡ª"


    "You were mad at Alpha for taking me in. You kept asking him why a <i>human</i> was let into the pack. I didn¡¯t know it was illegal then, but it makes sense now. So how can you be angry at Alpha if you¡¯re also saying you¡¯veid im to me? Your actions are contradictory, don¡¯t you think?" <i>Please don¡¯t kill me, please don¡¯t kill me, please don¡¯t kill me. </i>My bravery makes it hard to breathe, but at least the words are finally out there.


    The crease between Caine¡¯s brows deepens. His hand rises to his forehead, and he releases a long sigh while taking a step back. The space between us grows, and my lungs remember how to function again.


    "I see your point," he says.


    The words hang in the air as he walks back to his chair, dropping into it with a fluid motion that reminds me of a predator settling in for the hunt. The silence stretches, thick and ufortable.


    And awkward.


    My stomach growls, reminding me of the cooling food in front of me. With trembling fingers, I pick up my fork in my left hand. Each bite is a challenge, but I chew on autopilot, the weight of Caine¡¯s stare making it hard to swallow.


    He ms his hand against the table out of nowhere, and I jump, tightening my grip on my fork before I drop it again.


    "There¡¯s nothing wrong with saying you¡¯re mine while I investigate your situation." He sounds almost triumphant, his entire face rxing as he stares at me.


    It takes me a few seconds to process what he¡¯s saying and understand he¡¯s exining himself. Meanwhile, his finger jabs through the air¡ªat me, then himself, then back to me.


    "You. You¡¯re <i>my</i> prisoner." Each word is firm, with clear enunciation as he emphasizes every syble. "No one else cany their hand on you until my investigation isplete."


    His chair scrapes against the ground. Before I can form a response, he storms out, the door mming behind him with enough force to rattle the tes.


    I sit frozen, fork suspended in mid-air, bits of egg dropping back to my te. What kind of captor gets territorial over their prisoner¡¯s well-being?


    No. I decided not to try and apply basic logic to the man¡¯s words or actions. The man is a lunatic, and nothing he does is ever going to make sense. Better to ept he¡¯s crazy and move on.


    At least he didn¡¯t hurt me.


    I stare at the door he just mmed. For all his intimidating presence and penchant for murder, the Lycan King seems more frustrated with me than homicidal. That¡¯s a good thing, I think.


    My shoulders droop a little, my upper back tense from holding into my fear from the moment I walked into this room. The constant terror of imminent death ebbs, reced by a dull sort of eptance. If he wanted to kill me, he¡¯d have done it already. Instead, he¡¯s oddly fixated on protecting me, I think. At least from others.


    I reach for one of the golden-brown scones. Taking a small bite, I savor the subtle sweetness as it crumbles in my mouth.


    The door crashes open again and the pastry slips from my hands, mashing itself against the floor. My heart leaps into my throat as I stare at the Lycan King¡¯s broad frame filling the doorway, his expression stormy. My spine crawls.


    "Er... did you forget something?"


    "No." But he doesn¡¯t move from the door.


    My neck itches, probably from all the stress, and I reach up to scratch it without thinking. Pain shoots through my wrist at the movement, making me wince.


    Caine¡¯s boots thunder across the floor. One moment he¡¯s at the door, the next his fingers wrap around my upper arm. His touch burns against my bare skin, and more touch burns through the fabric of my shirt.


    "Get up." The wordse out as a rough growl.


    I have no idea what he wants, but I have no intention of pissing him off. It kind of feels like I¡¯ve used up all my luck for the day already, so I stand immediately, following as he herds me to the other side of the room, where a couch sits across from a simple brick firece.


    "Sit," hemands, and I do so, wondering if I look as confused as I feel.

 Chapter 24: Caine: Can I Have My Hand Back?

    <h4>Chapter 24: Caine: Can I Have My Hand Back?</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    The girl¡¯s wrist is so thin and fragile, I¡¯m reasonably certain it would break under the pressure of lifting a gallon of milk.


    <i>She¡¯s not that weak.</i>


    The bruises on her skin say otherwise, perfectly spaced. Four fingers and a thumb.


    Hmm. How many fingers does a Luna need? She can probably get by with none. In fact, the Blue Mountain Pack has gone years without a Luna; I¡¯m sure they would be just fine without one now...


    <i>Oh?</i> Fenris perks up, his mental presence a little stronger. <i>Are we killing her, then?</i>


    It¡¯s a tempting thought.


    I take a deep breath of blueberry muffin-scented air, recalling the unknown scent all over her when we first met. My upper lip curls back in a snarl. Better to keep that vicious little Luna alive; she¡¯ll keep her mate in line.


    Fenris hums in the back of my head. <i>Good idea. Or we can kill both of them?</i> His hopeful question is another temptation, but it would only bring forth more headaches in the long run.


    At least without cause.


    "Um..." The girl¡¯s sweet voice interrupts my vengeful train of thought. "...Caine?"


    "Yes?"


    "Can I have my hand back?"


    "No." She always seems to be asking for things back, a surprisingly irritating trait.


    <i>Jack-Eye, bring me a first-aid kit.</i>


    The girl¡¯s grass-green eyes sh dark, but she doesn¡¯t move from her ce on the couch. She still smells fearful, but not enough to overpower her ever-present muffin fragrance. Still, judging by the way she avoids meeting my eyes, it¡¯s very clear she¡¯s afraid of me.


    Frowning, I grab her left hand, checking that wrist over. There¡¯s a small bruise, but she seems able to use it freely.


    I don¡¯t miss how she jumps when I grab it, though.


    "Why are you so scared? I¡¯m not going to eat you."


    Herugh is breathy and artificial, but she still doesn¡¯t meet my gaze. My fingers still circle her delicate wrist, monitoring her pulse as it beats frantically beneath my touch.


    Herughter dies quickly. "Oh. You¡¯re not being funny."


    "I was being serious. I have no intention of eating you." This assurance should be enough to ease her fear.


    Fenris¡¯s amusement is overpowering through our bond. <i>You¡¯re trying to be nice. How adorable.</i>


    Ignoring him, I focus instead on the way her pulse jumps when I brush my thumb across the tender skin of her inner wrist. The sight of her bruises sets my teeth on edge.


    Her eyes dart behind me, before wandering away again. She shifts on the couch, drawing back slightly, but I have no intention of letting her move further away. As soon as she realizes I¡¯m not letting go, she stops. "Well, you killed Alpha Brax. And everyone else."


    "Yes, I did."


    "That kind of thing..." Her voice trails off as she stares at my hand on her wrist. "You know, humans call it murder."


    My fingers tighten and the scent of her fear spikes, sharp and acrid. It¡¯s starting to grate on my nerves. I¡¯ve given her no reason to think I¡¯d harm her¡ªquite the opposite, really. I¡¯ve fed her, clothed her, and protected her from that pathetic excuse of an Alpha.


    <i>You also chased her, tackled her, tied her up, left her in the forest, choked her...</i>


    Point taken. "If I wanted to hurt you, little human, I would have done so in the forest that first night."


    <i>You did, though,</i> Fenris chides. <i>Ruined all my progress with her. Now she doesn¡¯t trust either of us.</i>


    I¡¯m definitely going to punch him the next time he manifests. He¡¯s a little toofortabletely.


    "You did hurt me," she says, in an echo of my wolf.


    A growl rips from my throat before I can stop it, and the girl startles.


    <i>You¡¯re scaring her again. Also, Jack-Eye¡¯s here.</i>


    Jack-Eye¡¯s scent precedes him as he enters, first aid kit in hand. He doesn¡¯t bat an eye at our relocation to the couch, but I can smell his curiosity.


    While we all showed solidarityst night, none the Lycans I brought with me agree with the actions I tookst night. The political headache alone doesn¡¯t seem worth it, and I have to admit they have a point.


    I snatch the kit from him, finally dropping the girl¡¯s injured wrist. The white gauze roll feels rough against my fingers as I pull it out, very different from her soft, delicate skin.


    "Hold still," Imand, wrapping the bandage around her wrist. She doesn¡¯t resist, but her eyes track my every movement.


    Her scent shifts¡ªless fear now, more confusion. The bruises disappear beneath clean whiteyers as I work.


    <i>Take her back to her room,</i> I order Jack-Eye through our pack link. <i>And make sure nothing like this happens again. No one touches her.</i>


    Jack-Eye frowns at the girl¡¯s gauze-wrapped hand. <i>Didn¡¯t think a simple grab would do that much damage, honestly.</i>


    "Jack-Eye will take you back to your room. Try not to get in trouble on your way there."


    The girl tests her bandaged wrist with careful movements. A small wince crosses her face, and she lets it rest in herp. Her eyes drift past my shoulder, toward my bedroom door.


    "Is that..." She points with her good hand. "Is that my pillow?"


    My spine stiffens. Heat crawls up my neck as I recall the soft bundle lying haphazardly over myforter, still radiating her scent.


    Jack-Eye clears his throat beside me. His face remains neutral, but the sharp tang of amusement floods my nostrils. That bastard. I¡¯ll make him runps until his legs fall off.


    "No." The deniales out too quick, but she doesn¡¯t seem to realize it.


    "Oh." She bites her lower lip. "Could I maybe have my pillow back, though? It was my only one."


    "You¡¯ll get a new one." I wave my hand dismissively, refusing to acknowledge the burning in my ears. "Jack-Eye, take her. Now."


    Jack-Eye¡¯s amusement spikes higher as he gestures for the girl to follow him.


    <i>I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d be quite this hopeless,</i> Fenris sighs. <i>At least learn how to talk to her.</i>


    "Shut up," I growl under my breath, watching them leave. The pillow¡¯s scent is a weak echo of her warm blueberry scent, but I¡¯m still not going to give it back. She can have a dozen new ones for all I care.

 Chapter 25: Grace: Changing Overnight

    <h4>Chapter 25: Grace: Changing Overnight</h4>


    The bodies are gone, leaving only arge, dark stain on the ground.


    The sight is enough to bring me back to my senses, though. The moment I walked into Caine¡¯s suite, my brain was scrambled. There¡¯s only one thing I can pinpoint as the cause of my strange behavior: The man is just too attractive.


    It¡¯s stupid. I know it¡¯s a stupid reason. But...


    God. Was I always this type of person?


    The window is cool and soothing as I rest my forehead against it, my sigh deep enough to wilt my entire body. I always considered myself a good person, someone with morals and loyalty.


    My head thuds against the ss again. What kind of person am I bing? Alpha¡¯s blood stains the ground below, yet here I stand, thinking about the way Caine¡¯s fingers felt against my skin.


    "You¡¯re disgusting," I mumble to myself, shuddering at myck of humanity.


    This pack helped raise me. Fed me. Gave me a home when I had none. Sure, they cast me aside the moment I proved useless, but still¡ªthey were my family for years.


    I press my palm t against the cold window. The chill helps clear my head, but not enough. My thoughts keep drifting to steel-gray eyes and calloused fingers, sending tingles through my body.


    "Stop it, Grace." I smack my forehead against the ss again. It¡¯s oddlyforting. "He¡¯s a murderer. A monster."


    But my traitorous mind reys how gentle his touch was while wrapping my wrist. How his presence made me feel safe despite everything he¡¯s done. How he fed me, even if he seemed irritated about it.


    What¡¯s wrong with me? The pack members who died have families. Children who¡¯ll grow up without parents. Mates left alone. And here I am, swooning over their killer like some deranged groupie.


    My breath fogs the ss as I keep muttering to myself. "I¡¯m going straight to hell. The deepest circle, where they keep the worst of the worst. Even Satan is judging me right now."


    The strange part is how removed I feel from all this death. Like watching a movie instead of living through a massacre. Shouldn¡¯t I be crying? Screaming? Something other than thinking about the way Caine¡¯s jaw clenches when he¡¯s angry? And maybe, just maybe, <i>not</i> paying any attention to the tiny corner of my brain that almost feels smug someone stood up to Alpha when he was so cruel to me.


    Now that I acknowledge the feeling, it grows a little, stabbing holes into my conscience. It doesn¡¯t care about the dead people, it¡¯s primally satisfied the Lycan King stood up for me.


    My stomach churns. This detachment isn¡¯t normal. Neither is this pull toward the Lycan King. It¡¯s like my moralpass shattered the moment he walked into my life.


    I close my eyes, but that only makes it worse. His face appears in the darkness¡ªthose sharp cheekbones, the way his lips curve when he¡¯s amused. My heart speeds up.


    "Get it together, Grace." I dig my nails into my palms until it hurts, irritated with my vapid thoughts. "He killed Alpha. He¡¯s probably killed hundreds of others. The man doesn¡¯t have a soul."


    But my body doesn¡¯t seem to care about that little detail. Neither does my mind, apparently, since it keeps circling back to him like a moth to me. Maybe it¡¯s a side effect of his alpha domination. Yeah, this theory makes sense. After all, my morality can¡¯t just change overnight.


    My changed morality is even trying to insist he¡¯s not evil, just different. Shifter society doesn¡¯t hold the same standards and morals as humans do, and¡ªno. Uneptable.


    It¡¯s not me who¡¯s changed. This <i>has</i> to be a side effect of his Lycan King-ness. Like a poison to the mind of humans.


    I push off the window and copse onto my bed with another bone-deep sigh. The mattress feels wrong without my pillow, empty and ufortable without a ce to rest my head. I roll onto my side, curling into myself.


    Where are the new pillows, anyway? Hopefully someone delivers them soon. I still can¡¯t understand why he would steal mine.


    My chest tightens, and I swivel to my other side, facing the wall. This situation is so bizarre. One minute I¡¯m cleaning floors, the next I¡¯m apparently important enough to start a war over. And the so-called king is not helping with his mixed signals, treating me like he cares one second and like I¡¯m a criminal the next.


    "You¡¯re mine." I mimic his deep voice. "But also my prisoner. But also don¡¯t let anyone touch you. But also stay locked in this room. Pfft. How stupid."


    The memory of his possessive grip makes my skin tingle pleasantly and I scrub my arms, trying to erase the sensation. I need an antidote for this before it gets worse. Avoiding him would probably help, too.


    Being miles away would be even better. If I¡¯d escaped properly the first time, Alpha wouldn¡¯t be dead, and I wouldn¡¯t have this struggle on my conscience. Yeah¡ªthis all would have been better if I¡¯d made it to Sterling City like I nned.


    Stupid Fenris ruined everything.


    I sit up, my resolve hardening over the truth. My original n was right. I need to leave¡ªnot just the pack, but this whole supernatural world. Find my ce among humans where I belong. Humans don¡¯t belong in a pack. It¡¯s illegal, and I can see why.


    "I¡¯ll start over. Get a job. An apartment. Maybe even go to college." My heart pumps hard as I re-imagine the dreams I¡¯d held onto just one day ago. Yes, this is what I need to focus on. Not strange murderous Lycans with sexy tattoos.


    Normal human things. Safe things. Things that don¡¯t end in bloodshed because I exist in the wrong ce.


    I press my palms against my eyes until stars burst behind my lids. It¡¯s the only logical solution. Whatever this thing is with Caine¡ªthis pull, this confusion¡ªit doesn¡¯t matter. I refuse to be responsible for more death.


    The human world is waiting. All I need is a n. It can¡¯t be haphazard like thest one, but I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll find a way somehow.

 Chapter 26: Grace: A Suspicious Hand

    <h4>Chapter 26: Grace: A Suspicious Hand</h4>


    A series of knocks jerks me out of a dream involving a lot of naked skin, among other details I have no business recalling. I wipe a trail of drool from my cheek. "Gross."


    Another knock.


    "Come in." My voicees out scratchy. Clearing my throat, I sit up on my bed, wondering who it is.


    My entire body stiffens as Andrew steps through the doorway. His limp brown hair falls into his eyes and something about his expression is strange, but what catches my attention is the pillow in his hands.


    "What are you doing here?" Despite him obviously being here to deliver what I need, the wordse out defensive. I was d to see he was alive earlier, but it doesn¡¯t mean I wanted to see him in person. I just didn¡¯t want to recognize another body on the pile.


    "Delivering this." He holds up the pillow like a peace offering, but his eyes are intense as they look me over. "Lycan King¡¯s orders."


    My fingers twitch with the urge to snatch it from him.


    "Just toss it over here," I say, waving airily at the other side of my bed, aiming for nonchnce despite how desperately I want it. My neck hurts from the impromptu nap I took without one.


    Andrew hesitates, his eyes darting around the room. "You... Are you okay?"


    My eyes narrow at Andrew¡¯s question. Something¡¯s off about his visit¡ªthe Lycan King wouldn¡¯t send him of all people to deliver a pillow, would he? Fenris should recognize him from their encounter during the Mate Hunt.


    Then again, I¡¯m acting like the Lycan King cares about me. He probably hasn¡¯t thought twice about a wolf as insignificant as Andrew. Even if Rafe came in here, I¡¯m sure he wouldn¡¯t bat an eye...


    Then I remember yesterday. Okay, maybe not Rafe. The Lycan King doesn¡¯t seem to like him very much for some reason.


    "I¡¯m as fine as anyone can be in this situation." Despite trying to sound neutral, my wordse out clipped. My tongue presses against my teeth, stopping the automatic ¡¯how are you?¡¯ from escaping. Old habits die hard, but I¡¯m not about to pretend we¡¯re friends.


    He¡¯s alive. Great. I don¡¯t need to know more details.


    Andrew¡¯s feet shuffle against the floor as he takes a step forward. Then another. His arms wrap tighter around my pillow, pressing it against his chest like a shield. The sight of it makes my fingers curl into my palms. That¡¯s <i>my</i> pillow, and now it¡¯s going to smell like him.


    Scents aren¡¯t something that usually bother me, and I¡¯ve always found shifters to be a little odd with how finicky they can be about them. But now I get it. I don¡¯t want to smell Andrew in my bed while I sleep. Ew.


    I imagine burning the pillow, but no, it didn¡¯t do anything wrong. It¡¯s a victim.


    "Rafe¡¯s worried about you, you know."


    A harshugh bursts from my throat before I can stop it. Of course that¡¯s why Andrew¡¯s here. He¡¯s always been Rafe¡¯s right-hand gofer.


    His face tightens, his mouth curving down at the corners. "He¡¯s been busy, but he¡¯s still taking the time to look after you."


    "Pfft." Pressing my lips together before another scoffes out, I focus on taking three deep breaths through my nose. Once I¡¯m sure I won¡¯tugh in Andrew¡¯s face, I reply, "Rafe has bigger problems to deal with. He¡¯s Alpha now, right? He should focus on running his pack and getting on the Lycan King¡¯s good side before more of you die. And he already has a mate, so he has no business looking after his ex, don¡¯t you think? Only a sleaze would do that behind her back."


    The wordse so easily now, without a twinge of pain.


    A warm rush of satisfaction spreads through my chest. The words came out without a single crack in my voice, without the slightest tremor. Look at me, already over Rafe. Maybe trauma is good for something after all.


    "You don¡¯t mean that." Andrew scowls, still holding my precious pillow hostage. "The pack¡¯s a mess right now, but we still want to take care of you."


    The deration hits like a p. My mouth falls open as I stare at him, wondering if I heard right. "<i>Take care</i> of me?" Did I wake up in a parallel universe?


    "Yes, we¡ª"


    "Ellie told the Lycan Beta she would personally destroy me on the Lycan King¡¯smand. She said harboring humans in the pack is illegal. Now you¡¯re trying to tell me you all want to <i>take care</i> of me?" My eyes narrow. "Or do you mean you¡¯re going to kill me?"


    "What? No!" Andrew¡¯s face pales. "Rafe would never¡ª"


    "Uh-huh."


    He growls, finally tossing the pillow at me. Itnds on the floor, just inches from the bed. "For your information, Ellie¡¯s the one who suggested we help you."


    A burst ofughter escapes my throat. "Ellie? Wanting to help me?" I shake my head, unable to help the hysterical giggles from bubbling up. How absurd. "You¡¯ll have to do better than that. I may be human, but I¡¯m not an idiot."


    Andrew¡¯s jaw clenches. He opens his mouth to argue, but I cut him off before he can.


    "Save it. I don¡¯t want to hear any more lies." I point at the pillow on the floor. "Thanks for the delivery, but you can go now. I¡¯m sure you have more important things to do than pretend to care about me."


    He sighs, vigorously scratching at his hair as he scowls at me. "You¡¯re being so obstinate. Ellie knows you¡¯re in danger, and she knows Rafe wants to keep you safe. We all decided to help you out."


    "Stop." I hold up my hand, needing a moment to process this absurdity. My eyes narrow as I study Andrew¡¯s earnest expression. Either he¡¯s the world¡¯s best actor, or he actually believes what he¡¯s saying.


    A chill runs down my spine as I realize what this means. They think I¡¯m stupid enough to fall for this. Maybe Andrew¡¯s serious, but I <i>know</i> Ellie isn¡¯t.


    I point over his shoulder at the door. "You do realize there¡¯s a Lycan guard right outside? He¡¯s heard every word."


    Andrew shakes his head, a hint of triumph in his eyes. "They¡¯re all gathering with the king right now. There¡¯s no Lycan on guard. Just pack."


    My heart skips a beat. The way he says it, like it¡¯s supposed to reassure me, makes my skin crawl. But... is it so bad to take this hand they¡¯re offering?


    Ellie definitely has an ulterior motive, but wouldn¡¯t our interests align in this case? She¡¯ll want me out of Rafe¡¯s life, and that¡¯s <i>exactly</i> what I¡¯m hoping for. Relying on the fickle mindset of the Lycan King is not a great way to survive to old age.


    My thumb finds its way between my teeth as I study Andrew¡¯s face. The earnest look in his eyes makes my stomach twist. Either he¡¯s telling the truth, or he¡¯s been thoroughly fooled by whatever game Ellie¡¯s ying.


    "Fine." I drop my hand to myp. There¡¯s no harm in listening to what they have to say; it doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m going to do it. "What¡¯s this brilliant n you all cooked up?"

 Chapter 27: Grace: An Absurd Plan

    <h4>Chapter 27: Grace: An Absurd n</h4>


    "¡ªthe car would leave tonight, before midnight. Just a few miles east of the river crossing. Forest Springs is Ellie¡¯s father¡¯s territory, so you¡¯d be safe there until¡ª"


    My fingers curl into the soft fabric of my recovered pillow, digging in until my knuckles turn white. Forest Springs Pack. The neighboring territory ruled by Ellie¡¯s father.


    I keep my face nk while Andrew continues exining their supposed escape n, but inside, my stomach twists into knots dense enough to sink through the floor. In the end, Ellie and Rafe want me to go to her father¡¯s pack.


    Silly me, to ever think Ellie and I could be on the same page for even a moment.


    "Alpha Thornton will personally guarantee your protection," Andrew says, leaning forward with an earnestness that might be convincing if I didn¡¯t know better. "It¡¯s the perfect solution."


    The room suddenly feels smaller, the walls closing in as Andrew¡¯s voice drones on about routes and timing and security measures. Each wordnds like another shovelful of dirt on my grave.


    "¡ªRafe wanted toe himself, but he¡¯s tied up with the transition meetings. The Lycans are demanding a lot from him as the new Alpha."


    Of course they are. Convenient excuse.


    I trace a loose thread on my bedsheet, keeping my gaze down so Andrew won¡¯t see what¡¯s in my eyes. This n isn¡¯t about keeping me safe. It¡¯s about getting rid of me permanently. Ellie¡¯s intent is to make sure I¡¯m forever miserable.


    If it was about my safety, they¡¯d send me to Sterling City.


    "¡ªand once the Lycans leave, probably in a few weeks, Rafe will send for you and¡ª"


    A bitterugh threatens to burst from my throat, but I swallow it down. The fantasy that Rafe would "send for me" after the Lycans leave might be the most ridiculous part of this whole charade. Ellie would sooner tear out her own heart than allow me back into Rafe¡¯s orbit, even at the edges.


    "Grace?" Andrew pauses, finally noticing my silence. "Are you listening?"


    "It¡¯s a lot to take in," Andrew says, mistaking my silence for consideration. "But we don¡¯t have much time."


    "Ellie¡¯s put together a bag for you¡ªclothes, some toiletries. Basic stuff to get you through the first few days until you¡¯re settled."


    Clothes picked by Ellie. I imagine scratchy fabrics, wrong sizes, colors meant to wash me out and make me look sickly. Little cruelties hidden in gestures of false kindness.


    I stare at Andrew, something inside me finally snapping. The pretense of polite consideration evaporates, like water beneath the noon sun. "Do you actually believe any of this bullshit you¡¯re spewing?"


    My words are a brutal knife slicing through his ns. Andrew blinks, taken aback by my sudden shift from passive listener to open skeptic.


    "What? Grace, this isn¡¯t¡ª"


    "This isn¡¯t what? A convenient way to get rid of me? To hand me over to people who would hate me even more than the ones here do?"


    Andrew¡¯s expression hardens. "Look, I wouldn¡¯t be part of this if I thought you¡¯d be in danger. I¡¯ming with you."


    "Excuse me?"


    "I¡¯m going with you to Forest Springs. To make sure you¡¯re treated well." He leans forward, earnestness radiating from him. "Rafe wants me to make sure you¡¯re okay. He specifically asked me to apany you. If she wanted to hurt you, why would she send me along?"


    I tilt my head back, staring at the ceiling with a humorlessugh. I lift my injured wrist, the one Caine had so carefully bandaged.


    "Did you know? Ellie¡¯s the one who hurt this wrist this morning."


    Andrew¡¯s eyes widen slightly; I can see his expression out of the corner of my eye.


    "She grabbed me in the hall and wouldn¡¯t let go. Squeezed until I thought the bones would snap." My voice drops to an icy whisper as I finally meet his gaze. "She did this in front of the Lycan Beta. She didn¡¯t care who saw."


    I lean forward, forcing Andrew to maintain eye contact. "So tell me again why someone like Ellie¡ªsomeone who was willing to physically harm me in front of witnesses¡ªwould suddenly be so concerned with helping me? The human ex-girlfriend of her mate?"


    The question hangs in the air between us. Andrew shifts ufortably, his gaze dropping to my bandaged wrist. The certainty in his expression wavers.


    "Maybe she..." he starts, then falters. His throat works as he swallows. "It¡¯s still better than being prisoner to the Lycan King, isn¡¯t it? You¡¯ve seen it. He¡¯s crazed for violence. He¡¯ll kill you the moment he¡¯s done with you."


    My stomach twists. Yes, I know. It isn¡¯t like I trust him, either. But it doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m going to jump into a fire.


    Andrew¡¯s eyes suddenly narrow, and he takes an aggressive step forward. The shift in his attitude sends a shiver through my body. "It can¡¯t be... Do you actually believe what he said? About you being ¡¯his¡¯?"


    The memory of Caine¡¯s voice echoes in my head¡ªhis furious deration in front of the entire pack. The way Fenris had materialized beside him, as if summoned by his rage.


    "No. Of course not."


    But then I think about my strange meal with him and how he bandaged my wrist so tenderly. Heat creeps up my neck.


    Andrew¡¯s nostrils re slightly. "If there¡¯s something between you and the Lycan King that you¡¯re not telling us..."


    "There¡¯s nothing," I snap. I don¡¯t need more rumors. Everyone¡¯s confused enough as it is.


    "Then why are you hesitating?" Andrew presses. "If there¡¯s nothing, why note with me tonight? Get away from all this?"


    I study his face, searching for answers. Does he really think he¡¯s helping me? And why is he so damn stubborn about this? Andrew has never liked me.


    "You didn¡¯t answer my question," I say quietly. "Why would Ellie want to help me?"


    He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Rafe is concerned about you. He feels guilty. Ellie knows that, and she wants him focused on the transition, on bing the Alpha the pack needs right now. As long as you¡¯re around..."


    "I¡¯m a distraction," I finish for him.


    "You¡¯re aplication," he corrects. "And with the Lycans breathing down everyone¡¯s necks,plications are dangerous."


    "And if I refuse to go?" I ask, though I already know the answer.


    Andrew¡¯s expression turns grim. "Then we can¡¯t protect you from whatever happens next. The Lycan King has imed you as his, but nobody knows why. What if he¡¯s just ying with his food?"


    <i>I¡¯m not going to eat you,</i> he¡¯d said, like that was supposed to ease all my fears. The thought of it isughable now.


    My fingers trace the edge of the bandage Caine wrapped around my wrist. His touch had been surprisingly gentle for someone so feared, but he¡¯s unstable. Strange. Unreadable.


    I can¡¯t stay here, but I¡¯m not going to go along with Ellie¡¯s n.


    "I¡¯ll go, but not to Forest Springs. You need to take me to Sterling City."


    Andrew¡¯s brow furrows. "Sterling City? Why would you want to go there?"


    "Because I¡¯m human, Andrew. That¡¯s where I should have been all along."


    "The humans abandoned you," Andrew says, his voice hard. "We took you in."


    A humorlessugh escapes me. "Really? Because the Lycan King seems to think differently. He practically used Alpha of kidnapping me from human society."


    "Alpha Brax would never¡ª" Andrew¡¯s face flushes red. "He wouldn¡¯t kidnap a human child."


    My hands drag roughly over my face as I groan in frustration. "Look, I don¡¯t care what you believe. Sterling City is the only ce I¡¯m going, with or without your help."


    He shifts his weight, uncertainty flickering across his features. The silence stretches between us until he finally speaks. "Fine. I¡¯lle with you to Sterling City."


    What? No. "I don¡¯t need you."


    "Rafe asked me to keep you safe." Andrew¡¯s jaw sets stubbornly. "I gave him my word."


    I roll my eyes toward the ceiling. The man¡¯s incapable of thinking for himself. It¡¯s always about Rafe.


    Having Andrew along willplicate things, but fighting him on this will only waste time I don¡¯t have. "Fine."


    Sterling City is big enough. Once we¡¯re there, losing Andrew in a crowd shouldn¡¯t be too difficult.


    Andrew frowns at me, as if my quick agreement leaves him suspicious. Hopefully he gets over it. "Okay. Remember, the session ceremony starts at midnight. Everyone will be focused on Rafe taking his ce as Alpha and re-bonding the pack members. Every Lycan will be there¡ªthey have to witness the transfer of power."


    I tilt my head. "What happens if they catch us?"


    Andrew¡¯s expression darkens. "We can¡¯t get caught."


    So, death. It¡¯s what I thought, but it¡¯s still unsettling to think about it. "Okay."


    The weight of what we¡¯re nning settles in my chest like lead. If the Lycan King finds out... The image of Alpha¡¯s broken body shes through my mind.


    A strange part of me feels as if I¡¯m betraying my family by escaping, but I shake it off. "You should go before someone notices you¡¯ve been here too long."


    Andrew nods, but hesitates at the door. "Grace... just be ready, okay? I¡¯ll get here as soon as I can."


    The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone with my thundering heart and a thousand doubts.

 Chapter 28: Caine: Intervention

    <h4>Chapter 28: Caine: Intervention</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    The sweet scent of blueberry muffins has faded, reced by a more generic odor¡ªbody sweat and wolf musk, courtesy of all my subordinates crowding my suite.


    It shouldn¡¯t infuriate me as much as it does, but I want to smash their heads together for it.


    I rub at my temple, the dull throb behind my eyes a stark reminder of myck of sleep. "Stop standing there in silence."


    They all look at Jack-Eye; he¡¯s clearly been chosen as their spokesperson. The beta clears his throat, stepping forward. "It¡¯s aboutst night, Alpha."


    I expected as much. "What about it?"


    "The death of an Alpha, even one as problematic as Brax, requires proper protocol. The packs will question¡ª"


    "Let them question."


    "With respect," Reggie advances to stand beside Jack-Eye, his scarred face twisted in concern, "we¡¯re not questioning your authority. But ughtering an alpha and half his pack over a mere human¡ª"


    My fist ms against the table with a sharp crack. "Mere? Are ourws just decoration?"


    Jack-Eye elbows Reggie in his side, not bothering with discretion. "But there are procedures for this. The other packs will see this as an act of¡ª"


    "Tyranny. It isn¡¯t like it¡¯s a new opinion." I¡¯ve done worse in the past, when uniting all packs under my rule. Of course, it was a different time then.


    "High Alpha." Reggie nces at the others and squares his shoulders, facing me once more. "We stand with you. Always. But the whispers have already returned. Not just ¡¯The Mad King¡¯, but now they¡¯re calling you ¡¯The Butcher of Blue Mountain¡¯."


    Fenris stirs within me, pleased with the titles. He¡¯s been silent since the girl left, resting to recover his strength. <i>A King¡¯s strength is fearsome.</i>


    Fighting a sigh, I wave my free hand in the air. "When the delegates arrive, we¡¯ll deal with them."


    They all share nces, and Jack-Eye groans when their gazesnd on him. Shoving his hand through his hair, he snaps, "Caine, this is a problem. Brax had his hand in a lot of fucking cookie jars. There are plenty who might be happy he¡¯s gone, but Blue Mountain isn¡¯t just some backwater pack. They have solid allies within the region. Cowing them alone is easy, but if they decide to gather and rebel against us¡ª"


    The muscles in my jaw tighten. "What exactly is your point, Beta?"


    "We need to understand where your mind is at before we move forward." Jack-Eye¡¯s gaze holds mine, unflinching. "You¡¯ve never shied away from violence¡ªnone of us have¡ªbut this is out of character, even for you. Do you really want to destroy the peace we¡¯ve finally attained? We¡¯ve spent years cleaning up your image. Have your goals changed?"


    Crossing my arms, I lean back in the wooden chair, studying their faces. Their concern radiates off them in waves, stinking up the room. It¡¯s expected, but irritating.


    "Brax sealed his fate the moment he showed insolence. An alpha who can¡¯t control his temper has no business leading a pack."


    Jack-Eye¡¯s eyebrow twitches, and he presses his lips together. I¡¯m sure he has some smartass remarking, but he¡¯s wise enough to stay silent.


    Reggie¡¯s throat works, a low growl building as his hands clench at his sides. "We all know this isn¡¯t about his leadership. It¡¯s about that human git."


    <i>Kill him, </i>Fenris demands, outrage pouring into our bond. <i>His disrespect has gone too far.</i>


    My tattoos burn with his rage, but I ignore it. Fenris is too sensitive over the girl, and his emotions have clouded my head for too long.


    <i>My emotions? They¡¯re yours, too. The longer it takes for you to ept it, the harder it will be for both of us.</i>


    "Humans don¡¯t belong in a strong pack," Reggie continues, his upper lip curling in a snarl. "They¡¯re weak and useless. She¡¯s already proven to be a liability¡ª"


    "If you¡¯re so hell-bent on following thew," I cut in, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "why are you pestering me about enforcing it?"


    Dn, an older Lycan with gray hair and a penchant for smoothing things over, steps forward. Even his face is twisted in a sneer. "Are you really investigating that... thing, Alpha?"


    The tattoos across my chest burn with a dull ache. Fenris snaps at the air inside me. <i>I¡¯m going for his throat.</i>


    I give a lot of leniency to my people in return for their loyalty, but Fenris is another matter¡ªhe would have them on the ground and bleeding in a heartbeat to maintain his status in the pack.


    If he hadn¡¯t used so much energy in the past week, he¡¯d probably manifest on the spot to prove he means what he says. Instead, I¡¯m able to subdue him through force of will, mping down on our bond until he has no choice but to go silent.


    Jack-Eye stomps on Reggie¡¯s foot without batting an eysh, and the resulting grunt helps ease the tightness in my chest. Jack-Eye¡¯s beta domination is a soft whisper in the air, almost a tickle against my skin, but Reggie and Dn take a step back in unison.


    Their faces are tight and grim, but at least they¡¯re quiet.


    "Grace Harper," Jack-Eye says, and my eye twitches to hear her nameing out of his mouth.


    Even I don¡¯t use her name.


    "Her name is Grace Harper," he continues, frowning at each Lycan in turn. "Remember it well."


    Every molecule in my body wants to snap at them to keep her name out of their filthy mouths, and I wonder if Fenris is manipting my emotions again.


    <i>No, it¡¯s just you.</i>


    Jack-Eye, oblivious to the rage simmering in my veins, turns back to me with a frown. "You¡¯re holding her captive when she¡¯s clearly Brax¡¯s victim. Why are we still holding her here? We should be escorting her to the nearest human city."


    The fire of rage is reced with ice with his words. My fingers tighten against each armrest, wood splintering beneath the force of my grip. "I am still investigating. There is always the possibility she forced her way into the pack."


    It¡¯s a flimsy excuse, and I know it. They do, too, judging by the way they¡¯re staring at me.


    <i>Just admit it.</i>


    "I know Fenris wants her, but it doesn¡¯t seem so one-sided to me. You¡¯re feeling it too, aren¡¯t you?"


    The other Lycans stir; it¡¯s clear none of them know what Jack-Eye¡¯s implying, and I want it to stay that way. "Enough."


    But my beta has never been one to respect boundaries. He¡¯s more of a bulldozer than a wolf. "Alpha, is there really a fated connection between you?"


    "Impossible," Dn snaps, and the others echo his sentiments.


    "Humans are unable to form a fated connection," Reggie agrees with a scowl. "Brax tried to im that human bitch as his fated mate to justify her kidnapping, but in the end it was proven fake, wasn¡¯t it?"


    "Technically, the Council of Alphas agreed it was impossible to form a consensus," Jack-Eye says, his eyes never leaving mine. "And Fenris has a clear draw toward the human girl. He¡¯s been protecting her this entire time."


    The room descends into chaos as my Lycans argue among themselves, their growls and voices setting my teeth on edge.


    "Fated bonds are between wolf souls," Dn says, pointing in the general direction of the human girl¡¯s room. "She has no wolf. Humans can¡¯t be a fated mate!"


    Fenris growls, and the burn of my tattoos intensifies. A dull ache spreads across my chest.


    "High Alpha." Reggie¡¯s voice cuts through the noise. The others fall silent as he steps forward, chin raised in challenge. "We need an answer. Is the human girl truly your fated mate?"


    <i>Tell them,</i> Fenris demands. <i>I¡¯ve already epted her as ours. Why can¡¯t you?</i>


    Scowling, I hold Reggie¡¯s stare, letting out a re of alpha dominance. It¡¯s enough to take the wind out of his sails, and his chin lowers. "My choice of mate isn¡¯t up for debate."


    <i>You¡¯re avoiding the question again.</i>


    "Any delegates whoe to protest will be informed that the rightful sessor of Blue Mountain Pack remains alive and in power." The wordse out from between gritted teeth as I picture that blond pup¡ªtall, muscr, with perfect features. His scent lingers in my memory, wrapped around her like a im. "The Lycans haven¡¯t seized control, so there should be no issue."


    "And the human?" Dn asks.


    "There are questions that need answers regarding Brax¡¯s decision to harbor a human in his pack. Her role remains... unclear. Until we determine the full scope of this situation, she stays under our protection."


    <i>Liar.</i>


    Reggie¡¯s face contorts. "It¡¯s a disgrace for Lycans to guard a human."


    Murmurs of agreement ripple through the room, the sound grating against my nerves like sandpaper. I felt the same just two days ago, but the memory of her injured wrist has my jaw locking tight enough to crack teeth. The girl needs protection. More than that, she needs to stay locked in her room. For her own safety.


    "We¡¯ve already assigned Blue Mountain Pack members as her guards so we could all be here," Jack-Eye points out. "They¡¯ve been thoroughly warned about keeping their hands to themselves. We¡¯ll just continue this way."


    The thought of those wolves¡ªany wolves not under my direct control¡ªnear her sets my blood boiling. But my subordinates¡¯ shoulders rx, their faces showing relief at this solution. Sighing, I wave my hand at Jack-Eye. "Do that, then."

 Chapter 29: Grace: Did I Offend Him?

    <h4>Chapter 29: Grace: Did I Offend Him?</h4>


    My stomach is gnawing itself to death.


    I press a hand against it, willing it to calm down as I resume pacing the perimeter of my room. Seven steps along the wall. Turn. Five steps across. Turn. Seven steps back. Turn. Five steps to the door.


    I crack it open for the fifth time in twenty minutes.


    The Blue Mountain shifter stands at attention, back rigid as a nk. He doesn¡¯t even twitch as I peer around the edge of the door. His eyes remain fixed forward, as if I¡¯m nothing but a breeze passing through the hallway.


    I close the door with a sigh and press my forehead against the cool wood. My stomach clenches painfully. The mountain of breakfast from earlier features in my regrets; I should have stuffed my face while I had the chance. Or at least taken some with me.


    Another cramp twists my insides. Decision made.


    I yank open the door, determination straightening my spine.


    "Hey! I need¡ª"


    My words die as I nearly collide with a broad chest. Not the Blue Mountain guard. The Lycan King himself stands before me, his hand raised mid-knock, a tray bnced perfectly in his other palm. The scent ofsagna and garlic bread makes my mouth water in the most unbing way.


    His eyebrow arches, storm-gray eyes assessing as they rove over me. I take an instinctive step back, which is apparently Lycan for <ie on in</i> because that¡¯s precisely what he does.


    Rude.


    Then again, he made it oh-so-clear I¡¯m his prisoner, so can I reallyin?


    He kicks the door closed with his heel without looking, his gaze never leaving my face. "Are youfortable?" he asks, setting the tray on my bed.


    I eye him suspiciously. Personally delivering food and asking about myfort? His behavior is on a rollercoaster again.


    "I¡¯m fantastic, thank you."


    His jaw tightens. "You¡¯re not."


    "I just said I am, though?"


    He grunts. "Your boyfriend will be instated as Alpha tonight."


    I already know that, thanks to Andrew. "I¡¯m sure he¡¯s happy about it."


    Another grunt, and he hasn¡¯t moved from the side of my bed, effectively cutting me off from the food.


    My stomach begs me to dive for it, but I wring my hands together, digging my nails into my skin to keep myposure. "Did you need something else?"


    His eyesnd on my linked hands. "How is your wrist?"


    "It¡¯s fine." It¡¯s not, but as long as I¡¯m not using it much, the pain is bearable. It¡¯s the hunger killing me now, but it¡¯s being gatekept by a Lycan with a questionable grasp on sanity.


    His hand reaches out so quickly I don¡¯t have time to flinch. My breath catches as his fingers capture a strand of my hair, letting it slide through them with unsettling fascination.


    There are no nerve endings in my hair, but the action sends shivers down my spine regardless.


    Thesagna¡¯s rich aroma taunts me while my captor ys with my hair, and I¡¯m struck again by the strangeness of this situation. Thankfully, Andrew¡¯sing tonight. Just a little longer and I¡¯ll be free. For real this time.


    "When were you first brought to the Blue Mountain Pack?"


    I barely suppress a groan. He brings me food¡ªwhich I¡¯m dying to devour¡ªbut of course ites with a cost. I guess I won¡¯t be allowed to eat if I don¡¯t answer.


    He probably doesn¡¯t remember any of what I said before, but it¡¯s still annoying to repeat it.


    "Six years ago," I answer crisply, fighting the urge to step away. Any sudden movement might upset him, and I¡¯m not risking him taking away my food or something in retaliation.


    His fingers continue their exploration, twining around the strand. "Six," he repeats, as if testing the word. "And your parents?"


    "Dead," I snap. He might not remember the details of what I told him, but he should at least remember I¡¯m an orphan, damn it.


    "And he imed you as his daughter?"


    "Yes." My hands clench at my sides. "Until he didn¡¯t, the night of the Mate Hunt."


    Caine¡¯s eyes narrow, his fingers still absently toying with my hair. "Yes, exin that again."


    My patience fractures. Thesagna is right there, its cheese congealing while he ys twenty questions. "Could I maybe eat while you interrogate me? Since you brought dinner?"


    His eyebrows rise, but he releases my hair and steps aside with a gesture toward the bed. "By all means."


    I move cautiously, as if approaching a sleeping predator, and perch on the edge of the mattress. The first bite ofsagna hits my tongue, and I have to stifle a moan. It¡¯s perfect¡ªrich tomato sauce, seasoned beef, and cheese that stretches in satisfying strings. Heaven wrapped in pastayers.


    The Blue Mountain Pack is no longer home, but the chef is great.


    Caine stands ufortably close, looming over me as his eyes follow my fork. "Continue."


    I swallow, forcing myself to eat slowly despite my hunger. "Not much to tell. I must have been drugged, because I woke up practically naked in the forest during the Mate Hunt. I guess he was trying to force me to shift. He thought I was his biological daughter and found out I wasn¡¯t." I shrug. "Then he tossed me to the omegas."


    "And how did he ¡¯find out¡¯?" His voice carries an edge that makes me pause mid-bite.


    My brows draw together. "I told you, after the Mate Hunt. When I didn¡¯t shift."


    He circles to face me, blocking the light from the window. "Did he ever bring up shifting before?"


    "No."


    "Not even at sixteen?"


    "No¡ªoh." Staring nkly at thesagna, I recall, "He did throw me a pretty big sweet sixteen. He would always get me a cake for my birthday, but it wasn¡¯t usually a big party like that."


    Caine frowns. "I see. How was his mood?"


    The memory is clear, because the day was so special to me. "He had to leave halfway through because something came up. I didn¡¯t think much of it because Rafe was with me." Poking my lower lip with my fork, I squint in the air, as if it¡¯ll help me see my memory with more rity. "He was happy when I first saw him that morning, but he was pretty subdued by evening. I thought he was just busy."


    A low growl rumbles through the room and Caine spins away from me, pacing the floor. Five steps. Turn. Five steps. Turn.


    I set my fork down, appetite vanishing under the weight of his agitation. He¡¯s ruining all my meals.


    "Did Brax intend to mate you with Rafe?"


    The non sequitur throws me for a loop, and I blink. "No, Alpha had nothing to do with our rtionship."


    "Stop calling him Alpha." Caine whirls toward me, his voice sharp as a de. "He¡¯s not your alpha anymore."


    I flinch, my shoulders hunching. "Alpha Brax," I correct myself, my voice smaller than before, "had nothing to do with our rtionship."


    His scowl deepens, storm clouds gathering in his eyes. "How long were you in a <i>rtionship</i> with the pup?"


    The way he spits the word ¡¯rtionship¡¯ makes my skin crawl. It¡¯s so venomous. "You mean Rafe?"


    A sharp nod answers me, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.


    "I don¡¯t know. We were friends from day one, and it just grew to more one day." Rubbing at my arms to soothe my crawling skin, I add, "Alpha Brax wasn¡¯t against the rtionship. He was fine with it until the Mate Hunt."


    "Of course he was," he mutters, resuming his pacing. "Your mother. She was his mate?"


    "That¡¯s what Alpha Brax told me." My fingers twist in myp. "But I don¡¯t know anything about her. His mate, I mean. The pack never said a word about her."


    Rafe probably knows... and kept it from me. It¡¯s a depressing thought.


    "There¡¯s probably a rule against it." Caine¡¯s pacing slows, his broad shoulders tight with tension. "Because of his pride."


    <i>He knows</i>. My heart pounds against my ribs. He knows something. "Do you..." The question sticks in my throat. I swallow hard and force the words past the knot. "Do you know about her? My mother?"


    His jaw works, muscles jumping beneath his skin. "It¡¯s old history. Most in the region would know."


    He¡¯s too busy pacing to look at me, so he probably doesn¡¯t see my face as my heart splinters into jagged pieces. I just want to know more about Mom, to piece this mystery together. Is it so hard to share a few words?


    But he¡¯s the Lycan King, interrogating a prisoner. There¡¯s no reason for him to soothe my injured heart.


    Lowering my head, I stab out another bite ofsagna. "I see."


    Andrew might know something. Maybe during the drive to Sterling City, I can get him talking. It¡¯ll give us something to talk about, anyway. I was already dreading his presence for the ride.


    The pacing stops. A shadow falls over my te as Caine hovers by my side, towering over me.


    I peek up through myshes. His brows draw together, creating harsh lines across his forehead as he scowls down at me. "Eat more."


    My fork hovers over thesagna. "It¡¯s a little hard when you¡¯re standing there watching my every move."


    His frown deepens. The muscle in his jaw ticks once, twice. Finally, a hissing sound escapes through his teeth¡ªnot quite a sigh, and more like steam escaping a pressure valve. "I¡¯ll leave you in peace, then."


    A secondter, the door ms shut.


    Did I... offend him?

 Chapter 30: Caine: Behaving Strangely

    <h4>Chapter 30: Caine: Behaving Strangely</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    There¡¯s something strange about her tonight. She¡¯s calmer than this morning, a little more assured, despite the familiar scent in her room. Storming down the hall, I snap at Fenris, <i>Are you sure it¡¯s him?</i>


    <i>When have I ever mistaken a scent? It¡¯s the wolf who followed her when we first met. </i>His irritation only feeds mine, like a cloud of dark energy following behind.


    No new injuries marred her skin, no fresh bruises. At least there¡¯s that. But that doesn¡¯t exin the scent of another wolf in her room. A Blue Mountain wolf. One who shouldn¡¯t dare approach...


    "Damn it. She¡¯s driving me crazy."


    <i>It will only get worse if you keep denying our connection to her.</i>


    The tattoos on my neck burn, and I lift my upper lip in a snarl. "Everything will be fine once I settle things." The others were right; she¡¯s a victim, not a prisoner. And yet I can¡¯t bring myself to send her back to human society.


    She¡¯s been under Brax¡¯s thumb for six years. There are things she needs in order to survive as a human. A driver¡¯s license. A ce to live. Money. Food. A job.


    The more I think of, the worse it feels to even consider sending her back to the humans. At least if I brought her with us, she would have shelter, food, and never have to work again...


    Shit. Fenris is messing with my thoughts again. Now I¡¯m even considering bringing her to our pack, as if a human could ever survive surrounded by Lycans.


    I want nothing more than peace in my head again. Peace without this obsessive need to surround myself in the aroma of blueberry muffins fresh out of the oven. Without imagining how her hair would feel between my fingers. Without wondering what her skin tastes like.


    My mind betrays me, conjuring an image of her bare beneath me, her skin flushed and warm beneath my touch. I see every curve, every soft ne of her body, exposed for my eyes alone, the vision so vivid I can almost feel her pulse beneath my¡ª


    Fuck.


    I shake my head sharply, forcing the image away.


    This obsession Fenris has forced upon me is disrupting everything. I¡¯ve already killed for her, and I¡¯m acting...


    <i>Strangely,</i> Fenris agrees. <i>I¡¯m d you¡¯re finally seeing it.</i>


    "Because of you," I grumble.


    <i>No. Because you¡¯re fighting what we both know is true. My mind is clear because I¡¯ve epted our connection with the human. You, on the other hand, seem perfectly willing to descend into madness with your denial.</i>


    "Ignoring a mate bond doesn¡¯t cause madness. Some even reject their mates." Or so I¡¯ve heard. I¡¯ve never had much interest in the issue. One mate was enough.


    <i>You¡¯re not a normal wolf. Or even a normal Lycan.</i>


    A grunt escapes my throat. The cost of the throne weighs heavy, its evidence marked on my skin in the form of tattoos. The separation between wolf and manes at a steep price. It leaves me stripped of the natural bnce other shifters enjoy.


    Where they feel love, I feel possession. Where they feel protectiveness, I feel rage. Where they feel desire...


    <i>The gods gave you power, but they took your humanity in exchange.</i>


    I reach the end of the hall and turn, pacing back the way I came. The Blue Mountain shifter standing guard outside her door stiffens. It wasn¡¯t his scent in her room, but he probably knows who it was.


    But if I force an answer out of him, what am I going to do? Hunt the man down? Demand to know why he was visiting? The girl isn¡¯t hurt; if I go around tyrannizing everyone who looks at her twice, the rumors will only grow. As if Jack-Eye¡¯s nagging isn¡¯t enough.


    My hands curl into fists as I spin on my heel and stalk away again, cursing myself for being weak enough to go back in the first ce. She won¡¯t eat with me standing there, and she needs the sustenance. I have to give her space, even if I want to throw open the door and stand there, breathing in her scent for the next hour. Maybe three hours. A day. A week.


    <i>Forever?</i> Fenris suggests.


    No, damn it. She¡¯s human. I killed Brax to uphold ourws; what would it say of me if I followed in his footsteps? I swore to uphold thew when I became King. I said I wouldn¡¯t let power define me.


    <i>Being mated is a separate issue.</i>


    My teeth grind together as I tense my jaw. <i>She isn¡¯t our mate, Fenris. She¡¯s human.</i>


    His tone turns calcting. <i>I see. Tell me, then, how do you feel when you¡¯re touching her?</i>


    The question stops me cold. My mind shes back to this earlier¡ªthe soft skin of her wrist beneath my fingers, the gentle pulsing of her heart against my thumb. The way her scent surrounded me, letting me breathe freely for the first time since I tackled her onto the forest floor.


    Peace. For that brief moment, there was peace in my mind.


    <i>Exactly,</i> Fenris purrs, catching the edges of my thoughts. He¡¯s like a snake, striking while I¡¯m weak. <i>If you want peace again, you need to get closer to her, not act like a feral beast who¡¯s never been around a female. You¡¯re scaring her offpletely with your bizarre behavior.</i>


    "I don¡¯t care if she¡¯s scared. She won¡¯t be around much longer, anyway." Maybe I can stretch out this investigation for a few more days, though. Just enough to get things settled for her in the human world, not because I want to keep her around.


    It¡¯s for her benefit. Not mine.


    Hell¡ªmy pack can afford to subsidize an apartment for her. She¡¯s a victim, after all. And if she¡¯s in the apartment I¡¯m paying for, I can keep an eye on her. Get her a job somewhere I know she¡¯ll be safe. Somewhere without other men. Maybe I can convince her she doesn¡¯t need to work; I¡¯ll send her an allowance... Enough to keep herfortable. Happy. Safe.


    <i>You¡¯re an idiot if you think that¡¯ll be enough. Just take her with us.</i>

 Chapter 31: Caine: A Fool or a King

    <h4>Chapter 31: Caine: A Fool or a King</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    Fenris¡¯s response makes me realize what I¡¯m thinking and I groan, driving my fist into the nearest wall again. It¡¯s a new habit, developed about ten minutes ago. The ster crumbles under my knuckles, leaving a crater the size of my hand. "Fuck. You¡¯re in my head again."


    <i>I most certainly am not,</i> Fenris replies, his voice dripping with disdain. <i>I would never put such idiotic thoughts in your head. My goal has always been to keep the girl with us, in our pack¡ªnot set her up in some pathetic human apartment like a kept woman.</i>


    The truth in his words stings worse than my knuckles. These thoughts¡ªthis obsession with providing for her, protecting her from afar¡ªthey¡¯re mine alone, turning me into a hypocrite. I killed Brax for breaking ourws, didn¡¯t I?


    "What the hell is happening to me?" I demand of my wolf, grateful this section of the lodge is empty. Talking to the air isn¡¯t umon in a pack¡ªwe all have arguments with our wolves, and they aren¡¯t always confined to our heads¡ªbut it¡¯s not the kind of conversation I want others overhearing.


    <i>What¡¯s happening is that you¡¯re fighting your instincts while pretending it¡¯s my influence. It¡¯s exhausting to watch.</i>


    I press my forehead against the wall with a groan. "She¡¯s human, Fenris." If she wasn¡¯t, this would all be easier. I still couldn¡¯t take her as a mate, but at least it would give me options...


    <i>The universe doesn¡¯t follow your rigid little rules, Caine.</i>


    Blood rushes in my ears as frustration surges. "Thews exist for a reason. Humans and shifters don¡¯t mix¡ªthey never have."


    <i>There are precedents.</i>


    "Like Brax?" My mockingughter echoes through the empty corridor. "His mate ran away. Humans don¡¯t belong in a pack."


    <i>It¡¯s likely her mother was not Brax¡¯s fated mate. Or if she was, he treated her so terribly she felt life was better without him. It says more about Brax than it does about her human mother.</i>


    "Assumptions," I mutter, but I don¡¯t have the heart to say things like <i>maybe her mom was the problem</i>. I¡¯ve met Brax. There¡¯s no way a human woman was the problem. "It doesn¡¯t matter. The girl will return to human society where she belongs, and that¡¯s final."


    <i>Then why haven¡¯t you sent her already?</i><i>Why obsess over her injuries, her meals, herfort?</i>


    My jaw clenches. "I¡¯m gathering information."


    <i>You¡¯re stalling.</i>


    "I¡¯m being thorough!"


    <i>You¡¯re being a coward.</i>


    A growl rips from my throat.


    <i>The truth hurts, doesn¡¯t it?</i> Fenris continues, relentless. <i>You¡¯re terrified of what she makes you feel. Of how your control slips every time you¡¯re near her. Of the possibility that the Lycan King might actually need someone.</i>


    "Enough. You¡¯ve pushed too far."


    <i>And you haven¡¯t pushed far enough. All this solitude made you forget what connection feels like. You¡¯re so scared of repeating the past that you can¡¯t see what¡¯s right in front of you.</i>


    The burn of my tattoos intensifies, spreading across my neck and down my spine like liquid fire. Fenris is pulling away, separating himself from our shared consciousness.


    <i>I¡¯m going to rest,</i> he announces, his voice growing distant. <i>Later, I¡¯ll visit the girl myself.</i>


    "You will do no such thing," I snarl, but I can feel him receding, retreating to a ce within me where I cannot follow.


    <i>It¡¯s bing pointless for me to see her when my Bonded keeps destroying whatever progress I make. I bring herfort; you bring her terror. I offer warmth; you offer threats. And then you wonder why she¡¯s scared of you.</i>


    I flinch.


    <i>I am your other half, your bnce¡ªandtely, the only one of us with any sense.</i>


    The burn of the tattoos diminishes as Fenris retreats deeper, severing our mental connection. I¡¯m left alone in the hallway, my breathing heavy, staring at a cracked wall.


    Fine. That furry bastard¡¯s right about one thing¡ªI¡¯ve been stalling. But it¡¯s not fear driving me. It¡¯s practicality, damn it. The girl needs protection, and I need information. I can¡¯t in good conscience send her out without making sure she has everything she needs.


    We both saw what was in her backpack. I have no idea how she thought she was going to survive with just her meager stash of supplies, but the girl is ignorant of the world, sheltered due to Brax¡¯s selfishness.


    It¡¯s my job to keep her here, safe under my watch, until I can set her free.


    At least, that¡¯s what I tell myself as I storm off once more, ignoring the pull urging me to go see her again, to breathe in her scent.


    Maybe the truth is moreplicated than I¡¯m willing to admit. Maybe I feel a little of the pull Fenris keeps existing is between us. Maybe, just <i>maybe</i>, I want to hold on to that little human, too, desperate for a peace only her scent can bring me.


    But that doesn¡¯t make her my mate. It makes her a liability. A weakness I cannot afford.


    The kingdoms of men rise and fall on the backs of such weaknesses. How many have crumbled because they ced their hearts above their duty? How many packs have dissolved into chaos when their alphas chose passion over reason?


    I reach the end of the corridor and pause, looking out the window at the Blue Mountain territory stretching before me. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows across thend. And now without its alpha, thrown into turmoil because of a girl who smells like blueberry muffins.


    If I were wise, I¡¯d send her away tonight. Put her on a bus to Sterling City with enough money to start a new life. Cut this strange connection before it grows any stronger.


    But wisdom has never been my strong suit. And Fenris is right about another thing¡ªI¡¯m not sending her anywhere until I understand exactly what¡¯s happening between us.


    Whether that makes me a fool or a king remains to be seen.

 Chapter 32: Grace: One Last Visitor

    <h4>Chapter 32: Grace: One Last Visitor</h4>


    Caine¡¯s strange behavior takes more mental real estate than it should, but I manage to finish my dinner with him gone. Eating under pressure is a lot harder than I ever expected.


    With a full stomach and nothing else to do, I curl up on the bed. My eyelids grow heavy despite lingering anxiety; will Andrew reallye? Is this n going to work? Will I be okay once I get to Sterling City? So many questions, all impossible to answer without more time.


    Eventually, the soft mattress beckons me into sleep, a temporary escape from this bizarre reality.


    A rough shaking wrenches me out of deep sleep, and my foggy mind registers someone¡¯s hand on my shoulder.


    "Grace, wake up."


    I sit up with a yawn, stretching my arms above my head until my joints pop. The motion helps clear some of the cobwebs from my brain, but when my vision focuses, my body freezes mid-stretch, hands locked high in the air. "Rafe?"


    It¡¯s not Andrew¡¯s face hovering in front of me, but Raphael¡¯s. His blue eyes shine so brightly, my stomach flips. Not with cute butterflies, but in dread. His gaze is too intense, almost fanatical.


    "What are you doing here?" I hiss, scrambling backward until I hit the wall. The distance between us isn¡¯t nearly enough.


    Rafe¡¯s pine-and-earth scent, once thrilling and now rather generic, fills my nostrils, bringing unwee memories. His golden hair catches the light from the bedsidemp, creating a halo effect that seemsughably inappropriate given our recent past. How can someone so cruel look so much like someone¡¯s fantasy of a hero?


    "I needed to see you before you leave for Forest Springs." He sits on the edge of my bed like he belongs there, reaching for my hand. "Andrew will be here soon."


    I almost blurt out that Forest Springs is thest ce I¡¯d willingly go, but snap my mouth shut. He doesn¡¯t know about the change in ns; it¡¯s strange, but I¡¯m notining about it. It¡¯s better this way.


    Though, there¡¯s always the possibility Andrew lied just to appease me. I guess I¡¯ll find out soon.


    "Why would you need to see me?" I ask instead, pulling my knees to my chest and keeping my hands out of his reach.


    His expression darkens as he takes his hand back, his brows drawing together. "Of course it¡¯s because I care about you, Gracie. I haven¡¯t been able to see you since they murdered our people. I was worried."


    The audacity makes my jaw clench. His hands gesture between us as he continues.


    "Everything¡¯s been a mess, but I¡¯m fixing it. You¡¯ll see, Grace." He leans closer, earnestness radiating from him like heat. If my IQ was single digits, maybe I¡¯d even believe in it. "Ellie understands now. And soon, the Blue Mountain Pack will be officially mine. It¡¯s only a matter of time before I can bring you home."


    Home. The word once meant something¡ªsafety, eptance, belonging. Now it¡¯s just four empty letters. This pack is not my home, and he¡¯s one of the people who made it like this.


    My face remains impassive through his passionate speech. His hands reach for me again, but I duck away from his attempted hug, scrambling off the bed.


    "You need to leave," I say, my voice t. "Before you ruin the entire n and bring the Lycans running back to my room."


    He shakes his head. "Don¡¯t worry, Grace. Everything¡¯s fine. I have a little time. I just needed to see you."


    But it¡¯s not fine. Nothing about this is fine. The space between us feels charged with something toxic¡ªhis delusional hope and my simmering resentment. A dangerousbination.


    "Rafe, please¡ª"


    He reaches out suddenly, fingers brushing against my neck. The touch sends revulsion crawling across my skin, and I jerk away.


    "I¡¯m so d you¡¯re staying true to me," he says with a strange, overly soft smile. "Refusing the Lycan King¡¯s advances. Such a brave girl, my Grace."


    My brain stutters toprehend his words. He thinks I¡¯m rejecting Caine... for him? Augh bursts from my throat, sharp and incredulous. His delusions are only growing, bing more ridiculous. Maybe it¡¯s his way of dealing with trauma.


    Rafe¡¯s eyebrows lift at my reaction, but he must misinterpret it, because he steps forward, arms opening for an embrace as his head swoops closer, lips pursed for a kiss.


    I dodge again, almost tripping over my own feet. Now I¡¯m between him and the door, which is not where I want to be. It¡¯ll be hard to shove him out in this position.


    His face twitches, irritation shing across his features before he smooths it away. "Come here, Grace."


    No.


    Not only no, but <i>hell</i> no.


    "If your scent gets on me, the King will go crazy," I say, grasping for any excuse which might prate his thick skull.


    This finally gives him pause. He runs a hand through his hair, sighing dramatically. "You¡¯re right. Of course, you¡¯re right." His shoulders slump as he nces at me, his eyes wide and pathetic. It¡¯s his puppy dog face. I used to think it was cute.


    Now, it¡¯s childish.


    He steps around me, but his shoulder bumps against mine. The backs of our hands touch for a split second, but I try not to flinch. He¡¯s doing what I want him to; I don¡¯t want to start an argument and keep him here longer.


    "I should go," he says, as if he¡¯s wanting me to argue and beg him to stay.


    Relief floods through me as he pauses only for a second before moving toward the door. His hand rests on the doorknob, but he turns back, expression solemn.


    "I¡¯m never going to hurt you again, Grace." The words fall from his lips with weighty significance, as if he¡¯s delivering a romantic vow rather than an empty promise.


    I don¡¯t bother responding, turning my back instead as I walk toward my bathroom. When I finally look back, the door¡¯s closed and he¡¯s gone.


    Thank. Fucking. God.


    How can he possibly forget his cruelty on the night of the Mate Hunt, and the way he treated me the moment his fated mate appeared? Such thick skin he has, acting as if none of it happened¡ªlike I should be grateful for his attention, thrilled by his promise to "bring me home."


    Perhaps all shifters are closet psychopaths.


    I press my palms against my eyes until random shapes and colors bloom behind my eyelids. Rafe¡¯s visit has left me rattled, on edge again, ruining what rest I¡¯d managed.


    I ssh cold water on my face, trying to wash away the lingering disgust. The mirror seems to emphasize the dark circles under my eyes, but at least the water helps clear my head.


    When I step back into the bedroom, I freeze. Andrew stands by the window, dressed head to toe in ck like some wannabe cat burr. ck jeans, ck hoodie, even ck sneakers. My mouth drops open.


    "Are you serious right now?"


    He turns, frowning. "What?"


    "The all-ck ensemble? Could you be more obvious about sneaking around?" I gesture at his ridiculous outfit. "You might as well wear a sign that says <i>¡¯I¡¯m up to no good¡¯</i> in neon letters."


    "This is tactical gear."


    "It¡¯s a hoodie from Target." I cross my arms. "You¡¯re a wolf. You should know better than I do, anyone following is going to smell us anyway. The color of your clothes won¡¯t matter."


    Andrew tugs at his sleeve, looking slightly offended. "It¡¯s about blending into shadows."


    "In a pack full of creatures with night vision?" I shake my head. "You¡¯re going to stick out like a sore thumb. Everyone¡¯s going to take one look at you and know something¡¯s up."


    He scowls. "You sound like you¡¯ve done this before."


    "No, I just havemon sense. The best way to not look suspicious is to not act suspicious."


    Andrew sighs. "Whatever. It¡¯s toote to change now. We need to move soon if we want to make it out before the ceremony starts. Did you meet with Rafe?"


    I bite back the annoyance building in my chest. "He thinks you¡¯re taking me to Forest Springs."


    "I figured it¡¯d be better to tell him after." He grimaces, scratching at his head. "No point starting a fight when we¡¯re on such a tight schedule. I¡¯ll just exin everything once you¡¯re settled."


    "Or you could just never tell them," I mutter, even though I know full well he would never keep a secret from Rafe.


    Andrew¡¯s frown deepens with my words, disapproval radiating off him in waves. His loyalty to Rafe is basically his only personality trait. Even now, he¡¯s probably only helping me because Rafe asked him to, not out of any real concern for my wellbeing.


    I paste on my best fake smile. This is no time to alienate my temporary benefactor. "Should we get going?" I gesture toward the door, eager to leave before anyone else decides to pay me an unexpected visit.


    Escape, take two.

 Chapter 33: Grace: So Easy

    <h4>Chapter 33: Grace: So Easy</h4>


    Leaving packnds isughably easy with Andrew by my side, and I can¡¯t help but wonder if he¡¯sughing at me in his head for overreacting to his cked-out getup.


    There¡¯s no one around to care, much less notice us.


    The dented blue Toyota looks like freedom on four wheels. It¡¯s just one of the many cars parked here, but it¡¯s my gateway to a new life.


    "Do you have the keys?" I ask, standing by the locked passenger door.


    Andrew dangles them from his finger. "What, you think I¡¯d walk us out here without them?"


    He slides into the driver¡¯s seat, and I fold myself into the passenger side. The seats are clean and well-maintained, and it smells like French fries inside.


    "There¡¯s a nket in the back seat, if you want it."


    A nket in this weather? But I realize why he offers when he cranks the AC as high as it goes. Once it kicks in, I¡¯m going to turn into a human ice cube.


    When Andrew turns the key in the ignition, my heart stops, wondering if someone¡¯s going toe running and ask why we¡¯re in the car.


    But no onees.


    I¡¯m still tired from Rafe waking me up earlier, but napping isn¡¯t an option. Gripping my seat belt, I stare out the window with wide eyes, intent on watching every minute.


    I¡¯m in the car because it¡¯s the easiest way out of the Blue Mountain Pack¡¯s territory, but there¡¯s still no guarantee Andrew isn¡¯t going to deliver me straight into the hands of Ellie¡¯s father. There¡¯s a point when the rural road leading to packnds joins with the highway; if he goes left, he¡¯s taking me to Forest Springs.


    Right? Sterling City.


    Andrew¡¯s profile gives nothing away. The moonlight catches on the angles of his face, shadows pooling beneath his cheekbones. After the past few days, he looks suddenly very young to me. Much younger than Caine or the Lycan Beta, and with only a fraction of their confidence.


    His fingers tap an uneven rhythm against the steering wheel. Is that nervousness? Guilt? Or just a habit?


    Paranoia blooms in the silence of our ride, not even broken by the radio. I guess Andrew prefers to drive in silence.


    The closer we get to the highway, the tighter the grip on my seatbelt. My breath catches in my throat. I¡¯ve prepared myself for the worst¡ªto fling myself from the moving car if necessary.


    It feels like hours have passed, but the city isn¡¯t <i>that</i> far.


    The turn signal clicks. Right.


    <i>Sterling City.</i>


    The breath I¡¯ve been holding escapes in a soft rush. My shoulders drop an inch as we merge onto the highway, the needle on the speedometer climbing steadily.


    Andrew nces over. "You okay?"


    Moonlight bleeds through the windows, casting his familiar features in an unfamiliar glow. For a heartbeat, I see the boy I grew up with, not the wolf who¡¯d snarled at me in the forest.


    "I¡¯m great. I can¡¯t believe we¡¯ve made it this far."


    "I told you, everyone¡¯s busy. The Alpha session isn¡¯t really a voluntary event."


    The highway is filled with cars, even at this time of night. We¡¯re just one of many. Even if someone¡¯s looking for us, it won¡¯t be easy to find a single car among so many.


    Silence falls between us again.


    "Why are you helping me?"


    Andrew keeps his eyes on the road. "You really want to know?"


    "I wouldn¡¯t ask if I didn¡¯t."


    He sighs, a long exhale that seems to dete him. "Because what they did to you was wrong. What Rafe did was wrong."


    I stare at his profile, searching for the lie. "You never liked me."


    "I never said I didn¡¯t like you."


    "You didn¡¯t have to. It was pretty clear."


    Andrew¡¯s mouth twists. "It wasn¡¯t about liking or not liking you, Grace."


    "Then what was it about?"


    His shoulders rise and fall. "Does it matter now?"


    "Yes." I¡¯m surprised by how much it matters, suddenly.


    The road hums beneath us. A semi-truck passes in the opposite direction, its headlights briefly illuminating the car¡¯s interior in harsh white light. I catch the conflict on Andrew¡¯s face before darkness reims him.


    "I kept my distance because Rafe asked me to," he finally says. "In the beginning."


    "What? Why would he¡ª"


    "Because I liked you too much." He says it casually, likementing on the weather, but his grip on the steering wheel tightens. "Back when you first came to the pack. Rafe noticed before I even said anything."


    The confessionnds like a stone in still water, ripples of implication spreading outward. I struggle to reorganize my memories around this new information, trying to make sense of years of perceived indifference.


    "You¡¯re lying."


    "Why would I lie about that?" A humorlessugh escapes him. "It wasn¡¯t a big deal. Just a stupid crush. But Rafe..." His voice hardens. "Rafe made it clear you were off-limits."


    I think back to all those times Andrew avoided me, how he¡¯d leave rooms when I entered, the careful distance he maintained. I¡¯d interpreted it as disdain¡ªthe same disdain most of the pack felt toward me.


    "You could have just told me."


    "What would have been the point? You only had eyes for him."


    The truth of that statement stings more than it should. I turn toward the window. "So all those times you were cold to me¡ª"


    "Self-preservation." The corner of his mouth lifts in a wry smile. "Being around someone you want but can¡¯t have isn¡¯t exactly fun."


    A road sign shes by¡ªSterling City, 7 miles.


    "And now?"


    "Now I¡¯m helping an old friend escape a bad situation." His tone is deliberately light. "Or trying to, anyway."


    I study his profile, seeing him¡ªreally seeing him¡ªfor perhaps the first time. The slight bump in his nose from when Rafe broke it during training. The small scar above his right eyebrow. Freckles. His face has been background noise in my life for years.


    It doesn¡¯t feel like the full story behind this person named ¡¯Andrew¡¯, but it¡¯s a piece of it. One I never knew before.


    "I¡¯m sorry," I say, meaning it. "For not seeing."


    "Nothing to be sorry for." He shrugs. "We don¡¯t get to choose who we fall for."


    The irony of his statement isn¡¯t lost on me¡ªnot with Rafe and Ellie and their fated bond, and not with whatever strange pull exists between me and the Lycan King.


    "No," I agree softly. "We don¡¯t."


    The car eats up the miles, the highway empty except for the asional truck. I notice Andrew checking the rearview mirror more frequently now.


    "Do you think they¡¯lle after us?" I ask.


    His expression darkens. "Eventually. But the ceremony will keep them busy until morning at least."


    Uneasy, I shift in my seat. Caine was so quick to murder people; what¡¯s he going to do when he realizes I¡¯m missing? Hopefully nothing. I¡¯m a human, going back to humans. This should be a good thing for everyone.


    "And then what?" I ask.


    Andrew¡¯s eyes meet mine briefly. "Then you start over. Be whoever you want to be."


    It sounds so simple when he says it, so possible. A clean te. A human life.


    I lean my head against the cool ss of the window, watching the mile markers slip past. Sterling City grows closer with each moment¡ªand with it, the promise of freedom.


    But from the way Andrew keeps checking the mirrors, I know we¡¯re not free yet.

 Chapter 34: Grace: Lighten

    <h4>Chapter 34: Grace: Lighten</h4>


    Sterling City is a small town. Too small to hide in. Andrew¡¯s words, not mine.


    "So you¡¯re not leaving me here?" I ask, confused.


    Andrew¡¯s grip tightens around the steering wheel. "It¡¯s the first ce they¡¯ll look. You¡¯re going to need some more distance from the Lycan King, just in case."


    His words send ice through my veins. Of course they¡¯d search Sterling City. It¡¯s the closest human settlement, so it makes sense I would run here.


    "We¡¯re going to keep driving for a while, but first we need some food."


    He pulls into a vast parking lot illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights. A massive blue sign looms ahead.


    "Where are we?"


    "Walmart. We need food."


    The automatic doors slide open with a mechanical hiss, releasing a st of cold air that prickles my skin. Inside, the store stretches endlessly, aisles upon aisles of... everything. So many things.


    "Bathroom first," Andrew mutters, nodding toward the back of the store.


    We navigate through the nearly empty store. Past midnight, only a few night owls roam the aisles alongside us. A tired woman in a blue vest pushes a cart of items to restock, and two guys crowd stand in front of the frozen pizzas. They¡¯re the only two people I see.


    After using the bathroom, I emerge to find Andrew waiting. His gaze follows mine as I take in everything around us.


    "Want to look around?"


    I hesitate. "Is that okay?"


    "Sure. If you¡¯re not tired." He shrugs. "We can take ten minutes to look around."


    It¡¯s a little embarrassing to admit how much fun it is just to drift through aisles.


    I end up in haircare, drawn to a wall of colors and promises. My hair¡¯s brown and boring, but I¡¯d never cared much about it before. It¡¯s just hair, after all.


    A box with a blonde woman catches my eye. I reach for it, reading the instructions with burning curiosity. A transformation in a box. A new identity for $8.99.


    I¡¯m still reading when Andrew says, "Wait here while I grab some food and snacks, okay?"


    I nod absently, already reaching for another box. How different would I look? Would Rafe even recognize me? Would Caine?


    I pick up a third option when a soft voice interrupts.


    "I don¡¯t rmend that brand. You¡¯ll end up brassy."


    I turn to find a girl with hair in every color of the rainbow. Her eyes¡ªunnaturally slitted like a cat¡¯s¡ªsurvey me with amused interest.


    "I¡¯m not really sure what I¡¯m looking at," I admit.


    She nces around before grabbing a different box. "This would work best out of what¡¯s on the shelves."


    "Oh." I read over the box, not seeing any real difference except¡ª"This one costs more."


    "The cheap ones aren¡¯t worth it." She cocks her head, studying me. "Ever lightened your hair before?"


    "No."


    She rubs the tip of her nose, eyes narrowing as she looks me up and down. "You from around here?"


    I hesitate, looking around. She seems a little too helpful to be a wolf shifter, but I¡¯m still nervous. Where¡¯s Andrew?


    "My rig¡¯s in the parking lot," she says, jerking her thumb toward the entrance. "If you want help going blonde."


    "Oh. Are you... some sort of hair dresser?"


    Sheughs. "Nah. Just a vagabond. But I¡¯ve bleached my hair enough times. I can help with yours."


    Andrew appears then, his basket filled with canned foods, crackers, apples, and a couple bottles of water. I introduce him to the girl, whose name I realize I don¡¯t even know.


    She tells us to call her Lyre, solving that problem.


    Looking at Andrew, then me, and the things in his basket, her eyes narrow. "You two run away from home or something?"


    I flinch.


    "No," Andrew says too quickly. His eyes drop to the box in my hand. "Did you want to change your hair color?"


    I hastily return the box to the shelf, feeling oddly guilty. I wasn¡¯t trying to spend Andrew¡¯s money or anything. It feels even more awkward now, probably because he admitted having a crush on me once before. "I was just curious."


    "It¡¯s fine," he says, grabbing it off the shelf and tossing it into his basket. "Might be a good idea anyway."


    "If you¡¯ve run away from home," the girl interjects, "you really don¡¯t want to botch up your dye job. Also, you¡¯ll need at least one more box."


    Ten minutester, we¡¯re following her to a pickup truck across the parking lot with a giant camper hitched to the back. My stomach churns with nerves. It¡¯s probably stupid to follow a stranger, but at least we¡¯re in the parking lot of an open business.


    Besides, with Andrew here, it¡¯s unlikely she can do anything terrible to me.


    Lyre opens the door to her fifth wheel, sweeping her arm in a dramatic gesture. "Wee to my humble abode."


    The space that greets us isn¡¯t what I expected. It¡¯s like stepping into another world¡ªone sshed with color and life. Every surface holds something fascinating: lightweight cloth in rich jewel tones drape across the walls, fairy lights strung in zigzag patterns across the ceiling cast a warm glow over everything, and nts hang from macram¨¦ holders in every corner. The kitchte gleams with copper pots dangling from a rack, while the small dte area has been transformed with cushions covered in fabrics that look like they came from at least four different countries. It feels more like a bohemian apartment than an RV.


    "You staying anywhere in town?" Lyre asks, tossing her keys into a ceramic bowl shaped like a lotus.


    "No," Andrew answers, his posture stiff. He doesn¡¯t borate, and I catch the slight narrowing of his eyes¡ªa warning to me.


    "Hmm. Well, let¡¯s get started then." Lyre motions for me to follow her toward the back of the trailer. "Bathroom¡¯s this way."


    The bathroom is tiny, but just as colorful as the rest of the space. A shower curtain printed with peacock feathers hangs beside a sink adorned with shells and small crystals. Even the mirror has been decorated with pressed flowers embedded in its frame.


    "It¡¯s going to get tight in here," Lyre warns, pulling out a towel in a faded purple hue. She rummages through a cab and produces a small jar. "First things first¡ªpetroleum jelly around your hairline. Keeps the bleach from burning your skin."


    Lyre reaches past me to crack open a small window. "This smell is going to be intense."


    Andrew hovers in the hallway, his tall frame filling the doorway. There¡¯s barely room for Lyre and me in here, let alone him. His eyes track Lyre¡¯s movements as she begins setting out supplies on the counter.


    "You can sit on the closed toilet," Lyre tells me, openingone of the boxes. "We¡¯ll section your hair first."


    I perch on the strange, tankless toilet, watching as she mixes chemicals in a small stic bowl. The sharp scent hits my nostrils immediately, making my eyes water.


    "Told you it was strong," Lyre chuckles. She nces at Andrew¡¯s rigid stance. "Dude, you can chill. I¡¯m not going to kidnap your girlfriend."


    "I¡¯m not¡ª" I start to say.


    Andrew cuts in, his voice firm. "I¡¯m just being careful."


    Lyre rolls her slitted eyes. "Got it. Secret runaways who aren¡¯t a couple."


    As she begins sectioning my hair with stic clips, I take in more details of the trailer. Beyond Andrew, there¡¯s a bed piled high with mismatched pillows. Books stack precariously on every surface, and dried flowers hang upside down from the ceiling.


    "How long have you lived like this?" I ask, curious about this nomadic lifestyle that seems so free.


    "Three years in this beast," Lyre answers, beginning to apply the bleach mixture to sections of my hair. "Before that, I had a van. And before that, just a backpack."


    Is it crazy to think fate put Lyre in the store tonight to meet me? Someone like her might be able to help me with my dream of independence and re-integrating with humans.


    "Do you stay in one ce very long?"


    Lyre¡¯s fingers work deftly through my hair as she considers my question. "It just depends," she finally says with a shrug. "I go where the wind takes me. I¡¯ve been here for about three days, but the manager¡¯s pretty sick of me hanging around. Tomorrow, I¡¯ll head toward Yellowstone."


    How free.

 Chapter 35: Grace: Blonde

    <h4>Chapter 35: Grace: Blonde</h4>


    My hair is blonde, and it¡¯s weird.


    For whatever reason, I hear Caine¡¯s voice in my head. <i>"Your hair is brown,"</i> he¡¯d said. A mere observation, not even apliment, but for a second I mourn my generic brown hair.


    "The toner helped with the brassiness, but it still isn¡¯t perfect." Lyre runs her fingers through my hair with a soft click of her tongue. "Virgin hair is so nice to work with. It¡¯s so soft even after lightening."


    Andrew scratches at his cheek, his eyes darting everywhere except my face. "It, uh, looks pretty good."


    "Thanks," I mutter, ufortable with his awkwardness. His crush doesn¡¯t seempletely gone if he can¡¯t meet my eyes over a simplepliment.


    My attention drifts back to the mirror on the camper¡¯s bathroom wall.


    A stranger stares back at me. The blonde frames my face differently, catching light where shadows used to be. I twist a strand between my fingers, still damp and smelling of chemicals. My reflection looks alien.


    I can¡¯t stop touching it, running my fingers through the strands, flipping it side to side. The weight feels different. Everything feels different.


    Lyre said it would be lighter after it dries, but something about sr power and batteries means she can¡¯t run her hair dryer.


    "So?" She leans against the doorframe, eyes bright with anticipation. "Do you like it?"


    "I honestly don¡¯t know." My hand drops from my hair. "But I definitely would¡¯ve botched it without your help."


    She waves a hand about airily. "It isn¡¯t really that hard to do. Just need the right products and a bit of patience."


    We shuffle out of the cramped bathroom and into the dte¡ªa small table with bench seating crammed against her kitchen counter. I slide in first, pressing myself against the wall to make room for Andrew. The space between us and the counter can¡¯t be more than ten inches.


    "Sorry it¡¯s tight." Lyre squeezes past to grab three sses. "Always harder to move around when the slides are in."


    My eyes follow her gesture toward the back half of the RV, which looks practically inessible. "What are slides?"


    "Parts of the RV that extend outward." Lyre sets down the sses and pours water from a filtered pitcher. "They give you more living space inside. But when they¡¯re extended, I hang over into neighboring parking spaces, so I don¡¯t do it unless I have to. When I¡¯m renting a space it¡¯s fine, but parking lots are a different matter. But it¡¯s free, so I can¡¯tin."


    Andrew shifts beside me, checking his watch as she hands us each a ss of water. "Actually, Grace, we should probably get going. We¡¯ve stayed longer than we should have."


    Lyre rests her chin on her hand, observing us with her strange, slitted eyes. I fiddle with the ss, not answering Andrew. He¡¯s right about the time, but I¡¯m oddly reluctant to leave this tiny, colorful haven.


    I¡¯ve known this woman for all of an hour, yet there¡¯s something about her¡ªsomething free and untethered, calling to the part of me that¡¯s been controlled my entire life.


    "You coulde with me, you know." Lyre¡¯s voice breaks through my thoughts.


    My head snaps up, my heart suddenly thumping faster in my chest. "What?"


    "You cane with me. I want to visit Yellowstone, so I¡¯m headed that way tomorrow. I¡¯ve got a friend there with somend and full hook-ups, so I can stay a while if I want to." She traces a pattern on the tabletop with her finger without looking, her eyes on mine. "You¡¯d be wee to tag along."


    Yellowstone. It¡¯s a national park; I¡¯ve seen pictures of it. And it¡¯s really far from here, putting a massive amount of distance between me and anyone with fur.


    "Absolutely not," Andrew says, ncing at me. His voice lowers. "Don¡¯t forget, Rafe¡¯sing soon."


    Ugh. This is why I didn¡¯t want Andrew to stick around.


    Lyre¡¯s eyebrows rise, but she doesn¡¯t seem particrly offended. "Just offering." She shrugs, the gesture fluid and unconcerned, and sips at her water.


    "Sorry. I¡¯m not trying to be rude. We appreciate your help, but we have ns. And we don¡¯t know you very well." Andrew¡¯s polite, at least, as he exins things to her.


    "Fair enough." She smiles at me, not him. "The offer stands though. Especially if those <i>ns</i> aren¡¯t really what you want to do."


    I open my mouth, not even sure what I¡¯m going to say, when Andrew¡¯s hand presses lightly on my arm.


    "We really should go," he murmurs.


    If he wasn¡¯t here, I know I¡¯d take her up on the offer, but Andrew¡ª


    Wait. So what if Andrew¡¯s right here? It isn¡¯t like I¡¯m obligated to follow along with their ridiculous n of bringing me back to the Blue Mountain Pack. In fact, I never nned on ying long with their n to begin with. Andrew was always just a means out of there.


    I square my shoulders, my shirt damp against my back, thanks to my wet hair. Something about the chemical smell lingering on my skin feels like a transformation¡ªlike shedding my old life.


    "I want toe with you," I tell Lyre, my voice louder than I meant for it to be. "To Yellowstone. If you really don¡¯t mind."


    The words hang in the cramped air. For a split second, I feel weightless, like I¡¯ve jumped off a cliff and haven¡¯t started falling yet. It¡¯s even better than when I tried to escape the first time; it feels as if I can reach out and touch the light at the end of my dark and twisted tunnel of life.


    "Grace!" Andrew jumps up, but his thighs m into the underside of the table. Water sloshes over the rim of his ss and he drops back into his seat, rubbing his legs as he curses, "Shit!"


    Lyre¡¯s slitted eyes widen slightly, but her expression remains neutral as she watches our exchange.


    "You can¡¯t be serious," Andrew hisses at me, snatching at my forearm. "What about Rafe?"


    I yank my arm from his grip. The mention of Rafe¡¯s name hardens something inside me¡ªcalcifies all the doubts swirling through my mind. Lyre might even be the kind of person who lures innocent girls out of stores only to sell themter, but I¡¯m taking my chances.


    "I have absolutely no interest in returning to the pack, Andrew. Not for Rafe. Not for anyone."


    Andrew¡¯s lips press together, his face dark. "The n¡ª"


    "Was never my n. It was yours and Ellie¡¯s, remember? You should go back, Andrew."


    "Grace, you don¡¯t understand what you¡¯re doing." His voice drops even lower, eyes darting to Lyre and back to me. "The Lycan King¡ª"


    "Killed Brax." The words emerge t and factual. "I know. I was there."


    "Then you know what he¡¯s capable of!" Andrew leans closer. "And he¡¯s fixated on you. If you disappear now¡ª"


    "That¡¯s exactly why I need to disappear. You being here isn¡¯t going to help me. It isn¡¯t like <i>you</i> can win against him."


    He flinches.


    I press my palms against the cool table. "I¡¯m out now. I¡¯m going to live my life on <i>my</i> terms. You aren¡¯t a part of my life. Neither is Rafe. You should go back to the pack. You belong there, don¡¯t you?"


    Andrew¡¯s jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists. "That¡¯s not fair, Grace."


    A bitterugh escapes me. "Was it fair when Rafe abandoned me during the Mate Hunt? Was it fair when Alpha threw me to the omegas? Was it fair when Ellie tormented me every chance she got?


    "I¡¯m done with fair. I¡¯m done with all of it. You¡¯ve been kinder than most, but you¡¯re still theirs. Not mine."


    Andrew¡¯s face falls. "I thought we were friends, Grace."

 Chapter 36: Grace: Eight Hundred Miles

    <h4>Chapter 36: Grace: Eight Hundred Miles</h4>


    Lyre shifts in her seat, her slitted eyes observing our exchange with quiet interest. She doesn¡¯t interrupt, doesn¡¯t try to persuade either of us. Her neutrality is refreshing after years of wolves who thought they knew what was best for me. Though I wonder what she¡¯s thinking about behind her impassive face. We must sound crazy.


    Andrew rubs his hand across his face, losing some of his aggressive denial. Instead, he¡¯s pleading. "You have no idea how dangerous this is. You¡¯re human, Grace."


    I look to Lyre. "How far is Yellowstone from here?"


    "About eight hundred miles," she says calmly, like we¡¯re discussing the weather or something.


    Eight hundred miles. Eight hundred miles between me and the Blue Mountain Pack. Between me and Rafe and Ellie. Between me and the murderous Lycan King.


    "You can¡¯t outrun them," Andrew insists. "Especially not the Lycan King. If he wants you¡ª"


    I roll my eyes. "Andrew, you brought me here under the assumption we <i>could</i> outrun him. Now you¡¯re changing your story because I¡¯m not going to do what you want. You can¡¯t have it both ways."


    "But¡ª"


    "He doesn¡¯t care about me. Trust me." The memory of Caine¡¯s gray eyes shes through my mind¡ªthe intensity of his gaze as he wrapped the bandage around my wrist. But I push it away.


    "You¡¯re wrong. He¡ª" Andrew stops himself, huffing something between a sigh and a groan.


    "He...?"


    Grimacing, Andrew shakes his head. "It doesn¡¯t matter. What matters is that you¡¯re making a mistake. This woman¡ª" he gestures at Lyre, "¡ªyou don¡¯t know her. You don¡¯t know what she is."


    Lyre¡¯s lips quirk at that. "He¡¯s not wrong about that."


    I nce between them. Andrew¡¯s obvious mistrust, Lyre¡¯s casual acknowledgment.


    "Are you something other than human?" I ask her directly.


    She tilts her head, catlike. "Does it matter?"


    The question gives me pause. Does it? After everything I¡¯ve been through with wolves, should I fear other supernatural beings just the same?


    But then I think of my life at the pack¡ªthe constant reminders of my humanity, my weakness, my otherness.


    "No," I decide. "It doesn¡¯t matter. As long as you¡¯re not nning to hurt me."


    Lyre smiles, revealing teeth that seem just a touch too sharp. "I have no interest in hurting you, Grace. You¡¯re far more interesting alive."


    Andrew makes a strangled noise. "You can¡¯t be serious. Grace, listen to yourself!"


    "You should go back, Andrew. Before they notice you¡¯re missing too."


    "I¡¯m not leaving you with¡ª"


    "You are." My voice hardens. "Because this is my choice. Not yours, not Rafe¡¯s, not Ellie¡¯s. Mine."


    Andrew stares at me, frustration evident in every line of his body. His jaw works as if chewing on words he wants to spit out.


    Lyre scoots out of the dte, stretching her lithe body as she stands. "So when do you want to leave? I¡¯m flexible."


    "Now would be best." The wordse out without my bidding, and I press my lips together, embarrassed. "I mean, if that works for you. I¡¯m not in a position to make demands."


    A small smile ys on her lips as she nods. "Now works. Just need to batten down the hatches."


    She moves through the cramped space with the fluid grace of someone who knows exactly where every inch of their body is. Her hands reach up to unhook a macram¨¦ nt hanger, carefully cradling the vine trailing from it.


    "Have to secure everything before driving," she exins, gently arranging the nt into what looks like a modified kitchen cupboard. "Otherwise it all bes projectiles the first time I hit the brakes."


    Andrew¡¯s hand mps around my forearm again, his fingers digging into the same spot he¡¯d grabbed earlier. The pressure makes me wince. "Grace¡ª"


    "Get your hand off her or you¡¯re going to lose it." Lyre doesn¡¯t even turn around, just continues methodically securing her nts. The calm in her voice makes the threat more chilling.


    Andrew¡¯s grip falters but doesn¡¯t release. His breathes faster beside me, and I can feel his indecision. It isn¡¯t fear, but he seems worried. Probably thinks if he pisses me off, Rafe¡¯s going to yell at him¡ªbut also if he lets me leave, Rafe¡¯s going to yell at him.


    Lyre ces another nt into the cab, her movements unhurried. "The decision¡¯s been made. Either you get out, or I¡¯ll kick you out."


    The growl rumbling from Andrew¡¯s chest is pure animal¡ªa sound I¡¯ve heard countless times in six years. My heart thunders in my chest, but I refuse to cower. I¡¯ve had enough of being controlled.


    Sliding out of the dte, I shake my arm violently until he finally lets it go. "Let me help you, Lyre."


    For a moment, I think Andrew might lunge at me¡ªhis body tenses, his face contorting. But the moment passes. He stands, shoulders tight and fists clenched.


    "Rafe wille for you," he says, voice low and rough. "Hopefully you¡¯ll be a little calmer by then."


    My brows fly up. "Am I not calm?"


    His nostrils re. "You have no idea what you¡¯re doing."


    He acts like he¡¯s capable of fighting off an army to keep me safe, yet even Alpha and Beta fell under the might of the Lycans. It didn¡¯t take very long, either. "At least it¡¯s my mistake to make."


    For several tense moments, Andrew just stands there. His breathing grows heavier, morebored, like he¡¯s physically restraining himself from shifting. Huffing and snarling under his breath, he finally stomps toward the door.


    The entire RV shakes with the force of his exit, the door mming so hard that one of Lyre¡¯s dreamcatchers swings wildly from its hook. The sudden motion makes my stomach lurch¡ªa strange, mingled sensation of physical disorientation and emotional whish.


    Lyre¡¯s handnds gently on my shoulder. "It¡¯ll be fine."


    The simple statement, delivered without drama or excessive reassurance, is strangely calming. I let out a long breath.


    "I¡¯m sorry for bringing drama to your door. You just met me and now you¡¯re dealing with... this." Grabbing a cactus off the kitchen counter, I hand it to her. Offering to help was impulsive, but there¡¯s one problem¡ªI don¡¯t know where anything goes or how to secure a camper for travel. I¡¯ve never even been in one before today.


    She takes the nt from me, securing it in a holder bolted to the wall. "I¡¯m the one who invited it in." Her voice is light, almost amused.


    "You couldn¡¯t have known¡ª"


    "Couldn¡¯t I?" She nces at me, slitted eyes narrowing slightly. "I saw you with him in the store. I knew exactly what you were running from."


    A chill creeps up my spine. "What do you mean?"


    She shrugs, moving to secure a strap across a shelf, keeping books in ce. "Desperation has a particr scent. So does fear. And wolves¡ªwell, they have their own distinctive smell."


    My fingers go numb asprehension dawns. "You already knew Andrew was a shifter?"


    "Of course." She gestures vaguely toward her eyes. "I¡¯m not exactly standard issue human myself."


    I¡¯d assumed her eyes were contacts¡ªa theatrical choice to match her vibrant aesthetic. But the casual way she references them suggests otherwise.


    "What are you?"


    "Does it matter?" she asks again, echoing her earlier response.


    This time I don¡¯t hesitate. "No. It doesn¡¯t."


    And I mean it. Whatever Lyre is, she¡¯s offered me freedom. After years of being judged for my humanity, thest thing I want to do is judge someone else for being different.


    "Good answer." She smiles, revealing those slightly-too-sharp teeth again.

 Chapter 37: Caine: You Touched Her

    <h4>Chapter 37: Caine: You Touched Her</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    Far in the distance, the horizon glows a dull orange, courtesy of the giant pyre burning the Blue Mountain Pack¡¯s dead.


    Everything¡¯s going too smoothly this evening. Not a single issue hase to my attention. No one¡¯s acting out. Trouble is nonexistent. It¡¯s unrealistically peaceful.


    The session ceremony was wless, but there¡¯s a vague itch in the back of my head. Something is brewing in this pack, but I¡¯ve yet to find even a hint of what it may be.


    "You look like you¡¯re about to start another rampage," Jack-Eye observes. He¡¯s been in good spirits since my subordinates¡¯ little intervention; funny, because my mood has only soured.


    I glower at my beta, my jaw tight. My gaze shifts past him as the new Luna struts toward us with a self-important smile stered on her face. Great. Dealing with her will only make my irritation worse.


    "Handle her," I mutter to Jack-Eye, turning away before she reaches us. "I¡¯m not in the mood."


    Jack-Eye¡¯s chuckle follows me as I cut through the crowd, wolves parting before me like shadows fleeing fire. Unfortunately, it doesn¡¯t take long before I collide with the only person worse than this pack¡¯s new Luna.


    Raphael Wilder. Rafe. The brand-new Alpha of the Blue Mountain Pack, and the girl¡¯s ex-lover.


    "High Alpha." He extends his hand, a warm smile on his face, as if he hadn¡¯t once prostrated himself at my feet. Now he seems to believe he¡¯s close to my equal, living a fever-dream as the new Alpha. "I wanted to personally thank you for attending today."


    I stare at his outstretched hand. My fingers twitch with the urge to grab his throat instead. To crush his windpipe. To feel bone and cartge give way beneath my grip.


    Instead, I loose a deep breath. Fenris gave me onestmand before falling into his deep resting state: <i>Don¡¯t kill anyone</i>. Normally, I would ignore such a nonsensical order, but I remember how much fear spiked the girl¡¯s scent when the bloodshed began.


    "Congrattions on your session." Giving him even a sliver of civility is hard, but I don¡¯t want to hear Fenris naggingter. I don¡¯t take his hand, though.


    His arm drops awkwardly to his side. "Thank you for ensuring a... peaceful transfer of power."


    There¡¯s something in the way he phrases it, his humble words rubbing my fur the wrong way. It could be a side effect of wanting to rip his limbs apart, but my eyes narrow. "Did you expect otherwise?"


    "Of course not, High Alpha."


    He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, before drawing his shoulders back, probably reminding himself to stand tall. Watching him squirm satisfies something primal in me. I let the silence stretch a beat too long.


    "No, I wouldn¡¯t expect you to," I finally say.


    He¡¯s too young to be a true Alpha. Too weak to present any real threat to me. And yet my contempt has nothing to do with his capabilities and everything to do with the way his scent lingered on a human I struggle to admit is mine.


    A muscle twitches in my jaw as I wonder how many sides of the girl he¡¯s seen. How far they¡¯ve gone.


    "High Alpha, how much longer do you and your Lycans intend to stay with us?" Rafe¡¯s tone is carefully measured as his gaze meets mine. He¡¯s no longer shifting around, his stare a little too direct. "Are your amodations satisfactory?"


    I tilt my head. "Oh? Are you ying host now, Alpha Raphael?"


    He swallows, his eyes once again sliding off to the side. What little confidence he¡¯d gathered is gone with a mere sentence, leaving me disgusted once again. "I apologize if that came across poorly. My people are still... adjusting to the Lycan presence."


    "Are thereints?"


    "No, of course not." The lie reeks more than the alcohol being passed around; his pack is desperate to drown their sorrows, if only for a few hours. "It¡¯s an honor for the Blue Mountain Pack to host the Lycan King." Lie, again.


    A cold smile stretches across my face. This pup has rebellion brewing behind those eyes, even if he isn¡¯t strong enough to shoulder the will. Perhaps I should have cut the head off this pack entirely when I had the chance, leaving no sessor.


    The temptation is real, but I remind myself of Jack-Eye¡¯s nagging and Fenris¡¯s order. <i>My rule will not be marred with death. I am more than my bloodlust.</i>


    As much as I want to tear this pup¡¯s throat out for daring to have once coveted my human, I am capable of stepping back and allowing rational thought to take over, damn it.


    A breeze drifts through the open windows, carrying Rafe¡¯s scent toward me. Distinctly wolf, with a strong scent of forest pine, but underneath...


    Blueberries. Sweet, faint. Unmistakable.


    My vision hazes.


    <i>Her</i> scent. On <i>him</i>.


    My fingers curl into a fist, tattoos burning across my skin as Fenris howls inside my head, no longer locked away.


    Power pulses out in a crushing wave, and unsuspecting shifters fall to their knees. Beer and wine soak the grass as their grips fail. Their new golden-haired alpha prostrates himself at my feet, his forehead and hands pressed against the ground and body trembling beneath the force of my rage.


    "Why?" I ask, clenching my fists at my side. I want to crush his bones, but manage to hold back.


    "I¡ªI don¡¯t understand." His words are muffled against the ground. "Did we do something to offend you, High Alpha?"


    My hand shoots out, grabbing his hair and yanking his head up until he can meet my stare. "The girl," I snarl. "Why do I smell her on you?"


    His eyes widen. "It¡¯s a misunderstanding."


    "Don¡¯t." My grip tightens. "I can smell your lies."


    "I visited her," Rafe admits, his words admirably steadypared to the pallor of his face and wide eyes. "To exin we were over, and to give her a final goodbye."


    <i>Lie</i>.


    "Did you touch her?"


    "No."


    <i>Lie</i>.


    "You touched her."

 Chapter 38: Caine: The Price of Stealing

    <h4>Chapter 38: Caine: The Price of Stealing</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    "No! I didn¡¯t. She¡ªshe 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 thest Alpha. Killing his sessor 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 rx. The moment tension is released, his face ms to the ground again, still victim to my dominance.


    <i>Kill him,</i> 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¡ªa 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 footes down on Raphael¡¯s outstretched hand. Not an ident. Not a mistake. A deliberate, calcted expression of my fury.


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


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


    I¡¯m not satisfied with this small disy. Digging my heel in deeper, I grind against already fractured bones. Something inside me¡ªsomething darker than even my normal temperament¡ªwants to hear him breakpletely.


    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 wing 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 ring oversight for a session 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.


    <i>Fenris.</i>


    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.


    "Check on the girl," I order him, keeping my eyes on Raphael.


    Fenris doesn¡¯t hesitate, bolting toward the main building with supernatural speed. The sight of him¡ªmanifested separately from me¡ªsends another wave of fear through the crowd.


    I kneel in front of Raphael, grabbing his hair to once again bring his face level with mine. His eyes are zed with pain, his breathing shallow.


    "Who else visited Grace tonight?" My voice is calm now, almost conversational. The contrast to my earlier rage probably makes it all the more unsettling.


    "Caine," Jack-Eye says again, with a sigh.


    I can feel my subordinates standing with him, but they remain silent, probably disapproving. I¡¯m bringing more trouble and work onto my shoulders, but it¡¯s impossible to hold back the rage in my head, the whispers of vengeance driving my every action.


    Raphael¡¯s eyes slide off, and I shake his head until his gaze meets mine again. "Who is it, Alpha Raphael? Which of your people went to her room tonight?"


    "No one," he says, his voice hoarse.


    <i>Lie, lie, LIE.</i>


    "Lying again?" I grab his jaw, forcing him to maintain eye contact. "After what just happened to your hand, you¡¯re still lying to me, you little shit?"


    A tremble runs through his body. It¡¯s hard for any alpha wolf to submit, even a young one, but hardest for those who rule over a pack. Still, he should know better than to keep foolishly resisting.


    "Andrew," he finally whispers.


    Andrew. The name means nothing to me, but I¡¯ll find him soon enough. "And why would this Andrew visit her?"


    Raphael swallows hard. "He was checking on her well-being."


    Half-truth. The scent of deception is weaker, but still present. My eyes narrow, fingers digging into his cheeks. All I want is to rip this pup apart, to raze this pack to the ground, but I hold myself back. I have to.


    If I kill everyone, she¡¯ll always be afraid of me, won¡¯t she?


    "Checking on her for what purpose?"


    Sweat drips down Raphael¡¯s temple as he struggles to speak through my grip. "Just to make sure she was okay."


    <i>Lie.</i>


    "Last chance." I tighten my grasp on his jaw until he winces. "What was Andrew doing in her room?"


    Something in Raphael breaks. Perhaps it¡¯s the pain, or maybe the realization that I won¡¯t stop until I have the truth. "We were going to move her," he gasps out. "Tomorrow morning. To Forest Springs."


    Forest Springs is a neighboring pack. The Alpha¡¯s daughter is now Raphael¡¯s Luna, who hurt the girl only this morning. "Do you know the price of stealing from the Lycan King, Raphael?"


    <i>Caine,</i> Fenris says, growling. Fury burns through our bond, leaving my wolf incoherent with rage as he howls. Words are unnecessary; I already understand.


    Grace is gone.

 Chapter 39: Grace: How Can You Miss It?

    <h4>Chapter 39: Grace: How Can You Miss It?</h4>


    Over the next two days, Lyre drags her camper¡ªand me¡ªacross the country. It¡¯s actually only across one state line, but it¡¯s still farther than I¡¯ve ever traveled before.


    The driving itself isn¡¯t long each day; Lyre says she never drives more than three hundred miles a day when she¡¯s hauling a camper. Still, the routine is more tiring than I expect.


    And Andrew follows behind every step of the way, clearly obsessed with keeping his eye on me. I¡¯m sure it¡¯s to tell Rafe where I am, but it isn¡¯t like a new Alpha can just wander across the country to take me back.


    Still, it¡¯s not a great feeling to know you¡¯re being essentially stalked. He doesn¡¯t hide what he¡¯s doing, but he isn¡¯t <i>not</i> doing it, either...


    The high noon sun is bright and merciless, which means the camper¡¯s going to be an oven when we finally make it to our stop tonight. We still have another hundred miles to drive before finding a rest stop tonight.


    "Food run," Lyre announces, exiting the highway. "They have a dump station here, too. Why don¡¯t you order while I get some diesel and clear out the tanks?"


    I¡¯ve learned a lot in the past forty-eight hours, and most of it involves how much work is involved in keeping a camper convenient. Like toilets. I never really thought about where waste goes when you flush, but it¡¯s not as though we have plumbing in the parking lots of giant retail conglomerates.


    We have a supply of fresh water for hygiene and dishes, but we also have separate drinking water. And tanks beneath the RV somewhere, magically holding all the gross stuff until we make it to a dump site. Lyre keeps talking about full hook-ups when we get to her friend¡¯s ce in Yellowstone, which will make our lives easier, but so far I haven¡¯t had to lift a finger. Lyre does all the work.


    "Got it. Bacon cheeseburger?"


    I push open the passenger door, my blonde hair¡ªstill strange to see in mirrors¡ªblowing across my face, thanks to the strong breeze. It smells like gasoline and fried food, which is now synonymous with freedom in my head.


    "Give me about twenty minutes," Lyre calls after me. "Get something for me too. Nothing with pickles."


    I nod and slip her credit card into my pocket. The first time she handed it to me, I¡¯d stared at the stic rectangle like it might burn my fingers. Now it feels normal, even as guilt gnaws at me for using a stranger¡¯s money.


    The automatic doors slide open with a mechanical hiss, cool air-conditionedfort wrapping around me as I step inside. The cashier barely nces up from her magazine¡ªanother blessing of human society. No nostrils ring to catch my scent, no scowls when they see I don¡¯t belong. Even Lyre, with her rainbow hair, wouldn¡¯t get a second look.


    It¡¯s so... <i>anonymous</i>. I love it.


    But I need to find a job soon. Lyre¡¯s generosity has limits, even if she hasn¡¯t mentioned them. Strange how someone who seems so detached can be so thoughtful¡ªletting me use her card, teaching me how to dye my hair, taking me in without asking for anything in return.


    If angel shifters existed, she¡¯d probably be one.


    There¡¯s a giant fast food restaurant taking up a third of the building. Several truckers are already scattered around, and there¡¯s a mom with a toddler in the back corner.


    So wholesome. So human.


    The only thing polluting this pristine bastion of human society is Andrew, five steps behind me. He pulled into the gas station right after us, of course.


    My mouth waters as I scan the illuminated menu board. "Two bacon cheeseburgers,rge fries, and..." I pause, remembering Lyre¡¯s aversion to pickles. "And make sure there¡¯s no pickles on either."


    The hair on my neck rises as I pass Lyre¡¯s card over. Andrew¡¯s glowering, like he always does, but who knows what¡¯s triggered him this time. We haven¡¯t exchanged a word since I told him I wasn¡¯t going back to Rafe; I¡¯m trying to pretend he doesn¡¯t exist. Hopefully he¡¯ll get bored and leave once we get to Yellowstone and settle in.


    The sensation of being stalked is not pleasant, but I¡¯m getting used to it.


    Who am I kidding? It¡¯s weird and sucks.


    There¡¯s only one ce I¡¯m free, and I turn take the card and receipt and walk as casually as I can to the bathroom. It¡¯s always good to visit one when we stop anyway, but it¡¯s also the one ce Andrew won¡¯t follow me.


    The women¡¯s bathroom smells vaguely of vomit, urine, and some sort of orange-scented cleaner. Not pleasant, but at least Andrew¡¯s eyeballs aren¡¯t drilling into the back of my head.


    It doesn¡¯t take long to do what needs to be done, and I keep the water running for a while as I stand in front of the mirror, toying with my blonde hair. It¡¯s going to take forever to get used to, but I think I like it.


    Lyre says my skin tone seems to be more cool than neutral and my blonde is a little too warm, but I don¡¯t really get it. In theory, I understand her words and the concept of warm and cool undertones. In practice? My skin just looks like skin to me...


    Oh, damn. I¡¯ve been staring at myself in the mirror too long. Our food¡¯s probably ready by now.


    Sighing, I push open the bathroom door, only to jump back when I nearly collide with a solid chest.


    Andrew stands directly in front of the door, arms crossed as he frowns down at me. "I was about to check on you."


    Nope. This is the final straw.


    "Are you seriously waiting outside the women¡¯s bathroom?" I hiss, ncing around to make sure no one¡¯s watching.


    They aren¡¯t. Everyone¡¯s involved in their own lives, and nobody cares about what¡¯s happening in this tiny little corridor.


    His frown remains on his face. "I¡¯m just making sure you¡¯re safe."


    "In the women¡¯s bathroom?"


    "You could have been unconscious."


    "Jesus, Andrew." Covering my face with my hands in an attempt to keep myself from screaming in frustration, I count my breaths. He remains silent as I breathe in deep. One. Two. Five. Ten times. "You can¡¯t follow me into the women¡¯s bathroom."


    "I wouldn¡¯t have stayed¡ª"


    Dropping my hands, I snap, "That¡¯s not the point!"


    His mouth clicks shut, before he finally mutters, "I was just worried."


    Somehow, despite Andrew being the one in the wrong, I¡¯m the one who feels guilty. "Just¡ªstay away from me. Go back to Rafe and live your life. Stop following me around."


    "I¡¯m doing what I need to do," he says stubbornly, staring over my head instead of looking at my angry face.


    Arguing with him is pointless.


    Shouldering past, I try not to stomp too hard as I head back to the counter, where my order¡¯s waiting. Lyre¡¯s nowhere in sight, but she <i>did</i> say it would be almost a half-hour before she was done.


    I should have waited before ordering.


    I grab the tray with our food and head to the table furthest away from any strangers. Another thing I¡¯ve learned over the past two days¡ªhumans like to talk.


    I¡¯ve had some really fascinating conversations while standing in line. These aren¡¯t bad experiences, but Andrew¡¯s soured my mood, and I have no interest in looking at anyone¡¯s face today.


    Except Lyre¡¯s, of course.


    Andrew pulls out the chair at the table directly next to mine, and my mood plummets further.


    A sigh escapes me before I can stop it. I¡¯ve lived with wolves long enough to know what this is¡ªterritory marking. He¡¯s making sure everyone knows I¡¯m under his protection, which would be sweet if I actually wanted it. It¡¯s also stupid, because humans don¡¯t do this kind of thing.


    "You¡¯re ruining my appetite." I slide Lyre¡¯s burger to the empty spot across from me, pushing the remaining one toward me and leaving the fries centered. My stomach growls despite my annoyance.


    Andrew rests his arms on the table, his eyes never leaving my face. He has no food, and I wonder how he¡¯s been surviving without buying anything to eat or drink.


    "Just pretend I¡¯m air," he says, sounding serious and not at all joking.


    My words are a soft whisper, but I know he can hear every word: "Air doesn¡¯t scowl like you do."


    I pick at a few fries. They¡¯re crisp and well-salted, but my appetite¡¯s run off since Andrew¡¯s trying to stare holes into my face. The ketchup packet remains unopened in my hand as I wait for Lyre to appear. I check the time on the wall clock¡ªshe should be done soon.


    My gaze drifts to the window, where I¡¯m surprised to see a white cat watching my every move.


    It¡¯s sitting on the sidewalk just feet away from my window, and it¡¯s huge. Not big enough to be confused with a tiger or something, butrge enough the word <i>housecat</i> seems... wrong. Maybe it¡¯s one of those wild hybrid cats.


    Its posture is unnaturally still, and its eyes¡ªbright blue¡ªare fixed directly on me.


    "I think someone¡¯s lost their cat," I murmur, more to myself than to Andrew.


    "What cat?"


    I want to be irritated by his question, but I¡¯m the one who spoke out loud. He probably thinks I¡¯m holding a conversation.


    Sighing, I point toward the window. "That one. The white one sitting right there." The animal hasn¡¯t moved an inch, its tail curled neatly around its paws. It¡¯s almost statue-like.


    Andrew follows my finger, his brow furrowing as he peers through the ss. He stares for a long moment, then turns back to me with a nk expression.


    "I don¡¯t see anything."


    A chill runs down my spine. "What do you mean? It¡¯s right there. The huge white cat staring at us."


    His eyes narrow as he looks again. "There¡¯s nothing there, Grace."


    I lean forward, pressing my palms against the table as I focus on the creature. It¡¯s impossible to miss¡ªit must weigh thirty pounds at least, with a coat so white it almost hurts to look at.


    "How can you not see it? It¡¯s massive." I gesture more emphatically. "Right there. White cat, blue eyes, staring straight at me."


    Andrew¡¯s face changes, concern recing irritation. "There¡¯s no cat, Grace."

 Chapter 40: Caine: Tracking (I)

    <h4>Chapter 40: Caine: Tracking (I)</h4> There¡¯s an itch under my skin I can¡¯t get rid of, and it isn¡¯t helping my temper. I¡¯ve already been to Forest Springs, only to find out Grace isn¡¯t anywhere in their territory. Their Alpha, however, is a reasonable man.


    He traded his pet warlock for his life. I didn¡¯t spill a single drop of blood, something I¡¯ll have to remember to tell the girlter; it¡¯ll show her I¡¯m capable of holding back.


    The thought of her relief when I tell her helps soothe the itch, until Fenris snaps, <i>You still don¡¯t get it, you idiot.</i>


    He¡¯s barely said a word to me since we discovered Grace missing two nights ago.


    My new warlock¡¯s hands shake as he takes her pillow from me. My fingers twitch. I want to snatch it back¡ªthe soft bundle of polyester fluff still smells like her.


    "This will do nicely," he says, his voice thin and reedy. The Forest Springs Alpha wasn¡¯t lying when he said his pet magic user was skittish. What¡¯s his name again?


    <i>Thom,</i> Fenris snarls.


    Right, Thom.


    My lip curls. "I don¡¯t need yourmentary, Thom. Just find her."


    The warlock adjusts his peculiar sses¡ªthick, smoked lenses with copper wire wrapping around the frames. They look ridiculous, but I know their purpose. They shield his eyes from what witches call "magical ambience"¡ªthe glow that surrounds every living thing that normal people can¡¯t see.


    <i>You drove her away</i>, Fenris growls, his presence swelling with usation. <i>Our mate is gone because of you</i>.


    "She¡¯s not our mate," I mutter, too low for the warlock to hear.


    <i>Lies</i>.


    Fenris paces our shared consciousness, ws dragging against the mental barriers I¡¯ve erected to keep him contained. He¡¯s bing more unruly by the hour. Since the moment we realized Grace had fled, he¡¯s been half-feral, snapping and snarling. The guard for her bedroom is yet another body she¡¯s going to hold against me.


    <i>As well she should,</i> he mutters, like he isn¡¯t the one who ripped his throat out.


    The warlock brings the pillow to his face, inhaling deeply. Fenris howls, and I fight to keep my hands at my side and not twisting his head off his scrawny little neck. "Don¡¯t do that."


    Thom freezes, his owlish eyes widening further behind his ridiculous sses. "Uh, sir¡ªHigh Alpha¡ªI was just checking the density of her essence."


    My eye twitches. If he says <i>essence</i> one more time, I might have to punch his mouth. "And?"


    "This isn¡¯t enough. Something with a little more of her DNA would be best."


    I snarl without meaning to, my lips peeling back to reveal teeth.


    Thom flinches hard, throwing his hands up to shield his face. The pillow slips from his fingers and tumbles toward the floor.


    My hand shoots out, snatching it from midair before it can touch the ground. Her scent is the only thing keeping me calm. I can¡¯t let it be contaminated by the floor¡¯s stench of polish and feet.


    <i>You could smell her directly if you hadn¡¯t scared her off,</i> Fenris says, sounding colder than ice.


    I ignore him, brushing my palm across the pillow¡¯s surface, erasing any trace of Thom¡¯s scent. The gesture feels ridiculous even as I do it, but I can¡¯t stop myself. Once satisfied, I ce it gently on my bed.


    "Follow me," I bark at the warlock.


    He scrambles after me like a kicked puppy, keeping a careful distance as we exit my quarters. Grace¡¯s room sits on the opposite side of the lodge¡ªa deliberate choice on my part, though now the distance feels like punishment. To myself.


    The corridor stretches long between us, punctuated by wolves going about their duties. Each time we pass a pack member, they spare a curious nce at Thom before curling their lips in disgust. One even growls low in his throat, causing Thom to press himself against the wall until we pass.


    Interesting.


    "Is this normal?" I ask, nodding toward a she-wolf who¡¯s openly ring at him.


    Thom¡¯s shoulders hunch further. "What, the growling? The looks? Yes, High Alpha. Spellbloods aren¡¯t exactly wee in these parts."


    "Why?"


    "Most of the Alphas in this region consider our practices heresy against the Goddess. They teach their packs that we¡¯re unnatural. Makes it hard to make a living." His voice carries a practiced neutrality that doesn¡¯t mask the bitterness beneath.


    "Stupid belief," I grunt.


    The change in Thom is immediate. His posture straightens, and he scurries closer to my side, eyes wide with something like hope.


    "Right? It¡¯spletely short-sighted! The prejudice against spellbloods goes back centuries, but it¡¯s based on misunderstanding. Magic is just another natural force, like your shifting ability. We¡¯re not so different, really, and the potential for coboration is¡ª"


    The itch beneath my skin intensifies with every syble from his mouth. His voice hits a particrly grating pitch, and a muscle in my jaw twitches.


    "Enough."


    He snaps his mouth shut, but the damage is done. My patience, already thread-thin from the girl¡¯s absence, threatens to snap entirely.


    "The belief is ridiculous because there isn¡¯t a witch or warlock on this powerful enough to pose a threat to even the weakest wolf." I fix him with a cold stare. "Not a single one of you could stand against us. That¡¯s why the fear is stupid."


    <i>That¡¯s not necessarily true,</i> Fenrisments. It¡¯s his first time reacting to anything not connected with the human. <i>They might be able to hurt the weakest of wolves. Pups, perhaps.</i>


    Thom detes before my eyes, his shoulders hunching back to their original position. "Right. There¡¯s that perspective too."


    We continue down the corridor in silence. The lodge feels emptier than usual. Still, the ones who remain give Thom a wide berth, their disdain palpable; though, when they meet my eyes, they cower.


    "My only real skill is tracking," Thom offers after a moment, quieter now. "But wolves don¡¯t have much use for that, do they? Not when you can smell a rabbit from a mile away."


    I spare him a sideways nce. His thin fingers worry at the hem of his worn jacket.


    "The Forest Springs Alpha only kept me around to track other magic-users. I don¡¯t have a single offensive spell."


    I have no interest in this man¡¯s life story, but if he falls into some sort of depression and can¡¯t track the girl I might lose my mind. So I grunt, showing I¡¯m listening.


    It must be enough, because his shoulders rx a little. Thankfully, he goes silent after that.

 Chapter 41: Caine: Tracking (II)

    <h4>Chapter 41: Caine: Tracking (II)</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    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¡ªwell, 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.


    <i>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?</i>


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


    <i>At your order,</i> he says. <i>Don¡¯t make me the same as you. She </i>liked<i> me. She doesn¡¯t like you.</i>


    Knowing it¡¯s true only makes the damn itch worse, and I m Grace¡¯s door open with a grunt. Her scentes 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.


    <i>You still don¡¯t see it,</i> Fenris says.


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


    <i>Seriously? Even now, you¡¯re not going to admit it?</i>


    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 stic. 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 stic 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 gic 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, nkets kicked to the foot of the bed. There¡¯s a pillow, but it doesn¡¯t smell like her, onlyundry detergent. The sheets, though...


    <i>Jack-Eye. Bring the sheets and nket from her room and put them on my bed. No¡ªleave them here.</i>


    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 urate it will be."


    I straighten, a prickling sensation crawling up my spine. Something¡¯s happening.


    It¡¯s only a few steps to the doorway.


    The warlock hunches over the sink, his spindly fingers clutching Grace¡¯s hairbrush. His eyes are closed, lips moving in rapid session as he mumbles in a strangenguage. It sounds like ten strangled cats attempting to meow after their vocal cords were cut.


    The air shifts, a faint breeze materializing from nowhere. The bathroom mirror fogs, then clears, then fogs again.


    Thom¡¯s voice rises, his words taking on a peculiar cadence, and twenty white butterflies burst into existence around his head. Translucent wings glow with an unnatural light as they flutter in an organized pattern, circling Thom¡¯s face like a living crown. Each one looks identical¡ªnot natural butterflies at all, but constructs of pure magic.


    My tattoos itch, the sensation crawling across my skin like ants. I resist the urge to w at them. Magic always has this effect on me; it¡¯s one of the reasons I avoid warlocks when possible.


    Thom¡¯s eyes snap open, his irises glowing the same white as the butterflies. He barks a final word in his screechy voice and sys his hands outward. The butterflies shoot away as if propelled by an invisible force, zooming in twenty different directions; they pass straight through the walls, leaving no trace of their passing.


    The warlock slumps forward, catching himself on the edge of the sink. His breathes in ragged gasps, sweat beading on his pale forehead and dripping down his temples. The entire disy has left him looking like he¡¯s run a marathon.


    I scratch absently at the back of my neck, where the itching is most intense. "How long before we get results?"


    Thom straightens with effort, adjusting those ridiculous sses. "Just a few minutes, High Alpha." His voice sounds raspy, drained. "My seekers will find her if she¡¯s within my range."


    I look him over, noting how his hand trembles against the counter. His face has flushed an rming shade of red, and the vein in his temple pulses visibly beneath his skin. All this from a simple tracking spell.


    This is exactly why I¡¯ve always found wolf prejudice against magic-users pointless. Look at him¡ªa dozen flying paper weights and he needs to catch his breath. They¡¯re just as weak as humans, only with magical parlor tricks.


    "You need water?" I ask, more out of practicality than concern. I need him functional.


    He nods gratefully, and I exit the bathroom to fetch a ss from the bedside table. When I return, he gulps it down like a man rescued from the desert.


    It urs to me her lips might have touched the same ss, and I suddenly want to rip his mouth off.


    "The spell is active," he says after emptying the ss, and I stare at it for far too long, trying to seek evidence of where her lips might have touched. "My seekers are extensions of my consciousness. I¡¯ll know in real-time if they find a trace of her."


    I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, telling myself I can¡¯t hurt him. Yet. "And if they don¡¯t?"


    "Then I¡¯ll need something stronger. Something with more of her essence."


    There¡¯s that word again. My jaw tightens.


    "Blood would be ideal," he continues, oblivious to my irritation. "But since we don¡¯t have that, I could try¡ª"


    He jerks upright, his eyes zing over. "Found her. But it¡¯s strange. Everything¡¯s muddled."


    Without conscious thought, my hand flies out and grabs the front of his shirt. "Where is she?"


    "Hold on! Hold on, I¡¯m¡ª" Thom bats at my hand, his eyes still zed. "She¡¯s to the north. There¡¯s too much interference. I have to..." His hands curve in the air, fingers wiggling as he does something I can¡¯t even begin to understand. "Gather. Yes. All of you¡ªit needs to be concentrated... There. Okay. That¡¯s strange."


    "What is it?"


    My hand¡¯s still gripping his shirt, but Thom¡¯s out of his head, his eyes not seeing anything in this room. His hands keep moving around like he¡¯s orchestrating something, and I¡¯m not sure he hears me. "Oh, <i>that¡¯s</i> why. That would make sense. Okay, I think I found her."


    My eye twitches. "Where?"


    "She¡¯s at a gas station."

 Chapter 42: Grace: Lyre’s Strange Behavior

    <h4>Chapter 42: Grace: Lyre¡¯s Strange Behavior</h4>


    When Lyre slides into the chair across from me, I lose track of the strange cat. It disappears as if it was never there at all.


    "White?" Lyre asks between bites,pletely unconcerned as I tell her about a bizarre cat only I can see.


    "Yeah."


    "Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s harmless."


    Andrew¡¯s out there now; I watch through the window as he sniffs the air, turning to shrug his shoulders at me through the ss. He must not smell anything.


    Having a stalker is annoying, but hey, if he wants to brave the strange and mysterious for me, I¡¯m not going toin. If I have to suffer through his constant unwanted presence, I may as well get something out of it.


    I nibble at a French fry, enjoying its salty potato goodness as I watch her eat. "What do you mean by ¡¯harmless¡¯?"


    Lyre shrugs, her slitted eyes narrowing slightly as she takes another monstrous bite of her burger. Ketchup dots the corner of her mouth. "Exactly what the word means."


    She¡¯s already halfway through her meal, and she¡¯s only been sitting here for a minute. My stomach growls in response, my appetite suddenly returning now that Lyre¡¯s here.


    The burger¡¯s greasy and generic, but for some reason its vor rivals the food the pack offers. Freedom is the best seasoning.


    "Our ns are going to be messed up, though," she muses between chews, staring out the window. Andrew paces a few more times, nostrils ring, before he heads back to the entrance, presumably toe back here.


    "What do you mean?" Mustard gloops out the side of my burger, and I wipe at it with a napkin. It isn¡¯t that I dislike mustard, but too much of it is just... well, too much.


    "It means what I said." Her tone borders on patronizing, as if I¡¯m asking a stupid question.


    I blink, waiting for boration that doesn¡¯te.


    "Well, that¡¯s why it¡¯s always best to expect the unexpected." Lyre¡¯s voicees outnguid,zy almost. She stretches in her chair, leaning back as she finishes thest quarter of her food. "We won¡¯t go far tonight. I¡¯d rather have afortable ce to stay."


    My forehead creases. A thousand questions bubble to my lips, but I swallow them down with another bite of burger. Who am I to argue orin? Lyre¡¯s a free spirit, willingly bringing me along at her own expense. If she¡¯s being a little weird, well, she was weird from the moment we met, so it isn¡¯t really that strange when I think about it.


    The silence between us isn¡¯t ufortable, exactly. Just... weird. At least on my end. Lyre seems perfectly content to exist in her own bubble of certainty while I flounder in confusion beside her.


    She finishes her burger long before I¡¯m even halfway through mine. While I continue to eat, she plucks fries from the container between us, scrolling through her phone with greasy fingers.


    "Looking for a nearby campground," she exins without looking up. Her brightly colored nails click against the screen as she huffs. "Damn it. If I¡¯d known we were going to camp properly tonight, I wouldn¡¯t have bothered dumping the tanks here."


    "I¡¯m sorry." Apologizing is second nature, a reflexive response. Somehow, I feel responsible for this inconvenience, even though camping tonight is news to me, too.


    Lyre¡¯s head snaps up. "Why are you apologizing?"


    Thest French fry dangles in midair as I blink at her. "I don¡¯t know. It just... felt necessary."


    She shakes her head and clicks her tongue. "Stop apologizing when there¡¯s nothing to apologize for. It makes you look weak."


    My cheeks burn; it isn¡¯t like I¡¯d ever considered myself strong, but being looked down on is never a great feeling.


    Lyre squints at me, her unusual eyes calcting. Thenes another sigh, deeper than thest, as if the weight of the entire world rests squarely on her shoulders. She shakes her head again. "You need to remember how to appear strong, even when you feel weak."


    "I am weak," I say automatically, used to the designation.


    "You don¡¯t have to be strong. Just look strong."


    My eye twitches. "You want me to lift weights?"


    "Of course not." Lyre points her finger at me. "Don¡¯t think I don¡¯t know you¡¯re doing this on purpose. Be strong of mind, Grace. Don¡¯t lower your head for just anyone. You¡¯re a queen, you know."


    I blink. Her strange behavior aside, the lines she¡¯s spouting now belong on some sort of TV melodrama. "You¡¯re being weird, Lyre."


    Lyre groans and tosses her phone onto the table with a tter. She scratches at her head with both hands,pletely mussing her rainbow-colored hair until it sticks up in wild directions.


    "I know," she says, sounding utterly miserable.


    Then she jerks her head up, glowering at me with her unsettling slitted eyes. "If you appear weak, then those beneath you will have nowhere to stand."


    I stare at her for a long moment, my burger forgotten in my hands. "Did you major in saying things without any context whatsoever? Because you¡¯re really excelling at it."


    "upational hazard." She grimaces. "Just hurry up and eat."


    Andrew slides into the chair beside me, a scowl etched into his face. "There¡¯s nothing out there."


    Neither Lyre nor I acknowledge him. I take another bite of my burger, chewing slowly as I study the strange woman across from me. Her hair looks like a rainbow exploded on her head, especially now that she¡¯s messed it up, and looks kind of like a young, rainbow-colored Einstein, but younger. And prettier.


    "So we¡¯re camping tonight?" I ask, trying to understand our next steps.


    Lyre¡¯s eyes flick over to Andrew for a split second before returning to me. "Yes. There¡¯s a little ce about twenty minutes from here. Nothing fancy, but it should do. We¡¯ll have inte, too."


    "That isn¡¯t very far," Andrew observes, straightening in his chair. "Is something wrong?"


    We ignore him.


    "Once we set up at the campsite, I¡¯ll need to run some errands," Lyre says instead of replying, her voice casual despite an odd intensity in her slitted eyes. "You should probably stay with the camper."


    "I can help, if you want."


    "I have another errand to run after setting up." She taps her nails against the table, creating a rhythmic clicking sound. "I can¡¯t do it if you¡¯re with me."


    Oh? This is new. My mind races with possibilities¡ªis she meeting someone dangerous? nning something nefarious? A one-night stand...?


    Okay, thest one is probably not it, but as I stare at Lyre, I think I understand. "Is whatever you¡¯re doing illegal?"


    Andrew¡¯s eyes widen.


    Lyre¡¯s expression doesn¡¯t change. Not a flicker of guilt, not a hint of surprise at my directness. Her eyes remain fixed on mine, unnervingly steady, and she doesn¡¯t give me an answer.


    That¡¯s probably... the answer, right?


    Interesting. Lyre¡¯s some sort of criminal. Her free nomad lifestyle suddenly makes a lot of sense.


    "Are you done eating?" she asks, nodding toward my half-finished burger.


    The deflection is as clear as a neon sign, but I want to know. "You didn¡¯t answer my question," I press, unwilling to let it drop. She doesn¡¯t seem angry, so it¡¯s likely she isn¡¯t telling me for my own safety.


    "You didn¡¯t answer mine," she counters smoothly.


    Andrew clears his throat. "Maybe we should¡ª"


    "Shut up," Lyre and I say in unison, neither of us breaking eye contact.


    The silence stretches for a few more minutes before I give in. Prying into her business is rude, especially when she¡¯s the one doing me favors. I¡¯ve brought nothing but a stalker to the table.


    "Yes, I¡¯m done eating," I sigh.

 Chapter 43: Grace: Scars

    <h4>Chapter 43: Grace: Scars</h4>


    The campground is a little ce about five miles off the highway, surrounded by trees. It¡¯s like a sardine tin of RVs, but we¡¯re lucky enough to have an empty spot beside ours.


    Of course, it isn¡¯t empty anymore¡ªAndrew¡¯s taken it. Apparently, he has a tent, too.


    With all the slides extended, Lyre¡¯s camper transforms from cramped travel mode to something that could rival a small apartment. The living area in the back boasts two plush couches and a daybed, arranged in a U-shape around a TV that looks absurdlyrge when you consider we are technically camping. The Wi-Fi signal from the campground is surprisingly strong, and once Lyre leaves for her mysterious errand, I spend hours browsing through her streaming ounts.


    I flip mindlessly through shows I¡¯ve never heard of, content to let a few hours slip by. She¡¯s forbidden me from leaving the camper, warning me not to let anyone in, leaving me itching a little over the feeling of being confined. How easily I trade one form of captivity for another. At least this prisones with Netflix. Besides, Lyre isn¡¯t about to kill me.


    I¡¯m at least ny percent certain, anyway. There¡¯s always the ten percent she¡¯s waiting for me to let my guard down before chopping me to bits, but it¡¯s a risk I¡¯ve already taken at this point.


    The rest of my day wastes away in a blur of fictional dramas far lessplicated than my life, yet riveting. As evening shadows stretch across the campground, the familiar rumble of Lyre¡¯s truck engine announces her return. The door swings open momentster, bringing with it the savory aroma of Chinese food.


    "Hungry?" Lyre asks, triumphant smile brightening her face as she holds up a paper bag heavy with takeout containers.


    My stomach growls in response. I haven¡¯t eaten since the truck stop burger. While Lyre gave me full permission to raid her pantry and fridge, it felt odd to do it while she was gone.


    "I brought you something else too." She passes me a small brown paper bag.


    I peer inside, finding what appears to be an artisanal jar of body butter. When I unscrew the lid, the sweet scent of coconut wafts up, rich and tropical.


    "Scar treatment," Lyre exins, setting the food on the counter and beginning to unpack it. "For your back."


    I freeze, the jar suspended halfway to my nose. "My back?"


    "You were whipped, right?" She says it so casually, likementing on the weather. "It¡¯s for those scars."


    Blood drains from my face. She¡¯s never seen me shirtless. "How do you know about that?"


    Lyre nces over her shoulder, expression neutral. "I saw them when I was helping you wash out the bleach. Through the gap here." She points at the back of her shirt cor. "Hard to miss."


    My mind races back to the bathroom, to standing bent over, head in the shower while Lyre rinsed my hair.


    "How long did it take to heal?" she asks, separating chopsticks with a clean snap.


    The question¡¯s odd, but then again, everything about Lyre is odd. "Overnight. It wasn¡¯t as bad as you¡¯d think." Of course, then there was the next night... And the next...


    Lyre hums thoughtfully, her eyes never leaving mine as she passes me a container of lo mein.


    "Interesting. You had your wrist wrapped when we met, right? And it¡¯s still bruised a few dayster."


    I nce down at the ugly purple-green marks circling my wrist where Ellie had grabbed me. The bruises have faded slightly, and my wrist still hurts when I use it too much, but it¡¯s healing.


    "So how does a terrible wound like a whipping heal overnight," Lyre continues, twirling noodles around her chopsticks, "when your wrist is still hurting dayster?"


    The question catches me off guard. I¡¯ve never thought about it before.


    "The whips weren¡¯t really that bad," I offermely, picking at my food.


    "Bad enough to scar, though."


    I fall silent, staring at the jar of scar cream as I poke at my lo mein.


    "Have you had other instances where wounds healed abnormally fast?" Lyre¡¯s voice is casual, but her eyes are too sharp. She knows something.


    My heart races.


    "I don¡¯t think so¡ª" I begin, then stop, remembering one. Maybe. The details are hazy. "When I was twelve, my parents died in a home invasion gone wrong."


    The words are rote by now; it¡¯s my story, the one I¡¯ve told several times. A summary of a bleak time in my life.


    Mom and Dad died.


    Three dayster, Alpha picked me up.


    But what happened in those three days? That¡¯s where it gets hazy. I remember being in the hospital, but I don¡¯t remember being hurt.


    "Were you hurt?" Lyre asks, as if she can hear what I¡¯m thinking.


    "I don¡¯t know. Maybe. I remember being in the hospital." For some reason, I¡¯ve always remembered the hospital, but I remember thinking it was because of my parents.


    But I have no memory of seeing Mom or Dad in the hospital.


    Pain stabs through my head as I work through the timeline, and I shake my head abruptly. Whatever secret is buried there can stay there. Mom¡¯s my mom. Dad¡¯s my dad. Maybe we should just leave it at that. "Never mind."


    "Hmm." Lyre slurps a noodle louder than is necessary, pointing at my container with her chopsticks. "Eat." The word is clear, even with her mouth full.


    I grab my lo mein and make my way to the dte. The small booth offers the perfect view of the TV, a wee distraction from the sudden bomb Lyre¡¯s thrown my way.


    My head continues to ache, even though I stopped prodding at old, awful memories.


    Lyre slides in across from me, her multicolored hair catching the overhead light. "Aren¡¯t you curious?"


    "No." I shake my head decisively, stabbing at the noodles with my chopsticks. "Not curious at all."


    Her mouth quirks up at one corner as she studies me. She reaches across with her chopsticks, fishing through her container until she plucks out a shrimp and ces it deliberately on top of my noodles. "Eat more. You¡¯re going to need the energy."


    Thement makes me pause mid-bite. "Why would I need energy?"


    Lyre¡¯s eyes flicker toward the door. The movement is quick, but I catch it¡ªa sh of alertness, almost like she¡¯s listening for something. "Just a feeling I have."


    I narrow my eyes, lowering my chopsticks. "You know something, don¡¯t you? You¡¯ve been cryptic and weird since we stopped at that truck stop earlier today, even changing our ns and camping here instead of driving longer."


    As I¡¯m talking, Lyre leans across the table, snags the shrimp she¡¯d just ced in my container, and shoves it in my mouth.


    "Stop being so anxious and just enjoy dinner." She settles back into her seat with a huff. "I¡¯ll apply the scar cream when you¡¯re done eating."


    The shrimp is perfectly cooked, tender with just enough spice, but I¡¯m too distracted to appreciate it fully. I chew and swallow before responding.


    "Don¡¯t worry about it. I¡¯m not in a hurry."


    Lyre squints at me, her slitted eyes narrowing further. "It¡¯s probably better for everyone if you just deal with it."


    Myugh is half-snort, half-chuckle. "You¡¯re acting like my scars are somehow a life and death issue."


    Lyre stares at me for a long time. Long enough for me to take two bites before realizing she¡¯s still watching me with a deadpan expression.


    When I pause, trying to figure out what I said, she lets out a deep sigh. "It must be nice to be oblivious," she muses, sounding genuinely envious.


    I point my chopsticks at her, my eyebrows jamming together. "That! That¡¯s the cryptic stuff you¡¯ve been doing since earlier."


    "upational hazard," Lyre says, as if that¡¯s any sort of exnation at all. "Either eat or take your shirt off."


    I blink at the stark options, then stuff arge bite of noodles into my mouth.

 Chapter 44: Grace: Do You Believe in Fate?

    <h4>Chapter 44: Grace: Do You Believe in Fate?</h4>


    After dinner, Lyre applies the scar cream to my back, apparently unfazed by the raised blemishes on my skin. The emollient is cool at first, but slowly begins to burn.


    "Give it about thirty minutes," Lyre says, screwing the lid back onto the ointment jar. "Justy there. It¡¯s going to hurt for a bit, but the pain will disappear soon."


    Grunting, I shove up onto my elbows, looking at her over my shoulder. "Are you sure it¡¯s safe? It¡¯s burning my skin."


    "Its effectivenesses with a price." She tosses the jar next to me. "Trust me. In half an hour, your scars will be a memory. Just don¡¯t touch it."


    Fiddling with the remote, I nod. "Got it." Thankfully, with ess to this back living room, I have the daybed to lie on and TV to watch, so I won¡¯t be bored. Even if it is awkward to be topless around someone who¡¯s essentially a stranger.


    Lyre settles into the couch across from me, scrolling through her phone. She doesn¡¯t need much to entertain herself, spending most of her time on the small device. Evenings with her have been peaceful and silent. Usually, I read one of her books¡ªshe has several¡ªwhile she browses the inte.


    Starting the next episode of the TV series I¡¯d started earlier, I try to pay attention to the plot. Magical academy, a girl with secret powers, and the boys who fall in love with her... The writing is subpar, but reminds me of the awkward lines I¡¯ve heard recently from Rafe and Ellie. It¡¯s probably why I¡¯ve be invested in this story; I want to see here out on top and watch the antagonists get what they deserve.


    Revenge isn¡¯t something I have the power to attain, so I¡¯m living vicariously through characters on screen.


    But now, I can¡¯t focus on the plot or the over-the-top acting as my mind keeps wandering to Lyre¡¯s question. How <i>did</i> my wounds heal so quickly, while my wrist hasn¡¯t? What strange phenomenon is behind it?


    But then I shy away from the answersing to mind.


    I¡¯m human. I¡¯ve been human all my life, and I never expected to be anything else. Aside from Alpha¡¯s¡ªBrax¡¯s¡ªstrange assumption I was his biological daughter... No one¡¯s ever suspected otherwise. <i>I </i>have never suspected otherwise.


    I¡¯ve never healed faster than a wolf, and I have no powers to my name. There¡¯s no superhuman strength or speed hiding in this body of mine. Even if I had some wounds heal a little faster than what might be considered normal; so what? Stranger things have happened in this world.


    I grab the remote and rewind the show, huffing quietly to myself. Dwelling on these mysteries will only lead me down a spiral of questions with no answers. And, even if there are answers, I¡¯m not entirely certain I <i>want</i> to know those answers.


    How many nights had I spent wondering why Alpha took me in only to throw me away? Why Rafe imed to love me while choosing Ellie? Some questions just lead to more pain.


    The show reloads to where the protagonist first meets who I think is her third love interest in this magical academy. I¡¯dpletely missed thest fifteen minutes.


    "You okay over there?" Lyre asks, her eyes never leaving her phone screen. The blue light casts an eerie glow on her face, and her slitted eyes seem to glow.


    "Fine." I shift my position on the daybed, careful to keep my bare chest pressed against the sheets. "Just missed some parts of the show."


    My shoulders roll back instinctively, and I notice something different. The burning sensation crawling across my back is fading, now less like thousands of hot, stabbing needles and more like an overly warm heating pad. The relief makes me sigh out loud.


    "Hey, is it okay if I put my shirt back on yet?" I ask, already reaching toward the folded t-shirt beside me. The evening air is cool against my exposed skin, and despite Lyre¡¯s casual attitude, I¡¯m not entirelyfortable being half-naked in front of someone I¡¯ve known for less than a week.


    Lyre finally looks up from her phone, her gaze assessing as she studies my back. "Give it another ten minutes."


    She pauses, her eyes drifting to the ceiling. Her lips move silently, and it takes me a second to realize she¡¯s... counting? Her fingers twitch slightly with each unspoken number. The gesture seems oddly methodical for something as simple as how long cream should stay on skin.


    Eventually, she grunts and nods. "Yeah, ten minutes is probably still safe."


    <i>Safe?</i> That¡¯s an interesting word choice for skin cream.


    "Am I going to get cancer or something if I leave this on too long?" I ask, suspicion creeping into my voice. The burning had been intense, almost unnatural. What kind of healing ointment causes that much pain?


    Lyre¡¯s attention returns to her phone, thumb scrolling with practiced ease. "The ointment isn¡¯t what I¡¯m worried about," she says absently.


    I push myself up on my elbows again, twisting to look at her. "What does that mean?" My heartbeat quickens. "If not the ointment, then what?"


    She doesn¡¯t answer immediately, which only amplifies my unease. The hairs on my arms stand up. "Lyre?"


    "Someone¡¯s been following us," she finally says, still scrolling. "Not Andrew. Well, yes Andrew, but someone else too."


    My breath catches. "Wolves?"


    Her finger pauses.


    I scramble upright, snatching a pillow to cover my chest. "Lyre, did they find me? You know something, don¡¯t you?"


    Lyre sighs and sets her phone on her belly as she closes her eyes. "Don¡¯t worry so much."


    "Don¡¯t worry?" My voice cracks as it reaches a new pitch. "You just told me someone¡¯s following me, and now you¡¯re saying don¡¯t worry?" The pillow slips in my grip, and I clutch it tighter against my chest. "That¡¯s not helping me worry less."


    She keeps her eyes closed, considering this for a moment. The silence stretches between us, punctuated only by the murmur of the TV show I¡¯vepletely forgotten about. Finally, she nods. "Fair assessment. I¡¯m not helping."


    She turns her head to look at me, her eyes reflecting the dim light of the camper like a cat¡¯s. "Tell me. Do you believe in fate,

 Chapter 45: Grace: Knock, Knock

    <h4>Chapter 45: Grace: Knock, Knock</h4>


    The question catches me off guard, a sharp left turn from my panic about being hunted.


    "Fate?" I hesitate, my fingers digging into the soft pillow. "What do you mean by fate?"


    "Fate." She rolls the word around like she¡¯s tasting it. "When you¡¯re destined for something. No matter what you do, you can¡¯t escape it. Your path is already written."


    My throat tightens. Once, I thought Rafe was my soul mate. I thought our lives would intertwine forever, that nothing could separate us. Then fate arrived wearing Ellie¡¯s face, and everything changed. The memory of his cold eyes as he chose her still burns in my chest.


    "Fate took Rafe from me," I whisper, more to myself than to Lyre. "His fated mate appeared, and suddenly nothing else mattered. Not our years together, not our ns. All my happiness was taken away, and all I was left with was pain." The bitterness in my voice surprises even me.


    My newly blonde hair falls over the pillow like a golden waterfall, and I grab a few strands between my fingers. "Fate makes me sound helpless. Like I¡¯m just going wherever I¡¯m pushed." My jaw sets with determination. "I¡¯d rather fight to be happy than sit around epting whatever I¡¯ve been given. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here."


    Lyre¡¯s lips curl into a knowing smile. The expression transforms her face, softening her sharp features. "Fate would never destine you for unhappiness, Grace."


    A bitterugh escapes me, surprising in its harshness. Orphaned, abandoned, rejected... It doesn¡¯t seem like fate has anything good in store for me. "I¡¯m not so sure about that."


    "I know," Lyre says simply, before settling back on the couch and closing her eyes again. "Don¡¯t worry, Grace. What will be, will be. And what you don¡¯t want will never be."


    I study Lyre, resting so calmly despite the bombs she¡¯s thrown into a simple conversation. Even the moment I met her, I thought she was strange; but this goes beyond what I ever imagined.


    I want to ask what she is, and what powers she holds. She¡¯s clearly not human, and knows more than she lets on. But remembering how happy she was when I said it didn¡¯t matter makes it really hard to ask again.


    My fingers dig into the pillow still pressed against my chest. The burning on my back has subsidedpletely now, reced by an odd coolness, like menthol spread across my skin. I bite my lip. "You still haven¡¯t exined who¡¯s following us and why we¡¯re not running right now."


    Is she tired of having me around? Is she willing to just throw me back to the pack?


    She doesn¡¯t know the details of who I¡¯m running from, or how I got here. She hasn¡¯t asked. At first, I liked that. Now, I¡¯m wondering if I should have told her; maybe appealing to her, showing her how awful my life was there, would have been a better decision. Maybe she wouldn¡¯t be so willing to just sit here while someone hunts me down.


    Then again, she never said they were here for me. Maybe she¡¯s running, too; who knows what danger we¡¯re in?


    Lyre just snuggles deeper into the couch, stretching her legs out in anguid movement. "It¡¯s pointless to run anymore," she says through her stretch, voice unconcerned. "May as well befortable."


    "Are we in danger?" This is the most important question.


    She sighs. "No. You¡¯re not in danger."


    I notice how she says <i>I¡¯m</i> not, but she doesn¡¯t say <i>we¡¯re</i> not.


    "Are they looking for you or me?"


    Lyre turns her head again, opening her eyes to stare at me. She doesn¡¯t answer, saying instead, "We can run if you want. Pack up right now. Drive all night. Find some random parking lot when I can¡¯t drive anymore, then keep going."


    Someone shouts on the TV, but neither of us break our stare-lock.


    "But they¡¯ll catch up," she continues matter-of-factly. "It might take longer, but they will. And you¡¯ll be tired, hungry, and scared when they do."


    My throat tightens. "So what¡¯s your solution? Just wait here for them to catch up?"


    Lyre waves a hand, epassing the room in a single gesture. "My solution is to befortable. There¡¯s no danger, so why run? Better to deal with it now, with our bellies full and our bodies rested."


    "Okay, well, now I know they¡¯reing, and I¡¯m scared. So why won¡¯t you just tell me who¡¯sing?" I lean forward, trying not to let my voice rise too much. She¡¯s my benefactor, and I think she¡¯s my friend, so there¡¯s only so far I can push.


    But I¡¯m pushing anyway.


    Lyre scratches at her cheek, squinting at the ceiling. "I know <i>what</i> ising, Grace, but I don¡¯t know <i>who</i> carries the fate."


    I frown, my patience wearing thin. "Can you just give me a direct answer for once?"


    Lyre¡¯s eyes meet mine, strangely luminous in the dimly lit camper. "It doesn¡¯t work that way." She taps her temple with one finger. "rity isn¡¯t part of the package."


    Something inside me snaps. The fear, the uncertainty, the cryptic half-answers¡ªit¡¯s too much.


    "What are you?" The question bursts out of me, fueled by desperation and fear. "You talk about fate and you knew about my scars without looking and you know when invisible cats are dangerous or not and¡ª" I drop my voice to a harsh whisper. "Someone¡¯s following us, and all you can tell me is I¡¯m not in danger. But there¡¯s more to being alive than just breathing. I ran away for a reason. So tell me what you know!"


    Lyre tilts her head, her multicolored hair catching themplight. "You said it didn¡¯t matter what I was." She doesn¡¯t even address the rest of what I word-vomited at her.


    Heat rushes to my face; I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯s shame or anger. "That was before you started acting weird and not giving me straight answers."


    "Humans. You¡¯re all the same." She sits up straight, her eyes suddenly hard and gleaming, like polished stones. "You say one thing but change your minds so capriciously. <i>¡¯It doesn¡¯t matter what you are, Lyre.¡¯</i> Until it does. Until you¡¯re scared. Until you need something."


    The disappointment in her voice is like a p to the face, and I flinch. My shoulders slump. She¡¯s taken me in out of kindness, and I¡¯m here demanding more and more.


    But isn¡¯t it normal to want clear answers? Wouldn¡¯t it be normal to be frustrated in this situation?


    Still, it seems like I¡¯ve hurt her feelings, too...


    "I¡¯m sorry," I murmur, clinging to the pillow like a lifeline. "I really don¡¯t care what you are. I just..."


    Three sharp knocks echo through the camper, and I jump.


    Lyre sighs. "Put on your shirt, Grace. They¡¯re here."

 Chapter 46: Caine: Inane Argument

    <h4>Chapter 46: Caine: Inane Argument</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    The warlock is an annoyingpanion on a long drive, but his ability to track the girl¡¯s presence is little short of miraculous.


    "I¡¯m telling you," Jack-Eye says, gesturing wildly in the cramped backseat at Thom, "a woolly mammoth would absolutely destroy an elephant inbat. Thicker fur,rger tusks¡ªbuilt for the ice age, man."


    Thom shakes his head. His sses slip down his nose, and he pushes them back with trembling fingers. "Elephants have superior intelligence and agility. African bull elephants can weigh up to seven tons and reach nearly thirteen feet. Your mammoth would be too slow."


    "Too slow? Are we forgetting they hunted in packs?" Jack-Eye counters.


    This conversation hassted at least thest thirty miles. It started, oddly enough, with a conversation about chickens.


    "We¡¯re discussing a one-on-one arena battle," Thom says, voice steady despite his physical weakness. "Not a pack hunt."


    Their absurdity grates on my nerves, and I clutch the steering wheel harder. "How much longer?" I ask, interrupting their inane debate without guilt.


    "Three point seven miles, still in the same location," Thom answers, not missing a beat.


    "Even without the pack there¡ª"


    "This entire discussion is idiotic," I say through gritted teeth. "Woolly mammoths are extinct."


    Fenris¡¯s voice is a low grumble. <i>They¡¯re just trying to pass the time. Not everyone broods in silence like you.</i>


    <i>I don¡¯t brood. I contemte.</i>


    <i>Four hours of contemting how to approach the girl doesn¡¯t count as brooding?</i>


    I ignore him, focusing on the road signs shing past in the darkness. Three point seven miles. There¡¯s a tug in my chest, almost a whisper of premonition telling me I¡¯m close. The distance between us has be physical pain¡ªlike someone slowly peeling backyers of skin.


    "How about now?" I ask.


    Thom sighs. "Same as thirty seconds ago, Your Majesty. The girl hasn¡¯t moved. She¡¯s been stationary for hours."


    "And the interference?"


    "Still present."


    My fingers tap against the steering wheel. "Is she in danger?" I¡¯ve asked this a hundred times, at least.


    "I don¡¯t believe so. It isn¡¯t malevolent, but it¡¯s impossible to tell for certain."


    Jack-Eye leans forward, grabbing onto my headrest. "What do you think, boss? I still say the mammoth¡ª"


    "Shut up," I growl. "Your hypothetical fight between extinct creatures and modern elephants is beyond asinine."


    Silence fills the car. I feel a slight pang of regret¡ªnot for silencing them, but for revealing how tightly wound I am. A king should never appear desperate, even when he is.


    <i>You are desperate,</i> Fenris chides. <i>Admit it.</i>


    But of course, the silence doesn¡¯tst. Not with my beta in this car. Why did I bring him along, again?


    "How does it work?" Jack-Eye asks after a moment, turning to face Thom. "Your tracking. Is it by scent, like us?"


    The warlock seems grateful for the change in subject, judging by the relief in his voice. "No, not scent. It¡¯s essence. Everything that exists upies not just physical space but essentialistic space as well. Every living thing disrupts the essence of an area simply by existing within it."


    Jack-Eye¡¯s brow furrows. "Like mana? In those, what do you call them... video games?"


    "It¡¯s called by many names. Mana, ether, chi, prana." Thom¡¯s hands flutter as he exins, then fall back to hisp, trembling. "But it all boils down to the energy something holds within the world. Your... Grace... has a particrly distinct essence. Bright. Unusual for a human."


    I file this information away, another puzzle piece I don¡¯t yet know where to ce.


    Jack-Eye whistles low. "Must be nice, tracking something so clearly. We lose scent trails all the time."


    Thom¡¯sugh is hollow. "Ites at a price."


    I nce in the rearview mirror. The warlock¡¯s skin holds the pallor of old parchment, bluish veins visible at his temples. His eyes are sunken, rimmed with dark circles. Hours ago, when I first dragged him from Forest Springs, he¡¯d been merely nervous. Now he looks half-dead.


    "I¡¯ll need at least a week to recover from today¡¯s work." His hands tremble more violently as he shoves his sses up his nose again. "The spell consumes my own essence to track another¡¯s. A fair trade, usually, but the distance was... substantial."


    Jack-Eye shoots me a look. I can¡¯t see it, but I can feel it in the back of my head. He probably feels bad for Thom, but I can¡¯t pretend to feel anything for his suffering. The warlock is a tool, nothing more¡ªa means to reim what¡¯s mine.


    <i>You should care more,</i> Fenris murmurs. <i>Magic users are rare. Breaking this one won¡¯t serve you. They¡¯re weak, but they can be useful. His talent is a good one to keep around.</i>


    I scoff. My wolf acts as if I¡¯ve done something terrible. <i>I didn¡¯t break him. He¡¯s doing his job.</i>


    <i>And if his job kills him?</i>


    My fingers tap against the wheel again. <i>Then I¡¯ll find another.</i>


    The GPS announces our exit, and I take the turn sharper than necessary. Thom grunts as he¡¯s thrown against the door.


    "There." He points with a shaking finger toward a green sign illuminated in our headlights. "Pinewood Campground, next right."


    My pulse quickens. We¡¯re close enough now that I can almost taste her in the air, a ghostly imitation of blueberry sweetness with each breath.


    <i>That¡¯s the pillow,</i> Fenris says, pragmatic as always.


    Grace¡¯s pillow sits in the passenger seat, buckled in to keep it from falling onto the ground. Jack-Eye knew better than to say a word when he saw it, but Thom had the audacity to say it wouldn¡¯t help him track her any better.


    It¡¯s a silly thing to bring along, but the scent wafting off it is the only thing keeping me calm and in control, like a fresh breezeing through a bloody field of thoughts.


    The brief hint of sanity is something I haven¡¯t felt since before Fenris¡¯s voice came into my head. Before the weight of my crown wore down my soul.


    It¡¯s a peace I never felt, not even <i>before</i>.


    <i>Because Grace is the one.</i>


    I rub my temple with a sigh. Arguing with Fenris only makes the headache worse.

 Chapter 47: Caine: Knock Like a Normal Person

    <h4>Chapter 47: Caine: Knock Like a Normal Person</h4>


    The campground entrance is easy to miss, hidden in the darkness without any streetlights to mark it. Thankfully, many of the campers parked here have LED lighting strips along their rigs, and I slow before I miss the turn.


    "Where?" I demand.


    Thom closes his eyes, concentrating. "Keep going. She¡¯ll be on our left. I¡¯ll know when we get closer."


    I drive deeper into the campground, wheels crunching on gravel. Rolling my window down seems like a mistake at first. The ce reeks of humans¡ªtheir food, their waste, their cheap alcohol. But beneath it all, I catch hints of her scent, growing stronger.


    "That interference," Thom mumbles, seemingly to himself. "It¡¯s stronger here. Almost like..."


    "Like what?" I snap.


    "Like something¡¯s deliberately masking her." He opens his eyes, pupils dted. "Something old."


    Jack-Eye opens his own window, shoving his head outside to breathe in deep. "There¡¯s a shifter... Blue Mountain."


    I can smell him, too.


    "There." Thom points to arge RV. The lot next to it isn¡¯t empty, but only holds a blue sedan and a tent. "She¡¯s there."


    I park the car on the opposite side of the road and kill the engine, and Jack-Eye slides out of the car withnguid ease. "I¡¯ll deal with the traitor."


    I grunt at them both, reaching for Grace¡¯s pillow with fingers that itch to crush something. One brief caress over the soft fabric. One deep breath of her scent¡ªblueberry muffins, mixed with fabric softener.


    My chest loosens as the pillow¡¯s scent cuts through the noise in my head.


    "Stay here," I tell Thom without looking at him.


    The warlock slumps in relief. "Yes, Your Majesty."


    Opening the car door, I step out into the night, vaguely irritated by the humid heat despite the sun having set long ago.


    Each breath I take now isn¡¯t filtered through the car¡¯s venttion system, and her scent grows stronger. She¡¯s close. My muscles coil with anticipation.


    Fenris materializes beside me, his massive form condensing into something more mundane¡ªat first nce he appears to be arge ck dog rather than a monstrous wolf. Even his ethereal blue glow has dimmed to almost nothing, just the faintest shimmer visible only if you know to look for it.


    <i>Remember¡ªcalm and unthreatening,</i> Fenris says as he pads beside me. <i>She¡¯s already frightened enough to run.</i>


    "I know," I mutter through clenched teeth.


    <i>Do you? Your face suggests otherwise.</i>


    I force my features to rx, though the effort feels like trying to reshape stone. If I approach her with all the rage burning inside me, I¡¯ll only drive her further away.


    There are things I¡¯ve done to reassure her she¡¯s safe. I didn¡¯t kill the Forest Springs Alpha. Or her boyfriend. I wanted to, but I didn¡¯t; I even held Fenris back. This should be enough to prove she can return without worries.


    Pride in my self-restraint rises, just in time for the crunch of gravel to draw my attention to the nearby tent.


    A young man emerges, his scent far too familiar. What was his name?


    <i>Andrew,</i> Fenris growls, the sound carrying through the quiet night air.


    His movements are cautious, deliberate; he¡¯s not stupid. He¡¯s caught our scent.


    He spots Jack-Eye first, but then his eyesnd on me. His body goes rigid.


    Jack-Eye, to his credit, keeps his posture rxed. Andrew approaches with his head slightly bowed, then drops into a formal submission posture ten feet away from us.


    "Lycan King," he murmurs, voice barely audible.


    I lift my upper lip, unable to suppress the snarl building in my throat. His scent is all over the area and around the camper¡ªall over Grace¡¯s space. The rage bubbling beneath my skin threatens to spill over. My fingers itch to tear, to rip, to punish.


    But then I remember how Grace trembled when she walked into my suite, and I take a deep breath.


    Humans are weak. They¡¯re too fragile to understand the violence underpinning our society. I must hide it from her.


    There will be time to repay this pup¡¯s disloyalty.


    "Take him back to Blue Mountain," I tell Jack-Eye, not wanting to linger. Not with Grace within reach. "We¡¯ll deal with his punishment there."


    "Got it, boss."


    Andrew¡¯s eyes dart between me and Jack-Eye, weighing his options. Smart enough to know there aren¡¯t many. "Alpha Wilder asked me to protect her," he says quietly. "To make sure she reaches Forest Springs safely."


    "And yet you¡¯re not in Forest Springs."


    His anxiety spikes, filling the air with the sour smell of fear. "She... she decided toe with someone else. A stranger. I couldn¡¯t leave her unprotected."


    I take three measured steps toward the camper, my eyes fixed on its door. Andrew¡¯s scent is everywhere around it, but it¡¯s the camper itself giving me pause.


    The skin between my shoulder des prickles with unease. There¡¯s something here¡ªsomething neither wolf nor human.


    "Who is she with?" I demand, still facing the camper door.


    "A woman named Lyre. She offered to take Grace to Yellowstone." His voice drops even lower. "Grace wanted to leave the pack life behind. All of it."


    Leave it all behind. Leave <i>me</i> behind. The thought cuts deeper than it should.


    I take the final steps toward the camper door. For a brief, violent moment, I contemte kicking it down, asserting my dominance the way I would with any challenger. My foot actually lifts from the ground.


    Fenris nips sharply at my leg, teeth catching the fabric of my pants.


    <i>Don¡¯t be ridiculous,</i> he growls. <i>Knock like a normal person.</i>


    I scowl down at him. "I am the Lycan King. I don¡¯t need to¡ª"


    <i>You¡¯re also trying to win her trust, not terrify her further. Knock.</i>


    He¡¯s right, damn him. With jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth, I raise my fist to the door and knock three times, each one sharp and distinct. The sound echoes in the quiet campground, too loud in the stillness.


    After two seconds, the door is still closed, so I knock again.


    Fenris sighs. <i>Have a little patience. We can hear them moving in there.</i>


    Which is exactly why they should have this door open already, damn it. I lift my hand again.

 Chapter 48: Grace: Different Wavelengths

    <h4>Chapter 48: Grace: Different Wavelengths</h4>


    Lyre¡¯s hand twitches as whoever it is knocks again, right before her fingers touch the door handle.


    Her head jerks back as she scowls, before dropping her arm and stepping back. Leaning against the opposite wall, she crosses her arms and counts silently, her lips moving with each number.


    Her confidence is enough to instill awe. I can¡¯t imagine a time I¡¯ve ever felt as if I could just stand in front of a door as someone impatiently knocks, without answering.


    And yet it makes all the sense in the world. This is <i>her</i> home. Her sanctuary. Who darese knocking like this?


    I want to be more like her.


    "I¡¯m grabbing a soda. Want one?" I whisper, slipping past her to the tiny kitchen nook.


    Lyre shakes her head, still counting. I watch her lips move as she mouths, "Forty-two... forty-three..."


    The knocking grows more insistent. Harder. Louder. The RV shakes with each impact, swaying gently underfoot. The first night, I¡¯d been mildly seasick over the feeling. Now, I¡¯m used to it.


    After pulling a cold can from the fridge, I slide into one of the dte seats, facing the door. From here, I can¡¯t see the door, but I can watch Lyre¡¯s methodical resistance.


    "Eighty-six... eighty-seven..." She hasn¡¯t even nced at the door again, her eyes closed as her lips continue to move soundlessly.


    I¡¯m sure it¡¯s Rafe out there, and am only surprised he isn¡¯t yelling and demanding for us to open up at this point.


    Then again, it isn¡¯t like he knows Lyre, and we¡¯re in the middle of a human settlement, even if it isn¡¯t permanent homes. It would be awkward if the human authorities were called, I¡¯m sure. We¡¯re far out of pack range; I have no idea whose territory we are in now, actually.


    It isn¡¯t as if I was never taught about other territories, but there are <i>so</i> many, and I had no reason to be interested in packs so far from ours. Only our neighbors and some of therger packs are familiar names.


    "Ny-eight... ny-nine... one hundred." Lyre pushes off from the wall and strolls to the door with deliberate slowness.


    The knocking has be pounding now, the thin door shuddering in its frame.


    Lyre yanks it open. "Yes?" Her voice could freeze a desert in an instant. "What exactly is so important that you felt entitled to damage my property?"


    I take a long sip of cold soda, relishing the sweetness. Let Rafe stew out there. Let him exin himself to someone who doesn¡¯t care about his excuses. I¡¯m looking forward to it; Lyre doesn¡¯t seem like the kind of person to deal with his arrogant attitude.


    "I¡¯m looking for Grace Harper."


    The soda catches in my throat. Not Rafe¡¯s voice. It¡¯s deeper. Colder.


    <i>Caine</i>.


    I choke, sputtering as the liquid burns down the wrong pipe. My eyes tear with the pain.


    There¡¯s amotion¡ªheavy footsteps, a wolf¡¯s snarl, Lyre protesting, and then there¡¯s Caine in front of me, his giant frame overpowering the tiny camper space. He kneels by my side, eyes locked on mine, storm-gray and intense. His oversized hand whacks at my back as if I¡¯m choking on a peanut and not a sip of carbonated Coke.


    My lungs seize with panic. I can¡¯t breathe. Can¡¯t speak. Can¡¯t do anything but stare at the Lycan King who murdered Alpha Brax kneeling in front of me in this ridiculous rainbow camper looking at me like¡ª


    His hand connects with my back again, delivering a firm smack between my shoulder des. The impact dislodges the soda from my airway, and I cough again, the sound much less wet this time.


    "Are you okay?" His voice sounds strangely gentle for a serial killer who¡¯s hunted down a runaway.


    I gasp, finally drawing air. "What are you doing here?" The words are shrill and tinny, but at least theye out.


    Caine¡¯s eyes narrow, scanning my face, my hair, my body. His nostrils re slightly. "Your hair is blonde."


    It¡¯s like deja vu, the way hements on my appearance. My hand flies self-consciously to my now-blonde strands. "That doesn¡¯t answer my question."


    Behind him, Lyre leans against the wall, her slitted eyes observing with unnerving calction. She doesn¡¯t seem afraid of Caine, which strikes me as either incredibly brave or suicidally stupid.


    A strangely familiar ck dog pokes his head around Caine¡¯s side with a hopeful whimper, only to have his muzzle shoved back.


    I blink.


    "You left," Caine says, and if I didn¡¯t know he¡¯s a psychotic serial killer, I¡¯d think he¡¯s a wounded husband hunting down his wife aftering home to signed divorce papers or something. He sounds so... <i>betrayed</i>.


    Maybe it¡¯s my imagination.


    It¡¯s doing a lot of things right now. My mind¡¯s even insisting his starecks the razor-sharp edge I remember from our previous encounters. The tightness around his mouth has softened, and the crease in his brow isn¡¯t as deep. Even his lips are soft, his jaw rxed instead of clenched.


    Like I¡¯m watching him through some kind of photo filter.


    I shake my head, trying to kick out all these strange thoughts. It¡¯s hard to think clearly, and my heart keeps hammering against my ribcage in a distracting rhythm. ming it on fear would be nice, but my body¡¯s all <i>ooh</i> and <i>ahh</i> over his damn cologne-ad smell, which is probably what¡¯s doing it.


    Whatever it is, it¡¯s toxic to my intelligence. I swear I¡¯ve been thinking just fine the past two days without him around, and now my hips are wiggling just a little where I sit, trying to ease the pressure down under.


    My brain and body are <i>not</i> on the same wavelength, and this is a huge problem. Have I turned into some sort of pack bunny, after all? Is it possible to lust over a man¡¯s body like I have no purpose in life beyond being his vapid sex doll? I mean, even Rafe didn¡¯t have this effect on me.


    His hand lifts slowly, giving me plenty of time to flinch away, but I¡¯m frozen. His fingers brush against my cheek with unexpected gentleness, and I stop breathing altogether.


    "Grace," he says, my name sounding so soft and delicate when ites out of his mouth.


    The calloused pad of his thumb skims my skin with such delicacy it might as well be a whisper. My eyelids flutter against my will as his touch travels to a strand of my newly blonde hair.


    He tucks it behind my ear, his fingertips lingering at the sensitive skin just below my earlobe.


    Lyre clears her throat, and I jump, the strange, overly sexual connection between us fizzling. Shoving Caine¡¯s hand away, I blink a few times to clear my vision.


    But he still looks all soft and gentle and not murderous, which is just... not right.


    "What are you doing here?" I ask, doing my best to sound like his presence is unwanted. Which it is. Definitely. Even if my body doesn¡¯t seem to have gotten the memo, despite being marked <i>urgent</i>.


    "You left," he repeats, as if that exins everything.


    It doesn¡¯t.


    The ck dog¡ªno, wolf¡ªpeeks around Caine again with a soft whine, his gray eyes familiar.


    Fenris.


    The recognition is instantaneous without attraction hazing my thought process, and I have to suppress a hystericalugh. The massive, otherworldly wolf has somehow been reduced to what looks like an all-ck German Shepherd.


    Lyre clears her throat again from where she¡¯s leaning against the wall. "So, this is who you¡¯re running from."


    Caine doesn¡¯t even nce in her direction, his attention fixed entirely on me. "Are you hurt?" His eyes dart to my wrist, which hasn¡¯t been wrapped since my first night with Lyre.


    "What? No. I¡¯m fine." My brain scrambles to make sense of his presence, of his demeanor, of the fact that he¡¯s kneeling before me in this tiny camper with an expression I can¡¯t decipher. Intrusive thoughts about us being naked¡ªtogether¡ªtry to horn in, but I shove them away without remorse.


    Is there medicine to fix my imagination? I¡¯m in desperate need of a lifetime supply of it.


    "Why are you here? How did you find me?"


    His jaw tightens slightly. "You left without telling me where you were going."


    I nod. "Yes, I know."


    His eyes tighten. His entire face tenses, the now-familiar Lycan King mask returning to ce, hard and cold. "I¡¯m here to bring you back."


    "No, thank you." Heat rises to my face as I struggle to remainposed. Thankfully, all the inappropriate thoughts have flown off with my rising irritation. "I¡¯m not your prisoner."


    "We discussed this."


    "<i>You </i>discussed it. I disagree with the facts."


    His jaw tightens, the muscle there flexing beneath his skin. He looks different somehow. More dangerous, yet also more human. His dark hair is mussed, as if he¡¯s been running his hands through it, and there are dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn¡¯t been sleeping well.


    "Who is she?" He jerks his chin toward Lyre without looking at her.


    "Lyre." She answers before I can, her voice light but edged. "And you¡¯re in my home without an invitation."


    Caine still doesn¡¯t turn. "You took what belongs to me."


    I frown. "I don¡¯t belong to anyone."


    His nostrils re. "Why do you smell like coconuts?"

 Chapter 49: Grace: Did You Kill Andrew?

    <h4>Chapter 49: Grace: Did You Kill Andrew?</h4>


    What the hell does smelling like coconuts have to do with anything? I blink at Caine, genuinely confused by the bizarre shift in conversation.


    Caine¡¯s jaw tightens as his nostrils re again. He breathes in deeply, looking almost offended by my smell.


    "It¡¯s lotion, okay?" Something about the intensity of his stare makes me want to fill the silence, but I have nothing particrly nice to say. Instead, I mumble, "Not that it¡¯s any of your business what I put on my body."


    His eyes darken at my words, and I immediately regret my phrasing. It¡¯s stupid to antagonize someone when you don¡¯t want them to kill you, but it¡¯s hard not to get a little uppity when they act so damn strange.


    I shift in my seat, tapping my fingers against the table as I gather my courage. "Look, I don¡¯t think you have any legal right to hold me as a prisoner."


    It¡¯s something I¡¯ve been thinking about for some time, going around in circles in my head. Trying to sound confident, even as my heart threatens to burst through my ribcage, I add, "I was a minor when I was taken to the Blue Mountain Pack, and I haven¡¯t done anything illegal."


    "I need to investigate," Caine says simply. No other exnation. No details. Just those four words, like it¡¯s all he needs to say and I should just go along with it.


    "Investigate what?" My voice rises despite my effort to stay calm. "We know I¡¯m human. Alpha Brax brought me here. I was a minor, so it isn¡¯t like I had much choice. What else is there to look into?"


    Caine stiffens, his shoulders squaring. "There are things I need to look into," he mumbles, still without a real exnation. "Your involvement..."


    When he trails off, I assume he¡¯s going to finish his thought. But he doesn¡¯t. It¡¯s like he¡¯s trying to make up excuses or something.


    "My involvement in what? Dating Rafe? It¡¯s over now."


    He shifts his weight, looking strangely uncertain. It¡¯s almost hard to reconcile the Caine in front of me with the Lycan King I met in the forest. For one, he¡¯s still kneeling in front of me, like he¡¯s trying to serve me instead of keep me prisoner. For two, he¡¯s just so... <i>soft</i>. Almost approachable, even.


    "I still need to determine¡ª"


    "Dude." Lyre¡¯s voice interrupts his words as she enunciates clearly, "Back. Off."


    Caine¡¯s head whips toward her, all pretense of gentleness evaporating. A low growl rumbles from his chest, like a reminder of how threatening he can be.


    But Lyre doesn¡¯t flinch. She squeezes past him in the tight space, her rainbow hair brushing against his shoulder as she slides into the booth beside me. Her hip nudges mine, pushing me further into the corner as she bes a physical barrier between me and the Lycan King.


    Caine¡¯s mouth tightens as he stands, looming over us with his outrageous height difference.


    Crossing her arms on the table, Lyre leans forward, her catlike eyes narrowed. "So let me get this straight. You¡¯re detaining a human girl who hasn¡¯tmitted any crime, based on what exactly? Your royal prerogative?"


    Caine¡¯s nostrils re. "This doesn¡¯t concern you."


    "Actually, it does." Lyre¡¯s voice drops to a dangerous purr. "Since you¡¯re in my home, threatening my guest."


    My heart pitters and patters. She¡¯s defending me. It¡¯s the sweetest moment I¡¯ve had in way too long.


    "I¡¯m not threatening anyone," he protests.


    "No? What would you call it then?" She tilts her head. "Forcible relocation? Kidnapping? Uwful detention?"


    Caine¡¯s eyes sh with something dangerous. "She was found in the forest during a regional Mate Hunt¡ª"


    "Against my will," I pipe up, emboldened by Lyre¡¯s support.


    "She was connected to pack affairs¡ª"


    I grimace. "He means Rafe," I whisper to Lyre. She¡¯s heard me mention him, though I haven¡¯t exactly <i>exined</i> anything. "My ex-boyfriend. He ditched me as soon as he found his fated mate."


    Lyre nods as she listens. "As an unwilling participant," Lyre counters Caine smoothly, as if I didn¡¯t interrupt with my rification. "It sounds as if Grace was raised by wolves, but isn¡¯t one herself. She¡¯s human. She has no legal obligation to follow packw. Humanws apply to her, and humanws are pretty clear about forcibly taking people against their will."


    Fenris whines from where he sits at Caine¡¯s side, his ears pressed t against his head. The sound is startlingly human in its distress, and he nips at Caine¡¯s hip.


    Caine swats absently at Fenris¡¯s muzzle. "I¡¯m not here to detain her," he says, as if he hadn¡¯t <i>just</i> tried to argue about my status as his prisoner. "I¡¯m responsible for her safety."


    "No, you¡¯re not." Lyre straightens, her voice taking on a formal cadence. "Grace is a legal adult in the eyes of human society. She has the right to go where she wants and live how she chooses."


    Caine¡¯s eyes flick to mine, then back to Lyre. "She has no resources. No support system."


    "She has me," Lyre says simply.


    "Yes, and..." His lip curls in a faint snarl. "Who are you?"


    "Someone who dislikes the overbearing ego of werewolves."


    The air between them crackles with tension. Fenris, on the other hand, seems irritated with Caine, nipping at his thigh when he keeps getting batted away from his hip. Finally, he flops onto his belly and crawls between Caine and Lyre¡¯s feet.


    I peer under the table to see his eyes blinking at me. Another few inches and he¡¯s finally close enough to plop his head into myp with a soft chuff. I rub his ears, forgetting for a second his status as a traitor.


    "Grace needs protection," Caine insists, his voice softer now but no less intense. "I¡¯m here to help her get settled into human societyfortably. There¡¯s no reason for her to suffer for the actions of one of my packs."


    "Mmm." Lyre hums. "Sounds like a convenient way of saying you don¡¯t actually have a valid reason."


    "It¡¯s my responsibility to ensure¡ª"


    Something clicks in my brain. A missing piece of this bizarre puzzle suddenly registers, and I jolt upright in my seat.


    "Andrew! Did you kill Andrew?"


    How could I have forgotten about Andrew? He¡¯s in a tent right next to us. There¡¯s no way the Lycan King missed his presence.


    Caine¡¯s expression shifts, the hard lines of his face softening into something disturbingly like satisfaction. "I did <i>not </i>kill Andrew," he says with an odd little smile ying at the corners of his mouth.


    I exchange a nce with Lyre. Her slitted eyes narrow slightly, a silent message passing between us. Something¡¯s off about his answer¡ªhe¡¯s too pleased with himself.


    "I also didn¡¯t kill the Forest Springs Alpha," Caine adds quickly, his hands spread wide in a gesture which seems meant to be reassuring but feels more performative.


    Fenris shifts his massive head in myp, releasing a derisive snort. The reality of what Caine¡¯s saying finally registers. He¡¯s listing people he specifically <i>didn¡¯t</i> kill¡ªwhich suggests...


    "So no one¡¯s died, right?" I press, searching his face for confirmation.


    Caine¡¯s stormy eyes slide away from mine, finding sudden interest in the garish pattern of Lyre¡¯s curtains. My stomach drops. The way he can¡¯t meet my gaze tells me everything I need to know.


    A cold shudder ripples down my spine. He¡¯s lying to me.


    Without thinking, I scramble over Lyre, ignoring her startled "Hey!" as I push past her and Caine¡¯s broad frame. My elbow connects with his solid chest, but he barely budges. I have to shoulder my way around him, my heart thundering in my ears as I dash for the door.


    Humid night air hits my face as I burst outside, my eyes frantically scanning the darkness for any sign of Andrew. I need to see him. Need to know he¡¯s okay. Need to¡ª


    Ie to such an abrupt halt I nearly topple forward.


    The red-haired Lycan¡ªJack-Eye, I remember¡ªstands a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest as he smirks. But what¡¯s happening next to him stops me cold. Andrew is on the ground, his body contorted into what can only be described as a nk position, except his butt is hikedically high in the air. His face is pressed into the dirt, arms at his sides, looking for all the world like he¡¯s doing the world¡¯s most ufortable push-up.


    Relief floods through me, so powerful it makes my knees weak. He¡¯s alive. Humiliated, apparently being punished in some bizarre wolf way, but alive.


    "Are you <i>that</i> happy to see he¡¯s still alive?"


    Caine¡¯s voicees from directly behind me, low and displeased. I hadn¡¯t heard him follow, but now I can feel the heat radiating from his body, separated from my back by the barest sliver of space. His breath disturbs the hair at the nape of my neck, sending an involuntary shiver across my skin.


    "Of course," I mumble, taking a step away. Caine just moves closer, though, rendering the slight movement moot.


    "Why?" he demands.

 Chapter 50: Grace: I Don’t Want to Go

    <h4>Chapter 50: Grace: I Don¡¯t Want to Go</h4>


    Caine¡¯s question kind of feels like a minefield waiting to happen, so I focus on something more important.


    "Could you step back, please?" I ask, keenly aware of his proximity. My skin prickles where his breath touches the nape of my neck.


    He doesn¡¯t move. Not even an inch. If anything, he leans closer, his chest nearly brushing my back.


    "I asked you a question." His voice rumbles, deep and demanding. "Why are you so relieved to see him alive?"


    Before I can answer, somethingrge and furry forces its way between us. Fenris wedges his massive body into the sliver of space, effectively pushing Caine backward while pressing his warmth against my side. When I turn to rub his ears, he blinks his intelligent gray eyes at me in what almost seems like reassurance.


    Wait. I squint in the dim lighting. Is he bigger now? Maybe it¡¯s just the shadows ying tricks, but he seems more substantial, more imposing.


    Did he get bigger so he could push Caine out of the way? If so, that¡¯s... sweet.


    "You need to respect her personal space," Lyre calls out, arms crossed as she leans against the frame of the camper¡¯s doorway. "Not everyone appreciates being loomed over by strange men."


    I¡¯m falling more in love with Lyre every time she speaks.


    Fenris lets out a soft huff that sounds suspiciously like agreement, nodding his massive head once before pressing harder against me.


    I take a few deliberate steps away, circling around Andrew¡¯s still-immobile form. To my surprise, Caine follows, moving in tandem with each step I take, like we¡¯re engaged in some bizarre dance. When I look over my shoulder, his eyes never leave my face, tracking my movements with predatory focus.


    Fenris stays between us, his massive body a living barrier. When Caine tries to step around him, the wolf snaps his jaws with a sharp click that makes the Lycan King stay back.


    "Did he just¡ª?" I start, shocked at Fenris¡¯s rebellion.


    "Yes," Caine¡¯s beta says, his voice barely containing his amusement. "He did."


    I can¡¯t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. Maybe Fenris isn¡¯t such a traitor after all. Between leading Caine to me and now keeping him at bay, I¡¯m not sure whose side the wolf is actually on. But right now, he seems to be on mine. I¡¯ll take it.


    "Grace." Lyre¡¯s voice cuts through the tension. She steps down from the camper, her colorful hair catching the moonlight as she squints her cat-like eyes at me. "Do you want to go with them?"


    The question hangs in the night air. Andrew shifts slightly in his ufortable position but doesn¡¯t speak.


    "No," I say, the wording out clear and firm. "I don¡¯t."


    Caine¡¯s jaw tightens. He reaches around his wolf, extending his hand toward mine. "Grace¡ª"


    The way he says my name makes my knees want to buckle. Thankfully, Fenris¡¯s teeth snap at his fingers, missing by centimeters. Caine yanks his hand back with a curse, and I stay upright, even if I¡¯m swaying a little.


    "Stop it, Fenris," he growls.


    I sidestep, putting more distance between us. The wolf moves with me, still blocking Caine¡¯s path.


    "I¡¯m staying with Lyre," I tell him. My voice doesn¡¯t waver. "You don¡¯t have any right to detain me."


    "I told you, I¡¯m not¡ª"


    "You locked me in a room," I remind him. "You had guards posted outside my door. You brought me food, but wouldn¡¯t let me leave. That¡¯s the definition of imprisonment, and I¡¯m pretty sure it¡¯s illegal." My confidence wanes the longer I talk, though, under the weight of his stormy stare.


    Caine growls again, louder than before. It vibrates through the air, shaking my bones. His hands clench at his sides, and I brace for an explosion of temper. The camper¡¯s basically a tin can; if he wants to attack us, we have nowhere to hide. Running from wolves is pointless; it just dys the inevitable.


    "So you¡¯re really noting back?" Jack-Eye smoothly interrupts, stepping forward with his head tilted in curiosity.


    His calmer approach helps temper the anxiety bouncing in my stomach, so I address him directly. "No, I¡¯m not. I was kidnapped and locked in a room for no reason I can understand. I value my life¡ªand my freedom¡ªtoo much to voluntarily return to that situation." There. I sound rational. Composed, and logical. They can¡¯t argue with the facts.


    Jack-Eye nods thoughtfully. Behind him, Caine continues making a low rumbling sound, like distant thunder.


    "Fair enough," Jack-Eye says.


    He¡¯s surprisingly reasonable, which puts me on guard.


    The beta slings an arm around Caine¡¯s shoulders, the casual gesture at odds with the tension radiating from his king. "So what¡¯s your n then,dies? Heading somewhere specific?"


    I hesitate, ncing at Lyre. Telling them where we¡¯re going seems like a terrible idea, but they don¡¯t seem like they¡¯re just going to let us go.


    "We¡¯ll be staying here for a while," the rainbow-haired woman says with a nonchnt shrug. Her eyes flick meaningfully toward Caine and Jack-Eye as she continues, "Seems like we have some bugs who aren¡¯t quite ready to leave yet."


    Caine¡¯s rumbling grows louder. "Grace can¡¯t¡ª"


    "Actually, she can," Lyre interrupts, sounding bored. "I¡¯ve paid for this spot through the weekend, and I don¡¯t n to waste my money."


    Jack-Eye¡¯s lips twitch as he inspects her, but eventually he smacks Caine on the back with casual familiarity. "Come on, High Alpha. Let¡¯s give thedies some space to think."


    "I¡¯m not leaving her here," Caine hisses, shaking off Jack-Eye¡¯s arm. While his words are softer than before, leading me to believe he¡¯s not trying to be heard, he isn¡¯t <i>that</i> quiet. Every syble is clear.


    Fenris lets out an elongated, up-and-down kind of whine, turning his head to look at Caine. The king glowers back.


    "Fine," Caine finally snaps. "But we¡¯re staying too."


    "No, you¡¯re not." Lyre¡¯s denial is swift and firm.


    Fenris makes another huffing sound and nudges Caine with his massive shoulder, nearly knocking him off bnce; Jack-Eye coughs behind his fist, but by the way his lips keep quirking, I¡¯m pretty sure it¡¯s to hideughter.


    Must be nice to find this situation so amusing. I¡¯m shaking with my own audacity and worried Caine¡¯s going to snap and go for Lyre¡¯s neck, but the beta¡¯s over here snickering.


    "We¡¯ll be back in the morning," Jack-Eye says after a few seconds, and Caine¡¯s head snaps in his direction.


    "Bring breakfast if you¡¯re going to intrude. Bacon, not sausage. I like my eggs over easy, but Grace likes them scrambled."


    The beta looks right at Lyre andughs, seemingly unbothered by her t stare and monotone demand. "Bacon, not sausage. Got it."


    "White toast only," she adds, not a hint of emotion crossing her face. "If you get me wheat toast, I¡¯ll put my fork right through your tenders. And coffee. ck for me, cream and sugar for Grace."


    Her remembering my coffee preferences isn¡¯t even something I blink at anymore; Lyre seems to remember everything the first time it¡¯s mentioned. Sometimes even things I don¡¯t remember telling her. Of course, it¡¯s only been a few days; it doesn¡¯t take a lot of brain power to remember basic preferences.


    But I don¡¯t recall us ever eating eggs together.


    "Consider it done." Jack-Eye gives a mock salute, then jabs his elbow sharply into Caine¡¯s ribs, without any deference to their difference in status.


    His alpha doesn¡¯t flinch at the impact, but his gray eyes narrow into dangerous slits. The two men lock gazes in some silent battle of wills¡ªCaine¡¯s expression darkening with each passing second while Jack-Eye¡¯s remains irritatingly pleasant.


    It¡¯s enough to make me wonder if I¡¯ve been wrong about the Lycan King this entire time. If you¡¯d asked me a few days ago, I would have said Caine would kill anyone for even daring the slightest inch of insolence in his presence. Yet he allows his beta to argue with him, smack his back, and even dig his elbow into his side?


    I shift my weight from one foot to the other, and Fenris presses closer. Maybe he thinks I¡¯m cold. The breeze has kicked up, blowing my hair into my face.


    Finally, Caine exhales a loud, deliberate sigh, though it sounds more like another growl. "Fine."


    He stalks toward me, stopping barely a foot away. The breeze carries his scent my way, and I wonder what his cologne scent would be called. Something like <i>Full Eclipse</i>, maybe. Or <i>Wildfire</i>.


    My body betrays me with a small shiver as I breathe it in.


    "I¡¯ll see you in the morning," he says stiffly, and his words sound like amand more than a promise.


    Irritated with my body, and him, and his stupid cologne smell and why does he look so good when he¡¯s a freaking murderer, I mutter, "You really don¡¯t need toe back."


    Oops.


    His jaw tightens.


    Oh, well. I¡¯ve already said it, so I put every ounce of sincerity I possess into my voice as I add, "Really. Truly. You don¡¯t."


    His scowl sends a chill down my back. "I¡¯ll be back."


    Why does it sound like a freaking threat? It¡¯s just three words, but theynd like stones, heavy with certainty.


    "Eight o¡¯clock," Lyre calls out from behind me. "Any earlier and we won¡¯t be decent."

 Chapter 51: Grace: Charity

    <h4>Chapter 51: Grace: Charity</h4>


    Caine doesn¡¯t acknowledge Lyre¡¯s words, his stormy eyes never leaving my face. The intensity of his gaze makes me feel stripped bare, as though he¡¯s peeling awayyers I didn¡¯t even know I had.


    Then there¡¯s my body.


    The stupid thing wants to wrap itself around him until his smell seeps into my skin, deep enough it can never be scrubbed away. To lick his neck and see what he tastes like. To put my mouth¡ª


    Damn it, my mind¡¯s going haywire.


    Stupid body. Stupid cologne-ad smell. Stupid sexy werewolf.


    "Come on, boss." Jack-Eye ps a hand on his shoulder. "Let¡¯s give thedies their beauty sleep."


    Suddenly, I like Caine¡¯s beta very much. What a reasonable, thoughtful man.


    Andrew remains awkwardly positioned on the ground; he hasn¡¯t twitched a muscle this entire time, and no one seems concerned about helping him up. To be fair, I wasn¡¯t, either. Knowing he¡¯s alive is good enough; I¡¯m not interested in taking him in as a friend and making sure he¡¯s happy or anything. I just didn¡¯t want his death on my hands.


    Backing away, I mount the first step to Lyre¡¯s camper. Caine¡¯s eyes track the movement, his body tensing as if to follow, and I narrow my eyes.


    I climb the second step, still ascending backwards. He hasn¡¯t moved, but his fists clench at his sides.


    "Turn around," he says roughly, scowling once again. "You¡¯re going to fall."


    Hmm. Telling him I¡¯m going backward because I want to make sure he isn¡¯t following probably won¡¯t go over very well. Frowning, I do asmanded, but pause to cautiously peek over my shoulder. He hasn¡¯t moved, and he¡¯s still glowering at me like I¡¯m doing something wrong.


    The third step puts me at the threshold. When I look back for thest time, I swear, Caine stands like a statue, tall and immovable in the darkness.


    A cold knot forms in my stomach as I step through the doorway. It feels like turning my back on someone who wants to eat me.


    The camper is warmer and less humid than outside. A little safer, too. But the illusion shatters when somethingrge brushes past my legs. I yelp, spinning around to find Fenris already making himselffortable on the tiny patch of floor in front of the refrigerator.


    "Excuse me?" I sputter, bbergasted by his audacity. "I didn¡¯t invite you in."


    Lyre is thest to step inside, frowning at the wolf. "Neither did I."


    The massive wolf blinks at me, his gray eyes almost amused, then deliberately lowers his head onto his paws.


    "Oh no, you can¡¯t stay here." I point toward the door. "Out. Now."


    Fenris doesn¡¯t budge.


    "He¡¯s the size of a miniature pony," Lyre observes from the doorway, her slitted eyes taking in the scene. "Where exactly do you think we¡¯ll put him?"


    I re at the wolf. "Outside, with his master. Go on. Shoo."


    Fenris huffs and closes his eyes.


    "I don¡¯t think he¡¯s going anywhere." Lyre steps inside, closing and locking the door behind her. Before it closespletely, I catch a glimpse of Caine¡¯s rigid posture, still watching the camper like a hawk.


    "Wonderful. Just what we needed¡ªa spy." I rub my temples where a headache begins to throb. "You realize he¡¯s going to report everything back to Caine, right?"


    Lyre shrugs, stepping over Fenris¡¯s massive form to reach the sink. "Maybe. Or maybe he has his own agenda." She fills a ss with water and hands it to me. "Drink. You look like you might pass out."


    I hadn¡¯t realized how dry my mouth was until the cool liquid touched my lips. I drain the ss in one go, guzzling it down like I¡¯ve ran a marathon in a desert. The emotional strain of thest half hour feels equal to the experience, anyway.


    "You¡¯re so calm," I mutter as Lyre takes my empty ss. "Is it normal for you to have werewolves crash at your ce?"


    "Nothing about my life qualifies as normal, but I¡¯ve had stranger guests." She refills my ss and hands it over, but my belly¡¯s already sloshing, so I shake my head. She pours it into a bowl instead, setting it on the ground by Fenris¡¯s head.


    Fenris peeks an eye open, his ear flicking one way, then the other.


    "Don¡¯t you dare tattle. If you do, you¡¯re out. I will drag you out by your tail. Got it?"


    Said tail thumps against the floor.


    "You¡¯ve verbally agreed to our contract," I warn him. "If you break it..."


    Another tail thump.


    "I¡¯m not helping you," Lyre announces, taking the wind out of my sails. "I don¡¯t think even I can manhandle that beast through the door if he doesn¡¯t want to go."


    She has a point. Fenris must weigh three hundred pounds, at least. If he decides to stay, we don¡¯t have many options.


    Ugh.


    "Fine. But you are <i>not</i> sleeping in my bed. Stay on the floor. I don¡¯t want fur all over my sheets."


    Fenris lifts his head with a sudden whine, his ears going t.


    "No arguing. Don¡¯t even think of getting on the bed."


    Lyre leans back against the sink and crosses her arms, staring at Fenris without any expression. "You know he¡¯s just going to sneak onto the bed when you fall asleep."


    Jabbing my finger at the wolf, I warn, "Don¡¯t you dare. I mean it. If I wake up with you on that bed, you¡¯re out. Not just off the bed, but out of this camper. Forever."


    Fenris blinks at me, his expression impossibly innocent in the way only animals can do. He lowers his massive head back onto his paws, but the twitch of his ear tells me he heard every word.


    "I¡¯ll know," I tell him, narrowing my eyes. "I always know when someone¡¯s lying to me."


    That¡¯s a tant lie. I¡¯m terrible at knowing when people lie to me. I believed Rafe for years, after all. Believed Alpha when he said he loved me like his own daughter. Believed the pack when they said they epted me.


    Fenris huffs, his breath stirring some dust on the floor.


    Three sharp knocks on the door cut through the silence, making me groan so loudly it borders on a scream. I bury my face in my hands. "Can¡¯t they just leave us alone?"


    "Apparently not," Lyre says, her tone dry as she moves to the door. She throws it open with more force than necessary, the hinges squeaking in protest. "What now?"


    Jack-Eye stands on the top step, his tall frame filling the doorway. His gaze skips past Lyre to lock onto me. "Sorry to bother youdies again, but I just had one question."


    "And?" Lyre prompts when he doesn¡¯t continue.


    He clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I need the answer. Honestly, you¡¯d be doing me a favor even answering it at all."


    "A favor?" I echo, confused.


    "Yes," he says firmly. "The charity of allowing me a night of peaceful rest, if you will."


    Lyre sighs. "Cut the sob story and ask your question. Some of us would also like a night of peaceful rest."


    Jack-Eye¡¯s shoulders slump, and a sheepish grin spreads across his face as he continues to stare at me. "Why were you so happy to see Andrew was still alive?"


    I groan.

 Chapter 52: Grace: Muffin

    <h4>Chapter 52: Grace: Muffin</h4>


    Lyre was right.


    Fenris hides under the dte table as I vacuum ck fur off the daybedforter. I¡¯d tried to kick him out when I woke up to a furry, dead weight on my feet, but he¡¯s ultimately too heavy to drag out the door.


    The vacuum roars as I attack another patch of ck fur. Every swipe feels like a tiny rebellion against the wolf¡ªagainst Caine¡ªagainst this whole ridiculous situation. If I can¡¯t control anything else in my life, at least I can eliminate this evidence of unwantedpany.


    A pathetic whimper sounds from behind me, followed by the rhythmic <i>thump-thump-thump</i> of a tail against the camper¡¯s floor. I refuse to turn around. Fenris might look like an oversized puppy right now, but he¡¯s not. He¡¯s a full-grown wolf, and he knows exactly what he did wrong.


    I shut off the vacuum with more force than necessary. The sudden silence feels usatory.


    "You should get dressed." Lyre doesn¡¯t look up from her phone, just sips her coffee, her rainbow hair catching the morning light through the windows. "They¡¯ll be here soon."


    My stomach drops, and I groan. "Do I have to?"


    Last night¡¯s dreams sh through my mind¡ªfragments of nightmares where I was locked in a stone tower, my blonde hair grown long like Rapunzel¡¯s, watching the world through a tiny window. But worse than those were the other dreams¡ªthe ones where Caine¡¯s hands weren¡¯t dragging me away but pulling me close, his mouth not speaking threats but...


    Heat crawls up my neck.


    "Unless you want to greet the Lycan King in your pajamas." Lyre sounds utterly unconcerned. "Which, honestly, might be a power move."


    I¡¯m not sure how pajamas equal power, but I grab one of Lyre¡¯s old band t-shirts and a pair of stretchy shorts and take them with me to the bathroom. Five minutester, I¡¯m back out, second-guessing the shorts. But my jeans are dirty, and Lyre¡¯s don¡¯t fit.


    "Weren¡¯t we supposed to go to¡ª" I stop, frowning at Fenris. "You know, away?"


    Lyre finally looks up, her slitted eyes unreadable. "It would just be a waste of money at this point."


    "What?"


    "Gas. Food. Lodging." She ticks off each item on her fingers. "All expensive. And for what? He¡¯s not going to let you go so easily."


    Ugh.


    I¡¯m not sure why Caine¡¯s even hunting me down, but afterst night, it¡¯s pretty clear he¡¯s not going anywhere anytime soon.


    Maybe he thinks I¡¯m trying to take over the Blue Mountain Pack or something. Taint it with half-human, half-shifter babies? He seems pretty obsessed with bringing up my rtionship to Rafe, and now he¡¯s worried about Andrew, too.


    "That makes sense," I mumble.


    "What does?"


    "Oh. I think I figured out why Caine¡¯s hunting me down. Werewolves are purists, you know? They don¡¯t like it when humans mix with their pack. Even before everything went south, it was pretty rough for me."


    Setting her phone on herp, Lyre gives me her full attention, her eyebrows bunching together. She seems concerned more than interested. Maybe she¡¯s worried about me. "Okay. Hit me with your theory, then."


    Flopping onto the daybed, I fiddle with the ends of my hair, noticing how some strands are lighter than others. "I¡¯m thinking Caine¡¯s worried I¡¯ll try to... I don¡¯t know, seduce Rafe back or something? Use our history to influence him? Or maybe he¡¯s concerned I¡¯ll corrupt his bloodline."


    This probably doesn¡¯t make a lot of sense to Lyre, who only has bits and pieces of my backstory. "Rafe¡¯s the new alpha of the pack," I add helpfully as she stares at me like I¡¯ve grown a second head.


    She nods slowly. "Okay..."


    "Anyway. Shifters are obsessed with purity, right? So it makes sense he¡¯d be suspicious of my intentions."


    Lyre¡¯s expression doesn¡¯t change, but something about her stillness makes me feel like I¡¯m being dissected. "This is the conclusion you¡¯vee to?"


    "Well, it¡¯s just a working theory."


    "But why would he think you¡¯re trying to take over a pack you¡¯re running away from?"


    I open my mouth, close it, then fall back against my pillow. She¡¯s right. It makes no sense, putting me directly back at square one. Why am I getting chased by the Lycan King?


    Fenris huffs.


    "Hush," I tell him absently, running my fingers through my hair with enough force to make my scalp sting. "I just don¡¯t get it, then. Why is he here?"


    "Did you get good grades in school?"


    The non sequitur catches me off guard. "What?"


    Lyre¡¯s face remains nk. "In school. Were you a good student?"


    "I mean... I did okay, I guess?"


    "Ah. Then it¡¯s just willful ignorance."


    Before I can ask what she means, three sharp knocks rap against the door. Fenrisys his head on his paws, unimpressed by his master¡¯s arrival.


    Lyre rolls of the couch and bounces to her feet, all without spilling a drop of coffee. "Breakfast¡¯s here," she announces, moseying her way to the door.


    A few minutester, Caine and Jack-Eye stand in the kitchen, crowding our space. Their hulking figures block out most of the morning light, and Lyre seems unimpressed as she flips on the kitchen lights to see what they¡¯ve brought over.


    They¡¯re still wearing the same clothes they were inst night and¡ªthrough the screen door Lyre leaves open¡ªI can see Andrew cleaning up his camp site. The tent¡¯s still up, and there¡¯s someone else there with him, too. I didn¡¯t see himst night.


    "There¡¯s no way you all fit in that tent together," Lyre says, plucking a to-go container of bacon out of Jack-Eye¡¯s hands.


    "You¡¯re right," Jack-Eye says, bncing more white boxes. "Andrew and Thom slept in the car."


    Thom? I don¡¯t recognize that name, but he must be the other person outside. I wonder if they got to eat breakfast already. It feels a little weird to exclude them from the food.


    Jack-Eye sets everything on the counter, opening each container as he does so. White toast, as requested. Eggs¡ªboth over easy and scrambled. French toast dusted with powdered sugar and cinnamon.


    My stomach growls at the sight, but I¡¯ll wait to get my te. With two Lycans and Lyre in the kitchen, it¡¯s a little too crowded.


    Lyre recoils when she sees the French toast. "That¡¯s disgusting."


    Jack-Eye gasps and clutches a hand over his heart, as if her words mortally wounded him. "Mademoiselle. French toast is the best breakfast food in existence."


    "It¡¯s soggy bread," Lyre counters, putting eggs on her te. "Bread that¡¯s been dunked in eggs and milk until it¡¯s a sad, pathetic version of itself. It¡¯s bread that gave up."


    "It¡¯s bread that was elevated to a higher form of existence." Jack-Eye points at her with a stic fork. "The way the custard soaks into every¡ª"


    "Custard?" Lyre makes a gagging noise. "Just say what it is. Snotty egg juice."


    Jack-Eye frowns. "Are you even human?"


    "Nope," Lyre says, unfazed. "Are you?"


    "Uh¡ªno."


    I try not to smile, but there¡¯s something cute about their easy banter. Like they¡¯ve known each other longer than about ten hours, with eight hours of those being sleep.


    Then my shoulders tense as I realize I¡¯m already taking this situation for granted, like it¡¯s our new normal. How scary.


    As they continue on into a French toast versus pancake debate (apparently this is a hill Jack-Eye is willing to die on), Caine pulls out the chair across from me. He¡¯s been staring at me without blinking, but I¡¯ve been trying to ignore his presence.


    He sits with the casual, confident air of someone who owns every space they enter. The table between us feels both too small and impossibly wide, and a teeny, tiny, traitorous part of me is upset he¡¯s sitting across from me instead of beside me.


    No. Scratch that thought. Wipe it from record.


    I should grab a te and join the others in the kitchen. Maybe food will keep my brain working properly and out of Caine¡¯s pants.


    From my peripheral vision, I see him reach into his jacket. My muscles tense instinctively. What¡¯s he pulling out? A weapon? A contract for me to sign in blood? Whatever it is, I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll be¡ª


    He ces a small paper bag on the table between us and pushes it across to me.


    "For you," he says, without any inflection at all. Seriously, the man¡¯s about as warm and weing as the Arctic.


    Still, my heart does a traitorous little flutter in my chest. The paper bag is in and unassuming, but he still bought me something.


    Then again, it could have a bomb inside. Unlikely, but we¡¯re talking about a mass murderer, here. One can never predict what¡¯s going through their heads.


    I reach for it cautiously, half expecting it to explode. But the bag crinkles normally in my hand, and when I open it, I just stare in confusion.


    A single blueberry muffin sits inside. Not bakery-fresh, from the looks of it¡ªprobably from a gas station or convenience store. Its top is dotted with sugar crystals, a few sad blueberries visible beneath the golden-brown surface.


    "Thank you?" My voice lilts it into a question. I¡¯m holding the muffin now, the wrapper crinkling between my fingers.


    "I thought you¡¯d like one."


    My mind races back to our conversation at the Blue Mountain Pack after Alpha died. When Caine was questioning me about my rtionship with Rafe and brought me breakfast. When he said...


    "You hate blueberry muffins," I blurt out.


    His steel-gray eyes don¡¯t leave mine. "I¡¯m reconsidering my opinion."


    He bought this specifically for me. Not because he likes them, but because...


    Oh. He¡¯s probably trying to cate me before dragging me back.


    Now it makes sense.

 Chapter 53: Caine: You Can’t Camp Here

    <h4>Chapter 53: Caine: You Can¡¯t Camp Here</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    The Lyre girl¡¯s scent is strange, but I can¡¯t figure it out. Jack-Eye, the idiot, doesn¡¯t seem to mind; then again, he was always partial to women. A little too friendly, a little too willing. Far more gregarious than the typical Lycan.


    I glower at Lyre¡¯s camper, fingers digging into the cheap stic armrests of Andrew¡¯s folding chair. Something about that woman sets my teeth on edge. The rainbow-haired enigma kicked us out the second breakfast was over¡ªfor them. She didn¡¯t bat an eye at our half-full tes or still-steaming coffee mugs.


    Who does that to the Lycan King? More importantly, who does that to any Lycan without flinching? It¡¯s strange.


    Fenris lifts his head; he¡¯s been moping for the past ten minutes, since he was thrown out with us. He didn¡¯t want to leave, but Grace stared at me with her pretty grass-green eyes until I picked him up and took him with me.


    My wolf is not happy with me.


    <i>She smells wrong,</i> he mutters, apparently willing to converse when we¡¯re talking about a mutual enemy.


    "I know."


    <i>No, you don¡¯t understand. I can¡¯t ce it. Her scent is... slippery.</i>


    The hair on my neck stands up. In over two centuries, I¡¯ve never known Fenris to be unable to categorize a scent, but what he¡¯s saying makes sense. I¡¯ve noticed it, too. It¡¯s more than not knowing what she smells like; it¡¯s as if something¡¯s purposely not allowing us to.


    "She¡¯s hiding something," I say, watching the camper windows for movement. No hint of shadows. What¡¯s Grace doing? Washing dishes? Maybe she¡¯s curled up in bed, kicking her pale legs in the air as she reads a book. "No one takes in a stranger out of kindness. Not in this world."


    <i>She kicked me out, too. After I worked hard to keep Gracepany all night.</i>


    I raise an eyebrow. "Sleeping arrangements go poorly?"


    <i>Grace doesn¡¯t like sharing her bed. Made me sleep on the floor.</i>


    My mind floods with an image of Grace in bed¡ªher now-golden hair syed across a pillow, sheets twisted around her legs, and a stubborn little pout on her lips as she ims the entire mattress. "I¡¯ll just make her like it."


    Fenris¡¯s ears perk up, his massive head swinging toward me. <i>What was that? Are you finally epting what I¡¯ve been telling you?</i>


    The realization of what I said hits me like a brick. I drag a hand down my face with a groan. "No. Stop putting ideas in my head. I¡¯m trying to deal with something important."


    <i>Sounded like you were thinking about sharing a bed with Grace.</i>


    "I don¡¯t trust Lyre," I growl, steering the conversation back. "She¡¯s toofortable ordering Lycans around. I even let some dominance slip this morning, and she didn¡¯t so much as twitch." Of course, I only let out the tiniest sliver. Didn¡¯t want to upset Grace. She seems perturbed by my presence as it is.


    <i>She¡¯s not afraid of us.</i>


    "Exactly." I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "And what does she want with Grace? A human girl with no apparent value? No money, no connections¡ª"


    <i>Other than you.</i>


    "¡ªand no..." My mind catches on Fenris¡¯s interjection. "What do you mean?"


    <i>Perhaps Lyre knows something we don¡¯t. About Grace. About you. About us.</i>


    A chill runs through me. I¡¯d considered obvious angles: ransom and simple human trafficking. But could it be? Is Grace somehow different...?


    <i>Of course she¡¯s different. She¡¯s our mate.</i>


    I bare my teeth at Fenris, though it¡¯s half-hearted. I¡¯m on edge and rattled, and I me not being able to touch her. Grace had avoided any physical contact like I was some sort of bug. And Lyre seemed to purposely get between us. It¡¯s enough to make my head throb out of frustration.


    Footsteps approach from behind, and I catch the scent of Jack-Eye mingled with an unfamiliar human male. Sweat, cheap detergent, and the sour stink of fear. Yes. This is the normal response to our presence. But why did Jack-Eye bring him here? Wasn¡¯t he supposed to see what the local store had avable for amenities? We don¡¯t have enough sleeping bags for all four of us, and walking to the water fountain every time we¡¯re thirsty is already getting old.


    Driving to a store with such things in stock is the obvious solution, but I didn¡¯t want to leave Grace.


    "Um, excuse me, gentlemen," the man says. He¡¯s wearing a dirty white t-shirt with a handkerchief knotted around his neck. The campground logo is emzoned across his chest. "I¡¯m real sorry, but you can¡¯t pitch a tent on an RV spot."


    I tilt my head and stare at him, letting the silence stretch ufortably. He shifts under the weight of my attention. "Then you¡¯ll need to make an exception."


    The man¡¯s pulse hammers in his neck. I can hear it from here. His Adam¡¯s apple bobs as he swallows hard. "Sir, I can¡¯t¡ªwe have rules. You can¡¯t tent camp on an RV site. We have other areas for¡ª"


    "I said," I repeat slowly, "you¡¯ll need to make an exception."


    Jack-Eye steps forward, physically blocking my line of sight to the trembling human. "It¡¯s fine, Bob. I can call you Bob, right?"


    "Actually, my name is Mike¡ª"


    "Don¡¯t worry about it, Bob. We¡¯ll pack up and move along. No trouble. Right, Caine?"


    Bob wrings his hands. "I appreciate that. If you need a tent site, I can direct you¡ª"


    "We¡¯re fine right here," I interject.


    Jack-Eye throws me a warning look over his shoulder, and I frown. Why is he backing down in front of a measly human? Andrew and Thom are even crowding around to watch this pathetic situation.


    Imagine if the local wolf pack appeared and saw the Lycan King bowing down to some arbitrary human rule.


    My face settles into a heavy, impassive mask. The authority of my throne cannot be undermined. I¡¯ll have to¡ª


    "I¡¯m sorry," the man stutters, finding some reserve of courage. Probably because Jack-Eye is blocking most of me. "If you don¡¯t relocate, it¡¯s trespassing. I¡¯ll have to call the police."


    I growl, and he startles.

 Chapter 54: Caine: Let It Slip

    <h4>Chapter 54: Caine: Let It Slip</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    "That won¡¯t be necessary," Jack-Eye assures the human with a cating smile. "Give us an hour."


    Bob¡¯s shoulders rx. Of course; he¡¯s stood up to us without immediate repercussion. He must be feeling quite pleased with himself. Strong. Capable of fighting back.


    My fingers curl into the stic fabric of the camping chair.


    <i>Wait,</i> Fenris says, nipping at my knee. It¡¯s quickly bing an unpleasant habit. <i>See what Jack-Eye is thinking first.</i>


    "One hour," the insipid little human agrees, backing away. "Or I call the cops, okay?"


    I bare my teeth. Bob quickens his retreat.


    "What the hell was that?" I demand of Jack-Eye once he¡¯s out of earshot. "Since when do we bow to humans?"


    My beta looks uncharacteristically serious as he crosses his arms and widens his stance. This is bodynguage I know a little too well; he always stands like this when he¡¯s willfully defiant.


    Of course, he usually has a reason.


    "You¡¯re trying to get on Grace¡¯s good side, aren¡¯t you?"


    My eye twitches. I grunt nomittally. Saying no is harder than I expected. I¡¯m not agreeing with him; of course not. But I am interested in what ridiculous excuse he¡¯se up with.


    <i>Jack-Eye does have quite the experience with females,</i> Fenris muses. <i>His mating habits are unparalleled among the Lycans.</i>


    I study Jack-Eye¡¯s face. It isn¡¯t like I don¡¯t know what he looks like; he¡¯s been by my side for years. But it¡¯s my first time really noting how unmarred it remainspared to most in our pack. His skin is smooth and free of battle scars Lycans typically wear like badges of honor. Or survival.


    Most of us carry the marks of our conquest.


    And yet my Beta has managed to keep his face rtively untouched. It¡¯s almost unnerving.


    <i>It¡¯s not his pretty face that attracts females,</i> Fenris interjects with a dismissive mental snort. <i>It¡¯s his personality. He knows how to charm them. Makes them feel special before he moves on to the next.</i>


    Hmm.


    "Then perhaps," Jack-Eye says dryly, oblivious to our side conversation, "dominating and terrorizing other humans isn¡¯t the best approach."


    I flinch. Of course Grace is human. I know this. But somehow, I¡¯ve begun thinking of her as... apart. Different from others of her kind. Special.


    In fact, I only seem to mention her humanity when Fenris brings her up as a mate prospect.


    "The girl in that camper," Jack-Eye continues, gesturing toward Lyre¡¯s RV, "has already earned Grace¡¯s trust. You haven¡¯t. And bullying a campground worker won¡¯t help your case."


    "I don¡¯t bully," I mutter.


    Jack-Eye raises a skeptical eyebrow.


    A rustling sound from the camper draws my attention. Through the window, I catch a flicker of movement¡ªa sh of rainbow hair. Lyre stands just beyond the ss, watching us. For a split second, her eyes meet mine, and something cold slithers down my spine.


    <i>"Did you see that?"</i> Fenris¡¯s voice rumbles between us, so Jack-Eye can hear. Andrew and Thom are oblivious; they don¡¯t have ess to our pack link.


    I frown in the strange woman¡¯s direction. "See what?"


    <i>"Her eyes. They shifted. She appears human, but for a minute they looked like a cat¡¯s."</i>


    It¡¯s a level of detail I would have never noticed, but Lyre¡¯s already disappeared from the window.


    "There¡¯s something not right about that woman," I mutter.


    "You¡¯re just annoyed she threw us out." But Jack-Eye also frowns at the camper; Fenris¡¯s words must have shaken him.


    A human with cat eyes? "Could she be some sort of cat shifter?"


    He scratches at his red hair, squinting at nothing. "No, I don¡¯t think so. We would be able to smell it if she was."


    Strange. "We¡¯re not leaving." As if I¡¯m going to leave Grace in that woman¡¯s hands without supervision.


    But my beta ignores me.


    "Pack up," Jack-Eyemands, turning to Andrew and Thom. "We¡¯re relocating in an hour."


    My jaw clenches. Jack-Eye has been my beta since the beginning, but his audacity has been growing over the years. Granted, I¡¯ve allowed it to happen, trusting in his judgment, but¡ª


    "Start breaking down the tent," Jack-Eye continues, not even ncing in my direction. As if my opinion is irrelevant. As if his king¡¯s word means nothing.


    The rage rises so suddenly I can barely contain it. Heat courses through my veins, turning my blood to liquid fire. I stand, the flimsy camping chair toppling backward with a tter.


    "I said we¡¯re staying." My voice drops an octave, rumbling from somewhere deeper than my chest. The air around us thickens, and the campground grows unnaturally still. Every living creature for fifty yards instinctively freezes.


    Jack-Eye¡¯s shoulders stiffen, but he doesn¡¯t turn.


    That¡¯s when I let it slip¡ªjust a taste of what I¡¯ve been restraining. The power of dominance rolls off me in waves, invisible but devastating.


    Jack-Eye¡¯s body jerks like he¡¯s been struck. He drops to one knee, a strangled sound escaping his throat. Behind him, Andrew and Thom copse face-first onto the ground, limbs twitching as they struggle against the crushing weight of mymand.


    "You do not countermand me," I growl, each word vibrating with power. "You do not ignore me. You do not make decisions without my approval."


    The pressure intensifies, and Jack-Eye¡¯s other knee buckles. His palms hit the dirt, but his face remains stoic.


    "I am not some petty Alpha you can cate or redirect. I am your King."


    The dominance pouring from me is uncontrolled now, feral. It presses down on everything around us¡ªttening the grass, stirring the dust, raising goosebumps on exposed skin. Even the air seems to bend beneath its weight.


    Fenris¡¯s voice shes through my rage. <i>You¡¯re drawing attention. The local pack will sense this disy.</i>


    "Let theme," I snarl, too far gone to care. "Let them see what happens when my authority is questioned."


    <i>Think of Grace.</i>


    Grace. My dominance falters for half a second¡ªjust enough for Jack-Eye to suck in a breath.


    The pressure in the air still throbs with each beat of my heart when a sudden loud crack splits the tension.


    The camper door flies open, mming against the exterior wall hard enough to rattle the windows. "Stop that. Grace can¡¯t breathe."

 Chapter 55: Grace: Sympathy For a Wolf

    <h4>Chapter 55: Grace: Sympathy For a Wolf</h4>


    Lyre won¡¯t stop staring in the direction of Andrew¡¯s camp lot, even after closing the blinds. She can¡¯t even see through the ck fabric, so I¡¯m not sure why she keeps looking over there.


    Every few minutes, she lifts the blinds and peeks underneath, only to close them again. But she¡¯s so nonchnt about it, like it¡¯s something people do on a daily basis.


    It¡¯s not. Even I know that.


    I¡¯m about to ask her what she¡¯s looking for when she suddenly drops her head with a long, heavy sigh that makes me jump.


    "Your boyfriend¡¯s lost it." Her voice sounds almost bored, but her fingers tap rapidly against her thigh.


    I blink, and my stomach plummets to the vicinity of my toes. "Rafe¡¯s my ex. Is he really here?"


    Lyre turns to me with an expression so t it could level mountains. Her left eyebrow wings up after a few seconds, and her tapping speeds up.


    It seems like I¡¯m missing something.


    "What?" I ask, genuinely confused.


    "I never thought I¡¯d feel sympathy for a wolf." Her nose wrinkles. "Yet here we are."


    This doesn¡¯t sound good. "Is Caine... Did he... is Rafe dead?"


    I step closer, a little panicked now. Much like Andrew, I don¡¯t really want Rafe¡¯s life on my hands. I also never want to see him again. Obviously, his death would fulfill my wish, but it would leave me with a whole ton of guilt I¡¯m not willing to shoulder.


    Guilt means remembering.


    I don¡¯t want to remember <i>any</i> of it.


    Lyre raises her hand, palm out, and I freeze. "Stop. Just stop talking." Her eyes flick toward the door, then back to me, still tapping away. "I guess I need to move things along before this gets worse."


    "Before <i>what </i>gets worse?"


    But Lyre doesn¡¯t answer; you¡¯d think I¡¯d be getting used to it by now. I¡¯m not. Instead, she straightens her spine, squares her shoulders, and marches directly to the door. I barely have time to process what¡¯s happening before she shoves it open with enough force it ms against the side of the camper.


    "Stop that," shemands to whoever¡¯s outside. "Grace can¡¯t breathe."


    My hands fly to my throat reflexively. I look down at my chest as if I might actually see my lungs malfunctioning, but... everything seems normal? My breathing is steady, if a bit quick with anxiety. I¡¯m not gasping or struggling for air.


    I peer around Lyre¡¯s slim frame and immediately wish I hadn¡¯t.


    Jack-Eye, Andrew, and the stranger I¡¯d seen earlier are on the ground. The beta is on his knees, but the other two are t on the ground. If anyone¡¯s having problems breathing, it¡¯s them¡ªnot me.


    It only takes a second to recognize what¡¯s happening. I¡¯ve already seen it once before, after all.


    But I feel... nothing. No pressure, nopulsion to kneel, no difficulty breathing. No hint of Caine¡¯s dominance touches me. Or Lyre, apparently.


    "I¡¯m breathing fine," I whisper to Lyre, who makes a shooing gesture behind her back. I guess my input is unnecessary.


    "Grace...?" Caine says, sounding strange. Distant.


    Lyre spins toward me, mouth set in a stern line. She holds a palm up, mouthing <i>"stay right here"</i> before backing down the camper steps. She does it with such ease, like she has eyes in the back of her head.


    I strain to hear what¡¯s happening outside, but the wind brings her voice right to me.


    "Grace is inside. Don¡¯t you want to check on her?"


    Is Lyre talking to Caine? Or is she talking to Rafe? And if it is Rafe, where is he? I didn¡¯t see him out there.


    Screw it. I peek around the doorway again, only to verify Lyre is talking to Caine¡ªwhose eyes meet mine almost immediately.


    He shoves Lyre aside without ceremony, storming forward. His weight on the stairs sways the RV. When he ducks through the doorway toe inside, my mouth goes dry.


    The door ms shut behind him; he didn¡¯t do it. Lyre, I guess.


    Now I¡¯m alone with him. So much for being on my side. First Fenris, now Lyre, both abandoning me in my time of need.


    Caine¡¯s presence has always been overwhelming, but now he looks positively feral. Veins stand out against his neck. His eyes have darkened to storm clouds, and his jaw clenches so hard I can almost hear his teeth grinding together. Even his breathing is loud, heavy and rough.


    Every inch of him radiates barely contained violence.


    He stalks toward me, and I flinch back instinctively.


    "Um, hi?" The word¡¯s more of a squeak anything else, but he doesn¡¯t respond, much less blink.


    His legs eat up the distance between us in long strides as I retreat, hands behind me feeling for obstacles. The small space of the camper suddenly feels like a trap. My lower back hits something solid¡ªthe entertainment center¡ªand panic flutters in my chest.


    Nowhere to run.


    Before I can dodge sideways, Caine¡¯s hands shoot out. He yanks me against him with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs. One arm bands around my waist like steel while the other hand cradles the back of my head, yanking it to the side as he buries his face into the crook of my neck.


    His breath scorches my skin as he inhales deeply, over and over, his chest expanding against mine with each desperate breath.


    My arms hover awkwardly in the air, fingers spread like starfish. I have no idea what to do with my hands. Pat his back? Push him away? Both options seem equally dangerous.


    Once again, I¡¯m reminded of a simple fact. The Lycan King is unhinged.


    The tip of his nose traces a line up to the sensitive spot behind my ear, and I can¡¯t suppress a shiver. His grip tightens even further, crushing me against the hard ne of his chest.


    "I¡¯m breathing fine," I get out, my voice higher than normal. "But if you keep squeezing me like this, I won¡¯t be for long."


    Something strange happens then. The rigid tension in his body rxes. Notpletely, but enough to ease the crushing pressure of his embrace. The arm around my waist loosens slightly. The hand at the back of my head bes less demanding, more cradling. His breathing, which had been ragged and harsh, gradually slows to match mine.


    Cautiously, I let my hands settle on his shoulders. His muscles feel like granite beneath my palms, but even as I touch him, they soften.


    "Are you okay?"


    Caine makes a sound deep in his throat. Not quite a growl, not quite a sigh. His lips brush against my pulse point when he speaks. "No."


    Oh.


    "It isn¡¯t enough," he adds, but his words don¡¯t match his actions as he takes a step back, letting me go.


    "What isn¡¯t¡ªah!"


    The sound bursts from my throat¡ªa half scream, half gasp¡ªas the fabric of my shirt gives way without resistance. Yeah, Caine let me go. But then he¡¯d lifted his hand to my cor, and...


    Well, there goes Lyre¡¯s band shirt.


    I nce down in shock, my mind struggling to process what just happened. Air brushes against my skin, leaving goosebumps. Three clean slices run from my cor all the way down to the hem. Not torn by hands, but by¡ª


    ws.


    The shredded fabric hangs limply from my shoulders, revealing a in beige bra and my bare stomach. "What are you¡ª?"


    "Shh." Caine¡¯s doesn¡¯t even pretend to care about my reaction as hisrge hands grip what remains of my shirt and shove the fabric down my arms in one smooth motion. The tattered remnant of my shirt pools at my feet, leaving me nearly naked from the waist up.


    "W-Wait. What are you..."


    My words die in my throat as Caine yanks his own shirt over his head in a single fluid movement, revealing a torso mapped with intricate tattoos. They curl and wind across his skin like ancient text.


    Fuck.


    His muscles are fabulous.


    His shirt joins mine on the floor, looking like the steamy leadup in to a sex scene in basically any romanticedy ever made.


    My brain ditches sanity.


    I¡¯m supposed to be protesting, telling him he can¡¯t just tear my shirt off. Instead, my eyes linger on the tapering line of hair leading from his belly button and trailing down to¡ª


    No, no. His eyes are attached to his face. Not down there. Have some decency, Grace. Don¡¯t be <i>that</i> girl.


    Caine pulls me against him again with a soft groan. My bare skin connects with his. My intelligence retires. My body sells its soul.


    And my hands press t against his chest, caught between us as he shoves his face into my neck again, breathing like he¡¯s oxygen-deprived.


    Jesus. I¡¯m standing here naked against my will and letting a man salivate all over my neck. I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯m not supposed to be enjoying this.


    "What the hell do you think you¡¯re doing?" My protest is more of an obligation than what I really want, and my hands curl against the hard nes of muscle they¡¯re shoved against. So warm.


    "Breathing," he murmurs, puffing out hot breath with each syble.


    Oh. Yep. I like that a lot, too.


    Shouldn¡¯t.


    Can¡¯t.


    Mustn¡¯t.


    But I do.


    His hands span my lower back, pressing me against him, but they don¡¯t wander. They stay firmly in ce, almost... respectful in their stillness.


    Despite, you know, literally stripping me without consent.


    "Need this," he says, grazing his teeth against my skin. "Need you."


    Caine inhales deeply, over and over, like a drowning man finally breaking the surface. Each breath sounds desperate and ragged.

 Chapter 56: Grace: I Can’t Let You Go

    <h4>Chapter 56: Grace: I Can¡¯t Let You Go</h4>


    We stay like this for what feels like forever.


    Desire once boiled in my veins, but now simmers, left untended. Mundane issues shove away the fog of arousal and obsessive cataloguing of each breath he takes.


    My back hurts.


    He¡¯s got me partially bent over his arm, and the unnatural position leaves me off-kilter, my bnce thwarted and my core muscles begging for a gym membership.


    I pat Caine¡¯s back gently at first. A tentative tap-tap against rigid muscles, warm and soft beneath my hands. No response. His face remains buried in the crook of my neck, his breathing deep and ravenous, like he¡¯s inhaling me into his soul. Sometimes, I almost feel like he really is¡ªlike something inside of me is being absorbed into him. But it¡¯s just my addled imagination going haywire.


    "Caine," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the aggressive drone of all three of the RV¡¯s air conditioning units.


    Another grunt. He nuzzles closer, his stubble scraping against the sensitive skin below my ear. A shiver runs through me, desire spiking sharp and hot before fading back to a dull throb.


    My pats turn firmer. More insistent. The gentle rhythm bes an urgent drumming against his broad back.


    "Caine." Louder this time, my voice steady even as my legs tremble beneath their demand. "Caine, please."


    But he¡¯s lost somewhere I can¡¯t follow. His grip tightens fractionally, and I feel the hard nes of his chest press against mine with each breath he takes. A tremor passes through him, and an answering shiver of want res dangerously low in my abdomen.


    And then it¡¯s gone again, doused by the growing ache in my spine.


    "You¡¯re going to snap me in half," I finally gasp, shoving against his shoulders. I¡¯m desperate for relief. "Please, let me go. My back hurts!"


    His entire body goes stiff.


    For one blessed moment, I think he¡¯s heard me. That he¡¯ll release me and let blood flow back into my cramping limbs and ease my body¡¯s muscle failure.


    Instead, his arms constrict further, an iron vise crushing me against him. His grip bes almost painful, bordering on desperate.


    "No." His denial is hot against my skin. "I can¡¯t let you go."


    The anguish in his words is enough to stem my rising irritation. This isn¡¯t the terrifying Lycan King speaking. This isn¡¯t even the overbearing Caine who stormed into the camper moments ago.


    This is another him entirely, something broken and vulnerable. My chest hurts hearing him.


    Reluctantly, I wrap my arms around him again, patting his back gently as I sigh. "At least let me stand up straight."


    When he first ripped off my shirt, my mind had gone straight into the gutter, assuming a much more sordid situation toe. Unfortunately, he hasn¡¯t done a thing except... breathe. A lot of hot, heavy breathing.


    Wait¡ªdid I just say that¡¯s <i>unfortunate</i>...?


    Caine grunts, which is not an answer to my question at all. Then his hands drop lower, fingers curving around my ass and pressing dangerously close to the sensitive area between my thighs.


    My breath hitches.


    He suddenly lifts me off the ground. Instinct kicks in, and I tighten my embrace around his neck, my legs flying around his waist on their own ord. A small shriek escapes my lips, echoing through the cramped camper.


    But my back finally has the relief it was begging for.


    "What are you¡ª"


    He doesn¡¯t answer, doesn¡¯t even look at me. His face remains buried in the crook of my neck, puffing out hot breaths as we walk the few steps to Lyre¡¯s daybed. Each movement jostles me against him, creating delicious friction.


    The simmer returns to a boil.


    My thighs clench tighter around him for stability, and he lets out a tortured groan.


    "Stop," he growls against my skin, his voice rough like gravel. "Stop, or I¡¯ll lose what little control I have left."


    The absurdity of his statement hits me. He <i>tore off my shirt</i>.


    "Control?" I ask nkly. "You consider what you¡¯re doing right now ¡¯in control¡¯?"


    His only response is to tighten his grip on my ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh there. The daybed creaks under ourbined weight as he lowers us down, somehow managing to keep me straddling him. The position feels dangerously intimate, yet he still hasn¡¯t looked at my face even once.


    "Caine," I try again, fighting against the fog of desire clouding my judgment. With the rtive safety of the bed against my back, I slide my arms from around him and press my hands against his chest, attempting to create some space between us. "This isn¡¯t normal. You can¡¯t just burst in here and¡ª"


    "You¡¯re driving me crazy," he interrupts, pressing soft kisses against my neck.


    I grind my teeth together, fighting my body¡¯s debauched insistence on letting him do whatever he wants with me. "You tore off my shirt."


    He finally lifts his head from the crook of my neck, staring down at me. It shouldn¡¯t be as sexy as it is, but here we are, drowning in an ocean of sexually gray boundaries. "It was in the way. I need your skin against mine, Grace. I need your scent. Your warmth."


    The possession in his voice sends a contradictory thrill through me. Part of me wants to p him for his arrogance, while another part¡ªa part I¡¯m not particrly proud of¡ªhas already given him the keys to my body, giving him full ownership.


    "No," I manage firmly, though my body betrays me by melting further against him. "You can¡¯t."


    "You¡¯re mine," he rumbles, ignoring my protest. "Mine to protect. Mine to..." He trails off, his eyes darkening as they roam over my face.


    "To what?" I challenge, my heart hammering against my ribs. As if I¡¯m waiting for a specific answer.


    Am I?


    Instead of answering, Caine brings his hands to either side of my head before lowering himself onto his elbows. His nose bumps mine. His lips brush against my lips. Once. Twice. Then there¡¯s space again as he pulls back, watching me with pupils so dted only a thin ring of gray remains.


    "Just mine," he repeats, his voice rougher than before.


    Limbo has me in a chokehold, leaving me hovering between desire and reason.


    "What if I don¡¯t want to be yours?"


    His lips quirk into something almost resembling a smile¡ªthe first I¡¯ve seen from him.


    Ah. When did the scary aura around him fade?


    "Then why are your legs still wrapped around me?" he asks, light and teasing. Like he¡¯s a whole different person from the man who found me in the forest. From the one who dominated an entire pack with his fury. Who told me I was his prisoner.


    A fierce blush suffuses my cheeks and I turn my head away from his tempting face. But when I try to unlock my legs, they just... don¡¯t listen. They remain wrapped around his waist as he rocks his hips forward, shoving against the most sensitive part of me.


    Lyre¡¯s shorts, which were already a questionable length to begin with, have ridden up until they barely cover what¡¯s necessary. My thighs arepletely bare against the heat of his skin, even hidden behind denim.


    A soft moanes out of me unbidden, and Caine chuckles. The sound is dark. An invitation to sin.


    "Look at me, Grace."

 Chapter 57: Grace: I’ll Ruin You For Anyone Else

    <h4>Chapter 57: Grace: I¡¯ll Ruin You For Anyone Else</h4>


    No way.


    Even if he tells me to, I really can¡¯t do it.


    I keep my face turned away, staring at the faded flower pattern of theforter. My pulse has spiked to the stratosphere, but I¡¯m determined not to look at his face. If I do, I¡¯ll be lost, dropping so far into the sinful depths of hell, I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever be able to return.


    I¡¯m not ready.


    "Grace." His voice drops to a silken murmur near my ear.


    I squeeze my eyes shut. "Don¡¯t."


    But he doesn¡¯t listen. Instead, warm lips press against my cheek, the contact feather-light and devastatingly sweet. My breath catches as he traces azy path across my skin, unhurried, as if he has all the time in the world to map every contour of my face.


    "Look at me," he repeats, his breath hot against my temple.


    I shake my head, the movement barely perceptible. His answering chuckle vibrates through my bones.


    "Stubborn," he whispers, the word not an usation but something like praise. My hips undte without permission, and he rocks forward in response.


    I¡¯m putty.


    His mouth travels down to my ear, teeth grazing the sensitive shell before his tongue traces the delicate curve. A traitorous shiver wracks through me, and my fingers curl into the hard nes of his chest.


    "I can hear your heartbeat, Grace." His lips brush against my ear with each syble. "It beats for me."


    "It¡¯s supposed to beat," I choke out, ruining my attempt at seeming flippant and unaffected.


    The wet heat of his tongue dips into the hollow beneath my earlobe, and a soft gasp escapes me before I can trap it behind my teeth. His satisfied hum tells me he caught the sound.


    "Your body knows, Grace."


    The camper suddenly feels too small, too hot. My chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, each inhaleced with his scent.


    "Stop talking," I manage to say, my voice strained. The sound of his voice is unraveling everyst millimeter of my control.


    "No? I¡¯d rather make you stop breathing."


    My heart lurches, and I suck in a swift breath.


    He chuckles. "Yeah. Just like that."


    Asshole.


    His lips trace down the column of my throat, pausing at the frantic pulse point beneath my jaw. He inhales deeply, and the sound is so animal, so <i>wolf</i>, that another shudder ripples through me.


    I should be terrified. This man kills without hesitation. He tore through a pack like they were nothing. He told me I was his prisoner.


    Yet here I am, melting beneath his touch as if the Goddess herself had handed me to him, wrapped in a pretty red bow.


    Caine shifts his weight onto one arm, the movement pressing his hips more firmly against mine. The hard ridge of him strains against denim, and heat pools low in my belly. His free hand slides up my bare side, palm rough against my skin, fingertips charting a path of goosebumps in their wake.


    "Your skin is softer than I imagined." His thumb slips under the tight band of my bra and traces the underside of my breast, a preview of his ill intentions. "And I¡¯ve imagined it every night. Since I first caught your scent."


    My breath whooshes out in shock. He could have fooled me, with all of his throat-grabbing and threats.


    But he wins, because the admission drags my gaze to his face atst. His eyes burn into mine, pupils blown wide with desire, all pretense of control stripped away. The raw hunger I find there steals what little breath remains in my lungs.


    "There you are," he murmurs, satisfaction evident in the curve of his lips. "I was beginning to think you¡¯d never look at me again."


    Words fail me. I can only stare, caught in the maic pull of his gaze as his whole hand finally sneaks up under my bra to cup my breast fully, his thumb brushing across the sensitive peak. My back arches involuntarily, pushing into his touch.


    "So beautiful," he breathes. "So responsive. So perfect."


    His hand leaves my breast to trail up my neck, tilting my face toward his. Time suspends as he hovers above me, our breaths mingling in the narrow space between our lips.


    Anticipation races along my nerves, leaving them sparking and frantic.


    "I¡¯m going to taste you now, Grace," he says, his voice a low rumble that I feel more than hear. "And after this, nothing will ever taste as sweet."


    His words keep wrecking me.


    The first press of his lips against mine is gentle¡ªa stark contrast to the predatory hunger in his eyes. Soft. Testing. As if he¡¯s savoring the initial contact, memorizing the texture and warmth.


    I remain frozen beneath him, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. My indecisionsts only seconds before his tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entry. When I yield¡ªGod help me, I <i>yield</i>¡ªthe kiss transforms.


    Possession reces gentleness. His tongue slides against mine, iming my mouth with the same dominance he wields over everything else. His hand leaves my jaw to slide into my hair, fingers tightening as he holds me exactly where he wants me.


    My fingers curl into fists against his chest before sliding up to grip his shoulders, anchoring myself against the tide of sensation threatening to sweep me away.


    He groans into my mouth, shoving his hips against my damp heat, grinding with deliberate pressure; a moan tears out of me, only to be swallowed as he kisses me harder, deeper, until I¡¯m dizzy with want and ready to beg for more.


    When he finally breaks away, we¡¯re both panting. His forehead rests against mine, our breaths mingling in the charged space between us.


    "You taste like blueberries," he murmurs, voice rough with desire. "Like something I could devour for eternity and still crave more."


    Blueberries...


    Something about his statement nudges at my memories, but then it¡¯s gone, whisked away as his mouth crashes back onto mine, all restraint abandoned. This isn¡¯t a kiss¡ªit¡¯s consumption. Ravenous and desperate. His tongue plunders, teeth nip at my bottom lip, drawing out a startled gasp he exploits with ruthless precision.


    His hand slides down my side once again, gripping my hip with bruising intensity before curving beneath my thigh, hitching my leg higher around his waist. The adjustment brings me flush against the hard length of him, and I arch my back, trying to gain enough purchase to grind against him.


    Friction is delicious.


    He breaks the kiss to trail his mouth along my jaw, down my throat, teeth scraping over my corbone. "I¡¯ve killed for less than the torture of wanting you."


    His statement should be horrifying, not thrilling. Liquid heat courses through my veins, pooling between my thighs, where his hardness presses insistently.


    His head lifts, and our eyes meet. Something between us surges. My heart won¡¯t stop hammering, my chest almost too tight.


    "Tell me you feel this too," he demands, pushing off me to grab both sides of my hips and lift them higher. He rocks forward again, a desperate tease of what¡¯s toe. "Tell me I¡¯m not alone in this madness."


    I can¡¯t say anything. Breaking his stare, I turn my face away, wishing my cheeks weren¡¯t so red. Wishing embarrassment didn¡¯t have me in a death grip, listening to what he says so easily. What hemands.


    "Tell me, Grace."


    My head shakes frantically.


    His growl vibrates his body as his hand slides down my thigh, his fingers working their way beneath my shorts. My breathes in soft pants as I squeeze my eyes shut.


    His fingertips brush tantalizingly close to where I throb, but it isn¡¯t enough. Not nearly enough.


    "I¡¯ll ruin you for anyone else," he murmurs. "After me, there won¡¯t be anyone else. Just ashes."

 Chapter 58: Grace: Climax (END OF BOOK ONE)

    <h4>Chapter 58: Grace: Climax (END OF BOOK ONE)</h4>


    Why does he keep talking? Every time he opens his damn mouth, it makes the throbbing harder.


    "You want this."


    Telling him I don¡¯t seems kind of... well, pointless. Because my body, my actions, my everything right now is giving him an entire different story. And he isn¡¯t wrong. Murderer or whatever, it doesn¡¯t change the fire he¡¯s bringing to my blood, the tense anticipation which has me quivering as his fingers slip just a little bit closer.


    "Say it, Grace," Caine demands. The words are so rough, his voice so deep, my hips jerk. "Tell me you want this."


    I press my lips together. Some wanton part of me wants to do as he says, but the overwhelming majority denies his request, the embarrassment too much to ovee. Even with it flushing my cheeks, though, my body continues its responses. A shiver here. A sharp intake of breath there. A wiggle of my hips to entice his fingers further, until they finally reach the edge of my panties.


    More.


    Higher.


    "Stubborn little human," he murmurs. "I can hear your heartbeat racing. I can smell your desire. It¡¯s so thick I could choke on it. Is that what you want, Grace? For me to die in your arms?"


    How does he say things so easily? It justes out like he doesn¡¯t feel any mortification at all. Meanwhile, I¡¯m mming my palms against my face, hiding behind them as if they might shield me from his shamelessly erotic words. As if covering my ming cheeks might somehow cool the heat spreading throughout my body.


    "Look at me."


    I shake my head behind my hands once more.


    His hips shift, his legs spreading mine wider. Then his hand leaves my hip to wrap around one of my wrists; not pulling, just holding it where it rests. "I want to see your eyes when you admit what¡¯s happening between us."


    The gentleness in his voice almost undoes me. Almost. I expected the Lycan King to continue his demands. To force. Conquer. This patient coaxing feels more dangerous somehow.


    "You¡¯ve never felt this before, have you?" His thumb traces circles on the inside of my wrist. "With him."


    The mention of Rafe should douse the fire, but instead it burns hotter with indignation. I stiffen, but his fingers swoop under the edge of my underwear, gaining ess to the slick arousal beneath. My breath hitches.


    Caine chuckles, the sound dark and knowing. "Your silence tells me everything I need to know."


    He sounds so smug, but the brief sh of irritation over Rafe¡¯s name disappears under the assault from down below. Hard, hot fingers glide, shoving my panties to the side, and I arch my hips up, moaning when they brush the entrance. There¡¯s a small spot there, more sensitive than the rest, and I want him to press it hard. To grind down. To rub and do whatever he wishes.


    But instead his fingers slide up, finding something just as good. He flicks and pinches and twists, harassing my clit just a little before sliding down again. Back and forth. Leaving me breathless and whimpering, legs quivering.


    He taps his fingers at the entrance of me; not shoving inside, but almost like... I¡¯m not sure. It¡¯s hard to catalogue what I¡¯m feeling down there.


    It feels like he¡¯s covering my vagina like a freaking garden hose, and <i>why</i> does it feel so good? I rotate my pelvis, and one finger slides just a millimeter inside, pushing down. I groan in half relief, but it isn¡¯t enough. I need more.


    "I could make you beg, you know." His voice drops an octave, rougher now. "I could touch you until you forget who you are. Until the only word left for you to scream is my name."


    Ah, that beautiful mouth of his.


    My breath catches. My eyes squeeze shut even tighter, as if darkness might somehow dilute everything.


    It doesn¡¯t.


    "Fuck," he mutters, and his teasing fingers press harder. "Your scent..."


    Suddenly, he swivels his hand a little and something blunt and hot slides inside, stretching the sensitive skin. It¡¯s a pleasant ache. More than pleasant. I want... more.


    Bigger.


    Deeper.


    "Two," he groans. "Fuck. You¡¯re tight, but you¡¯re wet enough to take two right away. How fucking perfect."


    A sharp, rapid-fire knocking interrupts the perfection.


    Caine freezes above me, a low growl building in his chest. I should be horrified. Mortified.


    All my arousal should be flying out the window.


    Instead, I push my hips down, forcing his fingers in just a little farther. My hands slide off my face, eyes still closed as I reach frantically for the hand between my thighs.


    "I know I¡¯m interrupting," Lyre¡¯s unmistakably bored voice filters through the door, "but your boyfriend¡¯s presence is required."


    Caine growls. "Ignore her."


    I already am, grabbing onto his forearm with both hands and pulling.


    He obeys instantly, mming his fingers all the way in without warning. My back arches as I let out a little scream, and he bends over me with a groan, grabbing my jaw and yanking my face toward his.


    "Open your fucking eyes, Grace."


    "Again, his presence is required," Lyre intones, knocking again.


    Everything downstairs tenses. She could open the door at any time. Walk in. See what we¡¯re doing. It would be a horribly embarrassing situation; I¡¯d never be able to look her in the eyes again.


    So why is my entire body writhing, shoving harder against him? Why am I opening my eyes at hismand?


    Fuck reason. Fuck rationality. I don¡¯t even know what¡¯s happening anymore.


    "Please." The word flies from my mouth without permission. "Please, Caine."


    I cringe at the desperate sound of my own voice, too arousal-drunk to care. He¡¯s still, frozen above me as if my plea surprised him as much as it did me. I meet his eyes, vulnerable and helpless. <i>Pleading</i>.


    His lips twitch with a suppressed smile. Storm-gray eyes brighten. They¡¯re glittering with intent and wildness, bringing a flutter to my stomach.


    I swear it still feels as if there¡¯s something connecting us, pulling something out of me and shoving it all into him at every point our skin makes contact. Especially down there, with his fingers...


    "What a good girl, Grace." He shifts his hand, curling his fingers inside me. Watching my face as he moves them. "Is that what you want, Grace? Do you want more?"


    "Yes."


    The admission costs me all my self-respect.


    He rocks his fingers inside me. Slow at first, dragging them out, then in, as my body limates to the gentle stretch. It¡¯s exquisite and still not enough, but soon his pace increases until he¡¯s pistoning his fingers, creating the most awkwardly erotic squelching I¡¯ve ever heard.


    Half of me wants to kick him off and run because <i>oh my God</i>, is that the sound my body makes when his finger¡¯s inside of me?


    But the other half...


    "More," I whimper, my hips shaking and rolling and rocking with each thrust. "Harder, please."


    His fingers stutter for a second, only for his thumb to rub against my clit. Electricity shoots through me, white-hot and pulsing, and then he¡¯s moving again, circling and pressing and curling his fingers in time with the flick of his thumb.


    "Seriously, I¡¯m going to open the door in five seconds," Lyre shouts.


    "Come for me," he demands on a growl. "Come on my fingers like a good girl before your friendes in and sees you spread out like this, taking all my fingers inside you."


    His dirty words are too much, and it¡¯s like flipping a switch. My spine bows, arching up off the cushions, and I squeeze my eyes shut as a strangled cry rips from my throat. That strange feeling of <i>energy</i> between us grows; this time it isn¡¯t the feeling of a gentle absorption. It¡¯s like a gushing river, from me to him.


    "Four seconds!"


    My entire body snaps like a rubber band stretched thin as his fingers return to pistoning, mming into me harder. Deeper. Just like I¡¯d requested.


    And Ie like a geyser, bearing down with all the tension in my body as something pours out of me, drenching his hand.


    "Three seconds. I¡¯m not kidding, you perverts."


    It¡¯s too much. Too perfect.


    "What a good fucking <i>girl</i>," he says, mming into me onest time with thest word.


    I copse, spent, little more than a puddle of Grace on the daybed.


    My limbs are impossibly heavy as Caine¡¯s fingers slip free. The room¡¯s spinning, the ceiling moving in circles above me.


    "That was..." I can¡¯t finish the thought. My tongue is thick and clumsy in my mouth, like I¡¯ve the strength even to form words.


    Caine hovers over me, his face blurring at the edges. Something¡¯s wrong. My vision darkens around the periphery, narrowing to a pinpoint. The strange <i>connection</i> between us pulses once more, but now it feels as if there¡¯s nothing left in me to pull from.


    Like I¡¯ve been drained dry.


    "Grace?" His voice sounds distant, underwater.


    My eyelids flutter. Too heavy to keep open. How strange. It¡¯s like... am I fainting?


    Lyre¡¯s voice is thest thing I hear, distorted beneath the haze filling my ears. "Two seconds and I¡¯ming in there, even if your dick is out."


    ckness swallows me before I can hear the rest.

 Chapter 59: Caine: Took Everything She Had to Give

    <h4>Chapter 59: Caine: Took Everything She Had to Give</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    Grace¡¯s limp body fuels a new feeling, something old and unfamiliar. It¡¯s an emotion I haven¡¯t felt since I was a young pup, long before I came into strength and power.


    Terror.


    <i>What is it?</i> Fenris asks. He¡¯s been silent, politely blocking himself off from our intimacy, even when that rainbow-haired chit was banging on the door.


    <i>She¡¯s unconscious.</i>


    "Grace."


    I shake her shoulder, the skin under my palm cool to the touch. Too cool.


    "Grace, wake up."


    Her head lolls as I jostle her, hair sying across the pillow in bleached golden waves. Not a flutter of eyshes, not a twitch. My stomach drops with dread.


    "Grace!" My voice sharpens withmand, an alpha¡¯s order.


    Nothing. Just her pale face, lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.


    <i>What¡¯s wrong with her? Why isn¡¯t she waking?</i>


    Fenris explodes into panic, his howl ripping through my mind and air both. Strange voices join in, but they¡¯re the least of my worries.


    <i>You killed her. You killed our mate!</i>


    "Shut up," I growl, cing two fingers against the pulse in her throat. It flutters weakly beneath my touch. "She¡¯s alive."


    The sudden crash of the door flying open makes me whip around, a snarl building in my throat as I storm around the corner and into the hall, Grace still limp on the daybed. Just moments ago, she¡¯d been so alive, so vibrant, with the scent of her climax filling the air.


    Now...


    "Your dick better be put awa¡ª" The rainbow-haired nuisance halts as soon as she sees my face, and her eyes flick behind me.


    "Call a human ambnce," I order, trying to contain the panic edging into my voice. A Lycan King doesn¡¯t panic. We¡¯re calm andposed at every moment.


    Fenris howls again, a wild, uncontrolled yodel of pain.


    Lyre blinks at me. Something shifts in her strange eyes, until her pupils be slitted. It¡¯s exactly what Jack-Eye had mentioned before, but the mystery of her identity is no longer a priority. Grace needs help.


    "You idiot," she growls, rushing forward to shove past me with surprising strength for her diminutive, humanoid size. "You couldn¡¯t hold back?"


    My chest aches with the usation. Did I demand too much of her fragile human body?


    I stumble against the wall as she rushes to Grace, pushing me aside as if I¡¯m not the most dangerous predator she¡¯ll ever encounter. As if I haven¡¯t killed for less.


    The floor sways with all of our movement.


    The woman Grace calls Lyre doesn¡¯t look at me again, her focus entirely on Grace. She presses two fingers to my mate¡¯s wrist, then leans close to her face, watching her breathe.


    Under normal circumstances, it would bother me she can see Grace¡¯s naked torso.


    Under this circumstance, it... still bothers me. I dash past Lyre to yank a corner of theforter over Grace, protecting her from the other woman¡¯s view.


    "What happened?" she demands, her voice as sharp as any Lycan¡¯s. Themand within it is no less than an alpha¡¯s.


    "We were¡ª" The words stick in my throat.


    "Having sex, I got that part." Her fingers press gently along Grace¡¯s throat, examining the skin with a scowl. There¡¯s no mark there. Not yet. "When did she pass out? Before, during, after?"


    "After." I rake a hand through my hair, hating how dependent I am on this strange woman to care for my Grace. "She was fine. Then she just... went limp."


    "Ambnce. Right." Lyre mutters, fishing a phone from her pocket. "This far out, it¡¯ll take thirty minutes minimum."


    Thirty minutes. My chest squeezes painfully. "That¡¯s too long."


    "No shit." She punches in numbers, holds the phone to her ear. "We could drive her, but moving her might¡ª"


    She breaks off, attention shifting to the call. "Yes, medical emergency. My friend, a young woman, is unconscious and unresponsive after..." A quick nce at Grace¡¯s shorts, still on. She frowns at me. "After intercourse."


    There¡¯s a volley of questions, and Lyre answers them decisively as I pull Grace¡¯s limp body into my arms, fighting a growl when she reaches out to check her pulse.


    "No, no visible trauma," Lyre says, and I flinch.


    Do they think I...? No. It wasn¡¯t like that.


    I stroke Grace¡¯s hair, noticing Fenris behind Lyre. He¡¯s t on the ground, his eyes never leaving Grace.


    <i>Will she be okay?</i>


    My heart constricts at the question. I¡¯d just epted this tiny, frail little human as mine. And now...


    It¡¯s only proof humans can never be mates with a wolf.


    <i>No,</i> Fenris murmurs. <i>Our bond would never hurt her.</i>


    And yet it has.


    Lyre sits beside me, rubbing her hand down Grace¡¯s back. Her phone¡¯s on the couch across the room; she must have hung up.


    She¡¯s not panicked. Angry, yes. The acrid scent of fury radiates from her. But she¡¯s not afraid.


    "She¡¯ll be okay," Lyre says confidently. "Probably going to need some fluids to help stabilize, though."


    My eyes narrow. She knows something. "What¡¯s wrong with her?"


    Lyre¡¯s multi-colored hair falls forward as she leans closer to Grace, and I fight back the growl trying to escape my chest. "Her energy is... depleted. Dangerously so."


    "What does that mean?" I demand.


    "It means you took too much." She shoots me a venomous look. "You didn¡¯t hold back. Just took everything she had to give, you brainless sack of muscle."


    "I didn¡¯t¡ª"


    "You did," she cuts me off. Then she pauses. "Maybe not intentionally. But you did."


    She ces a hand on Grace¡¯s forehead, then over her heart. The touch, though clearly medical, makes Fenris snarl. I swallow the sound before it can escape.


    "Why didn¡¯t you warn me?" I snap. Better to be angry with someone. It¡¯s easier to handle anger.


    Lyreughs¡ªa harsh, humorless sound. "Oh, I¡¯m sorry. Was I supposed to give the terrifying Lycan King sex education before he fucked her senseless? My bad."


    My temper res hot and dangerous. "You left us alone, but you knew this could happen, didn¡¯t you?"


    Lyre meets my rage with a t, unblinking stare. Those cat-slitted eyes don¡¯t waver, don¡¯t flinch. Something in her gaze¡ªthe absolute absence of fear¡ªmakes my anger shrivel like a me doused with ice water.


    It isn¡¯t from backing down.


    It¡¯s from the me her stareys on my shoulders. me rightfully ced.


    I did this, somehow.


    "I never expected the big, bad Lycan King to be so fucking useless he¡¯d drain his own mate," she says, her voice low and deliberate. "Guess that¡¯s on me for assuming basicpetence."

 Chapter 60: Caine: Fiddleback

    <h4>Chapter 60: Caine: Fiddleback</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    "Put Grace down," Lyre says.


    "No."


    <i>No,</i> Fenris echoes.


    My arms tighten around my limp mate, clutching her to my chest. I refuse to let her go. My lips press against her temple, feeling how cool her skin is. Her breathing¡¯s shallow. Her pulse is weak.


    The thought of letting her go¡ªeven for a moment¡ªstabs through me like silver.


    "Put. Her. Down," Lyre orders, as ifmanding the Lycan King is something she can do on a whim. "Your emotions are all over her right now. She doesn¡¯t need your panic seeping into what little energy she has left."


    "No."


    Lyre¡¯s slitted eyes narrow further. "Do you <i>want</i> to kill her?"


    Of course not. She¡¯s the other half of my soul. The fated connection I¡¯d denied is burning bright in my chest, rattled by the thought of losing her.


    Losing a mate is hard, but the thought of losing Grace is... impossible. Dying would be preferable.


    Lyre sighs and stomps out of the room, shaking the camper with each step. A short whileter, she¡¯s back, with a soft white t-shirt. "Here. You can put this on her."


    Grace¡¯s torn shirt is still on the floor, and shame washes through me at the evidence of myck of control. Everything that happened between us had been perfect, transcendent¡ªuntil it wasn¡¯t.


    Pathetic fool. I should have held back. It was obvious a human couldn¡¯t handle what we have between us.


    <i>She can handle it,</i> Fenris insists. <i>Something is wrong. It isn¡¯t our bond. The Goddess would not allow it.</i>


    With the greatest reluctance, I lower Grace back onto the bed. Lyre doesn¡¯t waste time, pushing in beside me to slip the shirt over Grace¡¯s head. She¡¯s like a ragdoll, without even a hint of resistance.


    Even the scent of blueberries is faint, hard to pinpoint in the mix of other smells.


    "I need to stay with her." My hands hover uselessly above Grace¡¯s still form. "I need to fix this."


    "She¡¯ll be fine. She needs rest more than anything. But you..." Lyre frowns, smacking my hands away. "You have something else to do. Go put your clothes on."


    I want to snap at this strange enigma of a woman, but Grace holds her in great affection. If I hurt her...


    The thought of Grace¡¯s beautiful, grass-green eyes staring at me with usation makes my stomach quiver. It seems I¡¯ve acquired many new fears today.


    Deciding upon magnanimity, I ignore Lyre¡¯s audacity and grab my shirt off the floor, pulling it on. The fabric feels restrictive, unwee against my skin.


    A strange emptiness gnaws at me¡ªsomething beyond the paralyzing fear of losing Grace. My body feels different. Lighter. As if something coiled within me for years has loosened its grip.


    Even Fenris¡¯s presence feels... clearer, somehow.


    "I¡¯ll exin what¡¯s happening to her when there¡¯s time," Lyre says, not even ncing my way. "But there¡¯s something more important you need to deal with right now."


    "Nothing is more important than her." The words tear from my throat in a feral snarl.


    Lyre doesn¡¯t flinch. Doesn¡¯t blink. Just stares at me with her uncanny eyes. Then she shakes her head with a sigh.


    "Get outside and deal with who you brought here with your pointless disy of dominance." Her voice drops to a hiss. "Or they¡¯ll be breaking down my door, and I promise you don¡¯t want that."


    "What are you talking about?"


    "Your little tantrum summoned an audience. Your beta¡¯s dealing with them right now, but you need to deal with it."


    Ah.


    I can feel it¡ªthe press of unfamiliar wolf energy against the periphery of my awareness. A pack. Territory holders. A presence I would have noticed immediately, if I wasn¡¯t so focused on Grace.


    I growl through clenched teeth.


    "Indeed." Lyre ces her hand on Grace¡¯s forehead. "The ambnce will be here soon, so take care of them before they scare off the EMTs. I¡¯ve got Grace. Go be a king."


    One more look at Grace, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the scatter of faint freckles across her nose, the slow rise and fall of her chest.


    "I¡¯ll be right back," I whisper to her. "I promise."


    Lyre sighs. "Just go."


    Outside, Jack-Eye stands at the foot of the RV steps, his broad back a barrier between what¡¯s mine and a semicircle of wolves¡ªeight of them, various ranks within their pack, all bristling with restrained aggression.


    Their alpha isn¡¯t here, but the one might be their beta.


    "Sir," Jack-Eye says, relief evident in his voice. "The Fiddleback Pack was concerned about our... presence."


    I should be enraged. I should want to tear through these lesser wolves for daring to interrupt when my mate lies unconscious. Even Fenris should be wing at my control, demanding blood for this intrusion.


    But Fenris remains by Grace, silent in my head, leaving it to me.


    And I feel... contained. A strange lucidity courses through my veins where molten fury should be. I can still ess my anger¡ªit¡¯s there, simmering beneath my skin¡ªbut it no longer threatens to consume me whole. The sensation is so alien I nearly stumble.


    Jack-Eye studies my face with a frown.


    I give Jack-Eye a curt nod, sidestepping him to face these interlopers directly. My shoulders square, stance widening¡ªthe posture of a king who refuses to acknowledge any challenge as legitimate.


    The moment they catch my scent, and the light dominance rolling through the air, their faces grow pale. Jack-Eye¡¯s presence should have been enough, but not all wolves are smart enough to recognize a Lycan. Especially when they¡¯re weak.


    "Where is your alpha?" My question cracks through the air.


    The wolves shift ufortably, exchanging nces. This pack was clearly unprepared for a direct confrontation with the Lycan King. Their difort saturates the air, the forced bravado of those who¡¯ve stumbled into something far beyond their capabilities.


    A female wolf steps forward from their ranks. Mid-thirties,pact build, with sharp features and calcting eyes. Not their alpha, but someone of authority.


    "High Alpha." She keeps her gaze fixed somewhere near my cor, avoiding direct eye contact. Smart. "I am Elizabeth, of the Fiddleback Pack."


    I incline my head. "Why are you here?"


    Elizabeth squares her shoulders, her face grim. "Until we felt a surge of alpha dominance unlike anything we¡¯ve experienced before. In human domain. Our protocols require investigation of unusual shifter activity, especially this close to human poptions."


    My jaw tenses. "You do not recognize the authority of the Lycan Throne?"


    "We do," she assures hastily. "We recognize your authority, High Alpha. We were just... unaware of your presence until now. I apologize for interrupting..." Her eyes flick to the camper. "Your pleasure."


    I can feel Jack-Eye¡¯s amusement behind me, though his face is likely impassive. It¡¯s a sixth sense borne of years of friendship.


    "Was my beta¡¯s presence not enough for you?"


    "My apologies, High Alpha. It is our first experience with Lycans in our territory."


    I grimace. The reasoning is fair; packs like Fiddleback are small, based in rural areas. "Now you know. Now leave. My business here is my own."


    Elizabeth regards me for a moment, then clears her throat. "We mean no offense, High Alpha. The Fiddleback Pack would be honored to offer you hospitality during your stay in our territory." She straightens her posture, schooling her features into a mask of deference. "Ourpound has suitable amodations for you and your entourage."


    A heavy hand smacks down on my shoulder. I don¡¯t have to look; I already know Jack-Eye¡¯s grinning like a fool. He loves anything free; he calls it an upational hazard, after helping with our pack finances for so many years.


    "We¡¯ll take you up on that generous offer," he says, voice warm with charm.


    A growl builds in my chest. I¡¯m not leaving Grace.


    <i>We need somewhere to stay, anyway,</i> Jack-Eye pack-links directly to me. His mental voice is pragmatic. <i>And it means we can keep Andrew away from her.</i>


    My shoulders rx. Yes, distance between the two would be ideal.


    My gaze drifts beyond the confrontation. Andrew stands by my car, arms folded across his chest, eyeing the wolves with suspicion. Thom hovers beside him, nervously fiddling with his copper-wired sses. Behind them sits a pile of our belongings¡ªthe copsed tent, sleeping bags, some bags of unknown provisions. Everything already packed up and ready to move.


    How long was I in that camper with Grace? Long enough for them to break down our entire camp.


    "Jack-Eye, take Andrew and Thom to thepound. I will stay here."

 Chapter 61: Grace: Transference (I)

    <h4>Chapter 61: Grace: Transference (I)</h4>


    My body feels like it¡¯s been used as a car crash dummy. Voices filter through the cotton stuffed between my ears, muffled and distant at first, then gradually sharpening into familiar tones. Angry tones.


    "Absolutely not. Stay ten feet away at all times." Lyre.


    An unmistakably familiar growl. "You aren¡¯t in charge here."


    "No, but they are, and you¡¯re sucking her dry every time you make contact. Keep your damn mutt off her, too."


    A snarl. Definitely Fenris.


    "Stop looking at me like that. You¡¯re a mutt without manners."


    Consciousness hovers just out of reach, and honestly, slipping back into oblivion seems like the smart option. Nothing good waits in a room where Lyre and the Lycan King are squaring off. Death wish, party of one.


    "Her energy is finally stabilizing, and you two want to go right in and take what she¡¯s gathered¡ª"


    "If touching hurts, why are you letting <i>them</i> touch her?"


    "They¡¯re not feeding off her like she¡¯s an all-you-can-eat buffet."


    Oh. This sounds... not great.


    A cool touch slides along my inner arm, followed by a sharp sting. Something tugs at my skin, and the sensation drags me closer to full awareness. Not Lyre¡¯s touch¡ªsomeone else¡¯s. Cold and strange-feeling.


    "BP is 90/60. Heart rate stable at 64." An unfamiliar voice, clipped and professional. "Okay, the IV¡¯s in."


    "All right. Let¡¯s push some fluids." Another stranger.


    Kind of sounds like I¡¯m in a hospital.


    "Let¡¯s get ready to move her."


    "You¡¯re not taking her," Caine snaps.


    Okay, maybe not a hospital. Oh. They probably called an ambnce. Now it makes sense.


    "They can if they need to," Lyre argues.


    Fenris whines.


    My eyes flutter.


    "She moved," Caine says immediately, tension vibrating through his voice. "Grace?"


    y dead, I tell myself. Just five more minutes of unconsciousness before facing whatever catastrophe awaits.


    But the light beyond my eyelids burns red through the thin membrane, and someone¡¯s fumbling with my arm again, and everything feels wrong and strange and cold, and hiding isn¡¯t an option anymore.


    I peel my eyes open with a groan. The ceiling light stabs straight into my brain.


    "Too bright," I croak, voice like sandpaper.


    "She¡¯s awake." Caine again, closer now. I might not be able to see, but I can <i>sense</i> him looming.


    He¡¯s a very looming kind of person.


    The word looming is starting to sound weird after using it twice in a row. Even worse with the third.


    "I¡¯ll turn off the lights," Lyre offers, sounding further away than Caine.


    A hand grabs mine, and I vaguely sense an inner movement as soon as the contact is made. It¡¯s strange, like... Like someone¡¯s turned on a faucet, and something inside of me is gushing out, directly to the point of skin contact¡ª


    Something beeps. A lot.


    "Stop touching her, you idiot!"


    "I was just trying to¡ª"


    "Sir, you need to step back."


    A growl.


    My wishes true, and unconsciousness takes me away again.


    * * *


    This time, when consciousness creeps back into my head, it¡¯s quiet.


    I tentatively open my eyes, breathing out a soft sigh when lights don¡¯t stab into my eyeballs this time. There¡¯s a faint amber glow illuminating the tiled ceiling above.


    Now, for sure, I¡¯m at a hospital.


    A rustling sound catches my attention. I turn my head, the left side of my neck protesting, stiff from however long I¡¯ve beenying here on a crinkly stic pillow.


    Lyre¡¯s standing next to me, her rainbow hair mussed and wild. Her cat-slit eyes look exhausted, with dark circles underneath. She tilts her head, studying me in silence.


    "Hi," I croak. My voice sounds like I¡¯ve been gargling gravel. How long was I out?


    "Hello there, sunshine." Lyre¡¯s voice carries its usual musical lilt. "How are you feeling?"


    I try to swallow, but my throat feels like it¡¯s filled with ss shards. I cough and try again, grimacing through the pain. "Like someone ran me through a washing machine and hung me up to dry."


    A smile quirks at the corner of Lyre¡¯s mouth. "Well, at least you¡¯re clean, then." She reaches for something out of my sight, then returns with a paper cup. "Water?"


    I nod and try to push myself up. My arms tremble with the effort, embarrassingly weak.


    "Easy." Lyre slips a hand behind my shoulders, supporting me with surprising strength. Her touch is cool against my skin, which feels fever-hot and oversensitive. "Small sips. Your system¡¯s been through the wringer."


    The water slides down my throat like salvation. I hadn¡¯t realized how parched I was until the first drop hit my tongue.


    "Where¡¯s¡ª" I start to ask, but Lyre cuts me off with a finger to her lips.


    "He was kicked out. Can¡¯t be within one hundred feet of the building, so he¡¯s across the street, probably ring at your window."


    I blink.


    She shrugs. "He deserved it."


    I believe her, but...


    My gaze drifts around the room. It¡¯s not a standard hospital room¡ªno clinical white walls or stic chairs. Instead, the space is warm, with natural wood ents and what looks like hand-woven fabric covering the walls. A string of small lights creates the gentle glow I¡¯d noticed earlier.


    "Where am I?"


    "It¡¯s a hospital. You¡¯re in the special ward upstairs." Lyre¡¯s lips quirk. "The one for VIP supes."


    I blink again. "I¡¯m human."


    "Yeah, but <i>he</i> isn¡¯t."


    Slowly, I tilt my head. I¡¯m a little dizzy even from that movement. "What does Caine have to do with what ward I¡¯m on?"


    "Well..." Lyre scratches at her cheek. "You know what? I¡¯m going to let him answer that question."


    My eyes narrow at Lyre¡¯s evasive answer. "You can¡¯t just drop that and walk away. What does Caine have to do with this?"


    Lyre shrugs, the movement almost too casual. "Let¡¯s just say your boyfriend threw his weight around."


    "He¡¯s not my¡ª" The denial sticks in my throat. Um. Maybe he is. Unless he does this kind of thing with women casually all the time... Does he? Shit. It isn¡¯t like we had a conversation before he ripped my shirt off.


    Reflexively, I nce down¡ªbut no, I¡¯m not naked. There¡¯s a hospital gown covering me.


    "Do you remember what happened right before you passed out?"


    Heat floods my face so fast I wonder if I might pass out again. Fragments sh through my mind¡ªstrong hands gripping my thighs, the heat of his breath against my neck, the relentless pressure of his fingers inside me, the way his voice rumbled against my ear as he¡ª


    Lyre¡¯s nostrils re as she waves her hand in the air. "Get it together, Grace. You¡¯re projecting so hard I can practically smell it."


    I yank the thin hospital nket up to my chin as if it might shield my thoughts. "It¡¯s not¡ªI don¡¯t¡ª" But there¡¯s no point denying it. My body betrays me with its crimson flush that surely extends from my hairline to my toes.


    "So it was good, huh?" A hint of mischief dances in Lyre¡¯s expression.


    "Shut up." I bury my face in my hands, mortification making me dizzy. "I can¡¯t believe I... with him... and then just... copsed."


    "¡¯Copsed¡¯ is putting it mildly." Lyre perches on the edge of my bed. "Your energy was practically nonexistent. I¡¯ve seen ghosts with more life force."


    She¡¯s so casual about it, like she¡¯s really seen a ghost before. Lyre isn¡¯t one to bluff, but... "Wait, have you really seen ghosts?"


    "Why? Do you believe in them?"


    "Ghosts? No, of course not."


    Lyre¡¯sugh rings through the room, light and musical, yet with an edge. The hair on my arms stands up.


    "Oh, Grace. You might want to open up that worldview a little more. There¡¯s so much more than just humans and shifters out there." She gestures vaguely to the space around us, as if invisible creatures lurk in the corners of the hospital room.


    "I know that," I say ufortably, fidgeting with the edge of the nket. Everyone knows there are other supernaturals. Witches. Vampires. But I haven¡¯t met any of them.


    Lyre chuckles. "Do you? Well, I suppose that¡¯s a conversation for another time." She leans forward, her inhuman eyes studying me. "Do you remember stabilizing Caine?"


    I shake my head immediately, frowning at the unfamiliar term. "Stabilizing? What do you mean?"


    Lyre scratches at her cheek again, hesitating for a split second before her expression shifts to blunt curiosity. "Well, the two of you fucked, right?"


    A cough rips through my throat, and I cover my burning face with both hands. "We didn¡¯t¡ª" My voice drops to a whisper. "We didn¡¯t go all the way."


    "Close enough." Lyre waves her hand dismissively. "The more intimate the contact, the more transference is going to ur."


    My hands drop to myp. "What are you talking about?" The questiones out weak, pathetic. I try desperately not to think about what happened in the camper after Lyre left us alone¡ªCaine¡¯s hands rough with need, my body arching against his, the way he growled against my ear, the shocking intensity of release that crashed through me...


    Not thinking about it is clearly going well.


    My face heats further.


    "Energetic transference." Lyre¡¯s voice shakes me from my thoughts. "Look, I don¡¯t need the details of what you did. I¡¯m just trying to exin what happened when you did it."


    My fingers clench the thin hospital nket. The mortified part of me wants to derail this conversation entirely, but obviously this isn¡¯t an option. "I get that, but I¡¯m not understanding what you¡¯re saying."


    Lyre frowns. "Has anyone ever exined what happens with a mate bond?"

 Chapter 62: Grace: Transference (II)

    <h4>Chapter 62: Grace: Transference (II)</h4>


    "Oh¡ªhe didn¡¯t... I¡¯m not..." My hand jumps to the side of my neck awkwardly. "We aren¡¯t mated or anything."


    She rubs her forehead. "That¡¯s not what I was asking. Do you know what happens to two shifters when theyplete a mating bond? The marking scars are just the physical expression. The real bonding happens on an energetic level. When a shifter ims their mate, there¡¯s an exchange of energy. Usually, it¡¯s bnced. A give and take."


    A cold feeling settles in my stomach. "Okay..."


    "It isn¡¯t much, and there are levels of sensitivity to a bond. Some pairs can feel each others¡¯ emotions, for example. There¡¯s almost always a mental link between pairs. And they can share in each others¡¯ pain and healing to a small extent."


    I nod.


    "And then there¡¯s you."


    Now she¡¯s just getting ominous. "I¡¯m listening."


    Lyre¡¯s expression softens with something that might be pity. "Caine... took. A lot. Though I don¡¯t think he meant to. To be fair, you¡¯re a bit of a special case, yourself."


    I squint at her. "Um. Lyre? Not to sound repetitive, but Caine wasn¡¯t trying to mark me."


    She runs her hands through her hair with a groan. "Grace, you need to work on your rtionship aversion. I know he wasn¡¯t trying to mark you, but are you really trying to say you still haven¡¯t figured out you two are fated mates?"


    Time stops. My mouth hangs open. The twinkling lights grow dim in my vision as I process her words.


    Lyre arches one eyebrow, waiting for my response. The silence between us stretches ufortably long.


    My heart jumps at the thought, but then I crush the hope ruthlessly in a mental fist. No. Stop daydreaming.


    "That¡¯s..." My voicees out t, emotionless. "That¡¯s impossible. Humans can¡¯t be fated mates with shifters."


    Lyre snorts. "Says who?"


    "Says... everyone. It¡¯smon knowledge. Fated mates are a shifter thing. It¡¯s aboutpatibility between wolves. Humans don¡¯t have that... that biological imperative."


    "You sure about that?"


    "Yes." But even as I say it, doubt creeps in. Lyre doesn¡¯t make things up. At least, I don¡¯t think she does.


    Lyre crosses her arms. "And yet here we are, with you nearly dead from transference overload."


    I shake my head slowly, my thoughts spinning out of control.


    If what she¡¯s saying is true... if Caine and I are actually fated mates...


    My mind races back through every interaction, every moment we¡¯ve shared. The way my skin prickled with awareness whenever he entered a room. The inexplicable pull I felt toward him from the very beginning¡ªthe strange gravity causing me to revolve around him.


    How my body seemed to recognize his before my mind did.


    The intensity of my reactions to his touch, his scent, his voice. The way my heart raced and my stomach fluttered and my breath caught in my throat. The heat pooling low in my belly whenever he looked at me with those storm-cloud eyes.


    I¡¯d attributed it all to fear, to adrenaline, to simple physical attraction.


    But what if it was more? What if it was biological? Inevitable?


    And then there was Caine himself. The brutal, dangerous Lycan King who tracked me down without any clear motive.


    I¡¯d let him in. Dropped my guard. Let him touch me.


    Despite all logic and reason, despite all self-preservation instinct, I¡¯d been drawn to him like a moth to me.


    "Oh." The sound escapes my lips as realization crashes over me. "Oh. It makes so much sense now."


    Lyre lets out a soft snort. "Figured it out, have you?"


    I press my palm against my forehead, feeling light-headed. "But it¡¯s not possible. I¡¯m just... human."


    "Not impossible. Improbable." Lyre corrects me with a flick of her slender wrist. "There¡¯s a difference."


    My mind stumbles over this distinction. Not impossible means... possible. My entire worldview shifts.


    "So humans and shifters can be fated mates. Even when the human doesn¡¯t have a wolf soul?"


    "It happens. Rare, but it happens." Lyre grabs a strand of her hair, twisting it in one hand as she squints at the ceiling. "The idea of mate bonds being only through wolf souls is also incorrect. Their soul is a dyad. A twinsoul, if you will. The wolf¡¯s half of it is just more sensitive to things like a fated connection. It¡¯s steeped in magic, after all."


    "Oh." I¡¯m learning things we¡¯ve never been taught in school. In fact, I¡¯m pretty sure the stuffing out of Lyre would be considered werewolf heresy.


    I wait for her to continue, but she simply studies me with those unsettling cat-slit eyes. The silence stretches between us.


    "What?" I finally ask.


    She sighs. "I told you before¡ªyou¡¯re a special case."


    Rewinding my brain, I vaguely recall something along those lines. I¡¯d been a bit distracted and hadn¡¯t focused on her words though. "Special how?"


    Lyre¡¯s gaze drifts to the window as she doesn¡¯t answer.


    I frown. "Come on, Lyre. What do you mean, I¡¯m a special case?"


    She taps her fingers against her thigh in a rhythmless pattern. "You know, it¡¯s funny. Humans are so obsessed with knowing things."


    What the hell. She¡¯s the one who brought it up!


    I push myself straighter in the hospital bed, ignoring the protest of my muscles. "Don¡¯t get all cryptic and evasive on me now."


    "I¡¯m not being cryptic." She rises from the edge of my bed, stretching her arms above her head. "I¡¯m being selective about what I share."


    My patience snaps. "You¡¯re the one who started talking about it all! You can¡¯t just drop bombs like ¡¯special case¡¯ and ¡¯transference overload¡¯ and then stop."


    "Hmm. Well, yes." She wrinkles her nose. "You aren¡¯t wrong. But still, some facts shouldn¡¯t be spoon-fed, Grace. They need to be discovered."


    I press my palms against my eyes, exhaustion and frustration battling for dominance. When I look up, Lyre has moved to the small window, gazing outside.


    "You¡¯re dangling information in front of me like a carrot," I use her.


    Without turning, she shrugs one shoulder. "That¡¯s because you make a cute little rabbit."


    The deadpan delivery catches me off guard, startling augh from my throat. The tension in the room dissipates slightly.


    "I¡¯m serious, Lyre."


    "So am I." She turns back to me, expression contemtive. "Look, I know it¡¯s frustrating. But some things¡ªimportant things¡ªcarry more weight when you discover them yourself."


    "Is this about my parents?"


    The question ambushes us both. I hadn¡¯t nned to ask it, didn¡¯t even know the thought was lurking beneath the surface until it escaped my lips.


    Lyre¡¯s expression shifts, caution recing humor. "What makes you ask that?"


    I shrug, trying to appear nonchnt despite the sudden rapid beat of my heart. "Just a hunch."


    "Your parents are part of the equation," she admits carefully. "But not in the way you¡¯re thinking."


    "How would you know what I¡¯m thinking?" I challenge.


    Her lips twitch. "You aren¡¯t hard to figure out."

 Chapter 63: Caine: Ten Minutes

    <h4>Chapter 63: Caine: Ten Minutes</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    In hindsight, our arrival to the hospital could have been handled better.


    Fenris grumbles, refusing to acknowledge his part in the chaos. He¡¯s still upset to learn wolves aren¡¯t allowed in the hospital. Service animals only.


    ... and getting mad at your mate¡¯s doctors for refusing him entry doesn¡¯t endear you to the hospital staff¡ªor security.


    Granted, I could have stood my ground. It isn¡¯t as if their pathetic security force is enough to stop the wrath of a Lycan, much less their king. From what I can tell, even an average beta could wreck the ce. After all, like most hospitals, they cater to humans. Even a weak shifter can overpower an average human.


    A ce like this doesn¡¯t need someone capable of standing up to an alpha, much less a Lycan. Most of us don¡¯t even heal slow enough to require hospital care. A few might require intensive treatment if they¡¯re too weak for natural healing to kick in, but such situations are rare. Broken bones do need treatment, but rarely require an overnight stay. By far, the majority of shifters admitted to a hospital are there for one reason: Pregnancy.


    Illness and injury may not gue our people the way it haunts a human¡¯s lifetime, but even supernaturals can have issues with birthing offspring.


    Which exins why the humans became so squirrelly when I threatened to throw her first doctor through a wall, daring to tell me our presence is unnecessary because Grace was just sleeping. A violent environment is no ce to bring a fresh pup into the world.


    Magnanimous as I am, I allowed their pathetic security force to escort me off hospital grounds...


    <i>Only because Lyre threatened to lock you out of her home if you didn¡¯t, </i>Fenris huffs. <i>You can¡¯t keep treating humans like this if you want Grace to like you</i>.


    She <i>does </i>like me. This fact is now established. Granted, she liked me a little too much and fainted afterward...


    I check my phone again, a growl building in my throat. Nothing. The screen remains stubbornly nk, no new messages from Lyre.


    Ten minutes. Ten goddamn minutes since herst update.


    <i>She said Grace is stable. You heard the doctor yourself.</i>


    "I don¡¯t trust them," I mutter, pacing outside of the gas station conveniently located across the street from the hospital. They want me one hundred feet away, which is fine... but I¡¯m not going any farther. "How hard is it to send a text?"


    <i>She¡¯s ignoring you. Stop demanding updates every five minutes. She has better things to do, like actually watching over Grace.</i>


    I grit my teeth over the annoying truth of his words. "Don¡¯t start."


    Maybe he¡¯s right, though. Five minutes might be extreme. Ten minutes should be fine, though.


    <i>I wasn¡¯t the one who threatened to disembowel the nurse for asking you to fill out paperwork.</i>


    My eyebrows snap together. "He was keeping me from Grace. Her IV was pulling at her skin¡ª"


    <i>He was doing his job. And Lyre fixed the IV.</i>


    The rainbow-haired enigma had even pped my hand away again, telling me in no uncertain terms to stay away from Grace. <i>That¡¯s</i> when it all started. The humans had given me strange looks.


    Fine. Maybe he¡¯s right about the one instance, but the rest...


    <i>You mean the doctor you pinned against the wall?</i>


    "He told us to leave."


    <i>What about the nurse you yelled at for asking you to lower your voice?</i>


    "She was disrespectful."


    I squeeze the bridge of my nose with a sigh. When Fenris mentions all the incidents at once like this, it <i>does</i> make me sound a little out of control. Not as much as normal, but my mind has enough rity today to recognize what he¡¯s trying to say.


    <i>What about the receptionist you made cry when she couldn¡¯t ess Grace¡¯s file immediately?</i>


    I bare my teeth. "Are you keeping a fucking list?"


    <i>Someone should.</i>


    I growl. A nearby woman clutching a coffee cup flinches, scurrying to her car and mming the door shut.


    My phone¡¯s still silent, even after listening to Fenris list my transgressions. Like he¡¯s some sort of priest instead of an equally hot-headed wolf.


    <i>This isn¡¯t about me. It¡¯s about you.</i>


    "What the hell does that mean?" I snarl, trying to keep it a little quieter than normal. These humans find talking to yourself strange, despite it being amon urrence on pack grounds.


    Another reason humans aren¡¯t a great choice of mate.


    Not my Grace, though. She¡¯sfortable with wolves.


    <i>You¡¯re afraid, </i>Fenris points out, ruining the small surge of pride and affection coursing through me over the thought of Grace¡¯s eptance of wolf culture.


    "I¡¯m not¡ª"


    <i>You¡¯re worried because you almost killed Grace. Instead of admitting it, you¡¯reshing out at everyone else. Kings have pride, but only an idiot king would be so childish.</i>


    I clench my jaw, pointedly ignoring Fenris¡¯s sanctimonious lecture. The silence stretches between us, heavy with his usations and my refusal to engage.


    My phone vibrates, screen lighting up with a new notification. Every muscle in my body tenses as I check it.


    <strong>[LYRE: She¡¯s fine.]</strong>


    "She¡¯s fine?" I growl at the screen, as if it might reveal more information under threat. "What the hell does that mean?"


    Two words. Two fucking words after making me wait fifteen minutes. The vague message only amplifies my anxiety rather than alleviating it.


    <i>It¡¯s good Grace is fine,</i> Fenris says, taking the moral high ground he seems determined to make his home. It¡¯s all an act, though. I can feel the anxiety radiating from his corner of my brain.


    I type back furiously, thumbs punching the screen. I hate phones.


    <strong>[CAINE: Define ¡¯fine¡¯. Is she awake? Still resting? Test results back??]</strong>


    The three dots appear, indicating Lyre¡¯s typing a response, then disappear. Appear again. Disappear. My patience frays with each flicker.


    <i>Ask nicely,</i> Fenris suggests.


    "Fuck off."


    A middle-aged man walking past gives me a startled look before quickening his pace. I bare my teeth at his retreating back.


    My phone remains stubbornly silent. No typing dots. No response.


    "Goddammit." I pace across the gas station parking lot, unable to stand still while my mate lies in that sterile building across the street. The distance¡ªmere hundreds of feet¡ªfeels like miles. An insurmountable barrier erected between us.


    Fine. I¡¯ll try it Fenris¡¯s way.


    <strong>[CAINE: Please update me on her condition. Is she conscious?]</strong>


    The responsees almost immediately.


    <strong>[LYRE: She¡¯s awake. Still waiting on test results. She needs more rest. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll keep her overnight.]</strong>


    I exhale sharply, relief flooding through me. She¡¯s awake. Conscious. Speaking. The tightness in my chest loosens just enough to breathe properly.


    <strong>[CAINE: Can Ie back?]</strong>


    Another immediate response:<strong> [LYRE: No.]</strong>


    My ws extend reflexively, scraping against my phone case. A growl builds in my throat, rumbling so loud a car pulling into the gas station diverts to another pump farther from me.


    <strong>[LYRE: They¡¯ll call security again. She doesn¡¯t need that stress.]</strong>


    Fine. I suppose that¡¯s fair.


    "High Alpha?"


    An unfamiliar voicees from behind. I missed his approaching scent, and I wonder why the Fiddleback Pack keeps sending idiots to speak with the Lycan King. It¡¯smon knowledge not to approach a stronger opponent from downwind. Unless, of course, you¡¯re nning something nefarious.


    "What?" I snap, turning to face the stranger.


    A young wolf stands before me, shoulders pulled back, chin tipped up in an almost challenging posture. Dark brown hair swoops across his forehead, and he smiles at me with perfect white teeth. His stance suggests casual confidence, like we¡¯re equals meeting at a bar rather than a subordinate addressing the Lycan King.


    "I¡¯m Deputy Marshal Dawson. Everyone calls me Marsh." He extends a hand for a shake. "Alpha sent me to¡ª"


    My stare locks onto his, and my lips curl back just enough to expose the tips of my canines. I don¡¯t move to take his hand. Awkward silence stretches as he swallows his words.


    His smile falters first. Then his hand drops to his side.


    "Um..." His eyes dart toward the ground, then back up, unable to maintain contact with mine. His shoulders slope downward, the bravado seeping out of him with each passing second.


    I take a single step closer.


    "Alpha..." he begins again, voice pitched lower. He takes one step backward, creating deferential space between us, his body slightly bent forward in submission. "The Alpha has organized a wee banquet tonight. In your honor, High Alpha."


    The words emerge in a rush, like he can¡¯t get them out fast enough. His eyes are now pointed toward the ground rather than meeting my gaze directly.


    "A banquet." Such social pleasantries are the bane of my responsibilities as the Lycan King. The thought of listening to small talk and veiled attempts at gaining my political favor set my teeth on edge.


    "Yes, sir. At the pack house. Eight o¡¯clock."


    <i>A waste of time,</i> Fenris grumbles inside my head.


    I nce toward the hospital across the street. I have no interest in attending, but it would be discourteous to refuse hospitality while residing in Fiddleback territory.


    Pack protocol dictates certain formalities when one alpha enters another¡¯s territory¡ªdoubly so for the High Alpha. Under normal circumstances, I would have contacted the Fiddleback Alpha immediately upon arrival, paid my respects, and maybe even presented a small token of appreciation for his hospitality. All details I usually have Jack-Eye attend to.


    Instead, I stormed into his territory and brushed off his well-meaning, if irritating, scouts for daring to question my presence.


    Not my most diplomatic moment, though diplomacy has never been a great strength of mine to begin with.


    I nce again at the hospital. Grace is in there. Awake. Weak.


    <i>If we cause trouble with the local pack, it could make things harder for her,</i> Fenris says, surprising me with his reasonableness.


    I hate when he¡¯s right.


    "Fine. I¡¯ll attend."


    Relief rxes the young wolf¡¯s features. "Great! That¡¯s great. The Alpha will be¡ª"


    "On one condition."


    His mouth snaps shut.


    "My mate is in the hospital. I need updates on her condition."


    "I¡¯m sure we can arrange¡ª"


    "Every five¡ªno, ten minutes."


    Marsh blinks rapidly, processing the demand. "Updates... every ten minutes? From the hospital?"


    "Yes. And I need a way back in if she needs me."


    <i>A loophole,</i> Fenris grunts approvingly. <i>Finally, you¡¯re using your brain. I was starting to think you discarded it.</i>


    Marsh hesitates, clearly calcting how to fulfill this request. "Of course, High Alpha."

 Chapter 64: Grace: My Fault

    <h4>Chapter 64: Grace: My Fault</h4>


    Lyre keeps pulling out her phone and frowning. At first, I thought it was her way of avoiding more conversation about my parents and my identity.


    Turns out I was wrong. Lyre¡¯s shameless enough to refuse to answer questions outright, without excuses. Remembering her past frustration over not being able to give me clear answers, I¡¯m starting to wonder if maybe...


    I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s weird.


    Maybe she really <i>can¡¯t</i> tell me some things. She¡¯s said as much, so it isn¡¯t too far-fetched of an idea, but it seems like there¡¯s something keeping her from spilling everything she knows.


    Lyre¡¯s phone gives another annoying <i>ding</i>. She scoffs, ring at the screen before shoving it into her pocket with more force than necessary.


    "Something wrong?"


    She waves a dismissive hand through the air. "Your boyfriend¡¯s headed out to greet the local alpha."


    "He¡¯s not my¡ª" The denial sticks in my throat again, because... well. Then my mind catches up with the rest of her sentence. "Wait, what?"


    "Your Lycan King has deigned to socialize with the local pack. Progress, I suppose."


    My stomach drops. The image of Caine sttered with blood and surrounded by bodies shes through my mind. "Is he going to kill everyone here too?"


    The moment the words leave my mouth, I realize how blunt¡ªand ridiculous¡ªthey sound. But Lyre doesn¡¯t seem offended. Instead, her catlike eyes narrow and she tilts her head back, looking at me as if I¡¯m some strange specimen on disy at a museum.


    "What makes you think he¡¯s going to kill anyone?"


    "I mean..." Sure, Caine hasn¡¯t exactly been super murderous around me since then. Especially when things got steamy between us. But the memory of <i>that night</i> is going to be branded in my brain forever. The snarls. The screams. The wet, meaty sounds of violence I tried so hard not to hear.


    My body yearns for him, and he might be my fated mate for some strange reason, but ultimately, he¡¯s still... who he is. I¡¯m still wrapping my head around the idea a killer can genuinely care for someone.


    "He started massacred my pack." Wait. Now it sounds like he killed everyone. "Some of them."


    "Hmm." Lyre stretches, yawning widely. Her slightly sharp teeth glint in the light. "Tell me, what kind of person do you think the current king is?"


    "Mass murderer." My answeres without hesitation or thought. No consideration, no moment of reflection. It¡¯s hard to shake first impressions, I guess.


    She snorts, then coughs, patting at her chest as she clears her throat. "Okay. And what does that make you? The girl who let a murderer into her pants?"


    Prickling heat suffuses my cheeks. My shoulders slump as I groan, "Shameless. I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯m going to hell."


    Lyre¡¯s peals of bellyughter fill the room. "If there is a hell, we¡¯re all headed there for one reason or another." She taps a finger against her lips as she snickers, de-escting her amusement. "Though I have to wonder¡ªif you believe he¡¯s a cold-blooded killer, why did you sleep with him?"


    I open my mouth to respond, then close it. The simple, terrible truth is that there¡¯s no good answer for me to give.


    "I didn¡¯t... think about it." My voice is tiny as I admit it. "When he touches me, I can¡¯t think at all."


    "Hmm." Lyre chuckles. "My sympathy for the wolf is rising once again."


    "What do you mean?"


    She shakes her head. "He has a lot of work ahead of him, that¡¯s all. And he doesn¡¯t seem emotionally intelligent enough to navigate the maze in your head."


    I rub at the tip of my nose awkwardly, still overwhelmed by feelings of embarrassment. Once I epted her premise¡ªCaine and I being fated¡ªsome of her earlierments made a lot of sense, too. The ones about my intelligence level. Like when she asked about my grades in school.


    At the time, I was oblivious. Maybe on purpose, refusing to see what was in front of my face. Now, I know exactly what she meant when she asked me that question. It¡¯s enough to make a girl feel... you know. Stupid.


    "Tell me something, Grace. Why did the Lycan King kill your pack?"


    "I don¡¯t know."


    Lyre¡¯s slitted eyes narrow as she leans forward. "Really? Do you really not know? Or are you just not wanting to think about it?"


    My fingers twist in the thin hospital nket.


    "I¡ª"


    Memories I¡¯ve tried to sidestep keep rushing forward. Caine¡¯s face. His hand on my neck. The weight of his dominance crushing the room. Fenris, appearing out of nowhere. The way Caine was furious every time Alpha... no, Brax, screamed at me.


    I close my eyes, forcing myself to remember the conversation that preceded the ughter. The words. The tone. The subtle shifts in bodynguage I¡¯d noticed but hadn¡¯t understood.


    Caine must have already known then what I only learned today.


    My eyes open, and I stare at Lyre with crushing mncholy. "He did it because of me," I whisper, the realization unfurling like a poisonous flower in my chest. My lungs constrict.


    "What?"


    "He killed my entire pack because Brax hurt me."


    A hot tear escapes, trailing down my cheek. Then another. And another. The weight of it crushes me¡ªall those lives.


    All dead.


    Because of me.


    Lyre jumps up from her chair, panic shing across her face. "Hey, are you okay?"


    My chest heaves with suppressed sobs. "He killed Alpha because of me! And everyone else, too! They¡¯re all dead because of me!"


    My voice rises to a near-wail. The heart monitor beside me beeps frantically as my pulse races.


    Lyre¡¯s handnds awkwardly on my back, patting in a rhythm that¡¯s more confused thanforting. Her other hand scrambles for the remote the nurses set on my bed, and she presses the red call button.


    I hup, then sob harder.


    "Breathe," she says, patting a little firmer. "Calm down. It¡¯s not your fault. None of it is your fault. I wasn¡¯t trying to make you think it was."


    "But if it wasn¡¯t for¡ª" hic "¡ªme, they¡¯d all..."


    "They were bad people, weren¡¯t they? So does it even matter? It isn¡¯t worth being upset when trash takes itself out."


    I burst into full-on tears.


    "Shit," she mutters. "That backfired."

 Chapter 65: Grace: Cultural Differences

    <h4>Chapter 65: Grace: Cultural Differences</h4>


    Lyre waits for me to calm down, awkwardly patting at my back the entire time.


    When the embarrassing sobs finally subside, she disappears into the connected bathroom, only to re-appear with a damp towel. She shoves it at me. "Here. Wipe your face."


    I take the towel, pressing its cool dampness against my swollen eyes. It relieves the burn, but does nothing for the crushing weight of guilt settling into my chest. I drag the cloth across my face, trying to wipe away the shame along with the tear tracks.


    When I lower the towel, Lyre stands watching me, her slitted eyes narrowed. Without warning, she rakes both hands through her rainbow hair, back and forth in wild, vigorous strokes, leaving her disheveled.


    She heaves a sigh so dramatic it could dete a balloon. If she was one. "You know death is not the same for people like them, right?"


    I blink, the towel still clutched in my hands. "What?"


    "Shifters. Wolves." She waves a hand in a vague circr motion. "The Lycan King. Death doesn¡¯t mean the same thing to them that it does to humans."


    An inappropriate bubble of hystericalughter hits my throat, and I swallow it back. "But they still <i>die</i>, Lyre. They have families. Lovers. Kids. You know?"


    She perches at the edge of my bed, rubbing a few fingers against her forehead. "Look, Grace I get it. But you¡¯re still seeing their world through human eyes."


    The sense of guilt fades, buried under my brain working to understand what she¡¯s saying. "What¡¯s that supposed to mean?"


    "It means that what Caine did¡ª" She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "It wasn¡¯t extraordinary by their standards. Brutal? Sure. Excessive? Maybe. But unexpected? Not really."


    "I mean¡ªit¡¯s a lot of people, Lyre. The pile of bodies was..." My voice trails off as she lifts one shoulder in a half shrug, holding a hand between us with her palm.


    It¡¯s so dismissive.


    "And how do you think he became Lycan King? By asking nicely?"


    My mouth opens, then closes. I¡¯d never really thought about it before.


    "Alpha challenges end in blood," Lyre says, matter-of-fact. "Especially for the highest throne. Loyal wolves fight to the death. It¡¯s brutal, sure¡ªbut it¡¯s tradition."


    "But¡ª"


    "Territorial expansion?" She counts on her fingers. "Smaller packs get crushed underfoot all the time. Rogue wolves? Executed without trial. Challenges to authority? Met with swift and often deadly force. Shifters don¡¯t havew enforcement. Shifters enforce themselves, under the authority of their Alpha. And in this case, he <i>is</i> the authority."


    I shift my weight, listening to the sticky pillow behind me crinkle at the movement. Her words... make sense. But it¡¯s hard to reconcile with my own brain. I don¡¯t recall any violence in the Blue Mountain Pack. There were certainly no alpha challenges. And Alpha...


    Damn it. I have to stop calling him that. He is no longer my alpha.


    <i>Brax</i>.


    Brax didn¡¯t expand their territory.


    So, what she¡¯s saying... makes sense. But it isn¡¯t the reality of the years I¡¯ve lived.


    "I¡¯m not saying you should approve," she adds, her voice softening slightly. "I¡¯m just saying that death is an expected consequence in their world."


    I twist the damp towel between my hands. "Even a lot of it?"


    "They wouldn¡¯t call it murder. They¡¯d call it war, or justice. Even injustice sometimes. Or packw." She shrugs. "I¡¯m not defending it. I¡¯m just tranting the wolf mindset for your tender human sensibilities."


    "My sensibilities aren¡¯t tender," I protest, though the evidence of my tears suggests otherwise.


    Lyre raises one eyebrow in a deliberate, slow movement. Her eyes lower from my face to my hands, and I flush.


    "Okay, fine. Maybe they are. But I still can¡¯t just... ept that people died because someone hurt me."


    "Did you ask him to do it?" Lyre asks, brow still raised.


    "What? No!"


    "Did you hint at it? Tell him you wanted revenge?"


    "Of course not."


    She leans back, satisfied. "Then it wasn¡¯t because of you. It was because of him. His choice. His code. You can¡¯t take responsibility for how their life works, Grace."


    Am I listening to the devil? Because somehow, the guilt eases. Not gone, but lighter. And that¡¯s awful. People are dead. And I feel... relieved.


    I twist the damp towel tighter between my fingers, and water drips onto the thin nket covering my legs.


    "So basically, I should just excuse massacres as cultural?"


    "Not shrug it off. Understand it. There¡¯s a difference." Lyre taps her thigh, tilting her head. "Humans madews and prisons because your bodies are fragile and your lives are short. That¡¯s what you grew up with. What¡¯s familiar¡ªall the way down to your..." She waves a hand. "Bone marrow?"


    Ew.


    "Anyway, anything outside that code will feel wrong. But shifters are stronger, heal faster, live longer. Their justice is immediate and physical."


    The idea of Rafe delivering Caine-style justice twists my stomach. But then I remember how cold he was during the Mate Hunt. Was he pretending to be gentle just to y the part I wanted?


    It¡¯s like my memories have been under a filter¡ªonly showing me what I wanted to see.


    "I guess I lived in a bubble."


    Human but not. Pack but separate.


    I lean back. A yawn threatens, but I tense my jaw to fight it. It burns my nose. My entire body feels bruised from the emotional fallout.


    Lyre¡¯s shoulders ease, and she sighs¡ªsofter this time.


    "Thank the Goddess. I thought I was going to end up owing that idiot."


    I blink. "What?"


    "Not you," she rifies. "The other one."


    Wait. What other one? Does she mean Caine? And if she¡¯s rifying I¡¯m not the idiot...


    My eyes narrow. "So I <i>am</i> an idiot. Just not the one you¡¯re talking about?"


    Lyre holds up her hands, palms out, like she¡¯s surrendering. "Wow. You sure get sharp at the most awkward timing."


    Well, it¡¯s not like it¡¯s the first time she¡¯s insulted my intelligence. Granted, I was oblivious the first few times... which only proves her point.


    Damn it.

 Chapter 66: Caine: Strange (I)

    <h4>Chapter 66: Caine: Strange (I)</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    The Fiddleback Pack is unusual, settling most of their central pack territory in the middle of a human city.


    There are rows of cookie-cutter homes, differentiated only by paint color. Manicuredwns, where even the trees look trained. White fences.


    The back of my neck itches, and I resist the urge to scratch at it. "How do your wolves stand this?"


    Marsh nces at me from behind the wheel, his expression cid. "Stand what, High Alpha?"


    "This." I gesture at the subdivision sprawling around us. "Boxed in like sheep. No room to breathe."


    A yard the size of a postage stampes into view, a stic swing set crammed into one corner. The thought of a pup confined to such a space makes Fenris bristle.


    "We¡¯re used to it." Marsh shrugs, turning down another identical street. "Most of us were born here."


    "That¡¯s worse."


    Fenris growls agreement in my head.


    "Why live among humans like this? Most packs im territory where their wolves can run free."


    Marsh¡¯s fingers tap against the steering wheel. "Numbers, mostly. Our pack isn¡¯trge enough to maintain extensive territory. The subdivision houses all of us. Seventy-four wolves total."


    Seventy-four. Barely enough for a functional pack hierarchy. My pack numbers over a thousand.


    "And the humans don¡¯t care?"


    "We¡¯ve adapted." Marsh¡¯s voice carries a hint of pride. "Integration gives us options our ancestors never had. Jobs. Education. Resources. The humans think we¡¯re just anothermunity association with strict property rules."


    The car slows as we pass a human woman pushing a stroller. She waves, and Marsh returns the gesture with practiced ease.


    "And if one of you shifts identally?"


    "Hasn¡¯t happened in fifteen years. Our control is exceptional."


    I observe his profile. Though young¡ªperhaps twenty-five at most¡ªhe carries himself with the confidence of someonefortable in his environment. No strain of keeping his wolf leashed. No yearning for wilderness.


    "Is that why your pack uses these unusual titles? Deputy Marshal?"


    Marsh¡¯s eyebrows lift. "Oh, Deputy Marshal?" A smile touches the corner of his mouth. "It¡¯s because we¡¯ve taken on asw enforcement around here. We keep it clean."


    "Law enforcement." The concept is strange. Wolves policing humans while suppressing their nature.


    "Sheriff Halloway¡ªAlpha Ian¡ªwas elected ten years ago. Most of our enforcers work for the department now."


    We turn onto a wider street, the houses growingrger but no less uniform. There¡¯s no presence outside. No children in the yards. No one walking in the streets. It¡¯s too silent, too devoid of life.


    Aren¡¯t they preparing a banquet?


    "And the humans trust you to police them?"


    "Our presence has benefits for everybody. Crime rates are the lowest in the state."


    I can imagine. Few criminals would survive crossing paths with even the weakest of their bunch.


    "What happens to those who break yourws?"


    Something shifts in his scent. "Justice."


    Opening the pack link to my beta, I ask, <i>What is the situation with Fiddleback?</i>


    Jack-Eye¡¯s thoughts reach back immediately. <i>Surprisingly luxurious for such a rural pack. Humans would love to live here. Thom¡¯s impressed.</i>


    <i>And the pack?</i>


    <i>A little rough around the edges, but disciplined.</i>


    No pups. That detail snags my attention. Every healthy pack should have children running underfoot, testing boundaries, learning their ce in the hierarchy.


    <i>Keep watch. Something isn¡¯t right here.</i>


    <i>Always watching, my King. </i>His mental voice is syrup-sweet and obsequious.


    <i>Enough.</i>


    I break the connection as Marsh pulls into a curved driveway before thergest house yet. Stone facade, three-car garage. Several cars are parked on the street out front.


    "Alpha Ian¡¯s residence," Marsh announces. "And the pack gathering ce."


    "Nomunal den?"


    "This is our den," he says simply, shutting off the engine. "The basement level connects to several neighboring homes through tunnels. For full moons and pack gatherings."


    "Your pack has adapted indeed." I keep my voice neutral despite Fenris¡¯s growing agitation.


    Marsh smiles, clearly taking my observation as approval. "We¡¯ve evolved beyond old limitations. Survival requires adaptation."


    As I step from the car, the air carries no forest scents, no wild game, no earthy undertones that should mark wolf territory. Just cut grass, chemical cleaners, and the faint metallic tang of human machinery.


    If I couldn¡¯t smell them, I¡¯d assume only humans lived in this ce.


    Fenris paces within me. <i>I don¡¯t like this.</i>


    "This way, High Alpha." Marsh gestures toward a set of double doors.


    Before following, I nce back at the perfect rows of houses stretching into the distance. A human neighborhood indistinguishable from thousands of others across the country. Nothing to suggest the predators living among them.


    Fiddleback is more than strange. It¡¯s unnatural, skirting hard around the edges of packw. Humans aren¡¯t allowed in pack territory. But moving the territory to them? That¡¯s something else entirely.


    The entryway gleams. Between the polished hardwood and the shiny chrome fixtures overhead, it feels very... human.


    My teeth grind together.


    "Alpha Ian is waiting in the great room."


    Great room? My lip curls.


    I follow Marsh past photographs of smiling pack members in graduation gowns, police uniforms, and wedding attire. Every image carefully selected to emphasize their human aplishments rather than pack bonds.


    No wonder they¡¯re nervous about my arrival. By living this way, they¡¯ve been operating in that dangerous territory between packw and outright defiance.


    Perhaps I should visit more of these rural packs. See howmon this kind of lifestyle is.


    Marsh leads me to a man with graying hair, his face weathered but unremarkable. Alpha scent, but diluted. Weak.


    "High Alpha." He bends at the waist, dropping his gaze to the floor. "I am Ian Halloway, Alpha of Fiddleback. Our pack is honored by your presence." His scent is sour and sharp.


    I incline my head. "Alpha Halloway."


    Marsh moves to stand slightly behind his alpha, no longer my guide.


    "Please." Halloway gestures to the seating arrangement, a group of leather armchairs by an unlit firece. "Make yourselffortable."


    I remain standing, taking my time to study the room. Arge t-screen television dominates one wall. Art pieces hang at precise intervals. A gas firece, something no proper wolf would ever have in their home.


    "Your territory is... unexpected."


    Halloway¡¯s smile tightens. "We¡¯ve worked hard to create afortable environment."


    "Comfortable." I step closer to the firece, examining a photo of Halloway in what appears to be a campaign rally. "And expensive."


    His scent shifts, anxiety mingling with pride. "Fiddleback has been blessed with prosperity."


    "How does a pack of seventy-four maintain all this?" The question is blunt, my tone making it clear I expect an equally direct answer. "Every house I passed screams of wealth."


    Halloway sps his hands before him. "Our integration strategy has proven financially advantageous, High Alpha. Every member of Fiddleback contributes to our collective through their human-world employment."


    "Hmm."


    "Our pack members serve aswyers, engineers, even teachers." His chest puffs slightly. "I myself have been the county sheriff for a decade. We pull our sries, invest wisely, and share the proceeds through the pack fund."


    Fenris grumbles.


    "And your wolves are content with this?" I gesture toward the window, to the manicuredwns and identical houses. "Being trapped in human upations, ying at human lives?"


    Halloway¡¯s forehead creases almost imperceptibly before smoothing out again. "We¡¯ve evolved beyond the limitations of traditional pack structure. Our wolves understand the benefits of adaptation."


    I grunt, unimpressed. "I¡¯d like to see my beta."


    "Of course. Deputy Marshal Dawson can escort you¡ª"


    The title grates on my nerves, and I loose a soft growl.


    Halloway¡¯s mouth closes with an audible click. He nods to Marsh, who steps forward.


    "This way, High Alpha."


    Fenris rumbles within me. <i>They¡¯re strange.</i>


    If there¡¯s rot here, I¡¯ll find it.

 Chapter 67: Caine: Strange (II)

    <h4>Chapter 67: Caine: Strange (II)</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    The house Marsh leads me to is no different from the others.


    Marsh pushes the door open without knocking. No courtesy, not even a perfunctory tap. Interesting.


    Inside feels bare, even more than a model home. There are no photos. No art. Nothing personal. Even Halloway¡¯s pretentious disy of wealth had some semnce of life to it. This ce resembles a vacant rental property.


    There is furniture, though.


    Jack-Eye emerges from what must be the kitchen with Elizabeth trailing behind. His shoulder brushes against hers, a short-lived point of contact, and it speaks volumes. The faint whiff of her scent clings to him.


    He catches my eye and winks, that insufferable smirk ying at the corner of his mouth.


    "Where are the other two?" I ask Jack-Eye, scanning the barren living room.


    "Upstairs." Jack-Eye jerks his thumb toward the ceiling. "The wizard doesn¡¯t like being around shifters. Gets the shakes." He drops his voice to a mock whisper. "I think we scare him."


    Elizabeth chuckles.


    "And Andrew?"


    "In another bedroom."


    Confined. Good.


    Marsh clears his throat. "If that¡¯s all, High Alpha, I¡¯ll return to Alpha Halloway. We still have the banquet to arrange¡ª"


    I wave him off with a dismissive hand. His eagerness to leave is palpable, but I don¡¯t think it¡¯s from my disy of dominance earlier. He seems morefortable now that we¡¯re here.


    Letting my gaze wander to Elizabeth, I ask, "Is this your home?"


    "Yes, High Alpha." There¡¯s a tightness around her eyes, and the faint scent of deception. "I hope it meets your standards."


    I cast another nce around the clinical space. "It seems ratherrge for a single woman."


    "It serves multiple purposes." Her eyes don¡¯t quite meet mine. "Guest lodging when needed. Work space when the den gets crowded." She gestures vaguely toward a closed door. "I have a home office through there."


    The practical exnation doesn¡¯t align with the emptiness. A multi-purpose space would show signs of its various uses. This ce resembles a nk canvas.


    Strange. My assumption they brought me here in order to show their legitimacy seems... wrong.


    If they wanted to present their pack life as an eptable twist of shifter society, it¡¯s a little too strange. Almost as if their families live elsewhere, and their presence here is little more than a performance.


    There is too little life in this ce. They have another purpose for inviting me here.


    Fenris grunts. <i>Your brain has be exceptional since epting Grace.</i>


    "I¡¯m surprised you aren¡¯t mated with a few pups running around by now," I tell Elizabeth, leaning into a side of me I rarely ess. My lips curve into a friendly smile, and I can see Jack-Eye twitch.


    He¡¯s always ufortable when I act, as he calls it, <i>normal</i>.


    Elizabeth nces away. "Not everyone follows the same path, High Alpha. I like my work."


    "Of course." I keep my tone light, but file away her reaction. Another piece in this strange pack¡¯s puzzle.


    Jack-Eye clears his throat. "Elizabeth has been kind enough to offer her home instead of putting us up at the den. Isn¡¯t she sweet, Caine?"


    "Very."


    Elizabeth¡¯s blush is expected, and Jack-Eye slides an arm around her waist. She leans into him naturally.


    For a woman who ims she would prefer work to pups, her bodynguage says otherwise. She seems a little dazed by my beta¡¯s affection.


    "Would you like to see where you¡¯ll be staying?" she asks, with a shy nce toward Jack-Eye. "There are four bedrooms. One is for you, and your beta has already settled your guests into the others. Thest is mine."


    Jack-Eye grins, pulling her a little closer as he says, "Don¡¯t worry, boss. You won¡¯t have to share."


    His charm is irritating and inauthentic, but Elizabeth seems to love it. A soft giggle escapes her, at odds with her no-nonsense demeanor at our first meeting.


    The performance is nauseating, but I keep the fake smile on my face. The moment I show any difort, Jack-Eye will ramp up his efforts¡ªit¡¯s his favorite amusement.


    If he wasn¡¯t my beta...


    <i>But he is.</i>


    Unfortunately.


    <i>You share such a strange friendship.</i>


    "I believe I¡¯ll explore the ce myself, if that¡¯s eptable."


    Elizabeth¡¯s eyes flicker behind me. It¡¯s a microsecond of reaction before she sters a bright smile on her face. "Of course, High Alpha. My home is your home."


    "We have a couple hours before this banquet, correct?"


    "Yes, High Alpha."


    "Would you mind checking with Marsh about the hospital contact I requested? I¡¯d like regr updates about my mate¡¯s condition."


    Elizabeth¡¯s smile falters. A frown creases her forehead, and an acrid scent spikes off her.


    Jack-Eye spins her around with fluid grace, lifting her chin as he brushes a kiss against her lips.


    My eye twitches.


    "You¡¯re a gem, Elizabeth," he murmurs. "Completely wasted in Fiddleback. What would they do without you?"


    Her transformation is immediate, her difort disappearing as she softens in my beta¡¯s embrace.


    <i>He ys her like a violin. You should take notes.</i>


    No.


    Jack-Eye¡¯s maniption is effective, but his gestures are empty,cking true affection. Grace and I have so much more between us.


    Elizabeth remains silent for several beats, lost in whatever fantasies Jack-Eye nted with his feigned respect and admiration. Then she blinks, returning to the present moment. Her smile, when she turns back to me, seems more genuine.


    "I¡¯ll contact Marsh right away, High Alpha. You should be getting your updates shortly."


    I nod, watching her pull out her phone and step into her supposed office. The door clicks shut behind her.


    "Subtle," I tell Jack-Eye once she¡¯s gone.


    He shrugs, dropping the charming facade as we head upstairs. He lowers his voice. "While you were at the hospital with our new Luna, I did a sweep of this ce. Nothing out of the ordinary. No obvious traps."


    "But?"


    "But there¡¯s no way this is her actual home. No personal items, not even a spare toothbrush in the bathroom cab."


    I grunt. "That much was obvious."


    "Oh? And here I thought I was being clever." He rubs the back of his neck with a sigh. "Something¡¯s off about this pack. They don¡¯t seem dangerous, but they¡¯re nning something. I can feel it."

 Chapter 68: Grace: What Are the Chances...?

    <h4>Chapter 68: Grace: What Are the Chances...?</h4>


    Lyre¡¯s pulled her phone out and frowned at it at least fifteen times in the past few minutes, driving me mildly batty.


    My nurse fiddles with a new bag of IV fluids, having saved us from the incessant squawking of whatever machine they have attached to a pole. A few buttons beep, and clear fluid drips in steady rhythm once again.


    I crane my neck around the nurse¡¯s blue scrubs, trying to catch Lyre¡¯s eye. What¡¯s with all the phone checking? But she doesn¡¯t notice my curiosity, her eyes fixed on whatever message is on her screen.


    The nurse taps the IV bag once more. "All set, honey. Your fluids are running nice and steady now."


    "Thanks," I mumble, distracted by my friend¡¯s increasingly pinched expression.


    "Just hit that call button if you need anything. Anything at all," the nurse chirps.


    As soon as the door clicks shut behind her, Lyre finally looks up from her phone.


    "What are the chances your boyfriend¡¯s gotten himself kidnapped by the local pack?"


    Augh bubbles out of me. "Caine? Getting kidnapped?" The absurdity of it makes meugh harder. "Maybe if they¡¯re dragons in disguise."


    But Lyre doesn¡¯t join in. Her slitted eyes narrow further.


    Myughter dies in my throat. "Wait. You¡¯re not joking."


    "I wouldn¡¯t say I¡¯m genuinely concerned." She taps her phone against her palm as she nces out the window. "More... cataloging unusual happenings."


    My heart does a nauseating somersault. "What unusual happenings? Is he okay?"


    "Well, up until an hour ago, he was incessantly messaging me for updates. Now it¡¯s radio silence. I watched him leave with one of the local shifters. It¡¯s a small pack, so it shouldn¡¯t be a problem even if they act up, but..."


    "I¡¯m sure he¡¯s fine." The brief re of worry disappears. It¡¯s Caine we¡¯re talking about. The Lycan King. The local pack doesn¡¯t stand a chance.


    Lyre points her phone at me. "Confirming: it¡¯s okay for me to stop worrying about him, right?"


    I can¡¯t help butugh. She looks ridiculous, arching her brow as if she needs my permission. "Sure. You¡¯re free to ignore all worries about his possible kidnapping."


    "Okay," she says, sounding as if she¡¯s warning me. "I¡¯m washing my hands of it from this point on."


    "Yeah, yeah, I get it." My lips keep twitching as she lets out a long breath.


    Then she slides her phone into her back pocket, her shoulders easing a little. "Okay. With that done, I¡¯m afraid I need to run a few errands again."


    I blink. "Again?"


    "A girl¡¯s got needs, Grace. Specifically..." She pauses, tilting her head. "Let¡¯s say I have connections to check in with."


    She reveals herself in fragments, each piece offered like a gift when the time is right. It better be worth it. Her cryptic rainbow personality isn¡¯t exactly getting old, but... Yeah, it¡¯s getting old.


    She steps closer, scanning my face with her unsettling perception. "I don¡¯t have to go if you¡¯d rather I stay."


    It¡¯s been so long since anyone¡¯s prioritized myfort over their own agenda. First Caine breaking his own rules to protect me, now Lyre ready to postpone her ns if I need her. It¡¯s enough to make a girl swoon.


    Though, I guess I already did.


    "Go," I wave my hand toward the door. "I¡¯m fine. Better than fine."


    I¡¯m lying. My limbs feel like I¡¯ve run a hundred marathons, and my brain is a little heavy after our conversation. A friend¡¯s presence isn¡¯t going to fix any of it, though.


    A nap might.


    Too bad this pillow is tter than a folded sweatshirt. And it crinkles. So annoying.


    "You sure? You don¡¯t look fine."


    "I¡¯m sleepy, so I¡¯m just going to pass out while you¡¯re gone. It won¡¯t be very fun to stick around."


    Lyre studies me for a moment longer, then nods. "Okay. But if you need me¡ª"


    "I¡¯ll call. Promise." She¡¯s got my phone on the cab by my bed, charging so it doesn¡¯t die on me.


    "I won¡¯t be gone long." She hesitates at the door, her hand on the knob. "Don¡¯t do anything crazy when I¡¯m not here."


    A surprisedugh escapes me. "I¡¯m held hostage by an IV pole and a hospital gown. If I try to get out of bed, everyone¡¯s going to see my backside. I¡¯m pretty sure I can¡¯t get into any trouble here."


    Lyre snickers at my reassurance and pulls the door open. I sink deeper into my pillows, ready to enjoy some quiet.


    Not even two seconds pass before her rainbow-colored head pokes back through the doorway.


    "One more thing. If wolf boy returns while I¡¯m gone¡ªno sex in the hospital bed."


    My jaw unhinges. "Excuse me?"


    "In fact," she continues, stepping back into the roompletely, "don¡¯t let him touch you. At all."


    "Lyre, I¡¯m hospitalized. Sex isn¡¯t exactly on my to-do list right now."


    She ignores me, stabbing a finger in my direction. "Consider the man a vampire. Bathe in garlic. Do whatever you need to, but don¡¯t let him touch you."


    Heat crawls up my neck. "Are you serious right now?" It¡¯s not like I¡¯m sex-starved. Things just kind of happened.


    Her cat eyes gleam. "Your energy levels are barely above ¡¯functioning human.¡¯ One wolfy hand on you and you¡¯ll tline."


    My lips twitch despite my embarrassment. "Where exactly am I supposed to get garlic in a hospital?"


    "I don¡¯t know. Call room service." She scowls. "Just do as I say, or I¡¯m putting ¡¯Fucked to death by a werewolf¡¯ on your headstone."


    Augh bursts out before I can stop it, echoing in the sterile room. "You wouldn¡¯t."


    "Watch me." She flicks her rainbow hair over her shoulder. "I know a guy who does cemetery engravings."


    "Of course you do." The image of some poor soul chiseling those words into granite sends me into another fit of giggles.


    "I¡¯m not joking, Grace. No touching Caine."


    I snort. "Fine. No touching."


    "Good girl." She shoots me finger guns before backing toward the door again. "Remember, garlic. Lots of it."


    My lips twitch. "You know he¡¯s not <i>actually</i> a vampire, right?"


    Lyre¡¯sugh follows her out the door.

 Chapter 69: Grace: Strange Nurse

    <h4>Chapter 69: Grace: Strange Nurse</h4>


    As expected, I fall asleep quickly once Lyre¡¯s gone, dreamless and deep.


    A scraping sound startles me awake.


    My eyelids struggle against the weight of interrupted sleep. A figure in scrubs moves around my bed, his features indistinct thanks to the dim lighting and my own disorientation. The nurse¡ªa man, based off his broad shoulders and overall bulky physique¡ªunplugs my IV from the wall outlet, methodically winding the cord to rest on the metal pole.


    "What¡¯s going on?" I ask,pletely disoriented.


    He doesn¡¯t look at me, instead tapping at a tiny vial hanging near my fluids on the IV pole.


    Then he turns, pushing a button to recline my bed until it¡¯s t. "Taking you downstairs for imaging." His voice is t. Professional, but distant to the point of disinterest. He has a badge hanging from anyard around his neck, but I can¡¯t make out what it says.


    "Oh, okay..." Imaging? Nobody mentioned tests. But then again, hospitals operate on their own schedule, and doctors don¡¯t always tell us what they¡¯re going to do.


    Cold air hits my legs as he straightens my nket. My bed jerks forward as he disengages the brake with his foot, the mechanical click oddly loud in the quiet room.


    I stare nkly at the ceiling as he wheels me toward the door, going backward. My hands rest limply on the nket, still too heavy with sleep to move properly. The bed bumps slightly crossing the threshold.


    A soft ping from the nightstand reaches my ears just as we round the corner¡ªmy phone. My hands twitch.


    Oh, no. My phone. It¡¯s still on the nightstand.


    The realization filters slowly through my drowsiness. Should I ask to go back for it? It seems trivial to dy whatever test they need to run. Besides, imaging never takes long, does it? Twenty minutes, thirty at most? I¡¯ll be back in my room before Lyre returns from her errands.


    The nurse steers my bed into an elevator, an awkward affair involving an eight-point turn. It doesn¡¯t seem to bother him, though, like he does this every day. I guess he does.


    The doors slide closed, sealing us in the metal box, and I gain a sudden case of ustrophobia. New-onset.


    "What kind of imaging am I getting?" I ask, trying to chase away the cloudiness in my head.


    His eyes remain fixed on the illuminated panel of floor numbers. "Standard procedure."


    The vague answer should bother me, but I¡¯m still too groggy to push further. The elevator descends, my stomach lifting slightly with the motion, and I hope I don¡¯t throw up on my nket.


    When the doors open, the air feels different¡ªcooler, for one. The lighting is harsher here, with no attempt made at the softer, moreforting glow of the patient floors.


    I crane my neck around. Utilitarian hallways stretch in both directions.


    "Is this radiology?" I ask, because it doesn¡¯t look like any hospital department I¡¯ve seen before. No signs on the walls, no other patients or staff visible.


    "Just through here." He makes a sharp turn, wheeling me toward a set of double doors.


    A flicker of unease ripples through my chest. The fog in my brain is lifting, reced by ufortable prickles of alertness. Something about this doesn¡¯t feel right.


    We pass through the double doors into yet another corridor, lined with doors. The temperature drops another few degrees. Goosebumps rise on my arms. I look like a naked chicken.


    "Wait," I say, my voice stronger now. "What department is this?"


    His pace doesn¡¯t slow. "Almost there."


    Sickly green walls have given way to gray concrete. The shade of green didn¡¯t seem particrly conducive to a healing atmosphere, but bare concrete is worse. It¡¯s...


    Are we in a parking garage?


    It... kind of looks like one. Only with no cars. Or parking spaces. And I can¡¯t see the sky.


    Where the hell is this? The basement? It¡¯s obviously not the department of x-rays and MRIs.


    "Stop! I¡¯m going back to my room." I push myself up on my elbows, fighting against the weakness still clinging to my limbs, and it¡¯s a new level of stupid to think he¡¯s going to respond well to my demands.


    But¡ªI mean, I can¡¯t just <i>let</i> him take me.


    Even verbal resistance is something, especially when my body¡¯s not <i>listening</i>.


    His handes down on my shoulder, pressing me back against the mattress. Not forcefully, but with unmistakable purpose. He¡¯s not even trying to exin the situation away.


    "Lie still. This won¡¯t take long."


    Fear has cleared thest of the grogginess, but the adrenaline running through my veins is no match for the lethargy of my body.


    I twist my head, searching for someone. Anyone. But it¡¯s eerily quiet as the squeaking of my bed and the soft thud of his feet echo in this empty space.


    My phone¡¯s still on my nightstand upstairs. No way to call Lyre. No way to call anyone. Damn it.


    "Who are you? You¡¯re not a nurse." I speak the words with as much strength as I can muster, but they stille out thin and shaky. If I could just have the strength to roll off this bed and run...


    For the first time, he looks down from above. His eyes are cold and distant as they meet mine.


    "Careful now. Wouldn¡¯t want to aggravate your condition." His mouth curves into what might technically qualify as a smile, but contains no warmth. "You¡¯re quite valuable, you know."


    A strange looms ahead, different from the others¡ªheavier, with some kind of electronic panel beside it. The nurse¡ªor whoever he is¡ªpulls a keycard from his pocket and swipes it.


    The lock disengages with an ominous click, and that¡¯s it. I¡¯m convinced. I¡¯m being kidnapped. There¡¯s no radiology department. This nurse is out to kill me and bury my body in a ditch somewhere.


    "Help!" I shout, the word tearing at my throat. "Somebody help me!"


    His hand mps over my mouth, fingers digging into my cheeks. "Nobody can hear you down here. Don¡¯t make this difficult."


    See? Kidnapper.


    I should have reacted so much sooner.


    I bite down hard on his palm. At least I have enough strength for this much. He jerks his hand back with a curse, and I scream again, louder. My hands scrabble at the rail of the bed, trying to yank my heavy body up.


    Move, move, <i>move</i>, you worthless sack of flesh and bone!


    He recovers quickly, producing something from his pocket¡ªa syringe, the needle gleaming under the harsh lights.


    "I didn¡¯t want to do this yet, but you¡¯re not giving me much choice."


    I thrash wildly, kicking at the nkets, but my movements are uncoordinated, my body still weak. He grabs my arm with unsurprising strength, pinning it against the mattress as I il.


    The cold sting of the needle pricks my skin, and almost immediately, the edges of my vision begin to blur.


    "Wha..." My tongue feels thick, uncooperative. "What did you..."


    "Shh." He¡¯s back to not looking at me, attention fixed on pushing the bed through the doorway. "Just rx. We aren¡¯t going to hurt you."


    Damn it. Who the hell would be after someone like me? Lyre¡¯s quip about Caine being kidnapped by the local pack runs through my head, sending a chill down my spine. She should be back soon, right? She¡¯ll find me... or Caine will.

 Chapter 70: Caine: Strange Magic

    <h4>Chapter 70: Caine: Strange Magic</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    To the unobservant eye, the house is exactly as Elizabeth says. Her home.


    But it doesn¡¯t take much effort to scratch at the lie.


    Devoid of personal effects,cking the clutter everyone¡¯s living space acquired. Every piece of silverware is ounted for. There are no scratches on any of the cookware. Even the closets are eerily empty.


    The cleaning supplies located under the kitchen sink are all brand new. There¡¯s no bag in the trash can, and the box of recements is unopened.


    No vacuum. No broom.


    Everything you¡¯d consider a daily necessity of life is missing. There are extra sheets in the linen closet and a small stack of towels, as if this is a guest house, not a home.


    The fading light casts long shadows across the room. Fenris¡¯s hackles raise from his position by the door. He¡¯s been tense since we arrived.


    Me, too.


    My phone vibrates against my thigh. Another message.


    The screen illuminates with a photo¡ªGrace, pale and vulnerable against hospital sheets. Her blonde hair fans across the pillow, eyes closed, chest rising in shallow breaths. The rainbow-haired nuisance sits nearby, book in hand, watching over what¡¯s mine.


    I zoom in on Grace¡¯s face with my thumb, tracing the curve of her cheek through the screen. A poor substitute for the real thing. The longing to touch her, to breathe in her unique blueberry scent ws at my chest.


    Being apart is agony, growing worse with every hour.


    "She¡¯d be safer with me."


    Fenris growls his agreement. If it wasn¡¯t for the strangeness of this ce, he would have run to the hospital, doing his damnedest to sneak in regardless of their position on animals.


    I scroll through previous messages; it¡¯s been hours since Lyre contacted me directly, leaving me reliant on the Fiddleback contact, a nurse at the hospital who sends photos like clockwork but offers no real information.


    Of course, Grace is sleeping. There isn¡¯t much to report. But it still rankles.


    My jaw tightens. This arrangement is intolerable. Once I get Grace to Lycan territory, under my protection, surrounded by people I trust...


    A hup breaks my concentration.


    The wizard kneels before me, a pathetic sight with his trembling hands clenched atop bony knees. Thom keeps his gaze fixed on the floor, shoulders hunched as if expecting a blow.


    "Look at me when I speak to you." His groveling only makes my distaste for him grow.


    Thom¡¯s head jerks up, his sses sliding down his nose. Behind the tinted lenses, his eyes hold a strange, foggy quality. The familiar, harsh scent of fear radiates off him like waves.


    "Exin it again." I set my phone face-down beside me. "And this time, make sense."


    "Y-yes, Your Majesty. Er, High Alpha." A full-body shudder runs through him. "There¡¯s something interfering with the magical currents in this region."


    "What kind of something?"


    "I... cannot say, High Alpha. It¡¯s old. And s-strange. Not natural." His voice cracks.


    "Define strange."


    "As I¡¯ve exined before, magic has signatures. Textures. Like scent, for you." His hands shake, the knuckles turning pale, despite my reasonable attitude as I listen to his exnation for a second time. "Normal magic is clean. This is messy. Like a blurry photo. Or static."


    I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "You said it was interfering with Grace¡¯s location earlier."


    Thom nods.


    "But it¡¯s stronger here?"


    He nods again, his head jerking like a puppet. "It¡¯s concentrated here. I thought it was s-strong near the c-campground, but..."


    "Stop stuttering."


    "Y-yes, High Alpha."


    Rubbing at my eyebrow, I sigh. "And you don¡¯t know what it could be? How do you know it¡¯s old?"


    "It just feels... old." The copper wires of his sses catch the light as he swallows.


    "Could it be some sort of trap?"


    "No." For the first time, his voice carries conviction. "Not a spell. It¡¯s older. A presence. Something which affects everything inside of its boundaries."


    My nostrils re, testing the air. All I smell is the stale emptiness of this staged house, the wizard¡¯s fear-sweat, and a faint chemical tang clinging to the new furnishings, almost stic.


    "And this affects your tracking abilities how?"


    "It¡¯s like... trying to see through m-murky water." His fingers twitch, his confidence already gone. "Signals get lost. Distorted. When I tried to focus on your... on the girl, there was... interference."


    "Her name is Grace."


    "Uh. Yes. G-Grace." He pushes his sses higher. "When I try to track her, something pushes back. It¡¯s why I couldn¡¯t get a clear location until we were practically on top of her."


    My phone buzzes again. Another update. Same format. Different angle of the same scene¡ªGrace sleeping, Lyre reading.


    Even with these updates, I feel uneasy. Why is the rainbow-haired brat no longer messaging me?


    She¡¯s been silent since I left the area.


    Does she really think she can get by with ignoring me?


    My jaw tightens as I pick up my phone again. Enough of this silence. I swipe to Lyre¡¯s contact and type out a message with more force than necessary.


    <strong>[CAINE: Any medical updates on Grace? Real ones, not just photos.]</strong>


    The message sits there, undelivered.


    I rub at my eyebrow again, waiting. But she doesn¡¯t read it, or respond.


    The audacity of Grace¡¯s little nuisance.


    <strong>[CAINE: If anything changes with her condition, I expect to be informed immediately.]</strong>


    Still nothing.


    I m the phone down beside me, causing Thom to flinch violently, nearly toppling backward.


    "You¡¯ll be joining us for the banquet tonight," I say absently, my mind still on Grace.


    "M-me?" Thom¡¯s voice cracks. "I don¡¯t usually... I mean, I¡¯m not typically invited to¡ª"


    "It wasn¡¯t a request."


    He swallows. "Y-yes, High Alpha."


    Which brings me to another annoying issue: the Blue Mountain pup who dared to spirit my Grace away. He¡¯s been tucked away upstairs since our arrival.


    He can¡¯t be left unsupervised.


    I reach for the link I share with Jack-Eye. Our connection snaps into ce immediately.


    <i>Bring Andrew to the banquet tonight. Keep him in your sight at all times.</i>


    A beat of silence, then Jack-Eye¡¯s consciousness floods with irritation.


    <i>Seriously? Now?</i> His mental voice sounds strained.


    I frown.


    <i>Is there a problem with my order?</i>


    An exasperated groan fills my head. <i>Can you stop interrupting at the most awkward fucking times?</i>


    I narrow my eyes, even though he can¡¯t see me. <i>What could possibly be so¡ª</i>


    <i>I¡¯m fucking Elizabeth, what else would I be doing?</i> The impatience in his voice is tangible. <i>You¡¯ve been inspecting every nook and cranny of this ce for hours, and I needed to keep her out of the way.</i>


    The mental image apanying his words is unwee and explicit.


    Of course, had I not been distracted and thought about Jack-Eye¡¯s disappearance even for a second, it would be obvious what his intentions were the moment he said he was looking for Elizabeth.


    The man¡¯s a beast, even for a Lycan.


    My lip curls, and I can feel Fenris rumbling his disapproval as well. <i>Remember who you¡¯re speaking to.</i>


    <i>Of course, High Alpha.</i> My beta¡¯s words drip with sarcasm, but there¡¯s a note of contrition beneath it. <i>I¡¯ll collect the pup. Just give me a few minutes to... finish up.</i>


    <i>Fine.</i>

 Chapter 71: Caine: Banquet (I)

    <h4>Chapter 71: Caine: Banquet (I)</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    The van rumbles beneath us, carrying our mismatched party through Fiddleback territory. My fingers drum steadily against my knee.


    "High Alpha, we¡¯re approaching the venue now," Elizabeth announces, cool and collected once again. "Alpha Halloway wanted to do justice to the Lycan King¡¯s presence. This is ourmunity¡¯s premier venue. We host all major affairs there¡ªcelebrations, council meetings... mate ceremonies."


    She turns her head slightly toward Jack-Eye at thest bit.


    My beta shifts in the passenger seat. "It¡¯s a beautiful ce," he says, perfectly nomittal.


    Fenris snorts from his position in the captain¡¯s chair beside me. He¡¯s perched on it like it¡¯s his throne, and even I have to admit the visual is mildly amusing. <i>He¡¯s about to collect another mating proposal. How many is that now?</i>


    Twenty, maybe? I have no idea why his mere presence seems to addle their brains, but women are always desperate to attach themselves to the man.


    And I know exactly what he¡¯ll say when teased about it. <i>"It¡¯s not my fault the local females have taste."</i> I¡¯ve heard it more than once, when other Lycans have ribbed him over his casual conquests.


    Behind me, Thom and Andrew sit silent¡ªThom fidgeting with his sses, and the Blue Mountain pup staring stonily out the window. The extended van feels overcrowded despite the empty seats of even more rows.


    My phone buzzes, and I check it briefly. Another photo. Grace is still asleep. Lyre¡¯s still reading, <i>not</i> responding to my text. Thankfully, once I bring my mate home, her contact with the rainbow-haired woman will be close to severed. She¡¯s a bad influence.


    <i>Are you trying to run her off again?</i>


    Fenris snaps at the air between us, his teeth gleaming in the dim light of twilight, and I frown at his absurd question.


    <i>She will return with us.</i> It¡¯s no longer an option. A wolf doesn¡¯t leave his mate behind. She might fuss a little, but she¡¯ll understand in the end. She¡¯s a smart girl.


    He heaves a sigh, his ears pressed tight against his head as he stares at me. <i>You¡¯re an idiot. Again. I take back everything I said about you bing smarter after you epted Grace. You¡¯re stupider than before.</i>


    My teeth bare at his usations. <i>Are you suggesting we leave her with someone who can¡¯t be trusted to keep us informed of her health?</i>


    <i>No, you imbecile. I¡¯m saying don¡¯t force Grace to do something against her will.</i>


    Oh.


    My shoulders rx.


    <i>If that¡¯s your worry, we have no problem. Grace will return with us.</i>


    I settle back into my seat, an edge of satisfaction spreading through me. The certainty of Grace¡¯s connection to me is undeniable. It seems a little silly to have been so resistant against this clear tether between us, this tug in my chest. Even now, I can feel her as a soft, warm presence anchored beneath my ribs.


    She felt it, too. I saw it in her eyes. Felt it in her body¡¯s response.


    A mate bond doesn¡¯t lie.


    My gaze drifts to my hand, turning it palm up. Lyre had spouted off some strange exnation of energy transfer, saying I¡¯d somehow siphoned Grace¡¯s power. Such a bond is unheard of; there is nothing like it in our history.


    We can strengthen our mate. Protect them. But to identally harm them? To drain them of their strength? Impossible.


    Either Lyre¡¯s wrong, or...


    No matter. I¡¯ll figure it out. I always do.


    <i>Are you listening to yourself?</i> Fenris growls, his tail smacking against the back of his chair. <i>Get your head out of your ass.</i>


    I narrow my eyes at him. It¡¯s a good thing others can¡¯t hear how disrespectful the Lycan King¡¯s wolf can be. <i>Mind your tongue.</i>


    <i>If I could break our pact myself, I would. You¡¯re going to destroy her.</i>


    His suggestion is so outrageous I nearlyugh. <i>Calm down. Have a little more faith in our mate.</i>


    <i>In Grace?</i> Fenris snaps his teeth again, and Elizabeth flinches in the driver¡¯s seat. <i>I have plenty of faith in Grace. It¡¯s you I don¡¯t trust.</i>


    The rity my mate has gifted me fades as rage simmers just under my skin. <i>Enough.</i>


    The van slows, pulling into a massive parking structure, attached to another building. This must be the venue Elizabeth spoke of so charmingly.


    Through tall windows, I glimpse chandeliers suspended from exposed beam ceilings.


    Elizabeth shifts the vehicle into park. "We¡¯ve arrived, High Alpha."


    I nod curtly, but my focus remains on Fenris. The fury coiling in my body is enticing, beckoning me further, but I dig in my heels.


    Grace likes Fenris.


    <i>Do you truly believe I would hurt her?</i> I ask, quieter this time.


    His ears tten. <i>Not intentionally.</i> There¡¯s a weight to his words, and a reluctance in the part of our soul stitching us together. <i>But your intentions aren¡¯t the problem. It¡¯s your inability to see past your arrogance and see things as Grace does.</i>


    My fingers tap against my knee again. The arrogance of a Lycan King has always been considered a strength. Not a weakness. Has Fenris gone soft?


    <i>Idiot.</i>


    Jack-Eye opens the passenger door, creating a wee diversion. "Shall we, High Alpha?"


    <i>Behave yourself,</i> I warn Fenris, deciding to shelve this conversation untilter.


    Fenris huffs, a deep rumble in his chest as he slinks out of the van behind me. His massive body brushes against my leg¡ªnot quite submission, but not outright defiance either. <i>I¡¯ll behave better than you deserve.</i>


    The night air smells strange here, almost itchy to my nose, but I can¡¯t pinpoint anything to cause it.


    Jack-Eye¡¯s somehow procured a charcoal suit, fitting him perfectly despite his broad shoulders and well above-average height. If I didn¡¯t know better, I would think he brought it with him. Even his shoes are polished.


    "High Alpha," he says, looking me over, "are you sure you don¡¯t want a suit?"


    "No."


    The tactical gear I¡¯m wearing feels right against my skin¡ªdark pants with reinforced knees, a fitted shirt allowing full range of motion, and boots capable of handling a chase through rough terrain. It¡¯s part of the standard gear we keep stashed on long trips, and far morefortable than a restrictive suit.


    I have no need to impress a pack as small as Fiddleback. I don¡¯t need a suit to remind these wolves who I am.


    Andrew and Thome to stand behind me, both reeking of anxiety. Thom¡¯s has the bitter edge of fear, but Andrew¡¯s is a little sharper. My eyes narrow at the Blue Mountain pup.


    He¡¯s obeying everymand given, but the hint of defiance beneath it all has yet to disappear. I don¡¯t trust him.


    Once inside the venue, it¡¯s all ss and timber beams, pretending to be rustic while overwhelmed by modern lines and bright white walls. Figures.


    Alpha Ian Halloway struts toward us, arms spread wide in wee. His smile stretches too far across his face.


    "High Alpha!" His voice booms across the space between us. "What an honor to host you in our humble territory."


    He extends a hand toward me, and I take it, feeling the pressure of his grip. I squeeze back just hard enough to make his eyes widen.


    "Alpha Halloway," I acknowledge. "Your hospitality is... appreciated."


    Fenris stands by my side, his massive head level with Halloway¡¯s chest. The ethereal blue glow he emits is stronger than usual, bathing us all in its light. The Fiddleback Alpha¡¯s eyes drift to him with poorly concealed fascination.


    "And the legendary Fenris¨²lfr himself," Halloway says, bowing his head slightly. "Tales of your exploits have reached even our remote corner."

 Chapter 72: Caine: Banquet (II)

    <h4>Chapter 72: Caine: Banquet (II)</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    Fenris doesn¡¯t acknowledge the greeting, instead fixing his gaze on something beyond the Alpha¡¯s shoulder. I follow his line of sight to a disy of ancient-looking weapons mounted on the wall inside¡ªceremonial, but deadly nheless.


    <i>There is blood. Fresh. Not even a day old.</i>


    My nostrils re, but I can¡¯t pick up any scent.


    Halloway¡¯s eyes drift over our party, dismissing Andrew and Thom almost immediately before pausing on Elizabeth with a distinct frown. Then he settles his attention on Jack-Eye, his lips thinning. Not quite hostile, but... something. "I see your beta has dressed for the asion."


    Jack-Eye inclines his head. "I believe in respecting local customs, Alpha Halloway."


    "Indeed." The Fiddleback Alpha¡¯s smile doesn¡¯t reach his eyes. "And the others are...?"


    "My warlock," I say, nodding toward Thom, who shrinks further into himself. "And a wolf from Blue Mountain."


    "Ah." A sh of recognition crosses Halloway¡¯s face as he looks at Andrew. "From the rumors. You have our condolences."


    Andrew says nothing, his posture rigid.


    The alpha steps aside, allowing us entry into a vast open space with vaulted ceilings and tables draped in white linens. The room buzzes with at least fifty wolves, all in formal attire, watching us. A string quartet ys in the corner, though the music falters as the musicians notice our arrival. They¡¯re all human.


    "I hope you don¡¯t mind," Halloway says, gesturing to the gathering, "but word of your visit spread quickly. Many were eager to pay their respects."


    As if he didn¡¯t spread the word himself. My lips quirk. I¡¯m sure he¡¯s assembled his entire inner circle, possibly his full pack hierarchy. It is interesting he could call in so many on such short notice.


    They¡¯re either incredibly loyal... or deeply afraid of their alpha.


    "My pack takes pride in our efficiency," he adds, as if reading my thoughts.


    A server, also human, appears with champagne flutes on a silver tray. I wave them away with a sharp gesture. Halloway takes one, sipping delicately.


    "I was hoping for a private discussion," I say.


    "Of course, High Alpha. After dinner." His smile tightens. "But surely you understand¡ªit would be an insult to deprive my pack of the chance to honor your presence."


    Halloway raises his ss in a grand gesture, eyes searching the crowd in a manner I can only describe as practiced theater. "Tonight, we celebrate an unprecedented honor¡ªthe presence of the Lycan King himself."


    A chorus of approval ripples through the attendees. I nod once, sharply, refusing to y this game of ceremonial adoration. The music swells slightly as conversation resumes, and Halloway guides us deeper into the gathering.


    My jaw¡¯s already clenched with the anticipation of holding my temper at bay for an hour or more.


    "Might I introduce some of our most esteemed members, High Alpha?"


    I say nothing, which he takes as permission.


    Within minutes, I¡¯m surrounded by eager Fiddleback wolves, each desperate for a sliver of my attention. Some bow deeply, others attempt conversation with rehearsed questions about Lycan territory. I answer in clipped sentences when required, my attention split between the sycophants and Fenris¡¯s increasing agitation.


    He¡¯s surrounded by his own adting fans, and I can feel his temptation to disperse.


    <i>Something¡¯s wrong here,</i> he says, sounding confused. <i>Something smells strange</i>.


    A quick nce behind me shows Thom nervously hovering by Andrew¡¯s side. Thetter looks bored, and his dark eyes meet mine with the faintest hint of defiance before he lowers his gaze in deference.


    Bastard.


    Maybe I should have just killed him after all.


    Grace isfortable with me now. Killing off a pesky brat like this one shouldn¡¯t scare her.


    <i>Don¡¯t even think about it.</i>


    Fighting the urge to bare my teeth at Fenris¡¯s snappy demand, I turn my attention to the next obsequious Fiddleback.


    The gathering appears normal on the surface¡ªformal attire, respectable conversation, an appropriate amount of deference. But Fenris is right. Something¡¯s... strange.


    "Such an honor, High Alpha." A woman in her fifties squeezes between two men to reach me. "I¡¯m Ca. I head the treasury."


    I barely acknowledge her with a nod before another pushes forward.


    "Michael, medical coordinator. We have excellent facilities. Should yourpanion require anything beyond what the human hospital can provide¡ª"


    My upper lip curls back. "My mate¡¯s care is not your concern."


    His face pales. "Of course, High Alpha. I apologize."


    Jack-Eye materializes at my side; he¡¯s been schmoozing in his own way. Now, his expression is neutral but his eyes are sharp. "High Alpha, perhaps you¡¯d care to see the outdoor terrace? The view is rather impressive."


    I follow his suggestion, grateful for the momentary reprieve. The terrace stretches along the back of the building, overlooking a manicured garden. Subtle ground lighting provides elegant ambience,pletely wasted on two Lycans.


    The night air is humid, but still easier to breathe in than the stifling formality of this banquet.


    "Your patience ismendable," Jack-Eye murmurs, low enough that only I can hear. "Though I suspect it¡¯s running thin."


    "This circus serves no purpose." My fingers drum against the stone balustrade. "I need to get back to Grace." But I can¡¯t. Not until I figure out what¡¯s going on beneath the surface of this pack.


    "I understand." He nods toward the gardens below. "Note the security cameras. Four on this terrace alone, another six surrounding the perimeter."


    My eyes narrow as I follow his gaze, spotting each one easily. "Excessive."


    "Indeed. Especially for a pack that ims such harmony with its human neighbors."


    The doors to the terrace swing open, and Halloway emerges. Fenris slinks in from behind. He¡¯s agitated, hackles up as he snaps at the air.


    Thankfully, his ill temper is legendary among the packs. An agitated Fenris shouldn¡¯t put anyone on too high of an alert.


    Still...


    <i>Behave,</i> I warn him.


    He sneezes.


    "High Alpha, I hope the banquet meets your expectations." Halloway joins us at the railing, champagne still in hand. "We pride ourselves on bncing traditional pack values with modern amenities."


    I incline my head. "Interesting priorities."


    He chuckles as if I¡¯ve made a joke. "Evolution is necessary for survival, wouldn¡¯t you agree? Even for wolves."


    Something clicks into ce as I consider his words, and I turn to survey the room through the giant ss doors.

 Chapter 73: Caine: Banquet (III)

    <h4>Chapter 73: Caine: Banquet (III)</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    Elizabeth and Marsh stand out starkly among the crowd of Fiddleback wolves. Both appear to be in their mid-twenties at most, though I would bet everyst penny of my pack¡¯s treasury Marsh is no older than twenty. The rest of the pack members present are significantly older, most well into middle age or beyond.


    No young adults. No adolescents. And, I recall, no hint of children in the territory.


    Even the most formal events typically include a range of ages¡ªthe entire pack hierarchy represented from pups to elders. Yet here, there¡¯s a clear generational gap.


    "Your pack seems... mature," Iment, interrupting whatever Halloway was saying about their investment portfolio.


    He pauses, the champagne halfway to his lips. "I beg your pardon?"


    I gesture subtly toward the gathering. "No pups. Few young adults."


    Something flickers across his face as he grows tense. "Ah." He sets down his ss with careful precision. "We¡¯re selective about our growth. Quality over quantity, as they say."


    "An unusual approach for wolves. Especially for a pack so intent on survival, as you say."


    "Times change, High Alpha. We¡¯ve found that careful expansion allows us better integration with the human world." His smile returns to his face, but it¡¯s hollow. "Our younger members are quite valuable. Elizabeth and Marsh represent the future direction of our pack."


    "Just them?"


    "There are others, of course." His tone remains light, but his scent sharpens with something acidic. "Many are traveling or upied with responsibilities elsewhere. We don¡¯t keep our members caged, after all."


    Jack-Eye shifts beside me, his attention fixed on Halloway with calcted intensity.


    "And your mating ceremonies?" I press. "Elizabeth mentioned hosting them here, but there seems to be ack of candidates."


    His eyes flicker to the gardens. "Yes, well, not all mate young. Much like you, High Alpha."


    "When was yourst mated pair?"


    His smile tightens. "As I¡¯ve exined, we focus onpatibility rather than quantity."


    Elizabeth appears, her heels clicking as she whispers something in Halloway¡¯s ear. Even with my enhanced hearing, I can¡¯t make out the words.


    Fenris¡¯s ears flick. <i>Me neither.</i>


    The Fiddlepack Alpha¡¯s expression darkens before smoothing into neutrality once again. "If you¡¯ll excuse me, High Alpha. A small administrative matter requires my attention. Please, enjoy the banquet. I believe it¡¯s about time to be seated for our meal. We¡¯ll speak privately afterward as promised."


    My phone buzzes, and I nce at the image sent. Yet another angle of a sleeping Grace.


    Jack-Eye peers over my shoulder, and I elbow him back.


    "Wait¡ªis that what they just sent you?"


    My jaw tightens as Jack-Eye¡¯s fingers close around my phone, yanking it from my grasp before I can react. The audacity burns through me like molten silver. No one touches what¡¯s mine.


    "Give that back." I haven¡¯t had a chance to zoom into Grace¡¯s face yet.


    Jack-Eye ignores mymand, scrolling through the photos with narrowed eyes. "The sun went down ages ago."


    I blink, momentarily derailed from my anger. "Say something less obvious."


    "Look." He tilts the screen toward me, finger tapping at the background. "The light is all wrong. This was taken earlier today¡ªsee how the sunlight is hitting her bedside table?"


    My blood freezes. The nt of light through the hospital window casts long shadows across Grace¡¯s sleeping form¡ªshadows which can¡¯t exist after sunset.


    These aren¡¯t exined by overhead lights.


    I snatch the phone back, examining each photo sent over thest hour.


    All identical. Same position, same light, same everything.


    "They¡¯ve been sending the same picture repeatedly," I murmur, barely containing the growl building behind my words. "Possibly for hours."


    "It might not even be the same photo." Jack-Eye bends over my phone again, blocking my view. "See the text on Lyre¡¯s book? It¡¯s different every time. A little strange, too."


    Fenris growls. <i>Grace.</i>


    "It might be AI. You¡¯d be surprised at how good it¡¯s be¡ª"


    "Jack-Eye."


    "Yeah?"


    "Shut up."


    I tap open my contacts, selecting Lyre¡¯s number. It goes straight to voicemail.


    My pulse drums against my temples as I try again. Nothing.


    Her phone¡¯s off. Exins why all my messages have been sitting there, unread and unanswered.


    Damn it. I should have known better than to trust someone the Fiddlebacks sent to the hospital, but I hadn¡¯t expected them to be this rotten.


    Whatever their secret is, I¡¯d expected it to have more political impact than anything. The pack is too small to pose a threat, even with only two Lycans in the area. Their strength is underwhelming, and I¡¯d been arrogant.


    Of <i>course</i> they¡¯d go for Grace. It¡¯s the only way to cut our power off at the knees.


    Having a weakness is new to me. It¡¯s a lesson I won¡¯t soon forget.


    "Call the hospital," I order Jack-Eye, already striding toward the terrace doors, ready to start violence. "Find out if Grace is still there."


    <i>Kill them,</i> Fenris snarls, padding behind me. His glow is brighter now, enough to hurt your eyes if you look directly at him. <i>All of them.</i>


    Jack-Eye¡¯s phone is already pressed to his ear, but I don¡¯t wait for the answer. I know what it will be.


    Fenris stalks alongside me, his ethereal blue glow intensifying with each step. <i>She¡¯s gone. They¡¯ve taken her. Kill them all.</i>


    Andrew and Thom jump forward from where they stood near the terrace doors. The Blue Mountain pup must have some insight, because he frowns when he sees me. The wizard, meanwhile, hangs his head with his signature tremble.


    "Stay back," I warn them both. They don¡¯t have the protection of my pack link.


    The Blue Mountain pup grabs the shaking wizard and yanks him behind me. If he wasn¡¯t a sniveling little shit, I¡¯d be proud of his ability to assess a situation.


    Dominance rolls off me like a rogue wave, ttening the crowd to the ground and cutting off the music and soft background chatter in an instant.


    "Halloway." My eyes roam the room, but there¡¯s no hint of their alpha anywhere. My voice booms through the crowd. "Where the fuck is Halloway?"

 Chapter 74: Lyre: Something Wicked This Way Comes (I)

    <h4>Chapter 74: Lyre: Something Wicked This Way Comes (I)</h4>


    <strong>LYRE</strong>


    Life was a lot easier when I roamed free.


    This strange urge I have to help Grace has pushed me to do things I haven¡¯t done in centuries. Things I¡¯ve almost forgotten about.


    But some habits die hard¡ªlike my talent for making dramatic entrances.


    The reinforced steel door crumples under my foot like it¡¯s made of aluminum foil. Pathetic. Not even warded properly. The crash echoes through the underground chamber it guarded, and I step through the wreckage with practiced nonchnce.


    "What the fuck¡ª"


    "Intruder!"


    "Kill her!"


    Same predictable script, different basement. I don¡¯t bother wiping the boredom from my face as three young wolves lunge at me, all snarls and extended ws.


    Amateurs.


    I¡¯ve been dealing with their kind when their great-great-grandfathers were still pissing on trees.


    A flick of my wrist sends arcana pulsing through the concrete floor. The energy responds to mymand instantly, gravity suddenly quintupling beneath their feet. All three m face-first into the ground with satisfying thuds.


    "Stay." I twist my fingers, condensing the air around their mouths. "And shut up."


    Their muffled protests turn to wide-eyed panic. Shifters always forget some of us breathe magic rather than simply use it.


    The corridor ahead stretches into darkness, lit only by intermittent bulbs, flickering like dying fireflies. The stench here is about what I expected¡ªa nauseating cocktail of rotting meat, puddles of blood congealing along the packed dirt floor, unwashed bodies, and the product of their existence in this ce. I grimace, wishing I¡¯d thought to bring a mask. Seven centuries, and I still haven¡¯t mastered the art of proper preparation.


    "Humans have invented air fresheners, you know," I mutter to no one in particr as I stride forward. "Decent plumbing, too. Revolutionary concepts. More dungeons should have them."


    The corridor opens into a wider chamber, and my stomach tightens. Cages. Rows of them, stacked two high along both walls. Inside each, ten to fifteen bodies crammed together¡ªshifters ranging from infants to teenagers. Some whimper as I pass. Others stare with hollow eyes. There¡¯s no hope when they see me pass. They¡¯ve long since stopped hoping for rescue.


    Perhaps they never learned how.


    I¡¯ve seen atrocities to curdle the blood of gods, but this particr brand of cruelty never fails to ignite that dangerous pocket of rage I keep carefully contained. Humans call it trafficking. Supernaturals call it breeding programs. I call it the same bullshit with different packaging, century after century.


    The strong will alwayse out to oppress the weak.


    A toddler reaches through the bars as I pass, tiny fingers grasping at my sleeve. His eyes sh amber in the dim light. The sight twists something ancient and painful inside me.


    "Not today, little one," I whisper, gently untangling his fingers. "But soon."


    I continue deeper into thebyrinth, following the pulse of familiar magic tingling against my skin. Distinct, unmistakable¡ªlike recognizing someone¡¯s voice in a crowded room. It leads me to a heavy metal door at the corridor¡¯s end, marked with symbols I haven¡¯t seen used in proper fashion since the Inquisition.


    Amateur hour continues. Then again, she was never great at learning her lessons.


    I don¡¯t bother with subtlety. Another kick, another crash, another doorway reduced to scrap. The room beyond isrger, circr, with sigils etched into the floor and blood pooling in the carved channels between them.


    And there she stands¡ªsmall as a child, with wide eyes and porcin skin. Dressed in a pristine white dress, as if she¡¯s headed to Sunday school instead of conducting blood rituals in a gross, damp basement.


    "Isabeau," I sigh. "Still going for the creepy Victorian doll aesthetic, I see."


    Her face contorts with rage, her eyes crimson with madness.


    Again; she¡¯s bad at learning her lessons.


    "Echo Witch," she snarls, and I bow.


    "In the flesh."


    With a shriek, she lifts her hands, and the blood pooling around her feet rises in dozens of crimson missiles, hurtling toward me at killing velocity.


    I stop them mid-air with azy wave and slight fluctuation of arcana, transforming the attack into a suspended crimson constetion. Pretty, in a macabre sort of way.


    "Missed me, Belle?" I grin, using the nickname she¡¯s always hated. "It¡¯s been what¡ªLeipzig, 1843? You were selling werewolf children to aristocrats as exotic pets back then, too. At least be original."


    "You interfering bitch." Her voice doesn¡¯t match her childlike appearance¡ªdeep, rasping, ancient. Creepy, but my spine refuses to tingle. "This territory is protected. You have no right¡ª"


    "Protected by whom?" I interrupt, walking casually around the suspended blood droplets. "Your new wolf friends? The ones currently eating dirt in your hallway?"


    She snarls, fingers twitching as she attempts another spell. I shut it down before she can finish the first weave of magic,pressing the air around us until the pressure makes her gasp.


    "Two hundred years, Belle. Two hundred years since Ist caught you doing this exact same shit, and you haven¡¯t learned a thing." I click my tongue in disappointment. "Still the same parlor tricks. Still the same business model. Still the same terrible security."


    "What I do is necessary," she hisses through clenched teeth. "The bnce¡ª"


    "Save the lecture. I¡¯ve heard it from better witches than you." I release the pressure just enough to let her breathe. "What you¡¯re doing isn¡¯t bnce. It¡¯s exploitation wrapped in mystical bullshit to make yourself feel better about being a glorified supernatural trafficker."


    I move toward her, closing the distance until we¡¯re inches apart. Up close, the illusion of youth slips¡ªancient malice gleams in her eyes. Those who wax poetic liken them to rubies, but they¡¯ve always been the color of blood.


    "Here¡¯s what you never understood about the ¡¯natural order,¡¯ Belle." I lean in, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Nothing about it says I can¡¯t rip your still-beating heart from your chest and feed it to you."


    She flinches, and I smile.


    "Now, let¡¯s discuss why your disgusting scent is all over this city. It took me a little time to find you, I¡¯ll grant you that. The only thing you¡¯ve learned in two hundred years is how to hide."

 Chapter 75: Lyre: Something Wicked This Way Comes (II)

    <h4>Chapter 75: Lyre: Something Wicked This Way Comes (II)</h4>


    <strong>LYRE</strong>


    "You have no authority here, Echo Witch." Her eyes narrow, as she steps back. Her feet are bare, and blood squishes between her toes as she steps in a small puddle of it. "This territory is imed, these creatures are bound, and you have no standing to interfere."


    I release the suspended blood with a flick of my wrist, letting it ssh to the ground in a wet p. "imed? By whom, exactly? Last time I checked, America wasn¡¯t your yground."


    "America." She snorts, circling me with wary steps. "You speak as if you have some im to it. Where have you been, Lyrielle? Over a century of silence, and now you appear with demands?"


    "You don¡¯t get answers, Isabeau." I scuff one of her blood sigils with the toe of my boot. The symbol sputters and shudders as its magic fractures. "Why here? Europe¡¯s full of dark little corners better suited for your brand of rot."


    Herugh is like gravel dragged across concrete. It¡¯s always been unpleasant¡ªan ugly sound to match her uglier soul.


    "Perhaps I wanted a taste of American hospitality. The wolves here are so... amodating."


    I grimace. I¡¯m sure she ran here with her tail between her legs, looking for fresh meat. Fed until she could walk upright again.


    Rebuilding her strength must¡¯ve taken effort. Not that it¡¯ll help her now.


    "Mmm." Her tongue drags over too-sharp teeth. "Such enterprising creatures. Always chasing more¡ªtime, power, life. Is it really so monstrous to give them what they want?"


    I suspected as much the moment I scented her stench on the wind outside town. Still, the confirmation annoys me.


    If she¡¯s been feeding off the local wolves for long, the stink¡¯s probably sunk into the dirt by now. This is the problem with her kind. They don¡¯t just corrupt people. They rot ces.


    Grace¡¯s frustratingly obtuse boyfriend is in her territory, too. Damn. And her nasty little ws have dug deep into this pack. Am I going to have to save him?


    No; he¡¯s this generation¡¯s Lycan King. There should be enough strength left in the old magic to help him survive whatever wretched curse Isabeau¡¯s infected the local pack with.


    The real problem stands in front of me now. She¡¯s both their captor and their source of strength.


    And when the source of that arcana dries up...


    Well.


    You can¡¯t pay with magic you don¡¯t have.


    I step over the smeared blood sigil, each footfall deliberately ced to avoid the worst of the viscous ooze.


    "So your business model <i>has</i> evolved. Congrattions. You¡¯ve gone from merchant to farmer. But even a glutton can¡¯t eat the same thing every day. You need variety."


    Isabeau keeps at least five paces between us, taking a step for every one of mine. "Your jokes weren¡¯t funny then, and are even worse now."


    "Tsk." I click my tongue. "You always did have a warped sense of humor."


    "Why are you here, Lyrielle? Who are you working for this time? Fate? War? Pestilence? I haven¡¯t caused any issue, have I? Why hunt me down?"


    As if I need orders to get rid of her unsightly face.


    "Pack your things and crawl back to Europe, Isabeau." I keep my voice t, bored even. "Do that, and I¡¯ll let you continue your miserable existence. Leave no trace you were ever here. It¡¯s simple terms. Even you should understand them."


    A familiar insufferable smirk tilts her lips. I¡¯ve seen it on a dozen faces she¡¯s worn throughout the centuries. Different bodies, same rotten core.


    "What exactly do you think a depleted Echo Witch is going to do about it?" Her French ent thickens, mockery curling at the edge of her vowels. "I¡¯ve been here a long time, Lyrielle. No prophecies. No fate-weaving. No trace of your old rituals. Has the Old Magic forsaken you?"


    She increases the distance¡ªten paces now. Her bloody footprints trail behind her like a signature.


    "You¡¯ve lost your touch," she goads. "And your power." I blink, staring at her for a moment.


    "Does this new bodye with brain damage, or have you always been this stupid and I just forgot?"


    Her smirk falters.


    I gesture to the crumpled steel door I kicked in. To the puddles of blood she tried to weaponize. To her sputtering sigils. Anyone with eyes can see her spellwork¡¯s unraveling.


    "Which part of my entrance screamed ¡¯depleted¡¯ to you?" I ask. "The part where I tore through your defenses like wet paper, or the part where I disarmed your attack with one hand? Is it my face? I do look younger than ever, but I¡¯m not sharing my skincare routine with you."


    Isabeau¡¯s lip curls back from her teeth. "The old Lyrielle would never have offered negotiation. She would¡¯ve struck the moment she walked in." She paces now, less cautious. She thinks she has the upper hand. Pity. "You¡¯ve gone soft. Offering mercy to hide the fact your power has waned."


    I snicker. "Is that what you think this is? Mercy?"


    "I hold the power now." Her voice drops to a silken purr. "Times have changed. The bnce has shifted."


    Genuinely baffled, I stop moving, folding my arms. She¡¯s serious. She believes this nonsense.


    She¡¯s barely clinging to a third of her strength. No matter how many wolves she consumes, the magic inside modern werewolves is diluted¡ªfaint echoes of what once was.


    Has she forgotten what real power feels like?


    It¡¯s been two hundred years, after all. And she was never the brightest crayon in the sanguimancer box.


    "Have you been sampling the modern drug scene?" I ask sweetly. "I hear it¡¯s quite the experience. Psychedelics, edibles, alchemy. Not really my thing, but I could <i>definitely</i> see you vibing."


    Her expression curdles with rage.


    She flings her arm forward. Blood leaps from the floor, needle-sharp and shrieking toward my chest. At least two dozen projectiles¡ªcenter mass, vital zones. Predictable.


    Again.


    A second wave crackles across the concrete, corrosive magic streaking toward my feet in a hiss of vapor and heat.

 Chapter 76: Lyre: Something Wicked This Way Comes (III)

    <h4>Chapter 76: Lyre: Something Wicked This Way Comes (III)</h4>


    <strong>LYRE</strong>


    Her attempt at offensive magic is... cute, I guess.


    I flick my fingers in her direction with a sigh. The blood missiles dissolve midair, raining harmless droplets across the floor, sttering across my boots. The corrosive spell makes it a few more inches before dissolving with a faint hiss, leaving only the faintest etching on the floor.


    Isabeau stumbles back, throwing a few more spells my way.


    They all fail. Spectacrly.


    It isn¡¯t hard; disrupting arcana isn¡¯t something anyone can do, but it¡¯s been a special talent of mine since childhood. Chaos, after all, is my purview.


    Seriously, does this girl remember nothing? Perhaps all her deaths have addled what little capacity she had for thought.


    "You should be weak," she hisses, unable to fathom her terrible reasoning being... well, wrong.


    I uncross my arms, genuinely perplexed at this point. Her stupidity is almost endearing in its persistence. Almost.


    "Why would you think that? For even two seconds?" I gesture around at the carnage of her failed defenses. "After I waltzed in here like I was taking a stroll through a public park? I put my strength on disy, and you decided it never even happened."


    Isabeau shakes her head, her hair flying almost violently around her face with the movement. "The amount of mana required to break through those wards should be exponential. Even for you. Especially when you¡¯re no longer under divine grace." She points at the scuffed sigil. "That was calibrated to require the energy of three full covens to breach. Three."


    I don¡¯t bother exining. It costs me almost nothing to disrupt arcana, but she would never understand. For creatures like her, magic is always transactional¡ªpower for power, energy for energy. Always with a cost, always with limits. Must be exhausting, living like that.


    "Your pathetic concept of limitations doesn¡¯t apply to me." I inspect my fingernails, deliberately casual. The blood spatter is going to be a nightmare to cleanter. I¡¯ll have to shower before I see Grace. She¡¯s an anxious little thing. "Maybe it¡¯s time to ept that your little calctions aren¡¯t universalws."


    The look of outrage on her face is almost worth the effort of this conversation. Almost.


    But I¡¯ve dallied too long. If I add the time it takes to shower... Ugh. Grace will definitely be awake by the time I get back. Worse, Caine might even be there. I want to help Grace, but I don¡¯t want to see them making googly eyes at each other.


    "All of us have limitations," she snarls. "Even the highest denizens of Order and Chaos are bound by rules."


    I bite back augh. Her certainty is charming in a pitiful way, like watching a toddler confidently exin how the world works. She knows what I am, and yet she still doesn¡¯t understand.


    "I see motherhood hasn¡¯t improved your intellect. Still living in the shadow realm of your own ignorance."


    Her eyes widen. "You know about¡ª"


    "Of course I know. I know everything about you, Isabeau. I¡¯m just not particrly interested." I take another step forward, deliberate and unhurried. "Now, what to do with you..."


    She retreats, backing toward the far wall. "You¡¯re viting territory rights. The ancient ords¡ª"


    "Ancient ords?" Iugh then, unable to contain it. "Those were written by the same creatures who believed the earth was t and bleeding people cured disease. Perhaps you¡¯d like to cite some medieval propertyws next?"


    The room trembles slightly¡ªnot from her power, but from mine seeping into the foundations of this pitiful ce. I¡¯m not even trying. It just happens when I stop caring enough to contain it.


    "You¡¯re a relic," I continue, watching her eyes dart around for escape routes that don¡¯t exist. "Clinging to outdated paradigms, feeding on creatures half their former strength, and thinking you¡¯re building something that willst."


    Her chin lifts in defiance. "The wolves here are more than pleased with our arrangement. They get power, strength beyond their natural limitations. Youth. Vitality. I¡¯m doing nothing wrong here."


    I gesture to the cages beyond the room. "Those poor creatures. Did you tell them the fine print? That after you¡¯re done with them, they¡¯ll be hollow shells? That each time you feed, you take a little more than you give back?"


    "They know the cost."


    "Do they?" I tilt my head. "Do they know you¡¯re the reason shifter magic has grown thinner over the centuries? That your kind drained the power of their bloodlines for generations?"


    Her expression falters for just a moment, and I see the truth. Of course she hasn¡¯t told them. She¡¯s selling them a fantasy of power while delivering a slow death.


    "The Lycan King knows," she whispers, a sly smile creeping across her face. "He was more than happy to ept my gifts."


    That gives me pause. If Caine has made deals with this parasite...


    No. He might be an idiot, but his arrogance would never allow him to deal with a sanguimancer.


    Ah, Grace. I want to get back to her. She likes to pretend she¡¯s okay, but she hates being alone.


    I need to finish this.


    "Even if that were true, it changes nothing about our current situation. You have exactly two choices: leave peacefully, or leave in pieces."


    "You would destroy a mother?" She ces a hand protectively over her abdomen, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. In her ten-year-old body, it¡¯s... disgusting. Even for me.


    "That doesn¡¯t make you a mother." My voice drops, all pretense of amusement vanishing. I can sense what she¡¯s incubating, but it¡¯s not a child. Not in the sense humans would think of.


    It¡¯s more like a parasite. A servant created of her own flesh, blood, and magic, with no soul to speak of.


    It takes more time to blink than it does to gather the ravaged threads of chaos in this ce. The residual discord bes orderly, focused, and arcana thrums in the air.


    Her face contorts. "You¡¯ll regret challenging me, Lyrielle. I am not the only one here. There are others, more power¡ª"


    I don¡¯t let her finish.


    The st isn¡¯t dramatic. No blinding light, no thunderous boom. Just a sudden rush of energy tearing through her defenses, ripping through the resistance of her physical body as if it were air.


    Her body¡ªthat stolen child¡¯s body¡ªconvulses once, then falls apart like wet tissue. Blood droplets hang suspended for a moment before gravity reims them, spattering across the concrete floor.


    Those crimson eyes fade slowly to a mundane brown. They stare upward, unblinking.


    I grimace, looking at the small crumpled form. No matter how many centuries I¡¯ve lived, no matter how many monsters I¡¯ve dispatched, deaths involving children¡¯s bodies never sit right with me. Even though Isabeau wasn¡¯t a child and just a body-hopping parasite wearing a child¡¯s form, my difort doesn¡¯t ease in the aftermath.


    Isabeau isn¡¯t dead. She¡¯ll be back in another ten years. Twenty at most. Sanguimancers are notoriously hard to kill, and Isabeau always has an escape n. She might be an idiot, but her ability to escape death is unparalleled.


    My boots leave bloody footprints as I walk through the corridor of cages, ignoring the bodies within.


    The toddler from earlier stands by the bars, her hands reaching toward me. I pause, guilt tugging at me. But then I nce away.


    I¡¯m not the hero of their story. It¡¯s never been my role.


    Besides, there¡¯s someone whose actual job description includes this sort of thing. Someone with resources, authority, and a tedious sense of honorpelling him to protect his people¡ªeven if he¡¯s a little bloodthirsty. Someone who¡¯s probably wondering why I haven¡¯t texted him any updates in a while.


    The Lycan King can clean this up. They just have to wait a little longer. An hour. Maybe two.


    As I climb the stairs out of that blood-soaked basement, I hum an old tune. Something from the 1940s, I think, but I can¡¯t quite recall. By the time I reach the exit, I¡¯m almost chipper.


    Fresh air hits my face as I step outside, and I breathe deeply, letting it cleanse the stench from my nostrils. It¡¯s dark. Grace will be awake soon. Maybe she already is.


    I pull my phone from my pocket to check the time, but the screen remains stubbornly ck.


    I press the power button. Nothing.


    Damn. Did I forget to charge it?


    Now I¡¯ll need to shower <i>and</i> charge my phone before heading back to Grace.


    I hope she hasn¡¯t tried to call me. The girl puts on a brave face, but she¡¯s deeply anxious underneath all her forcedposure. She hates being alone.


    Well, nothing to do but get moving. I¡¯ll be back to her soon enough.


    More important is what I¡¯m going to tell her little guard dog boyfriend. How do I exin a basement full of caged wolves? And a dead sanguimancer. From what I¡¯ve gleaned over my years of travel, people here have never even <i>heard</i> of sanguimancers.


    Maybe I¡¯ll just leave an anonymous tip. The less I have to exin myself, the better.

 Chapter 77: Caine: Unnatural Silence (I)

    <h4>Chapter 77: Caine: Unnatural Silence (I)</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    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. <i>Hospital says there¡¯s no patient registered under Grace¡¯s name. No blonde human female admitted in thest 48 hours. She¡¯s gone.</i>


    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¡ªsupposedly ttened by my dominance¡ªspring 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¡ªalpha speed, and yet too many. Their shifts should take longer. They don¡¯t.


    I barely dodge the first attack, and ws 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. <i>This was a trap.</i>


    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 ck, 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, wee 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, ws ripping through his ribs. Blood sprays across my muzzle as he drops, lifeless.


    Three more charge and I dive low.


    My ws 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>I have enough power to get through this,</i> he growls. <i>Now focus!</i>


    They keeping. Ten. Twenty. Too many.


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


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


    A russet wolf sinks her teeth into my thigh. Painnces up my leg. I grab her by the scruff and m her into the marble floor. Her skull cracks, broken as easily as splintered wood. But there¡¯s no time to finish her¡ªtwo more have already taken her ce.


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


    <i>Get to the hospital,</i> I snap. <i>Find Grace.</i>


    <i>I can¡¯t leave you¡ª</i>


    <i>FIND HER!</i> 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>I¡¯ll clear his path,</i> Fenris snarls, leaping over the pack. He crushes wolves like ants under his paws, drawing attention as Jack-Eye slips through the breach.


    One wolf with strange markings circles me, too calm. I feint right, then drive forward. He pivots fast¡ªbut not fast enough. My jaws close around his throat. He drops.


    Moree.


    I twist and crush the leg of one attacker in my jaws¡ªbone splinters. But the wolf doesn¡¯t scream. Doesn¡¯t flinch. His teeth stay buried in my hindquarters.


    <i>Do you feel it? </i>I ask Fenris.


    <i>Indeed.</i>


    There are no yelps. No howls of pain. Only the mechanical rhythm of violence: bone cracking, flesh tearing, silence.


    They don¡¯t fight like wolves. They fight like machines. Like puppets with no souls.


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


    <i>Less than half.</i>


    The weight of four wolves drags me down, their jaws locked deep. Blood slicks the floor.


    I thrash. A russet she-wolf gnaws into my shoulder. Her teeth grind into my bones, and she refuses to let go.


    A sh of blue light and Fenris towers above, a mountain of snarling fur with wolves clinging like ticks. He shakes. Bodies fly.


    He barrels toward me.


    With one sweep of his paw, he flings the wolves off me. One ms into a pir. It cracks.


    <i>This is taking too long. </i>My breath is ragged,ing in short, sharp pants.


    <i>It won¡¯t be much longer,</i> Fenris assures me.


    Power shimmers around him. He grows, stretching until his back brushes the chandelier above. Another waste of his energy, but I can already feel him ignoring my opinion.


    <i>Stand clear.</i>


    I leap aside. No time to argue over his choices in battle.


    His skull hits the chandelier and it crashes to the floor, crushing a wolf beneath it. Darkness swallows a quarter of the room.


    The wolves hesitate, and that opening is all we need.


    Fenris sweeps a massive paw, catching at least eight wolves. They crash into pirs, tables, walls¡ªclearing a path.


    I lunge through the opening. Two wolves react fast¡ªone gets a w across my nk. The other I tear apart mid-leap.


    I scan the room. Bodies litter the floor, but too many still stand. Still fight. Still block my path to Grace.


    A gray wolf lunges from behind a broken table. I sidestep. My teeth tear through his nk¡ªno scream, no cry¡ªjust silence.


    Even dying, they make no sound.


    Blood drips from my muzzle. My legs ache. My side burns. But I feel nothing.


    Only purpose.


    A wolf leaps from behind¡ªraking ws down my back. I whirl, bite down on its spine. One sharp twist¡ªit drops.


    Another charges.


    I spear through it like a de, jaw mping around its head. Bone crunches. Still, no scream.


    A flicker of movement to my left. I twist¡ªtoote. A wolf ms into me, teeth locking on my ribs. I feel them crack.


    Fenris is already there.


    He crushes the wolf beneath a single forepaw.


    And then, as if every one of them were little more than a marite, they crumple to the floor. All at once, twitching and groaning, as if they¡¯ve returned to their senses.

 Chapter 78: Caine: Unnatural Silence (II)

    <h4>Chapter 78: Caine: Unnatural Silence (II)</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    Bodies lie scattered around us, some moving, most still.


    Fenris, sensing my intention, shrinks himself down to a less imposing size¡ªthough still massive by any normal wolf standard. The blue glow around him dims to a gentle aura as he pants, surveying our carnage with grim satisfaction.


    I let my shift reverse, bones cracking back into human form. Changing when wounded is never rmended, as it can make everything worse. Pain radiates through my body as wounds reshape themselves. My vision clears from wolf to human.


    A Fiddleback nearby twitches, trying to crawl away. I stride toward it, naked and bloodied but unconcerned with such trivial matters. My foot connects with its ribs¡ªnot hard enough to break, just enough to turn it over.


    "Shift." The word carries only a whisper of my dominance, but it¡¯s enough.


    The wolf¡¯s body contorts, bones reshaping at an agonizingly slow pace. This time, the transformation happens as it should¡ªnot the unnatural speed from before. Paws elongate into fingers. Fur recedes into skin. Muzzle shortens to a human face.


    A woman. Mid-fifties perhaps. Thin face, sharp features. Recognition flickers¡ªHalloway introduced her earlier. Something about treasury management. I didn¡¯t bothermitting her name to memory. It was unimportant then, and only mildly useful now.


    I ce my bare foot against her throat, not pressing down¡ªyet. "Where¡¯s Halloway?"


    Her eyes dart wildly around the room. Blood trickles from a cut above her brow. Her arm¡¯s flopped at an unnatural angle and her breathes in short, desperate gasps.


    "I¡ªI don¡¯t know¡ª"


    My foot presses down slightly, cutting off her words. "Try again."


    Fear sharpens in her eyes. "I don¡¯t¡ª"


    My voice remains level, but the pressure on her throat increases. "I don¡¯t have time for your lies."


    She swallows hard against my foot. "He¡¯s... he¡¯s looking for your Luna."


    My spine turns to ice. "What do you mean?"


    The woman coughs, her windpipe constricting beneath my foot. I ease the pressure¡ªjust enough to let her speak. Death would be too merciful for what I need now.


    "The h-hospital..." she wheezes. Blood flecks her lips as she draws a ragged breath. Internal injuries, probably from the shift I forced on her. "Halloway got a call. The girl escaped. He went to retrieve her."


    My eyes narrow. "Escaped? Or was she taken?"


    Her eyes dart sideways, avoiding mine.


    I press my foot down again, just enough to make her gasp. "Answer."


    "I don¡¯t know," she chokes out. "Just that she¡¯s loose."


    Relief and terror war within me. If Grace escaped, she¡¯s smart. Resourceful. But also vulnerable.


    <i>Jack-Eye will be there soon. We will know more then.</i>


    Fenris¡¯s words do little to soothe the worry and anger blending together in my chest.


    I kneel beside the woman, blood from my wounds dripping onto her face. "Why were you stupid enough to think you could go against the Lycan King? What did Halloway promise you?"


    Her face changes. A beatific smile crosses her face, her eyes zing as she croons, "None can escape the Great One." Her voice strengthens despite her broken body. "Her powers eclipse that of even the Lycan Throne. She has lived for hundreds of years. You¡¯ll never win."


    A chill trickles over my back. Not fear¡ªI don¡¯t fear gods, or monsters. But it¡¯s never good to hear of something unfamiliar.


    "Her?" I narrow my eyes. "Who is your Great One?"


    Her teeth stained red as sheughs, though the sound immediately turns into a sputtering, wet cough. "You¡¯ll know soon enough," she wheezes.


    I nce around the decimated hall. Bodies lie scattered across marble floors. Blood paints abstract patterns across white tablecloths. This is the Fiddleback Pack¡ªor what remains of it.


    "Where is your Great One now?" I grab her chin, forcing her to look at the carnage. "Fiddleback¡¯s abandoned. I¡¯ve won. You¡¯ve lost."


    Her lips pull back in a bloody grin. "She is everywhere. She can never die."


    A gasp builds into a groan. Not just from the woman beneath me, but from every living body scattered across the floor. The fallen wolves arch their backs, spines cracking as they bow upward at impossible angles.


    The screaming howl they emit defies description, a chorus of agony and the wails of hellbound souls.


    My hands instinctively cover my ears, but it does nothing to block the sound; it exists both inside and outside my head.


    The woman beneath me convulses, her back arching like the others. Her scream joins the unholy chorus.


    <i>Look!</i> Fenris¡¯s voice provides a buffer against the painful sound.


    The Fiddleback wolves are changing.


    I stumble back, watching as decades melt away her flesh in seconds. Skin pulls tight across her cheekbones, then desates, cracking like ancient parchment. Her eyes sink deep into their sockets, darkening, shriveling.


    In mere seconds, what was once a middle-aged woman bes a mummified husk.


    All the wolves shrivel beneath their fur.


    The screaming stops.


    The sudden silence is somehow louder than the chaos.


    Fenris approaches cautiously, sniffing one of the corpses.


    "Don¡¯t touch them." I¡¯ve never seen magic like this. Never felt it. Where¡¯s Thom? I scan the room, but he¡¯s nowhere to be found. Neither is Andrew.


    <i>How unnatural,</i> Fenris observes.


    No shit.


    But we don¡¯t have time to investigate. We have to find Grace.


    <i>Let me see if I can find Elizabeth¡¯s things. She has the keys.</i>


    "It doesn¡¯t matter whose car we take. Just find any of them. We can figure out what car it belongs to on the way."


    <i>Good point.</i>


    A familiar ringtone pierces the quiet, and I look around until I find the shredded fabric which had once been my tactical gear.


    We¡¯re going to have to find clothes. Humans don¡¯t like naked people roaming their cities.


    The ringing stops, then starts again. I fish my phone out of the pile before it stops a second time, seeing Lyre¡¯s name on the screen.


    I¡¯ve never answered a phone so fast. "Where¡¯s Grace?" I demand, ditching all formalities to get straight to the point.


    "Hello to you too, Your Majestess." Lyre¡¯s voice crackles with its usual sarcasm. "I got your text messages. I was out running an important errands. I¡¯m on my way to the hospital now."


    My breath catches. She doesn¡¯t know.


    "Grace is missing," I snap. "Jack-Eye is on his way to the hospital, but they¡¯re saying they have no patient by her name, and even im no blonde women have been admitted in forty-eight hours."


    "What the fuck do you mean she¡¯s missing?" Thezy drawl vanishes from Lyre¡¯s voice.


    "When did youst see her?"


    "Before I left to... do something. She was tired and wanted to take a nap. The nurses were monitoring her. How long has she been missing?"


    "We don¡¯t know. The Fiddleback Pack had sent someone to keep an eye on her, but they were sending me doctored images¡ª"


    "Fuck," she hisses. "You <i>trusted</i>... Never mind. You wouldn¡¯t have known. Damn it. This is what I get for... Son of a fucking bitch. Isabeau, you fucking cunt, I should have made it hurt."

 Chapter 79: Lyre: Hunting for Grace

    <h4>Chapter 79: Lyre: Hunting for Grace</h4>


    Chapter 21: Lyre: Hunting for Grace


    <strong>LYRE</strong>


    There¡¯s no point in being angry with the brainless boyfriend; trusting in his authority as the Lycan King is to be expected. All wolves fall under his purview, and even rogues would think thrice before double-crossing the throne.


    But I still want to kick his stupid face to the curb.


    I m through the hospital doors with enough force to make the two security guards behind the reception desk jump to their feet.


    My wards should have screamed the moment anyone approached Grace¡¯s room with harmful intent. They were simple but effective¡ªthe magical equivalent of trip wires rigged to sh bombs. Not exactly subtle, but subtlety wasn¡¯t the point.


    "Miss, you can¡¯t¡ª" a woman in scrubs starts.


    I cut her off with a look. "Grace Harper. Where is she? Don¡¯t give me any bullshit about her being discharged, either."


    The security officers are already acting like I¡¯m another problem in their minimum-wage day. Hands shift toward batons, shoulders square, and there¡¯s the whole <i>I¡¯m-not-looking-at-you</i> side-eye where they¡¯repletely tuned in to every breath I breathe.


    Well; there¡¯s no point in arguing with someone manning the information desk. A quick nce at hernyard says she¡¯s not even a nurse. Why the hell is she even wearing scrubs? She¡¯s a receptionist.


    Spinning on my heel, I head toward the elevators. Of course, Burly and Muscles immediately step out from their little desk cocoon with a whole lot of ego and cheap cologne wafting my way. One¡¯s hand hovers near his taser, the other nts himself directly in my path.


    "Ma¡¯am, I need you to return to the desk," says the broader one, Burly.


    I don¡¯t slow my stride, and Muscles gets ahead of me, holding out an arm to block my path. "Ma¡¯am, you¡¯ll need toe with us¡ª"


    With a flick of my finger, all three of them¡ªthe receptionist and both security guards¡ªgo flying backward, pinned to the nearest wall like butterflies to a corkboard. The receptionist¡¯s mouth opens for a shrill scream¡ªso I gag them all with air.


    No one wants to listen to high-pitched shrieking. It¡¯s murder, but for ears.


    Their bodies struggle uselessly against my binding, arms syed wide, feet dangling inches above the floor.


    In about ten minutes, they¡¯ll be free again. Maybe mildly traumatized, but I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll get over it one day.


    Someone screams at the meager disy of power and people scatter across the lobby like fleeing rats. A woman yanks her child close, shielding his eyes.


    I don¡¯t have time for any of their bullshit. If I don¡¯t find Grace soon, the Lycan King¡¯s going to rampage all over this city. And if he does <i>that...</i>


    No. Better not to think about it. The moment any of this reaches <i>their</i> ears, my precious peace is going to be a distant memory for the next few centuries. Do you have any idea how hard it is to escape the yoke of Divinity?


    Almost impossible, okay? It involves almost five hundred years of bribes, dirty little secrets, and a whole ass pirate fleet.


    People stay far away from me as I approach the elevators. The ignorant few who reach the lobby give me a curious look as they exit, while everyone watching probably has a mild heart attack.


    Like I¡¯m just indiscriminately attacking people or something.


    Humans are such silly little creatures, but I get it. They¡¯re shockingly fragile.


    Like a certain Grace.


    I jab my index finger against the elevator "close door" button repeatedly, not caring if I look like an impatient lunatic. The doors finally slide shut.


    Ascent begins with a mechanical groan. I cross my arms and tap my foot against the floor, watching the numbers crawl upward. Six more floors until I reach Grace¡¯s room.


    My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, ncing at the notification banner.


    <i>Divinity Connect: 3 new messages</i>


    Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake.


    I tap on the notification, knowing I¡¯ll regret it. The sleek ck interface of the app opens up, showing the group chat I muted years ago.


    Unfortunately, muting doesn¡¯t work when they specifically tag you.


    <strong>[WRATH: @Lyrielle went on a rampage and didn¡¯t invite us. Rude.]</strong>


    <strong>[MADNESS: I thought we had an agreement. You kill something interesting, you send pictures. That was the deal, @Lyrielle.]</strong>


    <strong>[TIME: Some of us are stuck in meetings for literal eons. @Lyrielle, the least you could do is share the entertainment.]</strong>


    These idiots.


    As I scroll through theirints, a new message pops up.


    <strong>[WRATH: !!! HOLD UP EVERYONE.]</strong>


    <strong>[WRATH: @Lyrielle¡¯s reading us!]</strong>


    <strong>[MADNESS: LYRI DARLING. Tell us EVERYTHING. Was there blood? How much blood? Did you make that little witch cry before you ended her?]</strong>


    <strong>[TIME: I told you she¡¯d check eventually. You owe me a tropical ind now, Wrath.]</strong>


    <strong>[WRATH: No fair. You probably peeked ahead.]</strong>


    I jab the exit button with my index finger, closing the app before they can draw me into their nonsense. Whose brilliant idea was it to create a fucking app for Divinities? Life was so much better when you could onlymunicate through prayer.


    The elevator dings, and I shove my phone into my pocket.


    It immediately buzzes again. And again. And again.


    If I didn¡¯t need it, I¡¯d throw the damn thing into the nearest incinerator. Unfortunately, the app can¡¯t be uninstalled.


    And no matter what phone I buy, it¡¯ll be on there. Even if I borrow someone else¡¯s. It¡¯s like the worst virus of all time.


    When the doors finally open on Grace¡¯s floor, I stride out with purpose. The nurses¡¯ station is directly ahead, and three nurses are huddled behind it, gossiping about whatever and who cares.


    "Where is she?" I demand.


    The oldest nurse, her hair pulled back in a tight gray bun, nces at me. "I¡¯m sorry, ma¡¯am. May I ask who you¡¯re looking for?"


    "Grace Harper. Room 3629."


    The nurse with the gray bun blinks at me like I¡¯ve asked her to exin quantum physics in interpretive dance. Or maybe she thinks I¡¯m here to tag the walls and summon Satan in the cafeteria. I keep forgetting I dyed my hair in various shades of vibrant on a whimst week.


    "Room 3629?" She turns to herputer, tapping away with frustrating slowness. I know she¡¯s old, but can¡¯t she at least learn to type like everyone else?


    "Oh, wait, is that Danielle¡¯s room? The one with the girl who went to imaging, but then her record couldn¡¯t be essed anymore?" one of the younger ones asks, looking over the old woman¡¯s shoulder.


    "No, she was discharged. The record was just glitched for a few minutes." The other younger one.


    "Ah, yes. It says here she was discharged," the old one says, after her snail-pace typing finally yields results.


    "Thanks,dies." Snail nurse was no help, but the little gossips were. Such darlings. Rumors have always made the world go round... not always for the better, but hey, sometimes they¡¯re actually useful.


    Another buzz of my phone. Probably the stupid Divinities, but I check anyway, just in case.


    Thankfully, I¡¯m wrong.


    <strong>[CAINE: Thom can¡¯t track her.]</strong>


    <strong>[LYRE: Who the fuck is Thom?]</strong>


    <strong>[CAINE: My wizard.]</strong>


    Ah. The sniveling thing he brought with him, with the strange sses. Well, it¡¯s no surprise someone of his meager talent would be lost in this situation. Humans were never great vessels for arcana.


    <strong>[LYRE: At hospital now. Checking for traces. I¡¯ll update when I find something.]</strong>


    <strong>[CAINE: Jack-Eye is already there.]</strong>


    I lift my head with a scowl as I almost collide with a wall of wolf muscle. Jack-Eye¡ªCaine¡¯s beta with a ridiculous name¡ªsteps out of Grace¡¯s hospital room, wearing an expression matching my own.


    Just what this clusterfuck needs: two people with bad news and nothing else.


    I shove my phone into my back pocket. "Learn anything?"


    Jack-Eye shakes his head, nostrils ring. "Nothing. If I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d say she was never here."


    The muscles in his jaw twitch with frustration, and I sniff at the air. My sense of smell is far stronger than a human¡¯s, but all I can pick up is the smell of bleach and the distinct undertone of wolf, courtesy of the Lycan Beta.


    "Move," I say, not bothering with courtesy as I shove my way past.


    The flow of arcana¡ªa subtle current of existence, or energy, or magic, whatever you¡¯d like to call it¡ªshimmers in the air like thousands of colored threads.


    They¡¯re too... straight. Clean. Perfect.


    Woven by someone with a master touch, but not enough experience to understand their work only raises red gs.


    Grace¡¯s room should be a mess of magical residue¡ªmy wards, the hospital¡¯s ambient energy, her presence, the bond she shares with her annoying boyfriend...


    Instead, the pattern here is strange. It reminds me of something. I can¡¯t quite remember, though.


    Jack-Eye follows me into the room with a grunt.


    "What do you see?" he asks, his voice lowered to a faint rumble.


    "Shut up." Extending my hands helps with feeling the currents.


    I walk the perimeter of the room, fingertips tracing invisible lines. Near the window, I pause. The pattern shifts here. This is where they began their weaving.


    "Someone¡¯s erased her presence," I tell Jack-Eye, who just nods. He gets it. To his nose, this room must smell strange. Missing things. Even a recently cleaned room has a multitude of scents, and yet there¡¯s nothing here.


    As if everything has been nted. Not just what we smell, but also the arcana in this ce.


    I run my fingers over the wall absently. "They didn¡¯t just grab her. They erased the very concept of her being here."


    That¡¯s what bothers me about the symmetry. It reminds me of¡ª


    The memory clicks like a lock tumbling open.


    "Son of a bitch."

 Chapter 80: Grace: Strawberries (I)

    <h4>Chapter 80: Grace: Strawberries (I)</h4>


    Giant brown eyes watch me with such suspicion, I¡¯m pretty sure their owner thinks I¡¯m a very hungry dragon with toddler on the menu.


    I pretend not to notice the tiny human¡¯s approach. Looking directly might spook her¡ªor worse, encourage her toe closer. The bunny ears on her onesie bounce with each determined step, her diapered bottom swaying like a pendulum as she toddles across the uneven stone floor.


    My kidnapper¡ªcan I even call him that now?¡ªthrusts three sticks toward me. Each holds several bright red strawberries coated in a crystalline shell that catches the dim light. Tanghulu. I¡¯d seen pictures of it before; fruit skewers dipped in sugar syrup that hardens into a candy coating.


    The man¡¯s face remains impassive, nearly hostile, as if handing me this sweet treat is equivalent to passing over the keys to his entire fortune.


    I ept them cautiously.


    Not a word has been spoken in the ten minutes since I regained consciousness, lying on a pile of thin fleece nkets.


    My kidnapper (?) grunts at me before shuffling back to his boiling pot, dipping yet another stick of strawberries in it.


    "Uh... thank you," I offer, though I¡¯m not sure why I¡¯m thanking someone who drugged me and stole me from a hospital.


    The cave¡ªor whatever this ce is¡ªstretches around me in a peculiar mix of primitive and modern. Natural stone walls curve overhead, but someone¡¯s strung LED light chains across them, the wires draped between wooden beams jammed into terracotta pots. The effect is oddly... homey.


    A few other children sit cross-legged on mismatched rugs and pillows scattered across the floor. They crunch on their own tanghulu, sugar crystals catching in the corners of their mouths. They don¡¯t seem concerned about being here. None look malnourished or scared.


    What kind of kidnapping operation is this?


    The toddler¡¯s eyes remain locked on my untouched treats, a thin line of drool escaping the corner of her mouth. Her own tanghulu casualties lie scattered on the floor beneath her¡ªstrawberries separated from the stick, their sugar coating cracked and sticky against the stone floor.


    Someone should probably clean that up.


    Not me, but... someone.


    No one seems to care, though.


    "You don¡¯t have to give her any if you don¡¯t want to." The oldest kid¡ªmaybe fifteen¡ªsquints at me. "She¡¯s just a glutton. Already wasted hers."


    The toddler¡¯s bottom lip quivers at this betrayal.


    "I don¡¯t mind sharing," I say, surprising myself. I¡¯m still woozy from whatever drug I was given, but clear-headed enough to wonder at my own calm. Shouldn¡¯t I be screaming? Fighting? Looking for escape routes?


    Instead, I¡¯m contemting sharing candy with a drooling toddler and possible fellow kidnappee.


    I tap one of my sticks against my palm, testing its stickiness. "Is this ce... where you all live?"


    He shrugs, his dark hair falling across one eye. "Sometimes. Depends on what¡¯s happening."


    A younger boy pipes up, maybe seven or eight, strawberry juice staining his chin. "It¡¯s one of the safe houses."


    "Safe houses?" I repeat.


    "For emergencies!" A girl with braids wrapped around her head like a crown says this like I should already know. "You know, when the bad peoplee for us."


    The toddler has reached me now, standing so close I can smell the strawberry on her breath. Her fingers tentatively reach upward.


    I hold out one of my sticks, and she snatches it with surprising dexterity.


    "What¡¯s your name?" I ask her.


    "She doesn¡¯t really talk," the oldest says. "We call her Bun."


    Bun copses onto her padded bottom right next to me, examining her prize with intense concentration.


    "And you are?" I direct this question to the teenager.


    "Ron." He gestures at the other two. "That¡¯s Jer and Sara."


    "I¡¯m Grace," I offer, though nobody asked.


    "We know," Sara says, as if I¡¯m an idiot. "You¡¯re the Lycan Queen."


    I blink.


    "Uh¡ªno, I¡¯m... not?" I think. Wait, am I?


    Sara blinks.


    "Why did he bring me here?" I change the subject, pointing to my kidnapper.


    "Owen brings people here when things get dangerous," Jer exins, wiping the back of his hand over his strawberry-covered chin. "You were in danger, so he brought you too."


    "The hospital isn¡¯t safe," Sara agrees. "The blood witch will get you."


    I take a tentative bite of my tanghulu. The sugar shatters between my teeth, sweet and crisp before giving way to the tartness of the strawberry beneath.


    The man might have a sour face, but he makes great candy.


    "What¡¯s a blood witch?"


    The children exchange more meaningful nces. Clearly, they know something I don¡¯t.


    "The hungry kind," Jer finally says. "The kind that eats you from inside."


    Bun makes a chomping sound and giggles, oblivious to the ominous nature of Jer¡¯s words. She¡¯s already demolished her strawberries and eyes my remaining stick with naked desire.


    I hold it out to her almost automatically. "Here."


    Owen¡¯s head snaps up from his fruit-dipping. "Don¡¯t spoil her," he growls, the first words I¡¯ve heard him speak since waking up. His voice is as rough and scary as I remember.


    Toote. Bun¡¯s already snatched her treat, cradling it against her chest like treasure.


    "Sorry," I mutter, not feeling sorry at all.


    He grunts again. I guess that¡¯s his usual method ofmunication.


    "Am I in danger here?"


    He stares at me. "I said, we won¡¯t hurt you."


    Does he really expect me to <i>believe</i> him...? Judging by his impassive face, yes. Yes, he does. "Oh."


    Bun plops herself in myp without invitation, sticky fingers clutching her tanghulu in one hand while the other pats my arm in what feels like reassurance. It¡¯s clear she no longer thinks I¡¯m going to eat her.


    "Why are you all here?" I ask.


    "Same as you," Ron says with a shrug. "We¡¯re special. Need protection."


    "Special how?"


    "Different ways," he replies evasively. "But the Great One would take us if we weren¡¯t hidden."


    The Great One. Sounds kind ofme, but by the way the other kids shiver, I should be afraid. "Who¡¯s the Great One?"


    "She eats people," Sara says. "Sucks ¡¯em dry ¡¯til they¡¯re a husk. Like a vampire."

 Chapter 81: Grace: Strawberries (II)

    <h4>Chapter 81: Grace: Strawberries (II)</h4>


    "Almost done, Bun." I rub a threadbare towel over her damp curls, careful not to tug. She giggles and stomps.


    <i>So. Freaking. Cute.</i>


    A pipe juts from the cave wall, spouting fresh water. Its source? No clue¡ªmaybe a spring somewhere. Whoever built this ce bnced primitive with practical.


    Her bath took ce in arge brown basin¡ªsmaller than a kiddie pool, bigger than any basin I¡¯ve ever seen. The water¡¯s gone gray-pink from scrubbing off the strawberry massacre. The juices had run straight through her outfit.


    Since the toddler seems intent on spending as much time as possible in myp, having long ago realized I¡¯m <i>not</i> a hungry dragon out to eat her, I asked Owen if she needed a bath. The man apparently thought it meant <i>I </i>wanted to give her a bath.


    I didn¡¯t, but it isn¡¯t like anyone else offered, and now here I am¡ªno relevant childcare experience, bathing a strange toddler in a cave after being pseudo (?) kidnapped.


    I¡¯m sure stranger things have happened in this world, but I can¡¯t really imagine it.


    Bun squirms and I pull the towel off, blinking at the actual, real life, honest-to-goodness fluffy white bunny ears popping out of her head.


    They weren¡¯t there just minutes before.


    Shifter, then. Bunny shifter?


    She looks shy, twisting her tiny little ham fists together in front of her as she peeks up. Is she old enough to worry about my response to her ears? My heart breaks a little at the thought.


    "Hold still, sweetie." The endearment slips out naturally, and her giant, dark eyes glimmer with trust as I pat thest of the droplets from her chubby legs.


    Behind us, Jer and Sara are using wet rags to clean up the sticky strawberry disaster while Ron supervises them with crossed arms. Must be the benefit of being the oldest, not having to do the actual work.


    The kids are grumbling.


    "Why did we have to clean it?" Jer hisses. "She made the mess."


    "Because she¡¯s a baby, dummy." Sara, sounding disgusted by the question.


    "So? She¡¯s always making messes. Owen will clean itter, anyway."


    "Royalty doesn¡¯t live with pigs, Jer." Ron. Then a thunking sound, and¡ª


    "Ow! Why¡¯d you hit me, Ron?"


    "To kickstart your brain, Jeridiot. You missed a whole strawberry over there."


    "Brains aren¡¯t motors," Sara says primly. "Besides, Owen said no hitting."


    "The strawberry¡¯s on Sara¡¯s side of the floor," Jer protests.


    The stone walls amplify their bickering.


    Scooping the bunny-eared Bun into my arms, I step out of the little bathroom/washroom section of the cave.


    Owen moves between his workstation and the high rock shelf, arranging histest batch of tanghulu creations where tiny hands can¡¯t reach, turning it into a strange strawberry bouquet with some sort of wide metal cup as a vase.


    Not once does he look over at me or the children, yet I sense he¡¯s aware of everything happening.


    My kidnapper. My... rescuer? The jury¡¯s still out.


    Bun pats my cheek with her water-wrinkled fingers, drawing my attention back to her. Some primal instinct in me responds to her neediness, even though I¡¯ve never been around children much. Humans weren¡¯t trusted with wolf cubs.


    Alpha always said it was to keep me from getting hurt on ident due to their enhanced physical strength, but... well, let¡¯s say I¡¯m doubting a lot of things these days.


    "All clean now?" I ask her.


    She responds with unintelligible babble and a decisive nod.


    Owen approaches with a small bundle in his arms¡ªclothes and a diaper for Bun. I don¡¯t even know where he got them from. A second ago he was sticking sticks of sugar-coated strawberries in a cup.


    His face remains expressionless as he hands them over.


    My heart thumps against my ribcage; I was going to ask him a littleter, but maybe now is good.


    "Hey, um¡ª" I clear my throat, aiming for casual. "Could I maybe borrow your phone? To call my friends?" I swallow. "They¡¯re probably worried."


    He studies me for a long moment, dark eyes unreadable. Then, without a word, he nods and walks away. Just like that.


    I exhale slowly. Not a no. His easy agreement catches me off guard¡ªI¡¯d prepared for resistance, excuses, threats. The kids said he was rescuing us, but it doesn¡¯t mean the guy isn¡¯t a giant, stone-faced liar.


    Something inside me unclenches. He really doesn¡¯t mean me any harm.


    He¡¯s still weird, but at least I¡¯m not trapped. I¡¯ll just call Lyre and have her find me. Easy. And maybe she can get some answers out of the big lug.


    I hum a little as I dress Bun in a faded yellow onesie with cartoon ducks printed across the front. It¡¯s well-worn but clean, like everything else here. She cooperates by thrusting her arms up when needed, though she squirms impatiently as I navigate the diaper.


    Three tiny snaps and she¡¯s fully clothed once again.


    "All done," I announce, and she immediately scrambles to her feet, toddling toward the other children with surprising speed. They panic, still wiping up mushed berry.


    Owen returns, phone in one hand. With his other arm, he scoops up Bun mid-stride. She squeals in delight as he hoists her onto his hip, and Jer lets out an exaggerated sigh of relief.


    He holds out his phone¡ªan older model with a cracked screen¡ªthen disappears around a curve in the cave wall, Bun peering over his shoulder with curious eyes.


    My fingers tremble as I stare at the nk screen. Freedom is literally in my hands now. I can call for help. I can let Lyre know I¡¯m okay.


    I press the power button. The screen flickers to life, showing a generic background and the time: 9:49 PM. No password protection. No fancy security.


    I tap the phone icon, and the keypad appears.


    And then reality hits me like a bucket of ice water.


    I don¡¯t know anyone¡¯s number.


    Not Lyre¡¯s. Not Caine¡¯s. Not even Andrew¡¯s.


    I know Rafe¡¯s, but I¡¯m not calling him even with my life on the line. Rotten ropes can never be trusted.


    My mind scrambles through memories, searching for digits, for anything. But there¡¯s nothing. The modern era has provided us with the ever-convenient contact list and cell phone memory, which means <i>none of it</i> is stored in my head.


    I don¡¯t even know my <i>own </i>number. It¡¯s an old phone of Lyre¡¯s.


    The keypad swims as tears gather. I could call 911, but I¡¯m now mostly convinced Owen isn¡¯t a terrible person, and these kids keep talking about blood witches and the Great One. It all sounds very fantasy novel-esque, but supernaturals <i>do</i> exist in this world, so it would be stupid to dismiss their concerns out of hand.


    And humans can¡¯t fight supernaturals. At least, not easily.


    Biting my lip, I press a few numbers. Seven something? Seven-three... no. Damn. I can¡¯t even remember the area code.


    The screen dims from inactivity, then goes ck.


    I¡¯ve never felt so trapped by goodwill.

 Chapter 82: Grace: Strawberries (III)

    <h4>Chapter 82: Grace: Strawberries (III)</h4>


    "Here." I hand Owen his phone once he returns, and the absence of the device makes my fingers curl into fists. It¡¯s like handing over my safety.


    He epts it with a nod, tucking it into his pocket. Bun wiggles in Owen¡¯s arms, leaning toward me with grabby hands. Her eyes¡ªwide and dark¡ªfix on mine with intensity.


    "Guh!" she demands, and I reach out without thinking.


    Owen transfers her into my arms withoutment. The weight of her settles against my chest, warm and solid.


    I freeze.


    The bunny ears I¡¯d gently dried minutes ago have vanished. In their ce are triangr, twitching appendages covered in fine ck fur.


    Cat ears. Definitely cat ears.


    I blink hard, certain I¡¯m hallucinating. My fingers tentatively reach up to touch one. It twitches beneath my touch¡ªwarm, soft, and undeniably real. Not a headband or costume piece, but flesh and bone and fur growing directly from her scalp.


    A dizzy sensation washes over me. This isn¡¯t possible.


    "What the¡ª" I cut myself off, ncing at the other children.


    None of them seem remotely concerned. Sara and Jer are finished cleaning. Ron sits cross-legged on a woven mat, flipping through a dog-eared book with some cartoons on the cover.


    Jer skips over, reaching up to stroke Bun¡¯s new ears with familiarity.


    "Are you a cat now?" he asks with a grin, unfazed by this new development.


    Bun responds with a high-pitched "Meow!" which sounds uncannily authentic. Her eyes narrow in satisfaction as Jer scratches behind her ears.


    My arms tighten around her instinctively. "But she was¡ª"


    "Ooh, be a duck next!" Sara interrupts, hovering at my elbow. "Ducky Bun is the best!"


    Before I can process what¡¯s happening, the cat ears melt away. Not falling off, not retracting¡ªthey simply disappear, sinking into her head. Bun¡¯s entire face shifts next, her nose and upper lip extending outward, hardening and ttening into an unmistakable yellow duck bill.


    "Quack!" she announces proudly, her voice muffled by her new anatomy.


    My knees nearly buckle, but I hold myself upright by sheer force of will and the vague panic I might drop the baby. "What¡¯s... how...?"


    Cold sweat breaks out across my forehead. I¡¯ve lived with wolf shifters for years, seen what transformation looks like.


    But they can only transform into <i>wolves</i>. Not random other animals.


    A shifter can only be one thing.


    This? It¡¯s impossible.


    "Stop messing with her," Ron calls out, not looking up from his book. He sounds bored. Maybe mildly irritated. "You know she gets stuck sometimes when she shifts too fast."


    My mouth opens and closes several times before words finally emerge. "What kind of shifter is she?"


    Ron looks up with a blink, mming his book closed. "Didn¡¯t we already tell you? We¡¯re all special."


    "But..." I can¡¯t wrap my head around this. There¡¯s special, and then there¡¯s impossible. "Shifters can only transform into one animal. That¡¯s how it works."


    The kid shrugs, unimpressed by my crisis. "Says who? The rules people tell you are just the rules they know."


    Owen pats Bun¡¯s head. "Turn back," he says, and I wonder how he doesn¡¯t scare her with the way he speaks. He sounds like he¡¯s going to murder us all if she doesn¡¯t do as he says.


    But the toddler just quacks at him. She¡¯s now sporting not only the orange duck bill, but whiskers. She looks at me and quacks again, seeming delighted as her eyes crinkle up into happy little crescents.


    "That¡¯s not..." My voice trails off. "That¡¯s not possible."


    Sara plops down beside me, her small legs folded beneath her. Bun dives toward her head-first, sliding out of my arms with rming ease, and my heart plummets, already envisioning her head splitting open when she hits the ground.


    But the older girl catches her like this is a daily urrence. Maybe it is.


    Bun wiggles in Sara¡¯sp, making her duck noises with glee as she ps her arms.


    Sara blows raspberries onto Bun¡¯s neck, dissolving the little girl into a peal of honkingughter.


    Jer stands in front of me, arms across his chest and legs spread wide as he announces, "I can be five different animals."


    The brown-haired girl groans, rolling her eyes dramatically. "A mouse and a rat are basically the same thing. And a guinea pig isn¡¯t much better."


    "They¡¯re different," he insists, glowering at her naysaying.


    "Barely."


    "I can still shift into more animals than you!"


    "Please. At least mine are <i>different.</i>"


    He sneers, with all the arrogance of a seven-year-old. Or however old he is. "Yeah, so different you can¡¯t even fly when you shift into a bird."


    "Enough," Owen says, and Sara sticks her tongue out at Jer when he turns his back.


    Bun moves with surprising insight and agility, suddenly rolling off Sara¡¯sp and bolting toward my legs.


    Jer suddenlyunches himself at Sara with all the ferocity of a tiny predator. Tiny round ears pop out of his head.


    They tumble across the floor, a tangle of child-sized limbs and high-pitched shouts.


    "I¡¯m gonna bite your ear off!" Sara shrieks.


    Jer bellows. "Yeah? Then I¡¯ll make you bald!"


    I stand frozen as Bun clings to my leg. My mind races through potential responses. Should I intervene? Let them work it out? The line between responsible adult and confused hostage is very, very fuzzy.


    Back at the pack, I was never responsible for breaking up fights between kids. Even young, they¡¯re strong.


    Before I can decide, Owen wades into the chaos like a superhero of questionable origin. One moment they¡¯re a tangled mess on the ground; the next, two kids have been hauled off the floor by the backs of their shirts, kicking and punching wildly as they dangle a foot off the ground.


    It¡¯s...ical, really.


    "I said, enough," the reticent man states, as impassively terrifying as ever.


    "He started it!" Sara yells, her freckled face flushed with outrage.


    Jer¡¯s indignation matches hers. "She stuck her tongue out at me!"


    Owen regards them with stony silence, but neither of them break. They keep up the glowers and asional kicks in each others¡¯ direction.


    Tension builds until he finally speaks, his voice low and matter-of-fact: "I was going to order pizza."


    The mild statement has an immediate¡ªand astonishing¡ªeffect. Both children freeze mid-il, their expressions shifting from fury to shock to calction in the span of seconds.


    Sara clears her throat, smoothing her expression into something resembling contrition. "On the other hand, maybe I was a little mean to Jer."


    "Yeah," Jer agrees, nodding solemnly.


    Sara shoots him a venomous look. He catches it and hastily adds, "But I should have been the bigger man and let it go." Like he isn¡¯t younger than her.


    Sara rolls her eyes.


    But she doesn¡¯t argue.


    The well-meaning (?) kidnapper lowers them to the ground with surprising gentleness. The moment their feet touch the floor, they throw their arms around each other¡¯s shoulders, stering identical grins across their faces¡ªthe fakest expressions of friendship I¡¯ve ever witnessed.


    <i>Ever</i>.


    "See? We made up," they chirp in perfect unison.


    Jer leans toward the man, his whisper loud enough to qualify as a shout, "Can we still eat pizza?"


    Owen grunts. "Behave first," hemands.


    "Got it," they chorus.


    Ron sighs.


    My heart rate quickens as I watch him move toward what must be the exit. This is it¡ªmy first glimpse at a potential escape route. Bun tugs at my leg and I pick her up absently, my eyes glued to Owen as I angle myself for a better view of what he¡¯s doing.


    He approaches what appears to be just another section of cave wall, tapping an unremarkable-looking rock formation.


    The floor shakes, and a section of wall slides away. Like magic. Harry Potter style.


    No daylightes through the door¡ªit¡¯s dark out. But there¡¯s a faint breeze, carrying fresh air.


    I breathe in deep.


    Bun reaches up, grabbing at my hair right above my scalp as she scrambles to stand in my arms. Her chubby foot scrabbles at my chest and throat as she climbs my face, and I grip her torso with as much strength as I dare, terrified of her falling.


    Ron, the absolute angel,es over and plucks her off my face. These kids handle her with confidence, like she¡¯s as dangerous as a sack of potatoes. Me? I feel like I¡¯m handling ss.


    Wiggly, slobbery ss.


    He hands her back to me, settled into a more normal position. Despite the duck bill hiding most of her expression, I get the distinct sense Bun is grumpy.


    "Don¡¯t let her do that," Ron advises, patting her head. "She won¡¯t stop if she thinks she can get away with it."

 Chapter 83: Caine: Directions

    <h4>Chapter 83: Caine: Directions</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    I grip the steering wheel tight enough to leave indentations in the leather as Jack-Eye¡¯s voice crackles through my phone¡¯s speaker. My patience¡ªalready hanging by a thread¡ªstretches thinner with each passing minute.


    We couldn¡¯t find Halloway anywhere. Even Thom couldn¡¯t track him down, much like he couldn¡¯t track Grace. He keeps ming some strange magic in the area, but I don¡¯t care about excuses; only results.


    And we have none.


    Which is why we¡¯re in our current situation.


    "No, you need to take Spruce Avenue, not Bruce Avenue," Jack-Eye says for the third time.


    "There is no fucking Spruce Avenue!" I m my hand against the steering wheel with a low growl, my vision hazing red for a split second.


    The GPS on this car¡¯s dash shows nothing but a maze of simrly named streets in a godforsaken suburban hellscape.


    "Well, that¡¯s what Lyre says, and since she¡¯s the one who knows where we¡¯re going¡ª"


    I snarl. "If she¡¯d just give us the damn location, we wouldn¡¯t be driving in circles."


    A new voice cuts in, Lyre¡¯s sardonic voice bleeding through speakerphone. "Sorry, did I miss the part where I invited the big bad wolf pack to join my rescue mission? You two should be grateful I¡¯m even letting you tag along."


    Fenris grumbles in my head.


    "What street did you just pass?" she continues, oblivious to her own audacity.


    It¡¯s hard to unclench my teeth, but I manage it. "Beech Street."


    "Okay, then turn left at the next intersection."


    "That¡¯s a one-way street going the wrong direction," I growl, peering ahead at the road sign.


    Jack-Eye¡¯s voice returns. "Look, just take a left onto Pine Street, then follow it to Spruce."


    I check the map again. "There¡¯s Pine Street and Bruce Street. No Spruce."


    "No, it¡¯s definitely Spruce," Jack-Eye insists.


    Fenris groans in my head. <i>The streets in this area follow a tree-naming convention. Pine. Oak. Maple. Spruce would fit the pattern, not Bruce. Just find Spruce.</i>


    I take the turn onto Pine, driving slowly while scanning every street sign. "There¡¯s no fucking Spruce!"


    "I¡¯m looking at it right now," Jack-Eye argues. "S-P-R-U-C-E."


    The car fills with the sound of my low, continuous snarling. "Well, I¡¯m looking at a street sign that says B-R-U-C-E. Bruce Street. Not Spruce."


    <i>Strange. Jack-Eye wouldn¡¯t make such a basic error.</i>


    I m on the brakes. "Get out."


    "What?" my beta asks.


    <i>Who?</i>


    "You, Fenris. Get out."


    "Are you kicking your own wolf out?"


    <i>I¡¯m not even manifested.</i>


    "Then manifest. Get. Out. Walk the block. Find this mythical Spruce Avenue yourself."


    Fenris pauses. <i>That¡¯s childish and inefficient. Just keep driving.</i>


    "So is listening to you two argue about a street that doesn¡¯t exist!" I hit the steering wheel again, harder this time. Something cracks beneath my fist. "Every minute we waste is another minute Grace is with strangers who took her from the hospital. Who knows what they¡¯re doing to her¡ª"


    My throat closes up, the words dying there. The thought of Grace scared, hurt, or worse makes my chest feel like it¡¯s being crushed in a vice.


    A new voice enters the conversation.


    "Um... High Alpha? Can I see the map?"


    It¡¯s Andrew. Both he and Thom have been silent in the backseat, and I almost forgot either of them existed.


    "Who¡¯s that?" Jack-Eye asks.


    "Sorry, sir. This is Andrew speaking. The map. I think¡ªHigh Alpha, can you just let me see your phone for a second?"


    I grunt, tossing it in the backseat. My beta¡¯s voice is distant now as he says, "Whose phone? What¡¯s happening?"


    Not even thirty secondster, the Blue Mountain brat says, "Oh, I see. The Lycan Beta must be looking at an old map. There¡¯s been construction in this area¡ªthey renamed the streets."


    Andrew¡¯s eminently reasonable words cause my shoulders to roll back and my spine to straighten. I st the smug feeling in Fenris¡¯s general mental direction.


    He scoffs.


    "That¡¯s impossible," Jack-Eye protests. "My app is up to date."


    "It just means the maps haven¡¯t been updated yet," Thom pipes up, though his voice shakes a little. "If you look at the street view data, it¡¯s from almost four years ago."


    "There¡¯s an updated map on the city website," Andrew agrees.


    Silence falls over the line.


    "Well, shit," my beta mutters.


    "Bruce Street," I say through gritted teeth. "It used to be Spruce Avenue. Now it¡¯s Bruce Street."


    "I guess so, High Alpha. My apologies."


    I swallow my rage and put the car back in drive. "So which way on Bruce Street?"


    Lyre¡¯sughter echoes faintly from the speaker. "I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m surrounded by alleged apex predators who can¡¯t follow basic directions."


    "Just give us the fucking address, then."


    "No."


    "Thom," I snap, "Just tell her to give us the address."


    The wizard squeaks from the backseat. "M-me? I c-can¡¯t..."


    "Hold on, I¡¯m trying to look up the updated map," Jack-Eye says, sounding almost frantic.


    Andrew sighs. "I¡¯ll send a text to you, Lycan Beta. Just click on the link, and we¡¯ll get it figured it out on our end."


    "A link?"


    "It¡¯ll enable location sharing. It takes two seconds, and it¡¯ll be easier to find you that way."


    "Wait, really? You can share your¡ªoh, it¡¯s here. Okay. I¡¯m clicking. There we go, and... is it working?"


    "Yes," the Blue Mountain pup says, sounding both patient and bored. "High Alpha, go right at the next intersection."


    I pull back onto the road. "Tell that infernal woman if she doesn¡¯t share the destination in the next thirty seconds, I¡¯m going to¡ª"


    "¡ªdo absolutely nothing because you need me," Lyre¡¯s voice cuts in. "We¡¯re heading to a contact who specializes in finding people who don¡¯t want to be found. She¡¯s on the move. There¡¯s no address. Just shut up and follow."


    My hands tighten on the wheel again.


    "Fine."


    "Hey, beta dog. Hang up the phone. They¡¯re annoying me, and I¡¯m trying to focus."


    My jaw clenches as Jack-Eye hastily says, "See you soon, High Alpha," and the line clicks.


    The car plunges into silence, only broken by the asional instruction from Andrew. No arguments over street names, just general directions. Right here. Keep going straight. Left, then the next right.


    Simple. Easy.


    The kid¡¯s got some promise, after all.


    <i>You know,</i> Fenris says, clearing his mental throat, <i>Jack-Eye had outdated information. It wasn¡¯t entirely his fault.</i>


    I grunt.


    <i>And maybe I was wrong to assume he was correct,</i> he continues, undeterred by my bad attitude. <i>But to be fair, I¡¯m not usually the wrong one in our rtionship.</i>


    My fingers flex. "That¡¯s a terrible apology."


    <i>I never said I was apologizing.</i>

 Chapter 84: Lyre: Irritating Company

    <h4>Chapter 84: Lyre: Irritating Company</h4>


    <strong>LYRE</strong>


    I drum my fingers against the steering wheel, counting each breath the oversized wolf takes from the passenger seat.


    Inhale. Exhale. Each one sounds like someone slowly deting a balloon made of sandpaper. If I weren¡¯t tracking the faint magical signature pulsing at the edge of my awareness, I might conjure a stic bag just to get some peace.


    "So where exactly are we headed?" Jack-Eye asks, his voice carrying the forced politeness people use when they think you¡¯re being unreasonable.


    The pulsing grows stronger, moving toward the eastern edge of the city. They¡¯re still on the move.


    "I told you," I snap, taking a hard left as my tires squeal, "I don¡¯t know yet."


    "Not to be difficult, but that¡¯s hard to believe." He braces one hand against the dashboard. "You¡¯re obviously driving <i>somewhere</i>."


    I narrow my eyes at the road ahead, the thread of magic pulling me forward. Tracking magic is a constant annoyance, like a fish hook caught under my ribs. "If you don¡¯t shut your face in the next five seconds, I¡¯m pulling over and kicking you to the curb."


    The threat buys me approximately twenty seconds of blessed silence before he opens his mouth again.


    "You¡¯re a strange woman, you know that?"


    My lips curl into something too sharp to be called a smile. "Is the big, handsome wolf upset because he found a woman who doesn¡¯t fall for his charms at first sight?" I take another turn without signaling, just to watch him grab for the handle above the window.


    His mouth quirks into an insufferable grin; I can see it out of the corner of my eye. "At least I know you think I¡¯m handsome."


    Blech.


    Not only is he way too young for me, his conceit is nauseating. yboys have never been my thing.


    "Your ego is showing. Might want to tuck it back in before someone steps on it."


    Jack-Eye chuckles. "That¡¯s the besteback you¡¯ve got?"


    "I save my good material for people who matter," I mutter, ignoring how his eyebrows shoot up. "Right now I¡¯m busy trying to find your king¡¯s missing girlfriend before someone drains her for parts. Or something."


    Though, if my suspicions are right...


    The pulsing changes direction slightly, and I make a sharp right turn.


    "Do you always drive like you¡¯re stealing the car?" he asks, his knuckles white where he grips the seat. Good to know even a wolf fears car idents.


    I don¡¯t. But he should.


    "Only when I¡¯m stuck with backseat drivers." I tap the brakes just to make him lurch forward. "If my driving bothers you so much, you¡¯re wee to get out and follow Caine¡¯s car."


    "And miss this stimting conversation? Never."


    The fishhook tug feels like it¡¯s trying to yank an entire rib out. We¡¯re close.


    I slow down, eyes scanning the street ahead. The strip mall on our left houses a pizza joint with gaudy neon signs, aundromat, and what appears to be a vape shop with cked-out windows.


    Tempting. It isn¡¯t like I¡¯ll ever have to worry about cancer, and the vored ones are quite delicious. Birthday cake in a puff? Yes, please.


    "Hold on," I murmur, pulling into a parking spot.


    Jack-Eye leans forward. "Are we here?"


    "No. I just wanted a smoke break," I say, deadpan.


    He stares at me, like he¡¯s considering actually believing my words. How cute.


    I squint through my windshield, rolling the window down just a little, enough to let the air in. The taste of mixed energies washes over me¡ªhuman mostly, stale and ordinary. But there, moving among them, a bright silver thread of something else. Something <i>other</i>.


    My tongue slides over my teeth, a little sharper than usual as the urge to hunt rises. The tugging has ceased, leaving only the faintest vibration. "Whoever took Grace might be here," I say, keeping my voice low. "Or at least, someone connected to them."


    Jack-Eye tenses beside me, and I can practically feel the predator rising to the surface of his skin. His hand drops to his waistband, where I know he¡¯s carrying at least one knife.


    "Easy, big bad," I say, cing a restrictive hand on his arm. He¡¯s warm and surprisingly solid. Lycans have always been a dense breed, though.


    In muscle, not brain.


    Though... maybe both is more urate.


    "You don¡¯t know what we¡¯re dealing with. If you go charging in teeth bared, we might spook him and lose our only lead."


    His jaw clenches, but he nods. "What¡¯s the n, then?"


    "I track the signature, figure out who¡¯s carrying it. You stay in the car until I signal."


    He barks augh. "Not happening."


    "Wasn¡¯t asking permission," I say, already reaching for the door handle.


    "Caine would have my head if I let you walk in there alone."


    "Caine¡¯s not my alpha." I turn to face him fully, letting my mour slip just enough for him to see what lurks behind my human facade; my slitted eyes are usually enough to get the point across. "And neither are you."


    To his credit, Jack-Eye doesn¡¯t flinch, though his nostrils re slightly. "Impressive party trick. Stilling with you."


    I consider turning him into something small and warty for about three seconds, but decide it¡¯s not worth the energy expenditure.


    "Fine. But no wolfing out, no threatening anyone, and if I tell you to back off, you back the hell off. Understood?"


    He mimes zipping his lips, which might be more convincing if his canines weren¡¯t slightly more prominent now.


    The bell above the pizza shop door jingles, and both our heads swivel toward the sound. A young man exits, bncing threerge pizza boxes in his arms. His hoodie¡¯s pulled low over his face, but there¡¯s something in his movements¡ªcareful, deliberate, constantly scanning. It sets off rm bells.


    Well, that, and the energy radiating off him.


    "That¡¯s him," I whisper, reaching for the door.


    Jack-Eye¡¯s hand locks around my wrist, surprisingly gentle for someone who could probably crush my bones without trying.


    "Wait. Let¡¯s see where he goes. If he leads us back to where they¡¯re keeping Grace¡ª"


    "Since when are you the reasonable one?" I mutter, but sink back into my seat.


    I sniff discreetly at the air, but there¡¯s no hint of Grace¡¯s scent. Maybe I¡¯m wrong.


    The man slides the pizzas into the back of a battered Honda Civic, then climbs into the driver¡¯s seat. As the engine starts, I turn the key in my own ignition and pull out of the parking space, leaving just enough distance between us and the Civic ahead.


    The energy signature pulses steadily now, like a beacon drawing me forward. If it leads us to Grace, we might actually have a chance of getting her back before Caine tears this entire city apart looking for her.

 Chapter 85: Grace: Wild Child

    <h4>Chapter 85: Grace: Wild Child</h4>


    I reach for the fluttering brown sparrow darting through the room, but my fingers close on empty air as Bun zips toward the ceiling.


    "Damn. You were so close," Ron says.


    "Yeah, damn," Jer echoes.


    Sara sighs. "You¡¯re not supposed to use bad words."


    Meanwhile, I¡¯m waving my hands frantically as I shout, "Bun, pleasee down!"


    The tiny bird chirps manically, wings beating frantically in hunger-induced chaos. She¡¯s been shifting nonstop for twenty minutes¡ªfrom bunny to kitten to fish (a terrifying thirty seconds of flopping), and now this. My heart hammers against my ribs even as I wonder how a toddler who can barely walk a straight line has already figured out flying.


    "She¡¯s losing it," Ron says beside me, craning his neck upward. "The pizza¡¯s taking too long."


    Jer nods grimly. "Sugar crash. Plus she¡¯s still growing."


    He sounds so wise, but I don¡¯t think her growth has anything to do with her current state of mania.


    I watch helplessly as the little brown bird dives toward a particrly threatening-looking piece of wall. "Can¡¯t you guys do something?"


    Sara crosses her arms, shaking her head. "She¡¯s too fast. Last time she went bird, Owen had to use a."


    "And Sara can¡¯t figure out how to fly, so she¡¯s useless," Jer adds.


    "Shut up, Jer!"


    The sparrow swoops directly over our heads, chirping what sounds suspiciously like swear words. Except she¡¯s a toddler, and I¡¯m pretty sure she only knows about fifteen actual words.


    Ron sighs, sounding so resigned, you¡¯d think he was asked to work overtime. "I¡¯ll get her."


    His transformation happens in a blink¡ªone second he¡¯s a gangly preteen boy with messy hair and eyes too old for his face, the next he¡¯s a young gori, his fur glossy ck.


    My jaw drops.


    "Told you," Sara says with a shrug. "Ron can turn into anything. Well, with a heart."


    Gori Ron makes his way up the cave wall with surprising grace, powerful hands finding invisible holds in the rock. Sparrow Bun flutters in panicked circles as he approaches, her tiny heart probably racing twice as fast as mine.


    "Be careful!" I call out uselessly, my hands pressed against my lips.


    Bun finally perches on a ledge, her beak open as she trembles. Do birds pant? Because it looks like she¡¯s panting.


    With surprising gentleness, Gori Ron¡¯s massive hand cups around the tiny bird. She pecks at his fingers, but he doesn¡¯t flinch, just cradles her close to his chest and begins the descent.


    "Thank god," I breathe as Ron reaches the ground, carefully extending his palm toward me. The sparrow res at me out of the side of her beady little eyes.


    Sara appears out of nowhere, a bright red apple in her hand. "Look, Bird Bun! Food! Want the yummy apple? A is for apple! Ah ah apple!"


    The transformation is instant¡ªfeathers disappear into chubby little arms. Ron barely has time to set her down before she¡¯s fully Toddler Bun again, grabby hands reaching for the fruit.


    Sara thrusts it into Bun¡¯s tiny palms. "Here, eat this before you transform into a freaking pterodactyl!" Her voice is cajoling and upbeat, but the words don¡¯t match her tone.


    Bun takes one giant bite of the apple, juice dribbling down her chin, her eyes wide with momentary satisfaction¡ªbefore her face scrunches up in disgust. She hurls the apple to the ground with unexpected force.


    "NOOOOO!" Her scream bounces off every surface, amplified by the cave¡¯s acoustics into something almost supernatural. "PAH! PAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"


    I swoop down to collect her before she can shift again, lifting her squirming body against my chest. Her back arches in my arms like something possessed, her spine bending at angles which can¡¯t be natural. Her tiny hands fist in my hair, yanking hard enough to bring tears to my eyes.


    "Ow¡ªBun, stop it!" I struggle to contain her iling limbs as she twists, doing her baby damnedest to pull my hair out of my head. "The pizza¡¯sing!"


    Sara backs away rapidly, hands to her mouth and eyes wide with horror. "Oh my Goddess, Bun, stop! The Lycan King¡¯s gonna eat us!"


    I freeze, Bun still writhing in my arms like a banshee baby. "What?"


    Tiny toddler teeth attack my forearm, and I bite back a yelp.


    "Oh, no," Sara moans, her eyes fluttering to the ceiling. "We¡¯re doomed. Ron, can you turn into a horse? We need to run!"


    "But the pizza¡ª" Jer starts.


    "Stop overreacting." Ron¡¯s back from gori mode. He and Bun are both dressed, not naked; their shifts don¡¯t seem to affect their clothing. Handy, but... odd.


    "Bun¡¯s hurting the Queen," Sara hisses, like I¡¯m not <i>right here</i>.


    He rolls his eyes. "Don¡¯t be so dramatic, Sara. She¡¯s not the Queen."


    "Yes, she is!" Sara insists, backing further away from me and the terrifying, feral Bun.


    I¡¯m still trying to process the moment when Jer jumps in, rounding on Ron. "Dude, don¡¯t you pay any attention? The King wiped out an <i>entire pack</i> just because her ex-boyfriend was in it. They said the bodies lined for <i>miles</i>."


    Bun¡¯s somehow ended up curled around my head, chewing on my hair. I try my best to intervene in the escting, inurate facts being thrown about, but every time I open my mouth, another kid¡¯s shouting even louder.


    "They say he killed like a hundred wolves because one of them looked at her wrong!"


    "That¡¯s not true," I protest, fighting to be heard over Bun¡¯s continued screaming. "Caine didn¡¯t¡ªI mean, he did kill some of my pack, but not because of my ex. That¡¯s ridiculous."


    They all stare at me with varying degrees of horror and fascination.


    Jer turns to Ron. "See? Told you."


    "She said <i>some</i>," Ron defends.


    I groan.


    Sara¡¯s eyes go impossibly wider. "See? He kills anyone who hurts her! We¡¯re dead. We¡¯re <i>so </i>dead. Ron, make Bun stop eating Grace before we¡¯re all dinner."


    "Stop it," Ron says firmly. "You¡¯re scaring Bun."


    But Bun is past caring, her hunger tantrum reaching nuclear levels. She yanks my hair again with a wild, angry scream, and I somehow get her off my head and into my arms, facing out.


    I¡¯m genuinely bewildered and more than a little... lost. Between the feral toddler, the crazy rumors, and just¡ªthis ce.


    Am I supposed to be the adult managing this situation? Or should I just leave it be?


    "When did you even hear about <i>any</i> of this?" I ask, baffled.


    Jer shrugs. "Everyone knows."


    Bun chooses that moment to m her head backward, catching me square in the chin. My eyes water.


    "Damn it, Bun!" I gasp, tasting blood where I¡¯ve bitten my tongue.


    The toddler suddenly goes rigid in my arms, her eyes wide as dinner tes. Her entire body shudders, and for one horrifying moment, I think she¡¯s about to shift into something with ws while still in my arms.


    Instead, she opens her mouth and lets out an ear-splitting wail.


    "PAH!" she screams, pointing toward the cave entrance we can¡¯t see from this chamber.


    "Pizza¡¯s here," Ron trantes.


    Sara and Jer bolt for the entrance.


    I stand alone, still holding the suddenly cooperative Bun, my mind spinning.


    How the hell did I go from pack outcast to shifter royalty in the span of days? And more importantly¡ªdoes Caine know these rumors are spreading like wildfire?

 Chapter 86: Grace: Honey, I’m Home

    <h4>Chapter 86: Grace: Honey, I¡¯m Home</h4>


    The kids race toward the entrance of the cave and I trail behind, arms sore from handling the little shifter tornado, who now twists in my grip at the promised arrival of food.


    "Pah! Pah!" Bun chants, kicking her legs against my ribs as she giggles.


    The exhaustion hits me in a wave. Between Bun¡¯s shifting frenzy, the bizarre rumors about Caine and me, and just the general chaos of being trapped in a cave with hyperactive shifter children¡ªmy body¡¯s tapped out. Done. Dead.


    My hospital stay seems like a lifetime ago, and yet it¡¯s only been hours.


    Owen staggers inside, arms loaded with the promised holy food, and Jer shouts, "Did you remember cheese?"


    The man grunts, his eyes darting around the room until he sees me. Then he nces behind him.


    He looks paler than when he left, a sheen of sweat visible on his forehead. The unppable, impassive man is...


    Nervous.


    My stomach drops.


    "Pizza!" Sara and Jer practically tackle him, grabbing at the boxes, oblivious. Despite their excitement, Owen remains rigid, jaw tight and eyes wide.


    "What¡¯s wrong?" I ask, shifting Bun to my hip as she makes grabby hands toward the food.


    Before Owen can answer, another figure steps into the chamber.


    I blink.


    "Honey, I¡¯m home." Lyre¡¯s rainbow hair catches what little light filters into the cave as she saunters in like she¡¯s arriving at her own dinner party instead of a hidden shifter hideout. She waves at me with casual flippancy, cat eyes gleaming with satisfaction.


    Behind her, the massive form of Jack-Eye ducks through the entrance, his red hair tied back, expression as bewildered as I feel.


    "Lyre?" I ask in disbelief. "How did¡ª"


    "We followed the pizza boy," she says with a shrug. "Oldest trick in the book. You okay?"


    Owen flinches when she speaks, practically jumping backward. The pizza boxes wobble dangerously in his grip, and Sara shrieks.


    "Put those down before you drop them," Lyremands, and Owen instantlyplies, like he¡¯s been shocked.


    Jack-Eye edges away from Lyre, pressing himself against the cave wall and maintaining at least ten feet of distance between them. His eyes never leave her, tracking her every movement like she might explode at any moment. The Beta of the Lycan Pack¡ªa man whomands respect from alphas¡ªlooks like he¡¯s sharing space with a live grenade.


    I blink again.


    Am I hallucinating? I must be hallucinating. Maybe Bun ran into my head while she was flying around, and now I¡¯m unconscious.


    "Everything¡¯s fine," Owen says to the suddenly silent children. "They are Grace¡¯s... friends."


    Ron, ever the observant one, narrows his eyes. "Are they?"


    Sara grabs a box of pizza with a frown and takes five or six steps back, as if she¡¯s afraid Lyre¡¯s going to snatch it out of her hands. "Are they going to eat, too?"


    Bun reaches out with a shriek. "Pah! PAH!"


    Lyre strolls over to the stack of pizza boxes now on the floor and flips open the top one. "Pepperoni. Basic, but eptable."


    Bun twists, smacking my face with her chubby hands.


    Nope. I¡¯m not unconscious.


    "Ron, can you..."


    "Got her." The older boy plucks the toddler out of my arms. "Jer, go get her chair so she can eat."


    Jer¡¯s hand pauses a millimeter from a slice of pizza, and he groans. "Fiiiiine."


    "You okay, Grace?" Jack-Eye asks, without moving closer. His eyes flick from Lyre to me and back again. "Caine¡¯s on his way. He should be here soon."


    Oh, dear.


    Sara¡¯s concern about being eaten suddenly sounds legitimate. "Ah," I mumble, not sure what to say, but already worried about Bun. And the kids. And even Owen, who technically kidnapped me, though he seems to have had a good reason for it.


    "She¡¯s fine," Lyre says, grabbing a slice of pizza. Sara¡¯s eyes follow her every move with a frown.


    I can see her look at Ron and mouth, <i>I don¡¯t think he got enough pizza.</i>


    My lips twitch.


    Owen herds the children toward the food, his movements stiff. "Everyone grab some pizza and eat in the other room."


    The kids, sensing the gravity in his tone, gather slices and retreat without argument. Even Bun allows herself to be guided away by Ron, who looks back at us with suspicion as they disappear around the corner.


    Jer, on the other hand, sighs loudly when he has to turn around with the chair he just brought in, grumbling about how they could have told him before he got it.


    With the children gone, I turn to Jack-Eye, who stands unnaturally still, his gaze fixed on a point just past Lyre¡¯s left shoulder. His entire posture screams difort.


    "Okay, what¡¯s happening? Why are you acting like that?" I gesture toward Jack-Eye, then to Owen, who¡¯s still staring at Lyre like she¡¯s about to eat him. "Both of you look terrified."


    The Lycan Beta clears his throat. "I¡¯m not¡ª"


    "He¡¯s afraid I¡¯ll turn him into something unpleasant," my rainbow-haired friend interrupts, taking a bite of her pizza. "Toad, newt, slug¡ªthe possibilities are endless. Good pizza. You should eat some too."


    Jack-Eye¡¯s face flushes red beneath his freckles. "That¡¯s not¡ª"


    "You turn someone into a toad once and suddenly everyone thinks you¡¯re going to do it to them." Lyre sighs dramatically, licking sauce from her thumb. "I¡¯m hurt by the assumption. Truly."


    My jaw drops. "You turned someone into a toad?"


    Owen pales.


    "For all of two seconds," she says dismissively.


    I look from Lyre to the Lycan, who now stands with his arms crossed protectively over his chest.


    "Was it him?" I ask, pointing at Jack-Eye.


    "No," he answers quickly.


    Owen flinches.


    I trail my finger in my erstwhile kidnapper¡¯s direction, and the beta clears his throat and nods.


    Wow. Poor Owen.


    Lyre shrugs. "I wanted to know where you were, and he realized we were tailing him about a mile in. It was the easiest way to get his attention. Don¡¯t worry. I waited until he was at a stop sign. I¡¯m not a monster."


    Then she tilts her head, looking thoughtful. "Sounds like the real monster¡¯s arrived, though."

 Chapter 87: Lyre: Embraced (?)

    <h4>Chapter 87: Lyre: Embraced (?)</h4>


    <strong>LYRE</strong>


    There¡¯s a special joy thates from watching someone who once stood tall crumble into terrified submission. Owen¡ªall six-foot-something of Order-aligned angelic muscle¡ªkeeps flinching whenever I so much as breathe in his direction. It¡¯s adorable, really.


    He¡¯s young. Strangely young. Maybe mid-twenties at best. Seems odd, considering his bloodline, but I¡¯m not about to ask. Knowing means involving, and involving means work.


    No, thank you.


    My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fish it out while maintaining eye contact with Owen, just to watch him swallow nervously. Poor thing. I¡¯d only turned him into a toad for a few seconds. Just enough to make sure he didn¡¯t run away.


    Didn¡¯t think it would bother him this much, but it <i>is</i> a delightful bonus.


    The text on my screen makes me roll my eyes.


    <strong>[CAINE: Why aren¡¯t you answering your phone? This is just an empty building. Where are you??]</strong>


    The digital equivalent of a wolf¡¯s howl.


    Sighing, I turn to Owen. "Do they need a key?"


    He nods stiffly. "Yes."


    "Better go let them in before His Royal Broodiness tears this ce apart with his bare hands."


    "This isn¡¯t¡ª" He stops himself and blows out a heavy breath. "Okay."


    Jack-Eye straightens. "I¡¯ll go with you."


    Of course he will. Any excuse to get away from the big bad witch who turned his new friend into an amphibian. Wolves are so predictable. So <i>boring</i>. Take away their agency once and they lose their ability to function.


    Owen hesitates, looking from me to Grace and back again.


    "Don¡¯t worry," I tell him with my sweetest smile. "We¡¯re <i>best</i> friends. Right, Grace?"


    The angel-descendant looks at Grace, his silver eyes troubled. "Will you be¡ª"


    "I¡¯m fine," Grace interrupts, her cheeks flushing pink as she looks at me. "We¡¯re friends."


    I press a hand to my chest, mock-offended. "Just a friend? After everything we¡¯ve been through? I¡¯m wounded."


    Grace¡¯s face crumples with genuine concern, her green eyes widening as she reaches toward me. "Oh no, I didn¡¯t mean¡ªI just¡ªbest friends! We¡¯re best friends!"


    I chuckle. "Breathe, blueberry. I¡¯m just messing with you." I wave my hand dismissively. "You¡¯re wound too tight. Rx!"


    Grace¡¯s shoulders visibly rx, tension melting away as she exhales a long breath. "That wasn¡¯t funny," she mumbles, but there¡¯s no heat behind her words. A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth despite her best efforts.


    She¡¯s so cute. A sweet little bundle of innocence, wrapped in a world determined to grow her into a fate toorge for her dainty shoulders.


    I can see the threads of her fate, and they¡¯re beautiful.


    But surrounded by so much pain.


    The best fates usually are. The Divinity call it <i>bnce</i>, but I¡¯ve never agreed.


    Jack-Eye follows a hesitant Owen toward the exit, and I can¡¯t help but twirl my finger in the beta¡¯s direction. "Ribbit, ribbit."


    He actually <i>snarls</i> at me before following Owen out. At least he has some spice to his fear. Doesn¡¯t like being poked at, does he? Maybe he¡¯ll be more fun than I realized.


    When they¡¯re gone, Grace copses onto one of the cushions scattered across the floor, her eyes wide. "You turned him into a <i>toad</i>?"


    "Just for a second," I tell her with an easy smile. "I wanted to talk to him, and it¡¯s the easiest way to get a point across."


    "Is that why Jack-Eye is afraid of you too?"


    I shrug. "Jack-Eye just has good instincts. Unlike your mate, who bulldozes through life with all the subtlety of a freight train."


    Grace¡¯s face does that endearing pink thing again. "He¡¯s not my¡ª"


    "Grace," I interrupt, sitting beside her, "we¡¯re well past that particr denial, don¡¯t you think?"


    She opens her mouth, then closes it, hands fidgeting in herp. Her nervous energy fills the space between us¡ªanticipation and anxiety in equal measure. It¡¯s sweet.


    "Is Caine really upset?" she asks quietly.


    "He¡¯s been tearing the city apart looking for you." I pat her knee. "In his own charming, homicidal way."


    A soft smile ys at the corners of her mouth, and I marvel at how someone so genuinely <i>good</i> could end up bound to a creature like Caine. The universe has a twisted sense of humor.


    "I should warn you," I add, "he might be a bit... intense when he sees you."


    Her smile falters. "Intense how?"


    "The ¡¯I¡¯m going to smother you with my overprotective wolf-king energy until you can¡¯t breathe¡¯ kind of intense. After what happenedst time¡ª" I pause, watchingprehension dawn in her eyes.


    "Oh."


    "Yeah, <i>oh</i>. So maybe avoid physical contact until we¡¯re sure you¡¯ve recovered. I¡¯d hate to have to exin to the hospital staff why you¡¯re back in aa." Though, I¡¯m sure Caine will never let her out of his sight again.


    Which is going to be a problem.


    Before she can respond, amotion echoes from the hallway¡ªheavy footsteps and voices, one deep and rumbling with barely contained emotion.


    Caine.


    Grace sits up straighter, unconsciously smoothing her hair. It¡¯s so painfully obvious how she feels, and I can¡¯t help but sigh. All that beauty, tied to an emotional brick wall with anger issues.


    Seven hundred years, and I still don¡¯t understand the mating bond¡¯s peculiar sense of matchmaking. Though, Grace has her own ability to emte an emotional rock, so I suppose they <i>are</i> quite the pair.


    The footsteps grow louder, and then he¡¯s there¡ªthe Lycan King himself, filling the doorway with his massive frame, eyes locked on Grace like she¡¯s the only thing in the universe.


    Mate bonds.


    Most people find them romantic. I find them cloying, contrived, and annoying.


    The raw emotion on his face makes my face scrunch up. There¡¯s somethingpelling about witnessing such naked vulnerability from someone who works so hard to appear invulnerable¡ªon television.


    In person? Blech. I know ites with a whole side of overbearing and obnoxious.


    Grace rises to her feet, swaying slightly.


    "Grace," he breathes, like she¡¯s Divinity and he¡¯s her supplicant.


    And then he¡¯s moving toward her with single-minded focus, arms already reaching.


    Right on cue.


    I lunge between them, throwing my body into Caine¡¯s path just as he¡¯s about to embrace her. His arms close around me instead, and for one horrifying second, I¡¯m trapped in the Lycan King¡¯s bear hug.


    We both freeze.


    His face¡ªmillimeters from mine¡ªcontorts with shock and revulsion. I¡¯m pretty sure my expression mirrors his.


    "What. The. FUCK." His voice is a strangled growl as he releases me with such force I nearly stumble.


    I smooth down my shirt, suppressing a shudder. "Unless you want to send her back to the hospital, keep your paws to yourself."


    Caine steps back like I¡¯ve pped him, his eyes darting to Grace. "Are you still...?"


    Grace, the traitor, isughing¡ªactually <iughing</i>¡ªtears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "Your faces," she manages between giggles. "I wish I had a camera."


    "This isn¡¯t funny," Caine growls, but the way his eyes linger on herughter suggests he doesn¡¯t entirely mean it.


    "I don¡¯t know," she says, wiping at her eyes. "It was pretty funny."


    His expression softens, just for a moment, before hardening again as his attention shifts back to me. "Touch me again and I¡¯ll¡ª"


    "You¡¯ll what?" I cut in, baring my teeth in a smile that¡¯s just a little too sharp. "Please, finish that sentence. I¡¯m dying to hear what you think you could do to me."

 Chapter 88: Lyre: Let’s All Calm Down

    <h4>Chapter 88: Lyre: Let¡¯s All Calm Down</h4>


    <strong>LYRE</strong>


    Jack-Eye steps forward, hands raised. "Let¡¯s all calm down."


    I ignore him. "Do you want to send her back to intensive care? Because that¡¯s what will happen if you drain her again. Energy transference isn¡¯t a joke."


    Caine¡¯s jaw works as he processes this, his desire to touch Grace warring with his need to keep her safe. It¡¯s almost endearing how much his instincts conflict with each other.


    Finally, he moves to a cushion near Grace¡ªclose, but not touching¡ªand sits with the stiff posture of someone expecting an attack at any moment.


    "Where is Fenris?" Grace asks, leaning forward but keeping her hands to herself.


    "Recuperating," Caine answers shortly. His gaze never leaves her face, drinking her in like a man dying of thirst. "He used a lot of energy."


    The way his voice darkens tells me there¡¯s more to the story, but now isn¡¯t the time to pry. His brain¡¯s somewhere else, I¡¯m sure, the kind of ce it shouldn¡¯t be with children under the same roof. Thankfully, they¡¯re in the other room.


    Then his attention shifts to me and Owen.


    Huh.


    Maybe I¡¯m wrong. The man¡¯s upper brain is still working.


    "What is this ce?" the overbearing brute demands. "Why is Grace here?"


    Grace moves so suddenly I almost don¡¯t catch her in time. One moment she¡¯s sitting there all wide-eyed innocence, the next her hand is reaching toward Caine¡¯s arm with an instinctive need tofort.


    I lunge forward, smacking her hand away before contact.


    "No touching!"


    Grace¡¯s mouth drops open in shock as she cradles her hand against her chest. Not that I hurt her¡ªI¡¯d never¡ªbut the surprise of it stings worse than the tap itself, I¡¯m sure.


    Caine, predictable as the tide, snarls at me. A rumbling, guttural sound that would make most creatures soil themselves and beg for mercy. His eyes sh dangerously, muscles tensing as he prepares tounch.


    Seven hundred years is plenty of time to lose patience with this particr brand of alpha male posturing.


    I flick my finger toward him¡ªa casual gesture, like brushing away a particrly annoying insect¡ªand the air responds instantly, condensing into a wave that ms into Caine¡¯s chest and throws him backward into the stone wall.


    The impact makes a satisfying thud. Nothing that would actually hurt him, just enough force to rattle his oversized ego. The cushions scatter around him as he slides down to the floor, his expression a spectacr blend of shock and fury.


    Owen, lurking near the entrance, makes a strangled sound. Poor thing. Probably contemting which exit strategy won¡¯t get him killed.


    "Do you both think I¡¯m joking?" I ask, looking between Grace and Caine. "That I¡¯m just being dramatic for fun?"


    Silence hangs in the air.


    Jack-Eye clears his throat. "Well¡ªshe <i>did</i> say no touching."


    At least one of them is smart.


    "Your energy is critically depleted," I continue, focusing on Grace. "And his¡ª" I jab a finger toward the now-seething Lycan King, "¡ªis overwhelming. One touch, even a small one, and he¡¯ll pull from you again. He can¡¯t help it."


    Grace¡¯s eyes widen. She looks down at her hand like it¡¯s suddenly foreign to her.


    "I wasn¡¯t intending to... Sorry, Lyre."


    "That¡¯s the problem with mate bonds." I sigh heavily. "They override rational thought. You don¡¯t think, you just act, and suddenly you¡¯re back in a hospital bed with tubes down your throat."


    Caine pushes himself off the floor, bristling with barely contained rage. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, tattoos rippling across his skin like living shadows.


    "You have three seconds to exin why I shouldn¡¯t tear your head off," he growls.


    Uninspired. I roll my eyes. "Because A: you can¡¯t, and B: I¡¯m trying to keep your mate alive, you absolute walnut."


    "Walnut?" Jack-Eye whispers from somewhere behind me, sounding far too amused for someone who¡¯s supposed to be blindly loyal to his king.


    I p my hands together, loud enough to startle everyone. The brief nudge of arcana to amplify the sound might have helped. "Charming as this disy of dominance is¡ªtruly, it¡¯s riveting¡ªthere are way more important questions to ask right now, don¡¯t you think?"


    Caine opens his mouth, no doubt to say something predictably threatening, when movement catches my peripheral vision.


    The feral toddleres tearing around the corner, her face smeared with what appears to be pizza sauce and possibly chocte. I <i>hope</i> it¡¯s chocte.


    Behind her, a girl with braided hair sprints with her arms outstretched, looking equal parts furious and desperate.


    "Bun, get back here!" she hisses, reaching for the escaping toddler.


    But Bun is faster than she looks. She careens across the floor with the unstoppable momentum of a tiny, sauce-covered missile. Her destination is clear, and nothing¡ª<i>nothing</i>¡ªwill deter her.


    Sheunches herself directly into Grace¡¯sp with a flying leap Olympic gymnasts would admire and lets out a bellow loud enough to shake dust from the cave ceiling. "<i>MAMA!</i>"


    The word echoes, bouncing off stone walls and ringing in the sudden, profound silence that follows.


    Grace¡¯s face goes ck with shock, her mouth wide enough to catch an army of flies as she instinctively catches the child. Motherly instincts. Not surprising, for someone with her fate.


    Bun immediately snuggles against her chest, tiny fingers gripping Grace¡¯s shirt with surprising strength as she rubs her sauce-streaked face against the fabric. She¡¯s babbling a mile a minute, looking aggrieved with her scrunched up expression and fat crocodile tears.


    Caine looks like someone just hit him with a sledgehammer. His expression cycles through confusion, shock, disbelief, and something that might be horror, all in the span of three seconds.


    Oh.


    This.


    This is <i>delicious</i>.


    My lips quirk at the horrible misunderstanding going through his head, even as I see panic widening Grace¡¯s eyes.


    "What," he says, voice dangerously t, "is that."


    The older girl skids to a halt at the edge of our little circle, her face draining of color as she realizes what just happened. Her pale skin goes even whiter, red eyes wide with panic. "That¡¯s the Lycan King, isn¡¯t it?"


    Grace¡¯s hand hovers uncertainly over the child¡¯s head, not quite touching. "I¡ªshe¡¯s not¡ªwe¡¯re not¡ª" Her face has gone an rming shade of crimson.


    "So," I drawl, enjoying this moment perhaps more than I should, "when were you going to mention you acquired a child? Must have slipped your mind during our quality time together."


    "She¡¯s not mine!" Grace manages to squeak out. "She just¡ªI don¡¯t know why¡ª"


    Jack-Eye looks like he¡¯s contemting the nearest exit strategy, his gaze darting between his alpha¡¯s increasingly thunderous expression and the child now contentedly nestled against Grace.


    Owen steps forward, hands raised in a cating gesture. "I can exin," he begins, then immediately takes a step back when Caine¡¯s attention snaps to him, like a predator catching movement in tall grass.


    "Please do," the Lycan says, each word dripping with menace.

 Chapter 89: Grace: Mama?!

    <h4>Chapter 89: Grace: Mama?!</h4>


    Bun burrows deeper into myp, trembling against my chest. The cave has gone deadly silent except for her sniffles.


    "I can exin," Owen says again, taking another careful step back when Caine¡¯s eyes lock onto him like heat-seeking missiles.


    My heart pounds, trapped somewhere between panic and a bizarre protective instinct for the toddler currently using me as a human tissue. I¡¯ve known this child for less than a handful of hours, but the bone-crushing tension radiating from Caine makes me want to shield her with my body.


    "She¡¯s not¡ªwe¡¯re not¡ª" My voice is thin. "This isn¡¯t what it looks like."


    The words areme, but it isn¡¯t as if I was expecting to defend myself against a toddler calling me her mother.


    Caine¡¯s jaw twitches. The tattoos on his skin seem to pulse darker, shadows writhing beneath his flesh. I can practically hear the calctions happening behind his stormy eyes¡ªdates, timelines, possibilities...


    Not that there¡¯s much to calcte.


    No. Wait. Is he really wondering if Bun could be Rafe¡¯s...? <i>No.</i>


    Owen clears his throat. "Bun has no parents. None of the children do." His voice remains steady despite the death stare Caine is drilling into him. "They¡¯re all soulspliced aberrants I rescued from various facilities. Bun is the youngest."


    It¡¯s the most words I¡¯ve ever heard him put together at once.


    "Soulspliced?" I echo, ncing down at the little head tucked under my chin.


    "Their souls are..." He moves his hands awkwardly. "Mixed with more than one source. Aberrants."


    Bun raises her tear-stained face to look up at me. Her features shift slightly¡ªbunny ears pop out of her head, and whiskers sprout her cheeks again. Then they¡¯re gone.


    It happens so fast I might have imagined it if I hadn¡¯t seen it multiple times already.


    "MAMA!" she wails again, louder this time, pressing her face back against my corbone.


    Caine¡¯s expression darkens further, if that¡¯s even possible. His hands curl into fists at his sides.


    Jer sighs from behind us all. "Grace, you have to acknowledge it."


    Acknowledge¡ªwhat? That I¡¯m her <i>mother</i>?


    But he¡¯s continuing, "She¡¯ll keep repeating herself if you don¡¯t. It¡¯s right there¡ªon her knee."


    I twist my head to peer down at the knee pressed against my side. It looks a little red. "Her knee?"


    "Doomed," Sara moans from behind her hands.


    Bun pulls back, her lower lip jutting out as she sniffs hard. "Mama," she whines, sounding a little more pathetic and less... loud. But there¡¯s a promise of esction if I don¡¯t handle this right.


    The dark-curled boy rolls his eyes. "We know it hurts, Bun. Grace, you have to kiss it. Bun, you want Grace to kiss the owie?"


    The toddler brightens. "Mm! Mama. Hee. Mama." She kicks her leg out, proving it doesn¡¯t hurt at all¡ªexcept in her memory.


    "What¡¯s she saying?" Lyre asks, looking way too amused by this entire situation. Her cat-slit eyes are dancing from person to person, her lips twitching every time she looks at Bun.


    "She¡¯s saying ¡¯owie here¡¯," Jer trantes as I kiss Bun¡¯s knee.


    "Wait¡ªare you saying she isn¡¯t calling Grace mama?"


    "Huh?" The boy frowns at Lyre, crossing his arms. "Why would he call her mama? We just met her. ¡¯Mama¡¯ means ¡¯owie¡¯."


    Oh.


    <i>Ohh.</i>


    The relief on Caine¡¯s face is immediate and palpable, like someone just lifted an entire truck off his chest. His shoulders drop a fraction of an inch, and the murderous gleam in his eyes dims to merely threatening. He even smiles.


    <i>Smiles.</i>


    "She¡¯s hurt," he says, still smiling.


    I narrow my eyes in his direction, but he doesn¡¯t seem to notice, still with an absurd tilt of his lips as he nods, as if the world is right again.


    And in a way, it is. I get it. To go from motherhood to not-motherhood in the span of three seconds, I also feel relieved. And no one¡¯s getting murdered over a misunderstanding, so even better. But as I look down at Bun¡¯s tearful face, at the smudge of red on her knee I¡¯ve already kissed, there¡¯s a tiny, sharp pang of disappointment.


    Ridiculous.


    I¡¯ve known this child for hours, not days or years. I¡¯m not her mother. I don¡¯t <i>want </i>to be her mother. I¡¯m eighteen and just escaped a pack that treated me like dirt for being human. Thest thing I need is a shape-shifting toddler calling me "mama" and meaning it.


    And yet.


    For one brief, insane moment, someone needed me. Someone chose me, specifically. Not because I was convenient, or there, or because a mystical bond said so. Just... me.


    I swallow hard and force a smile. "See? Not my kid."


    My heart breaks a little.


    Bun beams, wiggling her magically better leg.


    The tension drains from the room by degrees. Jack-Eye looks like he might start breathing again. Owen¡¯s no longer tense, though as soon as he meets Lyre¡¯s eyes, he jerks back until he bumps into the wall.


    Unsurprisingly, Lyre looks disappointed.


    "That¡¯s a shame," she drawls, stretching her arms over her head. "I was looking forward to the whole ¡¯you have a secret baby¡¯ drama. Really would¡¯ve spiced things up."


    Caine glowers at her, but she doesn¡¯t even look at him. I used to think she was suicidally stupid to stand up to the man, but after seeing her fling him across the room? I¡¯m starting to see there¡¯s a <i>lot</i> more to Lyre than I ever expected.


    Bun turns her face back toward me, rubbing her nose against my neck. I wrap my arms around her, careful not to squeeze too tight. There¡¯s something ufortably right about holding her. Like my arms were designed for exactly this.


    "So all these kids are... what did you call them? Soulspliced?" I ask Owen, desperately needing to change the subject before I think too hard about the maternal instincts apparently lying dormant inside me.


    He nods, relieved to be discussing something other than perceived parenthood. Lyre takes a step closer to him, and he stiffens further. I wasn¡¯t sure it was actually possible. "Yes. Their soul has the essence of multiple souls within it, which is considered¡ª"


    "¡ªFuck."

 Chapter 90: Grace: Sanguimancers

    <h4>Chapter 90: Grace: Sanguimancers</h4>


    Lyre¡¯s voice cuts through his exnation, and she groans. Loudly. Rubbing at her forehead as she looks at the ceiling, her other hand propped onto her hip.


    If I had to guess at her emotional state, it would be exasperated, but I¡¯m not sure why.


    "What?" I ask, tightening my grip on Bun instinctively.


    "I forgot the cages," she says, smacking her palm against her forehead once. Then twice. "Damn it, I forgot about the cages."


    Caine¡¯s attention snaps to her. "What cages?"


    "The facility where I found¡ªugh. It¡¯s a long story. Look, the point is that there are cages underground. A lot of them. Filled with shifters." Lyre¡¯s gaze flicks to Bun, then back to Caine. Her usual sarcasm has vanished entirely. "Some have children in them."


    "You forgot about kidnapped people?" I blurt out, unable to process how anyone could forget something like that. Lyre¡¯s strange, but she¡¯s caring.


    Her catlike eyes narrow at me. "I got some bad news. It was no longer a priority."


    My heart flips a little.


    The Lycan King has returned, all trace of the slightly warmer and marginally more approachable Caine gone as he asks, "Were they alive?"


    "Yes. Mostly."


    His face hardens. "Where? How many? Why are they there?"


    "About ten miles to the northeast of here, there¡¯s an abandoned industrialplex. Doesn¡¯t look like much from the outside, but there are magical wards everywhere." Lyre¡¯s eyes drift to Bun again, who has mercifully fallen quiet in my arms; she¡¯s chewing on the cor of her onesie as she rhythmically kicks her foot out, content to sit where she is. "At least one was soulspliced. Shifters, most likely. Possibly some humans mixed in. They¡¯ve been there a long time."


    Owen sighs, and Sara lets out a little whimper. She looks horrified, but by the way her stare¡¯s still glued in Caine¡¯s direction, I¡¯m not sure if she¡¯s reacting to what Lyre¡¯s saying or if she¡¯s just... really convinced Caine¡¯s going to eat her.


    Jer, on the other hand, is ignoring all of us. He¡¯s trying to get to the rest of the tanghulu, set out of his reach.


    My heart constricts painfully. "We have to help them."


    Jack-Eye steps forward, a hand already reaching for his phone. "I¡¯ll coordinate a team. We can have wolves there within¡ª"


    He pauses, sharing a nce with Caine. The Lycan King shakes his head. "The closest are all still in Blue Mountain. It would be hours before they get here."


    His beta sighs. "I told you we should have brought a few more with us."


    "It¡¯s better for them to keep an eye on the brat ruling there." Caine runs a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath. He nces at me with a frown.


    "We don¡¯t need a rescue team," Lyre says calmly. "It¡¯s just a retrieval."


    "It¡¯s better to be safe¡ª"


    "There¡¯s no danger," she interrupts him. "I can vouch."


    He frowns.


    Owen clears his throat, and I¡¯m impressed. He¡¯s facing Lyre without shaking.


    But then I follow the line of his gaze and realize he¡¯s looking <i>way</i> over her head. She probably isn¡¯t in his peripheral vision.


    "I will go. If any soulspliced are alive..."


    "I¡¯m going too," I announce, starting to rise before remembering the toddler in myp. The wordse out of me without conscious thought; maybe I¡¯m just swept up in the moment. Or maybe it¡¯s the thought of another Bun-like child, trapped in a cage. Maybe without its mother. Family.


    "Absolutely not," four voices ring out in unison, and I blink.


    "You¡¯re no help at all," Lyre says, and her gentle tone is at odds with her words.


    "You¡¯d be in the way," Owen agrees, his arms crossed over his chest.


    Jack-Eye and Caine don¡¯t have a follow-up. They¡¯re just standing there like they expect me to follow their every word.


    Which I will, because they¡¯re all right. I have no business going around trying to save people. Even if I waspletely recovered, I have no skill sets to help out. I¡¯m not particrly strong or agile, and I don¡¯t have magic like Lyre.


    "Sorry. I know. I don¡¯t know why I said it."


    Jack-Eye frowns at me, then looks at his alpha. "You¡¯re staying here, right?"


    Caine¡¯s jaw works as he considers, his gaze darting between Lyre and Owen, then back to me. "Yes. We can¡¯t leave Grace without a guard. But keep me updated. Check in at least once an hour."


    "Not every five minutes?" Lyre asks lightly, before pressing her lips together so tight they turn white. Her shoulders shake a little, though.


    "I¡¯m sure every hour will be adequate," his beta cuts in hastily. "Come, Madame Lyre. Please lead the way to the children."


    * * *


    The tension in the room shifts from panicked to purposeful as everyone begins organizing themselves. Owen steps away from the wall, his shoulders squared despite his obvious difort around Lyre.


    "I might have a ce to take any survivors," he says, his voice more confident than I¡¯ve heard before. "But we should hurry. The sanguimancer¡ªshe¡¯s dead?"


    "For now," the rainbow-haired girl replies, making a vague gesture with her hand. "It will take her some time to recuperate."


    "How long?"


    "Years."


    Owen¡¯s so startled he actually looks right at her. "Years? You destroyed her vessel?"


    A faint, one-shouldered shrug. "Is there any better way?"


    "No." But he looks more afraid than ever as he leads them out of our safe little cave.


    Even Caine looks taken aback, his eyebrows lifted slightly as he watches them leave. Bun shifts in myp, chewing harder on her cor, oblivious to the atmosphere.


    "What¡¯s a sanguimancer?" Jack-Eye asks, and I lean forward to listen. "Are they dangerous?"


    "She wasn¡¯t particrly challenging¡ªjust annoying. They¡¯re blood witches, in the crudest sense of the world. Their own or others¡¯, it doesn¡¯t matter. They use it to feed themselves, bind others to their will, cast nasty little spells..."


    Her voice trails off, and I nce at Caine, who¡¯s frowning. "Have you ever heard of sangwa.. Um, blood witches?" It¡¯s a term I¡¯ve never heard before.


    He shakes his head. "No."


    Lyre pops her head back in, just before the rock wall closes. "No touching. I mean it, Your Royal Blockheadedness."


    "I heard you the first time," Caine growls.


    "And yet I still don¡¯t believe you¡¯ll listen." Lyre¡¯s slitted eyes narrow further. "I won¡¯t be happy if Ie back to find Grace unconscious again."


    "Doomed," Sara whispers, still dramatically covering her face.

 Chapter 91: Grace: Conflict Resolution

    <h4>Chapter 91: Grace: Conflict Resolution</h4>


    "Good night, Bun," I whisper, tucking the nket around the toddler¡¯s tiny shoulders. Her eyelids droop, but she still fights sleep like it¡¯s her mortal enemy.


    "Quack," she mumbles, her duck bill morphing back to human lips mid-yawn.


    Sara rolls her eyes from her nest of nkets. "Just ignore her. She¡¯ll be asleep in thirty seconds."


    The feral baby protests with a grumpy babble, but it¡¯s soft.


    I smooth down a wayward curl on her forehead. "Sleep tight, baby."


    True to Sara¡¯s prediction, soft snores rise from her little bed of nkets before I¡¯ve even made it five steps away. The rest of the makeshift bedroom settles intofortable silence¡ªRon¡¯s already asleep, Jer¡¯s fighting it, and Sara¡¯s watching me leave.


    I linger in the main room, fluffing a pillow that doesn¡¯t need fluffing, zipping and unzipping my hoodie. It¡¯s strange how quickly these kids have wound themselves around my heart. It¡¯s only been a few hours, but my heart¡¯s all-in on their orphaned life.


    When I finally nce up, I spot Caine sitting alone, one arm resting on his bent knee, his gaze fixed on nothing. The harsh angles of his face are shadowed in the dim light of the cave.


    I ease down to the floor across from him. Not close enough to touch, but not so far that I have to raise my voice. My knee is only inches from his.


    He doesn¡¯t acknowledge me, but the slight tick in his jaw gives him away. He knows I¡¯m here.


    I watch him for a moment, gathering courage. "Earlier... Lyre said something about you tearing this city apart. What does that mean?"


    His jaw ticks again. The silence stretches, punctuated only by the soft breathing of semi-sleeping children.


    "Don¡¯t¡ª" I pause, searching for the right word, "¡ªsugarcoat it for me."


    His eyes flick toward me, then away.


    "I don¡¯t need the noble version. I¡¯d like the real one." I pull my knees to my chest, hugging them close. "Lyre exined things to me. I already know you¡¯re not some psychopathic serial killer or whatever."


    Caine¡¯s head snaps toward me, genuine surprise breaking through his stony expression. "You thought I was a serial killer?"


    "Oh. No. Of course not." Yes, yes, I did. "Maybe a little bit." A lot.


    Something shifts in his face¡ªthe tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile, but close enough that for a second, the tension cracks.


    He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. The gesture is so unexpectedly vulnerable, it catches me off guard.


    "I wouldn¡¯t attack a pack without cause," he says finally. "Blue Mountain gave me one."


    I raise an eyebrow, not bothering to hide my skepticism. <i>Uh-huh.</i> I was there.


    Caine meets my gaze directly, and I resist the urge to look away from his storm-gray eyes. They¡¯re too intense. Too probing.


    Too... pretty.


    "Brax has been a problem for years. Always smiling, alwayspliant. But he was never truly loyal. I had my eye on him for a long time. Not all packs are thrilled with having the Throne filled once again."


    Asking for details would interrupt him, so I keep my mouth shut, even though I¡¯m desperate to know more about what Brax did. My brain¡¯s been avoiding the past, still struggling to reconcile the man I once saw as a father figure and the one who abandoned me without a second thought once I returned from the Mate Hunt, still... human. Because I am one.


    Caine hesitates, the strong line of his jaw tightening as he nces away. "Still... maybe my reaction was a little extreme."


    I scratch at my jaw with augh. "Well, you didn¡¯t kill <i>everyone.</i>" The kids seem to think he did, but after Lyre smacked me with a bit of reality, I now understand¡ªit was proof of Caine¡¯s restraint.


    What little he has of it, anyway.


    A soft, halfugh escapes me, uncertain and slightly nervous. "I¡¯m still getting used to... this. All of this."


    "What?"


    "Your idea of, er... conflict resolution?"


    Caine leans forward, and my breath catches. The air between us shifts from cautious to charged, the energy of the moment crackling in my very bones.


    His cologne-like smell grows stronger, and I force myself to exhale slowly instead of sucking it all down like a woman drowning for it.


    "What do you mean by that?" he asks, his brows drawing together in genuine confusion.


    I stare at him for a second too long, my brain switching from <i>I like how he smells</i> to whatever was happening in our conversation. Then my mouth drops open.


    The realization hits me like a punch to the gut: Lyre wasn¡¯t exaggerating when she said Caine has all the emotional intelligence of a rock. He¡¯s actually, sincerely mystified about what I¡¯m trying to say.


    He has to be teasing me, right? He can¡¯t possibly be confused.


    "I mean..." I blink a few times. "It¡¯s a little scary to watch someone order the deaths of a bunch of people who once took care of me. Don¡¯t you think?"


    His face darkens, but it isn¡¯t directed at me. He¡¯s looking over my shoulder with a frown, his left eyebrow twitching.


    "That pack did not treat you well." His voice drops lower, the rumble of vibrating through the air and settling into my chest like a purring cat. "They don¡¯t deserve your grief."


    Something awful wedges in my throat. I clear it and rub the bridge of my nose, fighting a sudden, stupid prickling behind my eyes. It¡¯s not as if I loved the Blue Mountain Pack with every fiber of my soul. Plenty of them made it their daily mission to remind me I didn¡¯t belong in a world of wolves. But they were still my... something. My familiar. My history.


    My ce.


    And now I understand. Caine isn¡¯t ying dumb¡ªhe truly, genuinely doesn¡¯t understand why I¡¯d feel sympathy for people he considers trash. The disconnect is so profound, it¡¯s fascinating.


    Like I have a hint into his personality. How his strange, murderous brain works.


    "You¡¯re right," I admit, and my voice is stronger than I expect it to be. "Most of them didn¡¯t really like me. And Brax..."


    Once again, my avoidant personality rears its head and kicks me off the road leading down to hard memories. I give a one-shouldered shrug and end with ame, "I just don¡¯t see how killing people is... normal."


    Caine grunts, his tattoos sliding over his neck. "Fenris seems to understand your weak human heart better than I do."


    My shoulders stiffen. I can¡¯t decide if I¡¯m more offended by the "weak" or the "human" part.


    Both are true.


    But it doesn¡¯t feel good to hear.


    "It¡¯s not weak to value life," I protest, digging my nails into my palms. "Even the lives of people who were cruel."


    Caine¡¯s expression shifts as he sits straight up, dropping his leg to the ground. "No¡ª<i>that</i> isn¡¯t why you¡¯re weak..."


    Somehow, his words only make it worse.


    "Oh. Really?" I ask, even more offended by the bald truth he speaks, though I know it¡¯s ridiculous to feel this way.


    I <i>am</i> human. <i>And</i> weak.


    It isn¡¯t something to argue over, but it doesn¡¯t make his words sting any less.


    He hesitates, his jaw working like he¡¯s chewing through what to say next. Then, without warning, his hand reaches across the space between us.

 Chapter 92: Grace: Awkward Space

    <h4>Chapter 92: Grace: Awkward Space</h4>


    My body reacts before my brain even notices. I scramble backward like an awkward human crab, making it a foot away before my right wrist buckles out of nowhere.


    My elbow crashes into the ground.


    I adjust my position, trying to make my panicked retreat look casual.


    I fail.


    Spectacrly.


    At least if I¡¯m judging by the look on his face.


    My cheeks are hot enough to light a fire.


    Caine¡¯s hand hangs suspended between us, frozen in mid-air. His face has transformed from brow-creased concern to wide-eyed bewilderment, like I just sprouted a second head.


    He¡¯s back to concern, but now it¡¯s the kind of concern you give a kid after they facent a sidewalk.


    "No touching, remember?" I manage, my voice hitting soprano when it¡¯s usually afortable alto.


    For a long moment, he stares at his outstretched hand like it¡¯s not even his. Then he slowly brings it back to his side.


    Tension thickens between us.


    "Right," he mutters. "No touching."


    I pull my knees tighter to my chest, wishing I could disappear into the stone floor.


    "It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t¡ª" I stop, feeling my face grow even hotter. How does one say <i>yes, I¡¯d like you to touch me</i> without it sounding like a perverted invitation?


    So I keep my mouth shut instead of finishing my sentence.


    Fated connection or not, I still feel embarrassment. And awkwardness. And like we¡¯re a little too close to feel like strangers now¡ªespecially since his hands have literally been in my pants, which is <i>way</i> out of stranger territory¡ªbut still feeling as if I don¡¯t know the man at all.


    We¡¯ve fast-forwarded through the most basic part of a rtionship: getting to know each other. Like, at all.


    The things I know about Caine fit on one hand. One: Murderous instincts. Two: For some reason, he can manifest his wolf outside of his body. Three: His touches feel <i>really</i> good. Maybe too good. Four: He doesn¡¯t like Lyre very much.


    I¡¯m sure there¡¯s a five somewhere.


    "You don¡¯t have to exin," he says.


    But I do. I really do. Because his jaw is doing that tense thing again, and his shoulders have gone rigid, and somehow I¡¯ve managed to offend the most dangerous predator I¡¯ve ever met by <i>not</i> letting him touch me.


    "I just don¡¯t want to end up back in the hospital," I say quickly. "The energy thing, remember? Lyre said we shouldn¡¯t¡ª"


    "I remember," he cuts me off, his voice clipped.


    It feels like I¡¯ve done something wrong, which makes something inside my chest twist up into a spiral of anxiety. It¡¯s hard to take a lungful of breath, and heat flushes through my scalp, making my hair prickle. "It isn¡¯t because of you¡ª"


    "I know, Grace." His voice isn¡¯t really <i>softer</i>, but some of the edge is gone. Closer to it than not.


    Clearing my throat, I nce toward the alcove. At least the kids seem to have fallen asleep. It would be mortifying if they were watching all this unfold. Sara¡¯s still convinced the Lycan King¡¯s going to eat them all before morning, and his current aura would <i>not</i> help her fears.


    "Anyway," I say, desperate to change the subject before this gets any more awkward. "You were exining... about Blue Mountain."


    Caine shifts, his massive shoulders rolling as if shaking off the moment. "Not much to exin. They suffered the proper consequences."


    All of thirty seconds ago, he¡¯d admitted his actions might have been extreme. Now he¡¯s back to cold and indifferent.


    I pinch my lips together. Maybe it¡¯s better to be quiet, before I offend him further.


    * * *


    Silence settles between us, charged but not exactly ufortable. The distant sound of Bun¡¯s soft breathing from the alcove and Ron¡¯s asional sleep-mumbling fills the cave.


    Caine remains statue-still, his profile sharp against the dim light¡ªall defined jaw and brooding eyes.


    I¡¯m making this worse by staying away.


    The realization hits me with sudden rity. His hand stretched out was an offering, and I scrambled away like he was contagious. Mate bond or not, energy drain or not, I¡¯ve just hurt his feelings.


    Something about it¡ªthis idea of a terrifying Lycan King having hurt feelings¡ªmakes my chest tighten.


    With a slow breath, I slide closer until I¡¯m sitting right beside him, our backs against the same wall. I don¡¯t touch him¡ªobeying the rule like a good girl¡ªbut I¡¯ve closed the gap. Our arms are just inches apart now. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin.


    He doesn¡¯t move away. I don¡¯t either.


    "The Fiddleback Pack was strange."


    His voicees so suddenly and quietly that I almost miss it. I turn my head toward him, suddenly alert. This is it¡ªhe¡¯s finally answering my first question about why he tore through the city like a hurricane, right?


    "Strange how?"


    He stares straight ahead, eyes focused on something I can¡¯t see. The silence stretches for so long I think maybe he didn¡¯t hear me, but then his hands clench. It¡¯s a subtle movement, but I feel attuned to everyst twitch of his muscles, every soft exhale of breath, and the growing need between us.


    No physical contact didn¡¯t seem like a big deal when Lyre mentioned it.


    The reality is much different.


    I underestimated how much I want to be with the man. Want to press myself against him. Want to feel his hands on my skin.


    Something inside me keeps pulling...


    No.


    Pulling is too gentle. It¡¯s more of a yank, hauling me around like a ragdoll, demanding I submit to this strange connection between us. It¡¯s hazed my brain so it¡¯s hard to think of anything else, until I¡¯m willing to ept everything he throws my way.


    Even if it¡¯s more murder.


    "So what happened?" I press gently, hoping against hope he has a good excuse this time.


    Somehow, I feel like I wouldn¡¯t care even if he didn¡¯t. But the old Grace, normal, human Grace with morals and values who cares about people living and dying, is still inside my head beneath all the fated bond nuance, and she <i>definitely</i> cares. Sort of. Maybe.


    Or I¡¯m already too far gone.


    He leans his head back with a sigh. "They¡¯re dead. Most of them." The t, emotionless delivery doesn¡¯t even send a chill down my spine. Watching him out of my peripheral vision, I wait for him to continue.


    "I¡¯ll have to ask your friend what¡¯s happening around here. She seems to know more than she¡¯s willing to share."


    My stomach knots. The way he says "your friend" makes it clear he means Lyre. I can¡¯t help the spike of protective fear.


    It¡¯s good to know I¡¯m still Grace, the person who cares about her friends, and won¡¯t just throw Lyre under his ws in hopes of him getting his hands in my panties again.


    "You¡¯re not going to¡ª"


    "Not unless she gives me a reason," he cuts me off, his voice still unnervingly calm.


    I nod, but the worry doesn¡¯t leave my thoughts, even when I remind myself she literally... <i>swooshed</i> him across the room like it was nothing.


    A sleepy whine from the alcove interrupts my thoughts.


    Bun toddles out. Her tiny fists rub at her eyes as she makes her way toward us with the slightly off-bnce gait of a small child who¡¯s still mostly asleep.


    Without hesitation, she flops directly into myp face-first,nding with a dramatic sigh against my shirt like she¡¯s had the most exhausting day in toddler history.


    Then again, with all those shifts¡ªyeah, she did. I¡¯m pretty sure it wins, hands down.


    "Hey there," I say softly, my hand automatically moving to stroke her back. "Back so soon?"


    Bun answers with an incoherent toddler mumble, her face buried in my shirt. Her little body is warm against mine,pletely trusting. Something shifts inside my chest, unfurling like a flower to the sun. Something deeper and more expansive than anything I can understand.


    When I look up, I find Caine watching us. His expression isn¡¯t exactly soft¡ªI¡¯m not sure his face does soft¡ªbut the hard edges have smoothed somehow. His eyes track my hand as it moves in gentle circles on Bun¡¯s back.


    "Are we keeping her?" he asks suddenly.


    My hand freezes mid-circle. "What?"


    "The child." His eyes flick to Bun, then back to me. "Are we taking her with us?"

 Chapter 93: Grace: With Me

    <h4>Chapter 93: Grace: With Me</h4>


    The way he phrases it makes my soul want to simultaneously crawl into hisp and drop kisses all over his face, and run screaming into the night so he can never find me again. It¡¯s a dissonance of free will/bonding desire, and I don¡¯t really know how to feel about it.


    This whole <i>fated to be with each other</i> thing is a little... much. Until Lyre had broken it down, I¡¯d been under the assumption humans can¡¯t <i>have</i> fated mates. Everyone says so, therefore it must be true¡ªonly... it¡¯s not.


    Shifting my weight so my left buttcheek doesn¡¯t go numb, I answer, "She¡¯s staying with me."


    The wordse without conscious thought or consideration of consequences. Not angry, not defensive¡ªjust a simple statement of fact. Like saying the sky is blue or water is wet.


    She¡¯s mine now. I¡¯ll put my life on the line to make sure she¡¯s safe. I know it from the hair on my head down to my tiniest toenails. This child has wrapped herself around my heart. Learning she has no parents had the decision cemented before I ever consciously thought about it.


    Bun snuffles against my shirt, her little fingers curling. It feels <i>right</i> to have her weight and warmth in myp, like she¡¯s always been meant to be here. Children were never a priority for me. It wasn¡¯t as if I didn¡¯t want to be a mother¡ªof course I do, someday¡ªbut it was an abstract future for a much older Grace.


    Tiny puffs of warm breath hit my corbone as she falls back into deeper sleep.


    Caine¡¯s eyes narrow slightly. "Then we¡¯ll make arrangements when we return to my territory."


    There it is.


    The assumption.


    <i>We</i>. Us. Together. A package deal.


    My hand continues its gentle circles on sweet little Bun¡¯s back while I choose my next words carefully. This isn¡¯t about picking a fight¡ªit¡¯s about establishing truth.


    "No ¡¯we¡¯ yet. I said she¡¯s with me. Not us."


    His jaw tightens. In the dim lighting, the shadows of his face are more pronounced, making him seem more angry than he sounds. "You don¡¯t seem to understand how this works."


    <i>This</i>. He must be talking about the bond between us.


    "Maybe I don¡¯t," I acknowledge, keeping my voice soft for Bun¡¯s sake. "But I do understand I¡¯m not property. And neither is she."


    "I never said¡ª"


    "You didn¡¯t have to." I shift the girl slightly, tucking her more securely against me even as I wiggle into a slightly different position. Now my right cheek wants to go numb. "Look, Caine. I know there¡¯s something between us. We¡¯re fated mates, right?"


    He nods. Just one little dip of his head to acknowledge my words, even as his eyes burn into me.


    "I feel it, too. But it doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m going to hand over my life, my choices, and my future." I take a breath. "Or hers."


    Caine leans forward, forearms on his knees, every line of his body tense. For a moment, he says nothing, just watches Bun¡¯s sleeping form so intensely I hold her a little closer.


    "You¡¯re expecting me to court you," he finally says, like the concept ispletely foreign. Not angry, just... bewildered.


    A startledugh almost escapes me, but I catch it to avoid waking the baby. "No, not exactly." I mean, we¡¯re already fated to be together, right? It seems silly to deny it at this point. "I¡¯m just saying we need to get to know each other. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m getting into, and you don¡¯t even know what my favorite color is. It¡¯s not conducive to a healthy rtionship for us to jump in just because of our bodies..."


    My voice falters a little as his eyes gleam in the darkness.


    "Because of our bodies?" he asks, sounding way too innocent for the predatory look on his face.


    "You know... <i>meshing</i>."


    "Are you talking about when I¡ª"


    "<i>There are children here,</i>" I hiss, swiping at his face with one hand. I miss gagging him by about six inches. "Watch what you say."


    "¡ªtalked to you privately?" he finishes smoothly, as if he wasn¡¯t about to say anything about the dirty, naughty things his mouth and hands had done.


    "Yes. That."


    He nods. "Then I agree. Our bodies <i>mesh</i> quite well."


    Of course, there¡¯s the whole <i>if-he-touches-me-I-might-die</i> thing, but it seems the great Lycan King isn¡¯t willing to talk about <i>that</i> little detail.


    "Anyway," I continue, with a little more emphasis than necessary, "I don¡¯t believe in throwing away who I am just because some metaphysical divine being decided we¡¯re soulmates."


    Caine goes still. It¡¯s not a good sign, but I¡¯m determined to stand my ground.


    It isn¡¯t like I¡¯m trying to break up with him. I¡¯m not even trying to create distance. All I¡¯m asking for is boundaries. Building a rtionship the right way. Starting from scratch.


    Not relying on a bond.


    Rafe¡¯s already shown me the bond isn¡¯t everything. If it was, he wouldn¡¯t go behind Ellie¡¯s back toe back to me.


    The kind of rtionship I want isn¡¯t one where I spend my life worried my partner¡¯s only with me because he¡¯s required to be. I want an equal partnership. And¡ªmost of all¡ªI don¡¯t want to be powerless.


    Caine¡¯s the Lycan King. He can order anyone to do anything. If I be his mate...


    There¡¯s a lot to unpack. I don¡¯t know if he¡¯s going to want me to take on any responsibilities; I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if he doesn¡¯t. But these are all conversations we need to have at some point, <i>before</i> I decide to join him and his pack.


    Right?


    "You chose me," he says, each word delivered with absolute certainty. "You want to be with me."


    The conviction in his voice makes my breath catch. It¡¯s not a question, not even a statement seeking confirmation. It¡¯s a foregone conclusion in his mind. A fact as immutable as gravity.


    "I am drawn to you," I say softly, carefully. It feels like walking through a minefield, and I¡¯m worried he¡¯s going to take my words the wrong way. "But I don¡¯t know if our future is feasible yet."

 Chapter 94: Grace: Choice

    <h4>Chapter 94: Grace: Choice</h4>


    His face¡ªah, his face. It¡¯s like watching a fortress wall crack in real time. Something vulnerable and raw shes behind those storm-gray eyes before his expression hardens again. My words have genuinely blindsided him.


    "Feasible," he echoes. He looks as if he¡¯s hearing the word for the first time.


    I shift again. Both buttcheeks have lost feeling, but I still don¡¯t want to interrupt Bun¡¯s sleep. "Yeah. You know¡ªlong-term. Values. Morals. Views of the future."


    "You¡¯re questioning whether to ept the mate bond." His voice drops an octave, rougher around the edges. Not threatening, but definitely unsettled.


    "No. I¡¯ve epted it¡ª"


    "Have you?"


    "I¡¯m not <i>denying</i> it. I¡¯m just asking for <i>more</i>. This isn¡¯t just about some mystical connection, Caine. It¡¯s about two people with separate lives figuring out if they¡¯repatible."


    Hisugh is short and harsh. "Compatibility is irrelevant. The bond doesn¡¯t make mistakes."


    "Maybe not for shifters," I counter. "But I¡¯m human. And humans don¡¯t typicallymit our entire futures to someone we¡¯ve known for less than a week."


    Bun stirs against me, her tiny nose scrunching up before settling back down. I lower my voice further.


    "I want to get to know you," I continue. "The real you¡ªnot just the Lycan King or the guy who can make my body feel things I didn¡¯t know were possible. Not as the man who killed people I¡¯ve known for years. I want to know Caine so well I can judge what you¡¯re thinking just by the way the skin wrinkles at the corner of your eyes, or how your lips curve up or down. If we don¡¯t have that, is it really a rtionship at all?"


    Caine rubs a hand over his face, frustration radiating from him. "You speak as if we¡¯re strangers deciding whether to date."


    I mean¡ªaren¡¯t we?


    It¡¯s hard to understand why he thinks we¡¯re not.


    "Aren¡¯t we?" I ask quietly. "Besides you being possessive and lethal, what do I really know about you?"


    His gaze shifts to Bun, then back to me. "I¡¯ve been trying to picture it," he admits, and the vulnerability in his tone catches me off-guard. "You, with me. Children. A home."


    I bite my lip. "I haven¡¯t."


    By the way his face darkens, I¡¯ve said the very, very wrong thing.


    Hastily, I try to patch it up. "I want to know what makes youugh, what keeps you up at night, what you dream about when you¡¯re not killing people for looking at me wrong. These are the things I¡¯ve been thinking about."


    Well¡ªamong other, R-rated things. But admitting that here feels very dangerous.


    Caine¡¯s face is a battlefield of emotions¡ªdisappointment warring with confusion, frustration tangled with something that looks dangerously like hurt.


    "You¡¯re rejecting me," he says, sounding t and emotionless.


    "Absolutely not." See? I knew he¡¯d take it the wrong way. "That¡¯s not what I¡¯m saying. I¡¯m saying I need to actually know the person I¡¯m supposedly destined to spend forever with. Let¡¯s take it slow."


    His jaw works, muscles tensing. "You know me."


    "No, I don¡¯t. And you don¡¯t know me."


    "I know you. I know your scent. I know how you breathe when you¡¯re rattled. You keep picking at your thumb when you¡¯re nervous, and you pretend to be submissive when you¡¯re thinking about running."


    I blink, ncing down at the thumb in question. There¡¯s a tiny section of ragged skin by the cuticle; I¡¯d broken the habit years ago, but I guess it¡¯se back. "Okay¡ªbut what¡¯s my favorite color? Favorite food? Do I like horror or do I like romance? Do I like to read? What about school? What do I want to do in my future?"


    He frowns. "Knowing or not knowing changes nothing."


    "These aren¡¯t trivial things, Caine. They¡¯re the foundation of actually sharing a life with someone."


    "You think wolves court like humans," he says tly. "With dinner dates and favorite colors."


    I¡¯m pretty sure I said a lot more than that. I very specifically pointed out it¡¯s more than just surface-deep, didn¡¯t I?


    My eyelid twitches. "I¡¯m saying I think we need something between ¡¯hello¡¯ and ¡¯let¡¯s start a family.¡¯"


    His gaze drops to Bun again, and I see the calction happening behind those storm-cloud eyes. "You¡¯ve already epted this child into your life without hesitation."


    "That¡¯s different."


    "Is it?"


    "Yes," I insist. "She¡¯s innocent and defenseless and¡ª"


    "¡ªand you felt a connection to her," he finishes. "An immediate, unquestionable bond that told you she belongs with you. Despite barely knowing her."


    Shit. He has a point.


    It throws me for a loop, and I struggle to regain my high ground in this conversation. "It¡¯s not the same," I argue, but my voicecks conviction. "A child isn¡¯t a life partner. The obligations and expectations arepletely different."


    "The principle isn¡¯t," he counters. "You recognize bonds that matter. You act on them instinctively. With her. With me."


    I shift Bun gently in myp. "I¡¯m not denying our connection. I¡¯m just saying the connection isn¡¯t enough by itself."


    Caine frowns. "In wolf culture, the bond is everything. It¡¯s sacred. Wolves who find their mates consider themselvespleted. Two halves of one whole."


    "I¡¯m not a wolf," I remind him gently.


    "No," he agrees. "You¡¯re not."


    Something about the way he says it¡ªnot dismissive, but contemtive¡ªmakes me wonder if he¡¯s finally starting to understand the gap between us. It¡¯s not just species or culture. It¡¯s entire worldviews colliding.


    "This matters to you," he says slowly. "This... getting to know each other."


    "Yes."


    "Beyond the physical."


    I feel heat creep up my neck. "Considering the physical nearly killed mest time, yes, definitely beyond that."


    The corner of his mouth twitches, almost a smile. "What exactly did you have in mind? Shall I recite poetry and bring you flowers?"


    The image of the fearsome Lycan King clutching a bouquet makes a bubble of inappropriateughter rise in my throat. "Maybe start with telling me something about yourself that isn¡¯t terrifying."


    He considers this for a long moment. "I y chess."

 Chapter 95: Lyre: Weight of Life (I)

    <h4>Chapter 95: Lyre: Weight of Life (I)</h4>


    <strong>LYRE</strong>


    "Keep up or get left behind," I call over my shoulder, not bothering to slow my pace. "Consider it motivation to avoid bing part of the d¨¦cor."


    The ragtag group of the Lycan King¡¯s misfits follow in shocked silence. The reinforced steel doors sealing off this prison from the outside world are still on the ground from when I broke through them earlier.


    And from the moment we walk into this hellscape, we¡¯re greeted with the scent¡ªwhich hasn¡¯t dissipated, despite the fresh air I¡¯ve introduced to this ce.


    Ragged edges of magic still spark against my skin like static electricity, the desperate, dying throes of glyphs barely holding on.


    "Don¡¯t touch the walls," I add, watching Andrew trail his fingers dangerously close to a partially destroyed binding sigil. "Unless you want to spend the next decade convinced you¡¯re a teacup."


    There¡¯s no possible way for a basic defense glyph to create such mental havoc, but he has no idea.


    The young man yanks his hand back, his face paling under the weak emergency lights. He¡¯s been jumpy since we entered the tunnel system, looking over his shoulder every few steps like he expects something to grab him from behind. Not entirely irrational, given the circumstances, but amusing to watch.


    The nervous wizard follows closely behind him, his fingers digging into his arms, which are crossed across his chest as if to hold his racing heartbeat in. He looks like he¡¯s going to pass out any second, and his eyes dart all over the ce behind ridiculous copper-wire spectacles. The poor thing is practically vibrating with anxiety.


    He¡¯s still a baby. Barely able to manipte mana. Too much exposure to the blood arcana in this space might burn out what little talent he has.


    Oh, well. It isn¡¯t my problem.


    Would be a shame, though.


    Jack-Eye is ill-at-ease, but you¡¯d never guess it if you weren¡¯t paying attention. He moves with focused precision, not distracted by things like blood-smeared magical sigils, but his shoulders are locked tight. His nostrils re constantly, filtering through the smells of this ce.


    He knows this ce is strange, but he¡¯s not going to pester me with questions.


    Small favors.


    Owen leads from slightly behind me. He¡¯s seen ugliness before¡ªit¡¯s etched into every line of his body. The tension in his body speaks thenguage of resigned obligation. Not surprising, for someone who¡¯s taken on the duties of a Guardian to this ce.


    With every step I take, the air changes. Thickens.


    And suddenly, the scent hits us like walking face-first into a wall. My jaw tingles with the sudden urge to vomit, but I swallow it back.


    The others struggle. Andrew recoils violently. Jack-Eye freezes mid-stride. The baby wizard? He doesn¡¯t make it, doubling over to retch violently on the floor.


    Owen pats his back with a stoic expression; the tension of his entire body already tells me what I know. He¡¯s smelled it all before.


    When Thomas¡ªTommy?¡ªfinally straightens, his face is flushed with embarrassment, a thin line of saliva still connecting him to the puddle of vomit on his shoes.


    "You¡¯ll want to burn those shoes," I tell him tly. "And maybe your soul."


    Heughs, but the sound is hollow.


    The stench is too strong. Rot and blood and something else¡ªsomething ancient and cloying, sticking to the back of your throat so you can taste it every time you swallow. It¡¯s the scent of decay, but not just physical dposition. It¡¯s magic rotting from the inside out.


    Fucking sanguimancers.


    "What is this ce?" Jack-Eye finally breaks his silence, voice tight with disgust as we move forward once again.


    "Exactly what I told you. A sanguimancer¡¯s yground." I step over a dark stain on the floor. "Isabeau liked to collect living batteries. The longer they suffered, the more power she could extract."


    "And the cages? What are they? How much farther?" Andrew asks, still keeping his distance from the walls.


    "They¡¯re feeding pens. They aren¡¯t far."


    No one asks me to borate. The description is enough.


    It¡¯s only then that I notice the silence.


    Complete, absolute silence.


    No breathing from the trapped shifters. No whispers of movement. No signs of life at all.


    Just... stillness.


    My heartbeat quickens against my will. A cold, creeping dread crawls up my spine¡ªa sensation I haven¡¯t felt in centuries. I¡¯ve lived too long to fear most things, but this silence speaks anguage I understand all too well.


    This isn¡¯t peace. This is aftermath.


    "Wait here."


    "But¡ª" Andrew starts.


    "Here." I pin him with a t stare, and he shuts his mouth instantly.


    Owen doesn¡¯t listen; he keeps moving forward. Jack-Eye hesitates only for a step, before following behind.


    Andrew and the wizard stay where I tell them to.


    It doesn¡¯t take us long to make it through the tunnels into a more widened space, lined with cages.


    Cages once full of bodies, of people who acted more dead than alive.


    Now they¡¯re just dead.


    Bodies are everywhere¡ªsprawled across the ground, slumped against open cage doors, limbs twisted at impossible angles. The scene reveals a massacre, not an escape. Some poor souls died where they¡¯d been imprisoned, others made it only steps toward freedom before being cut down.


    My eyes catch on a tiny form crumpled near the wall¡ªthe toddler who had reached for me with innocent desperation. Now those little hands are still, face frozen in terror, eyes empty. Something ancient and terrible stirs inside me.


    The rage builds with each heartbeat, pulsing through my veins likeva. I can feel it vibrating through my body, making the very ground beneath us tremble. The arcana in the air responds, humming with discordant energy as my control slips.


    My teeth clench so hard my jaw aches, fangs growing and pressing against my lips as I struggle to contain what¡¯s building inside me¡ªa fury older than thest breath of the Aztecs. Older than the bones of Constantinople, rotting beneath new kings.


    The weight of my choice is like a terrible, self-loathing boulder rolled onto my chest. I could have stayed. Should have stayed. Instead, I¡¯d shrugged off the responsibility of these lives, decided to hand them off to Caine¡¯s care¡ªand forgotten them.


    If I¡¯d remembered in time...


    If I¡¯d only taken the effort...


    But now I¡¯m staring at the consequence of that decision.

 Chapter 96: Lyre: Weight of Life (II)

    <h4>Chapter 96: Lyre: Weight of Life (II)</h4>


    <strong>LYRE</strong>


    My magic curls out like tendrils, brushing against the walls of the chamber, tasting the carnage.


    I¡¯m toote.


    The walls tremble. Dust sifts from the ceiling. My phone vibrates, one after another. Nonstop, and I already know what¡¯s happening.


    Divinity Connect is lighting like a Christmas tree, sensing the shift in my control.


    Blood. So much blood. Most of it dried to rusty brown, king from the walls in macabre patterns. But near the furthest wall¡ªfresh crimson glistens in the dim light. Still wet. Still new.


    I walk deeper into the chamber, my steps deliberate. My magic extends further, parsing through the residual energy, and I go very still.


    This wasn¡¯t Isabeau.


    Not entirely.


    Jack-Eye steps up beside me, his face drained of color. "What the fuck happened here?" His voice shakes. He¡¯s furious, and barely controlling his panic. The scent of it is strong, and yet still almost buried beneath the gruesome stench of this ce.


    I don¡¯t answer. I can¡¯t. My attention is focused on the room itself, on the energy patterns hanging in the air like invisible cobwebs. The bodies aren¡¯t quite randomly ced. At least, not the ones outside of the cages.


    Owen crouches beside one of the bodies, his movements clinical. He acts unaffected, but I can feel his core of arcana shaking. He checks for rigor mortis, examines the wounds on the neck and chest, like he does this every day. And maybe he does. "They didn¡¯t fight back."


    "They never had a chance." My voice is t, but the rage continues building. At Isabeau, at whatever did this¡ªbut mostly at myself. I should havee back sooner. Should have evacuated them immediately. Should have not been distracted by Grace and her stupid mate and their nest of soulspliced kids.


    I know better than to leave loose ends.


    Then Jack-Eye stiffens beside me. "Do you smell that?"


    I do. A sharp, chemical tang cutting through the stench of decay. An unnatural odor that doesn¡¯t belong, like rain mixed with burnt sugar and molten iron, wrapped in rotting flesh.


    My stomach turns.


    "Ritual," I mutter. "But wrong."


    Owen rises, his silver eyes gleaming unnaturally in the dim light. "Blood magic. But why does it smell like that?"


    "They didn¡¯t know what they were doing." The words taste bitter. Amateur work. Powerful, but sloppy. Like watching a child with a loaded gun¡ªdeadly, but not by design.


    I step carefully through the bodies, eyes locked on the floor. And there they are. Four symbols, equidistant from each other, perfectly etched into the concrete. The glyphs are pristine, untouched by the blood and bodies surrounding them.


    North. South. East. West.


    I kneel beside the eastern mark, narrowing my eyes. The lines are a little too squiggly. Some are too short. A few are too long. There¡¯s a hook where there shouldn¡¯t be and a few too many loops, but the glyphs are clear in intent.


    "He¡¯s pulling from banks."


    Owen¡¯s face hardens as he kneels opposite me, examining the western symbol. "A mass harvest."


    "The anchor¡¯s moved." I press my palm against the floor, feeling the emptiness where power should resonate. When I destroyed Isabeau, the magic in this space should have dissipated gradually, returning to the earth. Instead, it¡¯s gonepletely¡ªas if siphoned away and anchored elsewhere.


    Owen sighs, a sound heavy with foreknowledge. "She had an unusual hold over this pack."


    Jack-Eye moves closer, his tall frame tense with barely contained fury. "Who? Who did this? What are you talking about?"


    Someone¡¯s reanimating Isabeau, drawing on her power, perhaps even with the help of her her consciousness. Someone with enough power to gather this much blood energy but not enough finesse to do it cleanly.


    Someone desperate.


    "I don¡¯t know yet."


    It¡¯s a good thing I forced the wizard to stay behind. Who knows how his magic would have responded to such a scene.


    It might have even been sucked away, tied to the blood sigils pulling arcana from this room.


    I grit my teeth and throw out my hand, channeling my rage through my fingertips. The sigils ignite instantly¡ªblue-white mes burning unnaturally hot, consuming the markings without spreading.


    The fire doesn¡¯t make a sound, doesn¡¯t crackle or hiss. It just burns, clean and merciless.


    Owen flinches with his whole body, stumbling back like I¡¯ve just tried to incinerate him. His silver eyes go wide, reflecting the mes so they look molten.


    The terror on his face would be amusing if the situation weren¡¯t so fucked.


    Jack-Eye takes two hasty steps away from me, though his face remains mostly impassive. His eyes twitch, though.


    "Get out," I say, my voice rough with barely contained fury. "Take Andrew and that twitchy wizard and get out of here."


    "But what about¡ª" The Lycan Beta starts.


    "These souls need peace." I cut him off, watching as the mes die down, leaving nothing but ck scorches. "And I don¡¯t want even a sliver of Isabeau¡¯s influence to remain here."


    My phone vibrates again¡ªand again¡ªand again, a constant buzz against my hip that¡¯s bing harder to ignore. Divinity Connect is having a field day with my emotional state. Probably logging every spike in my power for some archangel¡¯s spreadsheet.


    Or Chaos wants in.


    Either way, I ignore it.


    "Now," I add when neither of them moves.


    Owen stares at the charred sigils and nods once. "Understood."


    Jack-Eye hesitates longer, eyes darting between me and the carnage. "What exactly are you nning to do?"


    I turn to face him fully, letting just a hint of what I am bleed into my eyes. His pupils contract to pinpricks as he sucks in a breath.


    Grace has always been able to see my eyes for what they are. Jack-Eye has only ever caught glimpses.


    "I¡¯m going to clean up."


    He frowns, but Owen smacks his shoulder and jerks his head back the way we came. "Right. We¡¯ll wait outside."


    "Do that."


    They back away, Owen moving with the careful precision of someone trying not to startle a predator, Jack-Eye with the wariness of someone who¡¯s seen enough supernatural shit to know when to retreat.


    When they¡¯re gone, I close my eyes and breathe in the stench of death and failed magic. Seven hundred years, and the scent never gets easier to bear.


    My phone vibrates again, insistent and annoying.


    irvoyance is not perfect. An overreliance on my abilities will always lead to heartbreak.


    It¡¯s a lesson I¡¯ve learned time and time again.


    And it never gets easier.

 Chapter 97: Grace: One Tiny Fist

    <h4>Chapter 97: Grace: One Tiny Fist</h4>


    My back aches against the cave wall, but I don¡¯t dare move. Bun¡¯s warm weight anchors me where I am, her slight body rising and falling with each breath, rabbit ears asionally twitching against my stomach. I¡¯m not even sure when they appeared. When Caine was done exining how chess was something his father taught him as a child¡ªin an effort to teach strategic thinking for battle, which made his confession seem a little less lighthearted than it was¡ªI¡¯d looked down, and there they were. Little white rabbit ears.


    And a tiny puffing out of her diaper. I can¡¯t smell anything, so I¡¯m about seventy-five percent certain it¡¯s a little puffy rabbit tail and <i>not</i>... something else.


    She¡¯spletely conked out, one tiny fist clutching my shirt like I might disappear if she lets go.


    An inch away¡ªliterally just one inch¡ªCaine sits with his back against the same wall, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. He¡¯s not sleeping. I can tell by the rhythm of his breathing. Too measured. Too controlled. The space between us pulses with unspoken tension, an invisible boundary neither of us wants to breach.


    Or, more urately... one we <i>want</i> to breach, yet can¡¯t.


    I shift slightly, and my shoulder nearly grazes his. My entire body goes rigid, muscles locking up as if he¡¯s poison. Or a live, sparking power line.


    This is ridiculous. We¡¯ve had sex (well... partly), but now I¡¯m terrified of our shoulders bumping? And our conversation¡¯se to aplete, grinding halt.


    Maybe I¡¯ve made everything worse with my boundaries. Maybe I should¡¯ve just let whatever this is between us unfold naturally instead of trying to control it. But every time I think about giving in, there¡¯s something inside me begging to stick to it.


    I nce at his profile in the dim light. There¡¯s stubble covering his jaw, darker than this morning. His eyshes are long and lush, and instead of envy my first thought goes to eventual children and if they¡¯ll have his eyshes.


    Now I get it, what he said about imagining a life together. Kids. The whole shebang and probably the little dog too.


    Well¡ªno, nix the dog. No cats, either. Wolf shifters don¡¯t do pets.


    Dinner, yes. Pets? Not so much.


    And yet, despite me throwing down rules and needs and confusing him with where my heart¡¯s at, he¡¯s still here. Staying. His shoulder next to mine, respecting my space but not continuing distance.


    My heart thumps hard.


    No psychopathic serial killer would treat a girl like this. Then again, Ted Bundy got married¡ªno. No more negative thoughts.


    What happened with Brax and the others wasn¡¯t murder. It was pack justice.


    Dwelling on it is only going to keep me stagnant.


    I¡¯m halfway between waking and dreaming when shuffling footsteps jerk me back into fully awake.


    Ron emerges from the darkness of the sleeping alcove, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. His dark hair stands up in tufts, making him look younger than fifteen-ish. He¡¯s tall andnky, but scrawny. Still a child.


    He freezes with one foot in the air when he sees us, his eyes widening as they lock onto Bun curled against my chest.


    "She usuallyes to me," he says, confusion etched across his face. He shifts ufortably, ncing between me, Caine, and the sleeping toddler. "Not even Owen gets to put her back to sleep."


    The way Ron looks at her¡ªprotective, confused, a little hurt¡ªmakes me wonder if I¡¯ve stepped into a role that wasn¡¯t mine to take.


    "I¡¯m sorry," I whisper. "She just climbed into myp and fell asleep. I didn¡¯t want to wake her."


    He approaches cautiously, crouching down beside us. "I can take her back to bed," he offers, reaching out his hands. "She kicks in her sleep sometimes. You¡¯ll get more rest without her."


    His fingers barely brush Bun¡¯s shoulder before she stirs, her face scrunching up in immediate distress. Her tiny hand tightens in my shirt as she swats blindly at Ron with her other arm.


    "No!" she cries out, her voice thick with sleep but unmistakably adamant. Her entire body curls tighter against me, rabbit ears ttening against her head.


    My arms tighten around her, trying to give her a sense of security, soothe her back into sleep. "Shh, it¡¯s okay," I murmur, one hand stroking her back in gentle circles. "You¡¯re safe. Everything¡¯s okay."


    The older kid pulls back, looking at me like I¡¯ve performed some kind of magic trick. The rejection in his eyes hits me harder than I expected. This isn¡¯t apetition, but somehow it feels like I¡¯ve won something I never signed up for.


    "Leave her."


    Caine¡¯s voice cuts through the silence, low and firm, without a hint of aggression but filled with quiet authority. His eyes are open now, fixed on the teenager with unwavering intensity.


    Ron straightens immediately, his posture shifting from confused kid to alert shifter. It¡¯s subtle but unmistakable¡ªthe way his shoulders pull back, chin lifting slightly. A response to an alpha¡¯smand.


    "Sorry," he mutters, backing away a step. "I just thought..."


    "She¡¯s fine where she is," Caine says, his tone softer, but no less final.


    I nce between them, feeling the weight of Bun growing heavier in my arms. "Actually, I should probably put her to bed properly." Struggling to my feet without jostling her is a new skill, one I¡¯m going to have master as soon as humanly possible. My legs prickle with pins and needles after sitting so long, but I manage to stand without stumbling.


    It¡¯s a small victory, but I¡¯ll take it.


    Caine rises in one fluid motion beside me, close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from his body without actually touching him. He doesn¡¯t offer to help, doesn¡¯t try to take Bun¡ªhe just stands there, a silent presence at my back, until I navigate toward the sleeping area.


    The children¡¯s alcove is warmer than the main cave. While the makeshift beds are all just piles of nkets, Sara and Jer are sleeping so deeply, they don¡¯t even twitch as I stumble inside.


    I lower Bun gently onto her bed, trying to disentangle her fingers from my shirt. She whimpers, her face crumpling at the loss of contact.


    "It¡¯s okay," I whisper, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. "I¡¯m not going far. Just sleep now, baby girl."


    Something about her pulls at me in ways I can¡¯t exin¡ªa fierce protectiveness I¡¯ve never felt before. I tuck the nket around her tiny form, marveling at how someone so small could carve out such a huge space in my heart in such a short time.


    "Sweet dreams," I murmur, leaning down to press a light kiss to her forehead.


    Her fingers finally release my shirt, but immediatelytch onto my pinky finger instead. I wait, watching as her breathing evens out again, her grip gradually loosening as she slips deeper into sleep.


    When I¡¯m sure she won¡¯t wake, I carefully extract my finger and rise to leave¡ªonly to freeze at the sound of voices from the main room.


    "Tell me about them."


    Caine¡¯s voice is softer than I¡¯ve ever heard it,ced with genuine curiosity rather than demand.


    I ease back into the shadows between the sleeping area and the main cave, hesitant to interrupt whatever conversation is unfolding.


    "Where did youe from?" he continues. "What happened to their parents?"


    From my hidden vantage point, I can see Ron¡¯s face, illuminated by the faint glow of string lights. He looks wary, chewing on his bottom lip like he¡¯s weighing how much to share.


    "Don¡¯t know about our parents," he finally says, eyes fixed on some distant point. "Never had any. Owen found us all separate. Different ces, different times. I¡¯ve been around the longest." He shrugs. "But the story¡¯s the same for all of us. Shifters don¡¯t like it when their kidse out wrong."


    My heart squeezes painfully in my chest as I watch his expression, hardened into practiced indifference. "Bun was the worst off. She¡¯s the first one toe here as a baby. She was starving. Wouldn¡¯t eat for anyone."


    Fuck.


    The mental image is enough to bring tears to my eyes, my stomach threatening nausea.


    "How old were you and the others?"


    Ron¡¯s eyes flick toward the sleeping area¡ªtoward me, though I don¡¯t think he can see me in the shadows. Then again, he¡¯s a shifter.


    "Old enough to know we can¡¯t trust people easy." He blinks in my direction, his lips curving up on one side. Just a little. Almost imperceptible. "They all like Grace, though."


    "And you?"


    The kid¡¯s stare doesn¡¯t waver, his eyes locked onto mine. He <i>definitely</i> sees me, making this standing around listening in a little creepy. Then he looks away. "She¡¯s probably the best thing to ever walk into this cave. None of us remember our moms. She feels like one."


    He pauses.


    "She¡¯s a little young to be mine. But an older sister, maybe. One who sticks around."


    I lean against the cool stone wall, listening, heart thudding painfully in my chest as I realize just how much these children have endured¡ªand how much I¡¯ve unwittingly stepped into.

 Chapter 98: Caine: The Kids

    <h4>Chapter 98: Caine: The Kids</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    Something about these children sets my senses on edge.


    I watch the kid closely as he speaks about the small sleeping forms in the alcove. His bodynguage shifts constantly¡ªdefensive, protective, cautious. But it¡¯s not his movements that catch my attention. It¡¯s his scent.


    A strange undertone clings to him. Sweet. Fruity. Simr to overripe strawberries, but not quite the same. It¡¯s subtle beneath his normal teenage smell¡ªsweat, hormones, and a hint of animal musk.


    At first whiff, he smells like a wolf.


    I take a deeper breath, letting my senses expand through the cave. The little one, Bun¡ªshe smells like prey at her baseline. Rabbit.


    But different as they are, they all share the same signature of scent. Strangely, almost synthetically fruity.


    Owen doesn¡¯t carry it at all; he smells of summer and wind and something cleaner. Not human, though. Something else is there, but it¡¯s not like theirs.


    "What kind of danger surrounds these kids?" I keep my voice low, even though I already know Grace is around the corner, listening. She probably thinks she¡¯s being quiet, but I can hear every shallow breath and the faint brush of her clothes against the wall. "Why is Owen the one saving them?"


    He doesn¡¯t answer right away, looking instead toward the sleeping children. Then he rubs at his head with a long sigh, pulling at a few strands as he thinks my question over.


    "There¡¯s something rotting in the bones of this ce," he finally says. "But it¡¯s not just here. Packs have been weakening for decades. Even prey shifters are struggling."


    His jaw tightens as he meets my eye. "More kids like us are being born. Owen tries to get them out when he can, but he fails more than he seeds."


    I¡¯ve observed unrest among the packs, but it¡¯s always attributed to politics. Natural power struggles. Nothing like this.


    "What¡¯s an aberrant?"


    The kid frowns. His eyes are too old for his face, his bearing too weary for his age. "Owen says we¡¯re the world correcting itself. Spliced souls, carrying too much. Built to survive what¡¯sing. But we don¡¯t shift right, so our packs don¡¯t want us. Owen can¡¯t fix it, but he can take us away. The people who want us... aren¡¯t good people."


    This isn¡¯t rebellion. Nor is it political unrest. This is something ancient and invisible working under the skin of the world, something I should have sensed long before now. So why haven¡¯t I?


    "Even the Lycan King has never heard of this. It sounds like a fairy tale."


    He nces away, blinking hard. "You¡¯ve never hear about kids who die mysteriously? The weak ones. The sick ones. The ones nobody loves?"


    I go quiet.


    It isn¡¯t as if I¡¯ve never heard of cubs lost to illness, or idents. Even unexined causes. Troubling statistics exist in every poption.


    But they¡¯ve never brought further inquiry.


    Never connected dots which might have formed a more sinister picture.


    What else have I missed?


    Pups are the future of any pack, and they¡¯ve gone unnoticed.


    "I have now," I tell him quietly, once his gaze returns to mine. He¡¯s tall, starting to fill out in his shoulders. Young still, but growing fast. In another year, he¡¯ll look nothing like he does now. But he¡¯s still a child at heart, his eyes red-rimmed and his cheek twitching with the force of holding back strong emotion.


    He nods. Once, a jerky little movement of his head. But it¡¯s enough to see he¡¯s softening.


    "Why is Grace here?" I probe, hesitant to push this kid much further. But he knows more, and I need to know everything if I want to keep them all safe.


    His response drops between us like a heavy stone. His words are so simple, and his facial expression shifts. Like he thinks it¡¯s a silly question.


    "Because she¡¯s like us."


    The certainty in his voice collides with everything I know as truth.


    "She¡¯s not an aberrant. She¡¯s human." My voicees out hard, a little too sharp. But he doesn¡¯t flinch.


    He raises an eyebrow instead. "Aberrants can be human, too."


    Before I can question him further, Jack-Eye¡¯s voice drops into my mind, the pack link opening without warning. It¡¯s intrusive enough to wake Fenris, who¡¯s sleeping deep inside.


    <i>You need to hear this.</i>


    The intensity behind his words brings a frown to my face, and the kid watches intently. I force my expression into impassivity; an adult should never scare children.


    Well... sometimes.


    But this is not one of those times.


    <i>They¡¯re all dead. Every single one of them. Someone came around and killed them all in some sick magic ritual. Fiddleback is fucked, Caine. Rotten from the ground up. This is way beyond anything we¡¯ve ever seen before.</i>


    It only takes a thought to force the link wider, bringing in sight. Scent.


    There¡¯s a rotten, putrid smell so vivid my tongue shrivels in my mouth, despite being a mental echo.


    <i>Who did it?</i> I demand, even as hazy images filter through the link. Slow to manifest, but the impression is... devastating.


    So many bodies. So much blood.


    <i>Lyre¡¯s burning it now. She seems angry. I don¡¯t think she¡¯s in her right mind. The woman¡¯s got power, Caine. More than even you. Better to keep her on our side¡ªah, shit, the wizard¡¯s puking again. I¡¯ll keep you updated.</i>


    The connection cuts as abruptly as it opened, leaving me disoriented, the cave spinning around me for a heartbeat.


    "You okay?" the kid asks, reaching out with a hesitant hand.


    "Caine? Are you all right?"


    Footsteps shuffle against the stone floor, and Grace finally emerges from her hiding ce, her blueberry scent hitting me hard. Breathing it in helps still the slight dizziness, smooths the ripples the kid stirred up in my chest. Her grass-green eyes are dark with worry, her fists clenched at her sides.


    Ah. She probably wants to reach out. The visions must have affected me more than I thought, if these two can see how disoriented I am. If even Grace wants to try and stabilize me.


    Thankfully, her hands remain at her sides. If I can¡¯t even control my expression right now, I¡¯m sure I won¡¯t be able to control whatever transference bullshit happens when she touches me.


    <i>No touching,</i> Fenris murmurs.


    "I¡¯m fine," I tell them both roughly, rolling my shoulders back until I¡¯m straight again.


    The kid doesn¡¯t seem to care anymore, looking at Grace instead as he asks, "Is she asleep?"


    "More importantly," I cut in, "Who are these people after you?"

 Chapter 99: Grace: Too Young For This

    <h4>Chapter 99: Grace: Too Young For This</h4>


    "The Great One. Isabeau. She¡¯s who¡¯s after us."


    Ron¡¯s wordse out t 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¡ªuh." 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¡ª"


    "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 nkly.


    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¡ªsoulspliced. 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 <i>children</i>. Even Brax took care of me until I was an adult¡ªwhatever 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 everyst 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 <i>not</i>. 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 imbnce grows wider, and moree 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 exins..."


    But he trails off and doesn¡¯t finish his thought.


    My nails 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 local pack?"


    "Yeah. But they¡¯re not really a pack. They¡¯re just a breeding farm."


    My mind shes to livestock, to animals kept in pens, forced to reproduce for human consumption. But he¡¯s talking about people. About shifters. About children.


    None of this can be possible, right? Who¡¯s evil enough for this kind of horror?


    "The adults weren¡¯t worth much," he continues, eyes fixed on some distant point. "Old wolves were kept around to make babies. That¡¯s it. More stock."


    "And the children?" I ask, though I already know the answer will haunt me.


    "Sorted." Ron¡¯s fingers dig into his arms. "The ones with shifting anomalies, strange scents, flickers of power¡ªthey¡¯d be sent away once they were two or so. They¡¯re lucky to make it to five, usually."


    "Five?" My voice cracks. Five isn¡¯t nearly long enough. "Why only... five?"


    "Best energy-to-lifespan ratio." His clinical tone makes it worse somehow. "Younger, and they¡¯re not strong enough yet. Older, and they start bing individuals. Hard to control. Five is optimal."


    Bile rises in my throat. "And ¡¯elsewhere¡¯? Where is that?"


    "Don¡¯t know exactly." He shrugs one shoulder, looking at Caine when the man blows out a deep breath. "It¡¯s one hundred percent mortality rate. That¡¯s all I know."


    The Lycan¡¯s energy beside me feels like a thunderstorm, contained in a tiny bottle. A ss one, ready to shatter at any moment.


    "Your parents..." I begin hesitantly. "Were they from¡ª"


    "Fiddleback? Yeah." Ron nods. "My mom was one of Halloway¡¯s favorites."


    The way he says it¡ªso detached, so matter-of-fact¡ªbreaks my heart. "Do you know her name?"


    "No." He shrugs. "Just her face. Saw her once. Before."


    "And your father?"


    Ron snorts. "Who knows? All the old wolves fuck around. Part of the program. Halloway¡¯s the worst, though." His lip curls in disgust. "He sold his honor. He didn¡¯t want to be a pack alpha. He wanted more power than that."


    I think of Alpha Brax, of how he cast me aside the moment he learned I wasn¡¯t his biological daughter. I thought that was betrayal. But this¡ªthis systematic cruelty, this calcted evil¡ªmakes my own pain seem small inparison.


    "How many children?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.


    "Hundreds over the years." Ron¡¯s eyes dart back to the alcove. "Most don¡¯t make it out."


    "But you did," I say softly.


    Ron¡¯s face hardens. "Yeah."


    "Are... Jer and Sara? And Bun? Are they all Fiddleback, too?"


    He shakes his head. "Nah. They¡¯re not from the program. They¡¯re just from local families. That¡¯s why Owen could get them out alive."


    "Was it only pack, then? In the program?" If the other shifter families aren¡¯t involved...


    But he shakes his 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 survived. Sometimes they didn¡¯t."


    My trembling intensifies. "And the ones who survived... what happened to them?"


    He meets my eyes, hollow and direct. "Pregnant."


    Oh.


    Of course.


    That would... make sense. A horrible, awful sense.


    Was Mom a product of something like this? Did Brax also...?


    No. I would know if we had a breeding program somewhere in our pack, wouldn¡¯t I? I mean, they can¡¯t hide it from everyone, right?


    I don¡¯t know whether to cry or vomit. I do neither. I just sit there, hollowed out.


    The silence stretches between us. Ron doesn¡¯t seem inclined to fill it. He¡¯s said his piece,id bare the horror that shaped his life with the detachment of someone reciting historical facts. But he¡¯s fifteen.


    When I was fifteen, I¡¯d been dreaming about kissing Rafe for the first time. Silly adolescent dreams.


    "How do you even know these things?" Ites out somewhere between usation and plea. Because no child should know these things. No fifteen-year-old should talk about breeding programs and energy-to-lifespan ratios with such clinical distance.


    Ron scoffs. "You don¡¯t get to stay a kid when you¡¯re born like this."


    As if childhood is a privilege we can revoke. An expiration date stamped on innocence.


    Caine shifts beside me, the tension in his body palpable. His face is carefullyposed, but I can see the storm raging, can feel it in the air crackling around him. Something inside me surges and twists, trying to reach out to him, but failing and falling short.


    When he speaks, his voice is low and controlled. Calm, as if we hadn¡¯t listened to the horrors of a child too grown for his years. "It¡¯ste. Go get some sleep."


    Ron hesitates, then nods, pushing himself to his feet. He turns and heads toward the alcove, but pauses at the entrance. "Owen¡¯s good people," he says quietly. "If you¡¯re wondering."


    Knowing their past, it would be insanity to think otherwise.


    He must be an angel, to sacrifice himself for these kids. To try and try again, despite so many failures.


    My eyes burn.


    Caine waits until Ron is out of earshot before he turns to me. Even in the dim light, I can see the weight of knowledge pressing down on him.


    "Grace..." His voice is a whisper, his eyes too somber. He doesn¡¯t want the kids to hear. "The rescue mission. Jack-Eye updated me."


    It¡¯s not good news.


    If it was good news, he wouldn¡¯t have sent Ron away.


    "What happened?"


    I don¡¯t think I can take any more sadness today, but I straighten my back and take a deep breath, preparing for the emotional blow.


    "They¡¯re all dead. Everyone in the cages. Everyone Lyre found. All of them. Even the kids."


    The air leaves my lungs in a slow, painful exhale. "All of them? But¡ª"


    "How many?" The question¡¯s hard to choke out.


    "Too many."


    I close my eyes, trying to block out the images his words conjure. It doesn¡¯t work. I see small bodies in cages. I see blood. I see vacant eyes staring at nothing.


    "If we had known sooner... if we had found out earlier¡ª"


    "Don¡¯t." Caine¡¯s voice is firm. "That path leads nowhere good."


    I bite my lip. Lyre had forgotten about them. For how long? If she¡¯d told us earlier, would we have been able to save them?


    Is she okay, knowing they were alive before, and now they¡¯re not?


    Is it okay to be angry with her for this?


    Harsh lines of grief are etched into Caine¡¯s face. His hand rises, almost involuntarily, reaching toward me. For a moment, I think he¡¯s going to touch my hair, offer some physicalfort, and I yearn to lean into him. But then he flinches. His hand falls to his side, fingers curling into a fist.


    Right. No touching.


    The small, aborted gesture offort makes everything worse. We can¡¯t even console each other without risking my health.


    I¡¯ve never felt more isted.


    My gaze drifts toward the alcove where the children sleep. Do Jer and Sara understand what they¡¯ve been saved from? Does little Bun, with her ever-shifting features, have any concept of the fate that might have awaited her?


    How many others like them never made it out? How many were consumed by blood witches or syphoned for their energy until nothing remained?


    "Thank you," I say suddenly, surprising myself.


    Caine tilts his head, questioning.


    "For destroying the Fiddleback Pack." The words feel strange in my mouth, but right. Just days ago, I¡¯d seen him as nothing but a murderous monster. The Lycan King who ughtered an entire pack without remorse. Now I understand.


    Lyre had called it pack justice.


    "Thank you for stopping them."


    It¡¯s not justice when there¡¯s no one left to save. It¡¯s just blood for blood¡ªbut the price had to be paid.

 Chapter 100: Lyre: Plausibility

    <h4>Chapter 100: Lyre: usibility</h4>


    Blue-white fire dances across the walls, twisting in impossible patterns and defying allws of physics. The mes consume nothing¡ªnot the blood-soaked concrete or the bodies scattered like broken dolls.


    This isn¡¯t destruction.


    It¡¯s preparation.


    I stand at the center of it all, unmoved, untouched. Fire caresses my skin like an old lover, recognizing what I am and making way. My hair lifts slightly in the heat, rainbow strands floating as though underwater.


    The inferno is beautiful in its terrible way.


    I lift my hand, palm up, fingers syed. My nails lengthen just a fraction, ckening at the tips.


    "Come," I whisper, and themand reverberates through the chamber. Not with sound, but with intent.


    The effect is immediate. Pinpricks of light rise from the bodies¡ªpale blue, silver-white, softvender. They drift upward like embers from a dying fire, hesitant at first, then eager. Soullight. Released from flesh which can no longer serve.


    The Reapers haven¡¯t arrived, so it¡¯s the perfect time.


    Wispy trails streak toward my outstretched palm, hovering inches above my skin. They pulse with awareness¡ªterrified, mncholy, angry. So much anger. I can taste their fury, where it coalesces in my palm.


    They deserve better than this forgotten death, better than bing fuel for someone else¡¯s ambitions.


    Deserve more than someone who never wanted to be their hero.


    "Cleanse," I murmur, the single word ringing with the power of arcana.


    The souls respond, stretching upward like nts seeking sunlight. They know what I am¡ªwhat I represent. Neither Order, nor Chaos, nor Bnce; something between all three, part of everything but belonging to none. Something else entirely.


    These poor, forgotten souls spiral higher, streams of light crawling toward ceiling of this ce, phasing through concrete and earth and whatever else is between them and the sky above.


    My phone vibrates against my hip. Once. Twice. Then a continuous buzz, like it¡¯s an angry ho trapped against my skin.


    Divinity Connect, having an absolute meltdown over my presence here, over what I¡¯m doing. Like I didn¡¯t know what was going to happen from the moment I took this step.


    The app is the supernatural world¡¯s most persistent annoyance¡ªpart divine social media, part surveince.


    I ignore it.


    The souls continue their ascent, streaming upward in ribbons of light, fireflies escaping a jar. Free. Finally free. Thest traces of soullight disappear through the ceiling, leaving only the empty shells behind.


    The blue-white mes flicker and dim around me. My work here isn¡¯t finished, but the souls, at least, are beyond reach. Beyond corruption.


    I don¡¯t speak again. Don¡¯t look back. The concrete beneath my feet cracks with each step as I walk through the chamber, past empty cages and discarded bodies. An avenging ghost leaving judgment in her wake.


    Behind me, new mes begin to rise¡ªorange-red this time, hungry and cleansing. They won¡¯t stop until nothing remains.


    * * *


    The scent of smoke curls at my back, wrapping around my limbs like desperate hands, but never touching my skin. It knows better.


    My rage has transmuted¡ªno longer choking or desperate, but elemental. Present. A constantpanion rather than a ring outburst.


    Each step I take leaves behind a ckened imprint. I¡¯m still burning, power leaking from my edges where control has frayed.


    I stop suddenly, frowning.


    Four figures stand in a loose huddle several yards away¡ªThom, Andrew, Jack-Eye, and Owen. Their heads are bent together in conversation, shoulders rigid with tension. Fear and exhaustion rolls of the wizard especially in a cloying wave.


    I¡¯d forgotten they existed.


    For a brief, disorienting moment, I¡¯m confused by their presence. Humans. Wolves. Angel-blood. Inconsequential mortals with inconsequential concerns, waiting for me to acknowledge them, when my mind is already set on vengeance.


    Jack-Eye notices me first, his head snapping up when he catches my scent. He breaks from the group, striding toward me with determination, as if he isn¡¯t afraid.


    But he is.


    I guess I¡¯m leaking more than I thought I was.


    "What happened down there?" He grabs my arm, fingers digging in as he drags me away from the billowing smoke now pouring from the tunnel entrance. "Get over here. Breathing this isn¡¯t good for your lungs."


    I let him pull me along, mildly amused he believes I¡¯m fragile enough to need protection. His hand on my arm is warm and solid¡ªconvinced of its own authority.


    We reach the car, parked haphazardly along the dirt ess road. Owen stands off to the side, his silver eyes fixed on me with wariness bordering on terror.


    He knows. Of course he knows. Angels are sensitive to souls; he probably watched them all ascend.


    My phone keeps buzzing.


    A retching sound draws my attention. The wizard¡¯s doubled over behind a half-uprooted tree, the contents of his stomach sshing onto dead needles and rocky soil.


    Jack-Eye sighs. "That¡¯s the third time."


    Andrew pauses from where he was about to climb into the back seat of the car. His words are t as he observes the situation. "He¡¯s human. They have weak stomachs."


    There¡¯s no judgment in his tone, no mockery¡ªjust quiet resignation. They¡¯ve seen too much today, these creatures whose lives are measured in decades rather than centuries.


    Jack-Eye¡¯s fingers finally release my arm, leaving behind red marks. They fade as soon as I notice them, but he has no idea; he¡¯s too focused on the retching spellblood. "You gonna make it back to the car, or do I need to carry you?"


    Thom straightens, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His sses have gone askew. "I¡¯m fine," he mutters, though he sways slightly on his feet. "Just¡ªgive me a minute."


    The phone at my hip continues to vibrate, more insistent now. I let out an irritated sigh, yanking the damn thing from my pocket. My vague sense of disassociation disappears, my mind grounded by the irritations of reality. The screen¡¯s bright enough to illuminate the space around me.


    This isn¡¯t a regr notification¡ªthis is divine spam.


    Expected... but still annoying.


    I thumb through the app with a grimace, already knowing what I¡¯m going to find. And there they are: three usibility warnings sh immediately, angry red alerts scrolling across my screen.


    <strong>[PLAUSIBILITY WARNING: Unauthorized Soul Transit.]</strong>


    <strong>[PLAUSIBILITY WARNING: Unsanctioned Purification of Uncategorized Souls.]</strong>


    <strong>[PLAUSIBILITY WARNING: Excess Magic Discharge.]</strong>


    I clear them with a mental <i>fuck off</i>, swiping through the alerts without reading the details. Like I need their permission to help these souls pass on. If I¡¯d stayed, they wouldn¡¯t have needed it. They¡¯d be settled into some safe house somewhere. Eating dinner. Talking. Maybe evenughing for the first time in years.


    Unsanctioned, my ass.


    Fuck their rules.


    The app chimes again, a new notification sliding into view. Then another. And another. New messages flood in, each one carrying the distinct energy signature of its sender.


    <strong>[SANCTION: You¡¯re bordering on systemic vition. Reapers were already on their way, @Lyrielle.]</strong>


    Of course. Order¡¯s faithful bulldog, always first to bark when someone steps outside the lines. The next message pops up with a sparkle effect, stabbing my eyes with its enthusiasm.


    <strong>[WHIM: Ohh, baby @Lyrielle, keep going. This is delicious. Why aren¡¯t we allowed to use emojis? Imagine three fire emojis right here, okay?]</strong>


    <strong>[WRATH: You¡¯re spiraling again. Is it really worth it? You took years to recoverst time.]</strong>


    Jack-Eye clears his throat. "Are you okay?"


    "Fine. It¡¯s just work." Stepping away from the group, I let my thumbs fly across the screen. How long has it been since I entertained them on this thing? Probably when it was first made.


    <strong>[LYRIELLE: If you¡¯re not going to help the mortals who keep your pathetic little shrines warm and your worthless names remembered, shut up and enjoy the show, you self-righteous cowards.]</strong>


    I¡¯m not done. My fingers keep moving, venom leaking into each word:


    <strong>[LYRIELLE: Or better yet¡ªdo something. But you won¡¯t, because usibility gives you the perfect excuse to do <i>nothing.</i> Fuck all of you and your stupid winged horses.]</strong>


    The air crackles around me as I finish:


    <strong>[LYRIELLE: You all feed on worship, and yet leave your people bleeding in the dirt. You¡¯re not gods. You¡¯re <i>parasites.</i>]</strong>


    Of course, it doesn¡¯t stay silent for long.


    <strong>[SANCTION: This borders on insubordination, Echo Witch. Your status will not shield you from formal repercussions.]</strong>


    <strong>[WRATH: You¡¯re going to trigger another usibility review. Is that what you want? Afterst time?]</strong>


    <strong>[MADNESS: She has a point, though.]</strong>


    <strong>[TIME: We are bound by Causality. Desire is irrelevant. Even gods have limits. Did we ask for this, @Lyrielle?]</strong>


    I roll my eyes and m the app closed. My phone screen darkens, but not before I catch the reflection of my own eyes in the ss¡ªslitted and glowing with too much power. I need to rein it in before shit really hits the fan.


    If I get hit with a review, I won¡¯t be able to do anything for a while. Could be days, could be years, depending on whose stick is up whose ass.


    Owen¡¯s still watching me, and I snarl until he jerks his eyes away.


    He knows what I¡¯ve done. Angel-blooded always recognize soul work. But he doesn¡¯t need to make it obvious. He was flinching every time I so much as breathed earlier, and now he won¡¯t stop staring. The more attention brought to my actions, the worse the usibility p will ring.


    "I¡¯m hunting down whoever did this," I announce to the group atrge. "Come with me or don¡¯t, but stay out of the way. I¡¯m taking the car. Walk back if you don¡¯t want to follow."

 Chapter 101: Grace: Domesticity

    <h4>Chapter 101: Grace: Domesticity</h4>


    A soft scuffling sound pulls me from sleep. I blink against the dimness, my eyes adjusting to the cave¡¯s weak morning light.


    It¡¯s the same as its evening light, just whatever¡¯s being given by the stringed lights across the walls. It just feels darker because waking should feel bright and sunny, not dim and... well, cave-like.


    Sara¡¯s crawled from her little nest to the edge of the alcove, peering out to the main part of the cave. She slept with her hair in braids, and they¡¯re a mess, half-fallen off her head withrge strands of hair floating in every which direction.


    "Owen?" she whispers, too loud to be an actual whisper.


    "He¡¯s not here." Jer sits by his rumpled nkets, knees pulled tight to his chest. He seems very vacant for a kid full of energy. Yesterday, he couldn¡¯t stop talking; today, he¡¯s... monotone.


    I try to sit up but discover I¡¯m pinned. Bun¡¯s tiny body is wrapped ko-style around my torso, her face buried so deeply into my neck I can barely even feel her warm breath puffing against my skin. It¡¯s just <i>there</i>.


    Both chubby hands are limp with the rxation of deep sleep.


    How do I get out of this situation?


    "Bun," I whisper, gently stroking her back. "I need to get up."


    She makes a sleepy noise of protest and burrows deeper, her tiny arms tightening with surprising strength.


    "Come on, Bun-Bun. Breakfast time."


    "Nooooo," she mumbles, clinging tighter. Her little fingers dig in like ws.


    A shadow falls across us, and I look up to see Caine standing over me, his expression unreadable in the half-light.


    "I¡¯ll take her," he offers, reaching down.


    Bun¡¯s head snaps up, suddenly fully awake. Her eyes widen at the sight of Caine¡¯s outstretched hands. The growl emanating from her throat sounds like absolutely nothing a toddler should make¡ªit¡¯s pure animal warning. She actually ps his hand away, then presses her face back against my corbone.


    His eyebrows shoot up, but the corner of his mouth quirks. "Well, then."


    He¡¯s taking it in stride. He seems to have a soft spot for kids.


    "Sorry," I mutter, struggling to sit up while keeping Bun bnced. How do moms do this? "She¡¯s... attached."


    From across the room, Ron¡¯s scowling. Even without really looking at him, I can <i>feel</i> it. I¡¯m not sure how long he¡¯s been awake. "She used toe to me first," he mutters, just loud enough for me to hear. The hurt in his voice is barely disguised beneath teenage indifference.


    But instead of dwelling on it, his attention shifts to the others. He stands up, stretching his long limbs, and moves toward Jer with practiced efficiency.


    "Up," he says, not unkindly. "Sitting like that gets you nowhere."


    The younger boy doesn¡¯t budge.


    Ron sighs and crouches beside him. "Three seconds before I carry you to breakfast. One, two..."


    "I¡¯m up." Jer stands with a sigh.


    Sara¡¯s still peering around the corner, knees to chest, and Ron heads over to ruffle her hair. "Come on. Owen will be backter."


    "He should be back already," she argues, though there¡¯s no heat in her voice. "He¡¯s always back by morning."


    "Well, he¡¯s not. Let¡¯s eat some breakfast. Brush your hair first; you look like you stuck your finger in a light socket."


    Through some strange magic of being the eldest of the children¡ªsiblings, basically¡ªRon gets them all up, moving, and in the main living area, sitting in a semi-circle for breakfast. Sara¡¯s got a stic brush and, after multiple light swipes over her hair, she somehow looks worse than before.


    "Give me that," the teenager says, snatching the brush out of her hand. "You didn¡¯t even take them out of their braids."


    She yawns. "Sorry. Owen always does my hair."


    It¡¯s obvious Ron¡¯s never done this before, as he struggles to get the ck stic bands out of her hair. The girl yelps every so often as his fingersb through tangles trying to undo her braids, but she seems to be doing better under his care than before, no longer obsessively staring and waiting for Owen to walk through the door.


    I don¡¯t know how to do this. These aren¡¯t my kids. I have exactly zero experience with children; I don¡¯t know what they eat, if they have routines, or how to read their cues. I don¡¯t know how tofort them without Owen here.


    The panic rises in my throat, sharp and sudden. I didn¡¯t sign up for four kids overnight. I¡¯m barely holding my own life together. And yet I¡¯m taking on the responsibility of a toddler somehow, one who won¡¯t stop clinging to me despite me having no idea what to do or even where her clean diapers are stored. Ron¡¯s been the one to get them all.


    And if I take Bun, I can¡¯t leave the others behind. So they¡¯re all mine now, but Ron is only a few years younger than me, and I have <i>no </i>idea how I¡¯m supposed to teach a girl how to brush her hair. How did my mom teach me? I can¡¯t even remember not knowing.


    Caine clears his throat, pulling me from my spiral. He¡¯s moved to the kitchte, standing in front of the open refrigerator with a perplexed expression.


    "Why are there twelve pounds of carrots?" he asks, staring into its depths.


    The randomness of the question breaks through my panic. "What?"


    He gestures at the fridge. "Carrots. There¡¯s enough to feed a stable of horses."


    "Uh... they¡¯re good for eyesight?"


    He grunts and moves on to the tall, freestanding cab Owen¡¯s repurposed as the cave¡¯s pantry. His brow slowly creases as he surveys its contents. "What do you even do with this many apples?" He pulls out a bag filled with small red apples. "There¡¯s three more bags in here."


    "Snacks. And... fiber?" I guess weakly.


    "Bun eats them," Sara pipes up, squeaking as Ron gets at another one of her tangles. "She takes a few bites and then throws them away, though."


    Ah. So there¡¯s a lot of waste involved.


    I wonder how we¡¯re supposed to fix that.


    Jer snorts, the first sign of his usual personality this morning. "Owen calls them crunchy treats. Says we need the vitamins."


    He sounds disgusted. Guess he¡¯s not a fan.


    Caine eyes the produce skeptically, then shrugs. Without furthermentary, he pulls out eggs, bread, and what looks like a cast iron pan. He moves with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what he¡¯s doing, cracking eggs one-handed and throwing bread into an ancient toaster.


    All the electricity in this ce¡ªnot that there¡¯s muches from extension cords strung across the ceiling. Aside from a few lights, most everything running electric is in the kitchen.


    Everything being a fridge, a single-burner induction hot te, a coffee maker, a microwave, and a toaster. I¡¯m pretty sure we can¡¯t run them all at the same time. The fridge has its own extension cord.


    No idea where the extension cords lead to, but theye out of a wall near the bathroom.


    But the miracles of modern day electricity aren¡¯t what catch my attention. It¡¯s Caine, silently taking over the kitchen as he makes breakfast while wearing the same clothes from yesterday, his hair slightly mussed from sleep and his face calm.


    Watching him now, it¡¯s a wonder I ever thought of him as some sort of serial killer. Granted, his facial expressions were darker and he tended to glower every time he looked at me...


    This is a side of him I haven¡¯t seen before.


    He works in silence, the sizzle of eggs filling the cave. When the toast pops up, he arranges everything on mismatched tes¡ªno idea where he found them. Then, surprisingly, he takes a knife and slices apples and pears into thin wedges, creating small piles on each te.


    Bun, still clinging to me, finally raises her head at the smell of breakfast. Drool drips from her partially open mouth as she stares in Caine¡¯s direction.


    "Jer, get the margarine," Ron says, and the younger boy shuffles toward the fridge with a yawn.


    "Ow," Sara says as he works at another tangle. "That hurts!"


    "Well, if you would brush your hair before bed..."


    "Owen wasn¡¯t home!"


    "Learn to do it yourself, then."


    "Enough, kids." Caine slides the tes in front of each kid, and Jer returns with a butter knife and a giant tub of margarine. "Eat first. You can finish her hair when she¡¯s done."


    "Yes, sir." Ron tosses the brush to the side as he takes his ce on the floor, grabbing the knife from Jer as he butters a piece of toast.


    Unsurprisingly, he hands it to Sara when he¡¯s done. She takes it like she was expecting it, and he does another.


    That one goes to Jer.


    Then another. Hees to me, and Bun stares at the toast in his hand, still drooling.


    "Here you go, Bun. Butter toast. Your favorite!"


    She shakes her head, and he frowns. "Aren¡¯t you hungry? I can see you drooling."


    Bun shakes her head again and dives back into my neck. Not sure what to do, I hold out my hand. "Here. I¡¯ll feed her when she¡¯s ready to eat. You should focus on your own food."


    Ron frowns, his face a mask of teenage disappointment. Something sharp twists in my chest at his expression.


    "Sit." Caine¡¯s order causes him to jerk up straight, and he shuffles back to his spot on the floor. He keeps his eyes fixed on his te, stabbing at his eggs with more force than necessary.


    Bun shifts in my arms, reaching for the toast in my hand with eager fingers. Her tiny face lights up as she takes a giant bite, crumbs cascading down the front of her pajamas and onto myp. Happy little humming noisese out of her with each chew, and the teenager nces at us again.


    Another frown crosses his face as he watches Bun¡¯s delight. He quickly looks away, but not before I catch the hurt in his eyes.

 Chapter 102: Grace: Pack

    <h4>Chapter 102: Grace: Pack</h4>


    Bun continues to scarf at her piece of buttered toast with all the hunger of someone who hasn¡¯t eaten in a month, even if her chubby little rolls bely her actions.


    Her death grip on my shirt has loosened significantly as her focus shifts entirely to the food.


    "I see how it is," I murmur against her hair. "Food trumps fear every time."


    Her eyes, wide and shining, meet mine as she chews. For the tiniest moment, I swear they change from brown to blue, then back again. Another piece of toast disappears into her mouth.


    Ron peels a banana and leans over, holding it out in his hand like he¡¯s trying to coax a wild animal. "Want some banana? Your favorite."


    Bun turns at the sound of his voice, her entire body going rigid. The halfhearted smile on Ron¡¯s face falters as her mouth opens and an ear-splitting shriek fills the cave.


    No words. Just pure, agonizing, shrill shrieking as she throws herself back against my chest with enough force for me to tip over. I catch myself with one hand on the floor, and Caine jerks toward me like he¡¯s going to catch me. Thankfully, one of the toddler¡¯s iling fists whacks his hand away before our skin can touch.


    "Sorry," Ron mutters, backing away with the rejected banana. The defeat in his eyes makes my chest ache.


    "She¡¯s adjusting," Caine tells him, pulling Bun out of my arms with practiced efficiency. Even with her wild, maniacal movements, he swoops her into his embrace without a blink.


    She screams louder, and he walks away, heading into the kitchen. "Pups who scream don¡¯t eat," he warns her with a steady, stern voice.


    The decibels continue to climb.


    Sara scoots a little closer to Ron and snags the toast from his te.


    "Hey!" He scowls, but doesn¡¯t make a move to grab it back.


    Without missing a beat, she rolls her eyes. "Oh please, you weren¡¯t even going to eat it. And it¡¯s going cold."


    "It was already cold," Ron grumbles, but there¡¯s no heat behind it.


    Bun¡¯s screaming stops abruptly; she¡¯s angrily chewing on a piece of apple, staring at me over Caine¡¯s shoulder. My ability to trante baby facial expressions is still new, but I¡¯m pretty sure she¡¯s giving me the <i>you¡¯ve-betrayed-me</i> look.


    I nce away. Making eye contact seems like a bad idea.


    Jer¡¯s stabbing at his eggs without actually eating them, so I focus on him instead. There¡¯s a te of sliced apples next to me¡ªCaine must have put them there. I slide them toward the kid without a word.


    At first, I think he doesn¡¯t notice. Then, without looking up, he reaches for an apple slice and pops it into his mouth. His shoulders drop a fraction of an inch.


    It¡¯s all so quietly domestic, my heart swells a little, even as my panic continues in the background of my head.


    This is a pack. Not the one I was adopted into, nothing so shallow as to discard each other the moment something changes. But a real pack, nheless, messy and awkward and forming before my eyes.


    And Caine? He¡¯s a part of it, too.


    He seems okay with it. More than me, and I¡¯m the one drawn to these kids in a way I can¡¯t exin, even to myself.


    "You okay?" Caine¡¯s voice pulls me from my thoughts. I¡¯m staring at nothing, probably looking crazy, and he¡¯s only a few feet away now, frowning in my direction.


    Bun¡¯s no longer reaching for me, both hands full of mushy apple, cheeks bulging. He hasn¡¯t exactly won her over, but it looks like they¡¯ve achieved some sort of truce.


    "I¡¯m okay. I was just thinking."


    He watches the children for a moment, his expression thoughtful. They¡¯re almost done eating, but Jer¡¯s only had a few pieces of apple. I¡¯m not sure any egg has made it past the murderous fork to get into his belly. "They¡¯re nervous."


    It¡¯s not a question, but I nod anyway. Owen not being here has them spooked. He¡¯s their savior, so it makes sense.


    "Lyre, Owen, and Jack-Eye should be back soon," he says casually, loud enough for everyone to hear. "They¡¯re hunting down the perpetrator fromst night."


    He doesn¡¯t mention Andrew or his little wizard tagalong, and I wonder if they¡¯re with the group or settled elsewhere.


    All three of the older kids¡¯ heads snap up in unison, attention locked on Caine.


    "What about the others?" I ask, ying along.


    "They¡¯re helping," he says vaguely, and I wonder if he doesn¡¯t know, either. He doesn¡¯t seem terribly concerned about them. "But things are going to change around here now that the Great One is dead."


    Sara¡¯s fork tters against her te. "The Great One is dead?" Her voice pitches higher than normal. "For real? Really-really?"


    "How do you know? Are you sure?" Jer demands, leaning forward.


    Both of them talk over each other, their voices rising with each question.


    "When is Owening back?"


    "Is he okay?"


    "Was it really the girl with the rainbow hair?" That¡¯s Sara¡ªshe must have been listening when we were talking to Lyre yesterday. A mild surprise, considering how overwhelmed she was by Caine¡¯s mere presence.


    Caine holds up a hand, and they fall silent immediately. It¡¯s a kind of instant obedienceing from somewhere deep in their shifter bones, responding to the presence of the Lycan King.


    "Soon," he says, his voice calm and certain. "It won¡¯t take them long to root out the rest of the problems here."


    Sara¡¯s shoulders visibly rx, and Jer exhales slowly, nodding to himself. Ron, however, watches the Lycan with a measured gaze. Unlike the younger ones, he understands¡ªthis isn¡¯t as simple as killing one monster and being done. His eyes flick to mine, and I recognize the weight of knowledge there.


    "So we¡¯re safe?" the older girl asks, her voice smaller than I¡¯ve heard it before.


    "You¡¯re safe," Caine confirms. His eyes meet mine, conveying more than his words. "Nothing¡¯s getting past me."


    Even I believe him when he says it like that.


    Bun shifts in his arms, looking up at him with her tiny fingers opening and closing in a universal "gimme" gesture. Ron jumps up and hands her the rejected banana offering from earlier, and she coos happily.


    He grins.


    It¡¯s the most rxed look I¡¯ve ever seen on his face, and I want to hug him with relief.


    "Always hungry, that one," Sara says with the weary authority of someone three times her actual age. "Owen says it¡¯s the shifting that does it. Burns a lot of energy."


    "It does," Caine confirms, settling her on his hip as he heads back to the kitchen area. "Especially when you¡¯re young and growing. You were probably the same as a pup."


    "I¡¯m not a pup," she says, stuffing toast in her mouth.


    "You are now."


    "Huh." She chews thoughtfully.


    Ron watches Bun, smiling when she drops a chunk of banana on the floor. She stares over Caine¡¯s shoulder with watery eyes, as if her older brother can somehow magic it back into her hands.


    "She seems adaptable," I murmur, d to see a more uplifted look on his face.


    "Babies usually are."

 Chapter 103: Jack-Eye: Hooked

    <h4>Chapter 103: Jack-Eye: Hooked</h4>


    <strong>JACK-EYE</strong>


    My left leg cramps for the fifth time in an hour. Fuckpact SUVs and their contempt for anyone over six feet tall. I shift, trying to find a position that doesn¡¯t feel like my knees are pressed against my throat, but there¡¯s no relief to be found in this rolling sardine can.


    Dawn¡¯sing, with weak pink and gold fingers creeping across the lightening sky.


    And we¡¯re still on the highway.


    No known destination, being driven by someone more likely to turn us into amphibians than answer questions.


    We¡¯ve been driving all night, and the mood in the car has settled from the aftermath of rage and deep sorrow into something fragile. Like if we breathe wrong, we might remember everything all over again.


    In the back seat, the Blue Mountain kid¡¯s snoring with his head pressed against the window. The sniveling wizard is asleep against his shoulder, twitching asionally. Once he flinched so hard, his sses flew off his face. It still didn¡¯t wake him up, even when Owen shoved them back on.


    The strange guy¡ªan angel, or something rted to one... apparently¡ªhas been awake this entire time, like he¡¯s used to forgoing sleep for missions.


    And then there¡¯s Lyre.


    One arm drapes across the steering wheel with casual confidence, the other resting against her door. Like she could drive this road with her eyes closed.


    She hasn¡¯t spoken in hours, but her lips have gone from a tight line to slightly pursed, and her eyes no longer crinkle at the corners, more rxed as she stares ahead. There¡¯s still the hint of simmering rage burning the air around her, but at least I¡¯m reasonably sure she won¡¯t set the car on fire.


    I catch it again¡ªa faint shimmer across her knuckles. A subtle glow pulsing beneath her skin when she thinks no one¡¯s looking.


    She¡¯s powerful. Shifters aren¡¯t exposed to her kind of magic, but even I can recognize it¡¯s greater than anything I¡¯ve seen before. And it¡¯s barely contained by a slip of a girl with rainbow-colored hair and strange eyes which sh between human and cat-like.


    Without warning, she takes an exit ramp, the SUV gliding smoothly off the highway onto a stretch of rural back road.


    "We getting close?" I ask, rolling my shoulders to work out the stiffness.


    "No." Her voice is t. End of conversation.


    Damn it.


    Aside from one pit stop for gas and Thom¡¯s desperate rush to the bathroom¡ªboth to rinse out his vomit-stale mouth and to use the more traditional facilities¡ªwe haven¡¯t gotten a break from this damn tin can on wheels. She¡¯s a woman on a mission.


    Dangerous. Pretty, but full of mortal peril if you look at her wrong.


    I study her profile, the sharp line of her jaw, the slight upturn of her nose. Everything about her is a contradiction¡ªshe looks soft, yet she¡¯s capable of things so arcane they feel just this side of illegal.


    "So what are you, exactly?" The question¡¯s been eating at me for a while now, only stronger after I watched her walk out of that ce, hands clean but eyes haunted. "I¡¯ve seen powerful before, but you¡¯re something else."


    No one¡¯s been able to throw Caine around like she does, that¡¯s for fucking sure. There¡¯s a reason he has my loyalty.


    From the back seat, Thom stirs. His eyes flutter open,nding on Lyre with an unsettling intensity. "She¡¯s..." His voice drops to a reverent whisper. "She¡¯s beyond powerful. I can feel it. Like we¡¯re standing too close to the sun."


    He sounds more poetic than usual, probably because he¡¯s half-asleep.


    Lyre¡¯s eyes flick to the rearview mirror, then back to the road. The silence stretches.


    I should be annoyed by her refusal to answer. It¡¯s the kind of shit I¡¯d call Caine out on in a heartbeat. But with her, I¡¯m... intrigued. The mystery of her sharpens something in me, a curiosity bordering on hunger.


    She has freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose. I hadn¡¯t noticed them before, when we were knee-deep in blood and crisis. They¡¯re unexpected on someone so intimidating¡ªlike finding wildflowers growing in a volcanic field.


    Her posture radiates confidence, a bone-deep certainty that she belongs exactly where she is. Even when she¡¯s angry.


    Let¡¯s be real, I noticed her curves the moment we met. I¡¯m not dead. But this feeling crawling up my spine isn¡¯t just attraction. It¡¯s different. Thrilling. Staring at a beautiful predator and wondering if it would be worth it to get closer, just to see what happens¡ªthat kind of obsessive, ill-advised pull.


    "Why are you staring?" she asks without taking her eyes off the road. Her tone is dry as dust, and I wonder if it would change if I told her I wanted to tear her clothes off and fuck her until she¡¯s begging.


    Someone as strong as her, demanding more of my cock? It twitches just thinking about it.


    I let the corner of my mouth lift and aim for an answer less... explosive. "Trying to figure you out."


    "Don¡¯t bother." The words slice cold and clean between us. "You wouldn¡¯t even know where to start."


    From the back seat, Owen clears his throat. "It¡¯s better not to meddle with the likes of an Echo Witch." He sounds reverent, but the kind of reverence where you¡¯re scared you¡¯ll be turned into ash for sinning.


    Andrew stirs for the first time in hours. I guess the atmosphere of the car¡¯s even woken the kid.


    I turn, keen to know more. "Echo Witch? That a rank or a warningbel?"


    Lyre says nothing, of course.


    The atmosphere in the car shifts, grows heavier. Andrew and Thom both shift in their seats before pretending to fall asleep again, but the rhythm of their breathing never changes.


    It¡¯s as if speaking those words aloud stirred something ancient, something better left sleeping. It makes my gut twitch, my ears perk. There¡¯s a story there, information to dig out. Secrets hidden.


    Or maybe I¡¯m growing fanciful in my old age.


    Owen meets my eyes in the dim light of dawn. "If you don¡¯t know... you don¡¯t need to."


    Damn.


    Foiled again.


    I lean back in my seat, keeping Lyre in my sight. The rising sun catches in her hair, setting the wild colors aze. I should feel threatened by the heaviness that¡¯s settled over us, by the clear warning in Owen¡¯s voice.


    Instead, I¡¯m hooked.


    Good thing I¡¯ve never listened to warnings.

 Chapter 104: Jack-Eye: Rot and Rainbows

    <h4>Chapter 104: Jack-Eye: Rot and Rainbows</h4>


    <strong>JACK-EYE</strong>


    My already cramped leg ms against the door panel as we hit another pothole.


    Fuck these fucking ser mom SUVs.


    A shabby excuse for a structurees into view through the dusty windshield. It¡¯s not much¡ªjust a weathered storage shed with a half-assed attempt at a deck pped against its side. It has a cheap metal roof and probably leaks every time it rains.


    There¡¯s nothing but overgrown weeds and sparse pine trees. And probably about five hundred species of spiders, but we won¡¯t talk about how a single big, bad Lycan is terrified of brown recluse bites.


    I¡¯ve seen shit, okay? And it¡¯s nasty.


    Anyway, this is the kind of ce you¡¯d miss if you blinked driving past, but Lyre¡¯s already slowing down.


    Andrew leans forward. "Huh. Looks like someone¡¯s trying to build a tiny house."


    Yeah, and failed.


    Nobody answers his inane observation. Thom¡¯s not snoring anymore¡ªguess his head was too rattled from the gravel road to allow for more sleeping¡ªand Owen¡¯s so tense he¡¯s radiating nervous energy through the car.


    Lyre¡¯s frowning. She isn¡¯t rxed anymore, either, but she doesn¡¯t have the edge of anticipation I can smell off Owen. No, she seems... irritated. Maybe disappointed. The scents keeping and going, blending together until it¡¯s hard to tell them apart.


    Whatever she was looking for, this isn¡¯t it. Or at least, it isn¡¯t what she expected to find.


    She kills the engine but stays frozen in her seat. Her fingers start tapping against the wheel, one-two-three, one-two-three, like she¡¯s keeping time with a funeral march only she can hear.


    Fuck waiting. I need to move before my leg permanently fuses to this position. Whoever¡¯s here must have already heard using, so it isn¡¯t like I¡¯m going to destroy the surprise of our arrival.


    Shouldering the door open, I slide out with a grunt. My back pops in three ces as I stretch, the muscles in my thighs screaming in protest.


    Staying up all night? Easy. Fighting? No problem. Folding myself into an ordion for a long-ass car ride I wasn¡¯t expecting? Sucks fucking balls, man.


    The others practically tumble out after me the moment the back door opens. Andrew¡¯s more graceful about it, with all the edge of youth, but even he¡¯s got relief written all over his face as he reaches for the sky. First one arm, then the other.


    Owen, meanwhile, stretches like a man twice his age. Me? I have to hide the creaking joints. Don¡¯t want Lyre thinking I¡¯m too old to keep up with her.


    The wizard, though, just looks pathetically grateful to be out of the stench of armpit and stale cigarettes. No one here smokes; it¡¯s just baked into the interior of the car.


    But Lyre still doesn¡¯t move. She just sits there, fingers still tapping, eyes focused on the shed like she¡¯s calcting exactly how much force it would take to reduce it to splinters.


    I roll my neck and take a deep breath of morning air.


    Then I freeze.


    It hits my nostrils like a sledgehammer¡ªnot the good forest smells of pine and dirt and morning dew, but something rancid. Not normal rot. Not roadkill or garbage or even a carcass left too long.


    This is deeper. Older. <i>Wrong</i>.


    It¡¯s the same stink that permeated Isabeau¡¯s prison, but less diluted. More concentrated. The kind of stench where you want to scrape your own skin off afterward.


    My hackles rise, wolf instincts mming against human skin. Every muscle coils tight, ready to shift, to fight.


    I look around and see I¡¯m not the only one who caught it. Owen stands stock-still, his face unreadable but his shoulders rigid. Andrew¡¯s mouth is a thin, tight line. Only Thom seems oblivious, quietly gazing at the clouds like we¡¯re on a fucking nature walk.


    I bend down to peer through the passenger window at Lyre.


    Holy shit.


    Her expression is locked down tight, but there¡¯s a calction happening behind those strange eyes, a cold fury building. She looks like someone nning a massacre.


    I¡¯ve seen that look on Caine¡¯s face plenty of times. I know exactly what I¡¯m seeing.


    My wolf whimpers in the back of my head. Fucking coward. He¡¯s been a mess ever since Lyre turned the angel-man into a toad.


    And yeah, maybe it made my knees turn to rubber for a bit, too. But I¡¯m over it. He isn¡¯t.


    She finally opens the door and slides out with liquid grace.


    "Don¡¯t getfortable," she says tly, not looking at any of us. "We¡¯re not staying."


    Not like any of us would want to stick around this stench.


    I give her a sidelong look and a grunt of acknowledgment. But when she starts moving toward the shed, I step in front of her, putting my body between hers and whatever fucked-up thing waits inside.


    It¡¯s stupid. She could probably turn me into a smear on the ground with less effort than it takes me to shift. But some instincts run deeper than self-preservation.


    When I nce behind her, she¡¯s got one perfect brow arched like she knows exactly what I¡¯m doing, and she doesn¡¯t find it cute.


    It¡¯s fine.


    It isn¡¯t like I¡¯m trying to get brownie points. Yet.


    This is just basic manners.


    And maybe a way for her to notice my ass. I¡¯ve heard it¡¯s pretty fantastic.


    The scent of death gets stronger with each step toward the shed. My brain splits three ways¡ªone part screaming <i>bad magic</i>, one part tracking the positions of everyone in our group, and one part...


    One part won¡¯t stop looking back at her.


    The rising sun sets fire to her rainbow hair, turning each strand into a different jewel tone. Her skin glows in the warm light, those freckles standing out across the bridge of her nose. She should look exhausted after an all-night drive through hell and back, but instead she looks...


    Fierce. Powerful. Fuckable.


    Way, way too fuckable.


    "Lot of birds," Thomments, following us and still oblivious.


    Andrew smacks him on the back; I can hear the movement, but I can¡¯t see his face. He¡¯s probably mildly exasperated by the human¡¯s inability to sense what we all do.


    At least his vapidmentary helps break me out of my lustful thoughts.


    She doesn¡¯t thank me for taking point, but I swear there¡¯s a flicker of something like approval in her eyes when she thinks I¡¯m not watching. Or maybe it¡¯s wishful thinking. It sends a dart of heat straight to my groin, which is the absolute wrong reaction to have while walking toward what smells like certain death.


    As we near the shed, the stench grows powerful enough to make my eyes water, and my libido finally takes notice and backs down. I track the change in Lyre¡¯s posture¡ªthe way her shoulders tighten, her steps bing more deliberate, her breathing shallow.


    I nce back at her for what feels like the thousandth time. Maybe taking point was a terrible idea. I want to be able to see her at all times. Owen, the blockhead, gets in my damn way,ing to stand beside me with his fists clenched as he stares at the door.


    Of course, he probably has no idea I¡¯m over here ogling the strange witch-woman, but logic does nothing to temper my irritation. Of course, I¡¯m not the kind of guy to show it. Shove it down. Jack-Eye is easygoing and calm at all times, damn it.


    "Is it her?" he asks Lyre. At least, I assume he¡¯s asking her, since none of us know what he¡¯s talking about.


    She doesn¡¯t answer right away. Her right hand lifts slowly, palm out, and a soft glow builds beneath her skin, like she¡¯s captured stars beneath her skin. Only brighter, because you can even see them with the sun out.


    "No," she says, voice weary with a knowledge none of us share. "In some ways it¡¯s worse."


    The door swings open.

 Chapter 105: Lyre: Time-Locked

    <h4>Chapter 105: Lyre: Time-Locked</h4>


    <strong>LYRE</strong>


    The trail¡¯s not cold. It¡¯s frigid. Cryogenically sealed in regret and futility.


    I knew this ce would be empty before we even turned onto the ess road, but thoroughness is one of the many lessons learned over agonizing centuries. It means checking every lead, even the ones that reek of wasted time.


    Better to knock out the possibilities now, before theye back to spirit you into another dimension for three weeks, four days, seventeen hours and eleven minutes.


    Those are memories I¡¯d rather not revisit. Or experience again.


    Jack-Eye gets out first, stretches his long frame like he¡¯s been folded into an origami wolf for too long. The others follow. And me? I¡¯m too irritated to even open the damn door.


    I already know what¡¯s inside.


    Tapping my fingers against the steering wheel, I stare at the front door, wondering exactly how hard the restrictions would hit if I went on a rampage here.


    It¡¯s tempting. Oh, <i>so</i> fucking tempting.


    But being without power while trying to chase down the asshole trying to reanimate Isabeau would be a stupid decision, so I have to calm down before I lose my shit.


    Deep breath.


    Meditation was never my strong suit. Too impulsive, too fiery, too <i>much</i>¡ªthe excuses are endless, but it all boils down to the same basic issue. It doesn¡¯t fit with my personality.


    Still, I borrow from it a little to cool the rage flowing in my blood.


    Deep, deep, <i>deep</i> breath.


    Gotta do it in the car, because sucking in a lung full of death and bloody arcana¡¯s only going to raise my blood pressure more.


    Finally centered and in control once again, I slip out of the car, pretending like nothing awful¡¯s about to happen.


    Jack-Eye edges in front of me, straightening his shoulders as he scents the air.


    Well. That¡¯s unexpected.


    His wolf might be cowering, but his human half still maintains some functional instincts. Huh. Good to see he¡¯s still functional, even when he¡¯s afraid of my power.


    I guess I can see why the annoying King appointed him as beta. He¡¯s an alpha-level Lycan, which means he has the right to challenge Caine for his throne. Instead, he serves with absolute loyalty.


    His Royal Dumbass makes good choices. Sometimes.


    The magic in my veins prickles harder as I approach the shed. I already knew what I was going to feel, but it¡¯s still strange and <i>wrong</i> to my senses. The rot stench hangs in the air, thick as syrup, but the magicalndscape is scrubbed clean. Clinical.


    For humans, it¡¯s as if we stumbled onto a loody crime scene wiped free of fingerprints and DNA.


    A deliberately manufactured void.


    My stomach clenches.


    Even Isabeau, that festering parasite, left grime and residue behind. Magical evidence. A mystical fingerprint that could be tracked.


    This? This is nothing.


    This is Reaper-level sanitization.


    Something even Owen, an angel-descendant, can¡¯t quite copy.


    As we reach the shed door, I lift my hand, feeling the familiar pattern of a time-anchor spell forming beneath my skin. Arcana flows from my fingers to the air around this ce, weaving itself into arge bubble of suspended reality.


    My phone dings. Right on cue.


    I ignore it. The Divinity Connect app can kiss my ass. I¡¯m not letting these idiots stumble into a Reaper¡¯s path. I¡¯m the one who brought them here; protecting them shouldn¡¯t be a fucking usibility issue. Of course, basic logic tends to mean nothing to the team of Bnce.


    "Is it her?" Owen asks, and I can feel the anger simmering beneath his deceptively mild words.


    "No. In some ways it¡¯s worse."


    The shed door swings open without so much as a creak, of course. They¡¯d never allow something so pedestrian as a creaking hinge.


    The time-anchor sets with a soundless snap. To Jack-Eye and the others, nothing has changed. They¡¯re frozen in ce, suspended between one second and the next.


    For me, the world shifts into a peculiar muted palette of suspended time. Colors fade just slightly. Sound dampens. All momentum bleeds away into perfect stillness, like I¡¯ve closed a snow globe around us and sealed it with a whisper.


    A figure steps out, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.


    The Reaper is still irritatingly beautiful¡ªall porcin skin and eyes like ck mirrors, reflecting everything and absorbing nothing. He¡¯s wearing the ridiculous uniform they all insist on: matte-ck cloak with shadows that cling too long, too thick. And, naturally, a full-length scythe.


    It¡¯s purely ornamental. They don¡¯t need it to reap souls, and they aren¡¯t allowed to harm anything living. I guess they could use it in a battle against divinity, but those are all strictly regted, thanks the rules of usibility and Causality.


    "Still using those for bnce, I see," I say dryly.


    His mouth curves into a smile, but it doesn¡¯t disturb a single muscle in his face. Creepy to humans, normal to those of us who were raised with these assholes. "We were expecting you."


    I cross my arms, letting my weight shift to one hip. "Stop ying around. Why are you here so early? There¡¯s a reason, isn¡¯t there? Who¡¯s behind this?"


    "You¡¯ve created a thread of deviation." His voice carries the exact same inflection it did three centuries ago, which is <i>none</i>. Monotone bastard. "We aren¡¯t the only ones dispatched to achieve bnce."


    "Listen. I¡¯ve got better things to do than y cryptic bullshit bingo with you. Burn the shed, raze the evidence, do whatever administrative ass-covering you need to do. But I¡¯m not stopping, and you can¡¯t make me. So either get on board or get out of my way."


    He sighs, the sound too perfect to be real. "Do you ever tire of fighting the very system you were born into?"


    "Do you ever tire of being a cosmic hall monitor? Getid. Learn to rx. Maybe try yoga."


    A smile ys at the corners of his mouth. "Is that an invitation?"


    "I don¡¯t fuck the undead."


    He chuckles, taking a step closer, one pale hand reaching toward my face. "That¡¯s not what I recall."


    I smack his hand away before he can touch me. "Your flirting has only gotten creepier in the three hundred years since Ist saw you."


    "I miss you, Lyrielle."


    "You¡¯re just a pervert with a fancy job title."


    "You rather liked my personality once." His eyes drift to my lips. "Before thest gue."


    "You were my rebellious phase, Caeriel. Until I realized you weren¡¯t rebellion. You were bureaucracy with better cheekbones. Pretending to buck the system while bending over for it."


    Heughs, the sound too fucking beautiful. Then again, it¡¯s the entire point of a Reaper. Too beautiful to be real. "We¡¯re done here. You can undo your magic." His eyes sh with something way too close to hunger. "I¡¯ll see you next time."


    The promise makes my skin crawl. He disappears¡ªalong with the presences I¡¯d sensed inside the shed, hiding instead ofing out to face me¡ªleaving behind nothing but a faint scent of lemon.


    I drop the time barrier with a sigh, reality snapping back into normal flow.


    Jack-Eye and the others immediately tense, sensing the shift but unable to identify what changed. The red-haired wolf lifts his head, nostrils ring as confusion washes over his face.


    "The smell," he says, looking between me and the shed door. "The death stench is just... gone."


    "It¡¯s safe to go in." I¡¯m already turning back toward the SUV. There¡¯s no reason to go inside now. "You won¡¯t find anything useful."


    Jack-Eye sniffs again, his brow furrowing. "It smells like... lemon furniture polish."


    "Yeah," I mutter. "That tracks."

 Chapter 106: Jack-Eye: Irrational, But Still

    <h4>Chapter 106: Jack-Eye: Irrational, But Still</h4>


    I push the door open wider, stepping inside the shed first because that¡¯s what you do when you¡¯re second-inmand. Take point. Assessment. Protection. All that shit.


    Definitely not because I want Lyre noticing how I can take care of her, even if she¡¯s the strongest person in this motley little crew of ours.


    The rush of lemon hits my nostrils again, but underneath it¡ª


    "Fuck."


    A body sprawls across the concrete floor, limbs at all the wrong angles like someone dropped him from a height. The position is too awkward, too unnatural. Like he tried to curl up before the end.


    "What is it?" Andrew calls from behind me.


    I don¡¯t answer right away, my focus locked on the corpse. There¡¯s no blood. No signs of a fight. Just this kid¡ªa Fiddleback¡ªdead on the floor. And I know him.


    The more disturbing thing, though, is how Lyre¡¯s acting. She got weird the second we reached the door. Tense in a different way than before, and no longer interested in what¡¯s inside.


    The door had swung open on its own too, which is freaky as hell when I can see the hinges andtch are in perfect condition. Someone must not have closed it properly, but my hinky magic meter¡ªnewly acquired and still working out the kinks¡ªis pinging.


    Just as I¡¯m about to call out a warning, Thomes up behind me and immediately recoils. His weak stomach strikes again.


    "Oh, gods¡ª" His face goes pale green and he bolts, the unmistakable sound of retching following his hasty exit.


    Andrew steps in beside me, his nose wrinkling as he scents hard. "Why doesn¡¯t it smell worse?"


    I¡¯m wondering the same thing. A dead body should reek, especially to our senses. But all I get is the strange lemon scentyered over the barest whisper of death. All the horrible rot and strange darkness? It¡¯s gone, like it never existed. Like I¡¯d imagined it all.


    Owen gives the body a wide berth, moving straight to the metal cabs along the far wall. He starts opening them methodically, patting the walls, searching for something. He¡¯s supposed to be part angel or something, right? And yet he doesn¡¯t even nce at the body. He¡¯s busy looking for... I¡¯m not sure.


    Evidence, maybe. Or threats. Traps?


    Lyre finally slips past me, her rainbow hair catching the dim light as she crouches next to the body with that eerie calm I¡¯m starting to expect from her. Like death is just Tuesday.


    Kind of thought she was heading back to the car, but I guess she changed her mind again. Strange woman. Still wildly appealing, though.


    "It¡¯s Marsh," I tell her calmly. "A Fiddleback. He brought Caine to their territory from the hospital."


    The kid¡¯s young. Shame he was born into such a shitty pack. Just a dumb kid. I doubt he really understood what his pack was up to.


    Or maybe he did. Maybe his innocence and youth hid something darker inside. I wonder if Elizabeth was the same way. She¡¯s probably dead, too, thanks to Caine and Fenris.


    Marsh¡¯s face looks peaceful despite how his body looks. No visible wounds, aside from the strange positioning of his limbs.


    But Andrew¡¯s right. The scent is all wrong. He¡¯s already rotting, his abdomen bloated, with skin breaking down and¡ª


    Wait a second.


    He was alive two days ago.


    "For this level of dp, it should smell worse," Andrew says, still fixated on the scent.


    "He was way too alive two days ago to be this far along," I point out.


    Lyre doesn¡¯t look up from her examination, unimpressed by my observation. "The smell wille back. It¡¯s only clean because of the sanitization."


    "What sanitization?"


    Her fingers hover over Marsh¡¯s chest, not quite touching. I wonder if she¡¯s doing something magic.


    "The Reapers have already been here," she exins absently, pulling her fingers away. There¡¯s some hair on his chest. Short, gray hair. Maybe fur.


    But my brain¡¯s far more concerned about her little verbal bomb. "Reapers? What reapers?"


    Then, after I think it over for another millisecond, "You don¡¯t mean... Grim Reapers?"


    She turns her head slowly, giving me a nk, withering look, like I¡¯m the biggest idiot in the room. "What other kind would make sense here?"


    "Right." Clearly there¡¯s more to this supernatural shit than we learn in our packs, and I¡¯m not a fan of feeling outssed. I¡¯ll have to talk to Caine about upgrading our education.


    Lyre remains crouched by Marsh, silent and brooding. The silence stretches ufortably. Owen returns to stand by her, and the mere ten inches between them has me rattled with a strange level of possessive irritation.


    I¡¯ve never felt possessive over a woman in my life.


    "What now?" I grunt. "You brooding your way to an answer?"


    She doesn¡¯t look at me, her eyes fixed on the body. I can¡¯t see from here, but I bet they¡¯re cat slits again. They always seem to do it when she¡¯s thinking hard, or doing something magical. "They sacrificed a viable young wolf. Not one of the breeding stock. That means they¡¯re close. Real close."


    "Then can¡¯t you track ¡¯em from here?"


    "Not close in distance, fool." She leans back on her heels, no longer hunched forward in observation. Something flickers across her face¡ªan idea forming, probably. Her scent¡¯s a little sharper with purpose.


    "Hey. Wizard," she calls suddenly.


    Thom reappears in the doorway, reluctantly edging inside. He sidesteps awkwardly, as if determined not to look at the corpse.


    "Get in here," Lyremands.


    "I can¡¯t look at it¡ª" he starts, his face still ashen.


    "You don¡¯t need to. You can track, right?"


    He shifts his weight nervously, ncing at me as he shoves his sses up the bridge of his nose. He does it every few minutes, but even more when he¡¯s nervous. Which is almost always. "It¡¯s the only thing I¡¯m good at."


    "That¡¯s not true," Lyre says mildly. "But we¡¯ll worry about thatter."


    She steps closer to him, and I find myself tensing, watching her every move. She drops her voice, but my hearing catches it clearly.


    "If it¡¯s you, it shouldn¡¯t trip usibility."


    Thom¡¯s eyes widen. "Wait¡ªwhat does that mean?"


    Owen steps forward, his face tight. He¡¯s looking straight at her, for once. "Are you sure about this?"


    He sounds calm, but his fists are tight at his side, and his entire body¡¯s tense.


    "Shut up," she says, not even bothering to look at him.


    Before I can ask what the hell is happening, Lyre grabs Thom by the cor of his shirt and pulls him into a kiss. Not just any kiss¡ªdeep, deliberate, intense. The kind that ruins men, with her gorgeous pink tongue flicking out and shoving its way into his mouth.


    A shock of magic erupts from the point where their lips meet, crackling through the air like static electricity. It¡¯s not just visible, but both acrid and sweet to my nose.


    White butterflies¡ªactual fucking butterflies¡ªmaterialize out of nowhere, swirling around them in a luminous spiral before zooming off into different directions, phasing through the walls of this ce like they don¡¯t even exist.


    My nostrils re involuntarily. The arousal scent is unmistakable¡ªhis, not hers. Something ancient, from simpler times, roars to life in my chest, wing its way up my throat.


    I have no im on Lyre. I barely know her.


    And yet...


    Fuck, does her tongue move like that when she¡ª


    I cut the thought short before I go down a path I¡¯m not ready for. I¡¯m equal parts enraged and turned on, and I hate both reactions. Punching Thom in the face for experiencing what I¡¯ve been stupidly fantasizing about? It sounds like an amazing idea right now, even though it isn¡¯t.


    And I also kind of want to watch her do it again.


    This is so fucked up.


    When she breaks away, the lucky motherfucker drops to his knees, boneless and dazed. He¡¯s blinking up at her like he¡¯s seen the face of the Moon Goddess, lips parted, breathing ragged.


    Lyre, on the other hand, isn¡¯t looking at him. Her face is raised, eyes squinted as she... does something. Who knows what the fuck she¡¯s doing. She walks a few feet away, lifting her hand to the air, and Owen watches her like she¡¯s about to catch on fire or something.


    The bewitching woman turns slowly, her hair glowing faintly in the filtered lighting through the shed¡¯s dirty windows. She looks more like an angel than the reticent Owen.


    Probably won¡¯t look so angelic with my dick in her mouth, though. Which... is definitely going to have to happen. I¡¯m not sure how. Or when. But it¡¯s the only way to get this shitty memory out of my head.


    And then I¡¯ll know if her tongue really <i>does</i> move like that...


    Damn. I told myself I wasn¡¯t going down that road, and here I am, parked right on it like I don¡¯t ever want to leave.


    With a dead, rotting corpse beside me.


    There are probably better times for this.


    Thom¡¯s still kneeling, staring up at Lyre like she¡¯s a devotional paintinge to life, even as his dick¡¯s rock-hard in his pants. I lean down close to his ear, desperate to break the spell for both our sakes.


    "Put your cock away, Romeo," I murmur.


    "I¡ªno, it isn¡¯t..."


    He jerks out of his daze and covers his crotch with both hands, eyes wide and words frantic. "It¡¯s just a reaction... the magic... anyone would have felt it. I didn¡¯t..."


    "Easy, kid."


    The raging jealousy in me fades. Doesn¡¯t go away¡ªI still want to grab him by the throat and squeeze until his nerdy little head pops off¡ªbut seeing how scared he is does a little to ease my fury.


    At least he won¡¯t get in my way. Not on purpose, anyway.


    "We have another lead," Lyre announces. "It wasn¡¯t strong enough, but at least we have a direction."


    My eyes narrow. "Does this mean you have to kiss him again?"


    Thom¡¯s cheeks flush into a deep crimson, even as he stares at Lyre with a mix of devotion and lust. "I¡ªI don¡¯t mind."


    Of course he fucking doesn¡¯t.


    "Not yet," she says, oblivious to how I feel. To how he feels. She¡¯s looking at Owen, instead, and I¡¯m suddenly furious at the man for having such bulging biceps. Women like biceps, don¡¯t they? And he¡¯s handsome. Ridiculously handsome. Makes sense, if hees from angels.


    Though¡ªsince when do angels fuck around?

 Chapter 107: Grace: Creeping Dread

    <h4>Chapter 107: Grace: Creeping Dread</h4>


    Bun screeches with unholy glee as her limbs morph and multiply¡ªsix insect legs sprouting where toddler legs should be, skittering across the stone floor at a speed no two-year-old should possess. Herughter echoes off the cave walls, high and piercing and just a little bit wrong.


    Under normal circumstances, I¡¯d be having a freakout over a cute little toddler turning into something adjacent to the most unholy creature on this. But my brain¡¯s elsewhere.


    "Watch it!" Jer shouts as Bun darts between his legs, sending him sprawling face-first into the dirt. "Sara, control your monster!"


    Sara doesn¡¯t look up from her book. "She¡¯s not my monster. She¡¯s everyone¡¯s monster."


    "Then everyone should help!" The younger kid scrambles up, brushing dirt from his shirt.


    Ron flips a page, leaning against the far wall. He¡¯s reading an old hardback with faded letters, so I have no idea what the story is. "You¡¯re the one who gave her sugar."


    "I did not!"


    "You absolutely did." Sara¡¯s voice drips with disdain as she finally looks up. "I watched you slip her those candy wrappers."


    "That was yesterday!"


    "Sugar has a half-life of forever in Bun," Ron mutters.


    The bickering continues. Words bounce off the cave walls, amplifying the chaos until it¡¯s a physical presence in the room. I stand in the middle of it all, watching Bun zoom by with too many eyes blinking from her forehead.


    It should feel normal. Almostforting in its familiarity¡ªthe way chaos bes routine when you live with children who can sprout wings and tails and limbs at will.


    But something¡¯s off.


    I can¡¯t ce it. The noise is the same. The children are the same. Even Caine, who¡¯s inserted himself into our weird family unit with surprising ease, is behaving normally¡ªcatching Jer before he trips again, stopping Bun from licking a suspicious patch on the floor.


    "No, don¡¯t put that in your mouth," he says, scooping her up effortlessly, apparently unphased when she resembles a monstrous spider instead of a human child.


    Yet my skin crawls with wrongness. The sensation creeps through my skin, settling deep into my bones, and it¡¯s hard to breathe. I cross my arms, pressing my palms against my ribs, trying to soothe the gnawing tension building there.


    Nothing helps.


    "Sara, I swear, if you don¡¯t get up and help¡ª" Jer¡¯s voice fades to background noise.


    I¡¯m here, but not here. My body stands in the center of the cave like abandoned furniture while my mind races, searching for the source of the dread. It¡¯s not a vision. Not a voice. Not a clear warning or sign. Just a feeling¡ªinsistent and urgent, like radio static growing steadily louder.


    I try to take a deeper breath, but my lungs refuse to expand fully.


    Danger¡¯sing.


    I press my fingertips harder against my sides, trying to interpret the warning misfiring through my system. It¡¯s like trying to read Morse code without knowing the pattern¡ªjust persistent dots and dashes of anxiety, refusing to trante into anything coherent.


    Across the room, Caine¡¯s eyes find mine again. He¡¯s been ncing over every few minutes while managing the chaotic energy of the kids. This time, his gaze lingers. The slight furrow between his brows deepens as he studies my face.


    He hands Bun¡ªcurrently sporting triangr cat ears and whiskers alongside her extra eyes¡ªto Ron, who epts the wriggling bundle with practiced ease. Caine crosses the room in a few long strides, his presence cutting through the noise around us.


    "Grace?"


    His voice is low, meant for me alone. My name in his mouth still does things to my insides, even with this dread crawling through my veins. I reach for his shirt sleeve, my fingers pinching the fabric with the barest pressure¡ªcareful to avoid skin contact. It¡¯s a whisper of a touch, barely there.


    His reaction hits immediately. His breath catches. His pupils dte, stormy gray darkening further as his gaze drops to where my fingers connect with his shirt. The air between us charges, familiar heat ring in response.


    For a moment, I almost forget the warning thrumming through my body. The pull between us is still so strong, a physical tug that makes every nerve ending light up with awareness. But the unease coiling in my stomach can¡¯t be ignored.


    I tug him toward the shadowed sleeping alcove, away from the kids. His footsteps follow without hesitation.


    In rtive privacy, he leans in, close enough I smell his scent¡ªwarm, dark, distinctly Caine. His breath fans against my hair as he bends toward me, and he steps a little too close.


    I step back. There¡¯s a different unease now, one where I¡¯m pretty sure he¡¯s misunderstood why I dragged him with me. If I move even a millimeter closer, I¡¯m pretty sure he¡¯s going to throw the <i>no touching</i> room out the window¡ªnot that the cave has one¡ªand kiss me senseless, audience or no.


    "Something¡¯sing," I whisper, my voice tight with tension as I try to defuse the strange atmosphere he¡¯s brought with him. "Something bad. I can feel it, I think. It¡¯s weird. Maybe I¡¯m going crazy."


    The change is immediate. The heat in his eyes doesn¡¯t exactly vanish, but it transforms, hardening into something else entirely. His shoulders square. His jaw sets. In an instant, he shifts from the man who looks at me with desire to a warrior king. A protector.


    He doesn¡¯t question me. Doesn¡¯t dismiss my feelings as paranoia or ask for evidence I don¡¯t have. He simply nods, epting my warning as truth.


    My heart melts.


    "Where?" he asks, voice sharpened to a tactical edge.


    I shake my head, frustrated by my own vagueness. "I don¡¯t know. I just feel it. Here." I press a hand against my sternum, where the heaviness sits. "Like something¡¯s about to go wrong."


    His eyes scan the cave, no longer focused on me. He¡¯s in a different world in his head, doing alpha things. "Is iting for the kids?"


    "I don¡¯t know. Maybe it¡¯s about Lyre and the others. I¡¯m not sure. I just can¡¯t shake this... feeling."


    I could just be having a mental breakdown. After all, it sounds crazy trying to exin it to him, and I¡¯ve never had an ability to foresee chaos or disaster. But something inside me <i>knows</i>. It¡¯s a bone-deep surety, something I can¡¯t doubt, no matter how much I try to logic it away in my head.


    And Caine believes it.


    He hasn¡¯t looked at me with a single shred of doubt.


    He nods once, decisive. "We need a n. First priority is securing the cave. Second is establishingmunication."


    No questions about my certainty. No dismissal of my intuition. Just immediate, practical response.


    I exhale slowly, some of the tightness in my chest easing. The dread doesn¡¯t diminish¡ªif anything, it intensifies¡ªbut sharing it makes it more bearable somehow.


    "Maybe... we should leave the cave?"


    The anxiety lessens a little, and I nod. "Yeah. We should leave the cave. I think it might happen... here."


    It¡¯s a little easier to breathe.


    Could be my imagination. Could just be residual from sharing my worries. But again the strange <i>something</i> inside me feels like it approves of what I¡¯m saying.


    His hand hovers near my elbow, not quite touching, but close enough to feel the heat of him. "Stay with the kids," he says. "I¡¯m going to check outside."


    "What if I¡¯m wrong?" I ask, suddenly doubting the strength of my conviction.


    He meets my eyes, serious and steady. "Then we¡¯re prepared for nothing. But we need a n if we¡¯re leaving with all these children."


    And if I¡¯m right¡ª


    Well.

 Chapter 108: Caine: Get Them Out (END BOOK TWO)

    <h4>Chapter 108: Caine: Get Them Out (END BOOK TWO)</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    Owen¡¯s cave is, strangely enough, located in a run-down neighborhood. Half thewns are overgrown, and most families use their yards as storage instead of a decorative disy.


    The building housing Owen¡¯s strange cave system looks the same as the rest. Several sun-bleached gnomes decorative what used to be some sort of garden, and more windows are boarded than not. Before Owen had given us ess, the house was as empty inside as it looked from the outside.


    Dirty, dusty, and bare of any life or even basic furniture.


    I haven¡¯t asked what strange magic connects the cave to this ce. Lyre and those connected to her seem to live by strange rules. While magic isn¡¯t necessarily unfamiliar, the strength and breadth of their powers are leagues beyond what any normal wizard could ever dream of aplishing.


    I circle the perimeter a third time, scanning for anything out of ce, but nothing pings my radar.


    The silence is absolute. Too absolute.


    Animals go quiet when predators approach. Right now, not even the birds call.


    <i>"Something¡¯sing</i>,<i>"</i> Grace had said with absolute certainty. Not a question, not a fear¡ªa fact.


    <i>She senses things she shouldn¡¯t be able to sense.</i>


    Fenris¡¯s voice is sluggish in my mind, weakened from our battle at Fiddleback. He¡¯s quiet most of the time now, conserving strength, but Grace¡¯s warning roused him.


    His power is great, but the price of its consumption is equal in measure.


    I grunt. He sounds a little too thoughtful, but I have no interest in questioning things further. There are more important things to deal with. <i>I don¡¯t question it.</i>


    <i>It¡¯s more than a feeling.</i> The wolf¡¯s curiosity ripples through our shared consciousness. <i>A human shouldn¡¯t detect danger before a wolf. She¡¯s showing traits she shouldn¡¯t possess. Don¡¯t you wonder what that means about who she really is?</i>


    My jaw clenches. <i>Don¡¯t care. She¡¯s Grace.</i>


    <i>That¡¯s not an answer. She could be¡ª</i>


    <i>She¡¯s Grace.</i> I cut him off with a sh of irritation. <i>My mate. That¡¯s all that matters right now. If there¡¯s a threat iing, we get her and those kids out. Nothing else takes priority.</i>


    Fenris huffs, a grudging concession rather than agreement. His fascination with Grace is no less than mine, but it feels as if our roles have reversed since he first met her during the Blue Mountain Mate Hunt.


    The vibration of my phone cuts through the tension. Jack-Eye¡¯s name shes on the screen.


    "Status," I snap, waiting beside the front door. I¡¯ll go in soon, but I don¡¯t want the children to hear any bad news., voice low.


    "We¡¯re heading back your way, I think," Jack-Eye replies, his voice tinny through the speaker. "Signal¡¯s shit out here."


    He¡¯s too far to utilize the pack link. While I can ess any wolf on my pack territory, anything outside a fifteen-mile radius is too far outside of it.


    "Are youing here, or looking for something else?"


    "About that." There¡¯s a hesitation. "She hasn¡¯t exactly shared our exact destination yet. Driving blind. Well, you know Lyre. She¡¯s an open book. One with all its pages glued together."


    I grunt, unsurprised. That woman¡¯s defining trait is her refusal to give straight answers.


    "We¡¯re evacuating the cave. Grace has... a feeling. Something¡¯sing."


    There¡¯s a pause, too long to be casual. I hear the murmur of voices in the background¡ªJack-Eye rying the information.


    "Lyre says that¡¯s smart," he finally responds. "She says Grace should take her truck and camper. There¡¯s a remote boondocking site¡ªwhatever the fuck that is¡ªabout forty miles northeast. Secluded enough to hold you over. Grace knows how to set it up."


    My eyes narrow at the quick response. "Lyre anticipated this?"


    "You¡¯ve met her, right?" There¡¯s a dry note in Jack-Eye¡¯s voice. "I¡¯ll text the coordinates. We¡¯ll meet you there when we can."


    "Fine." I don¡¯t bother with a goodbye, ending the call with a press of my thumb.


    I have no idea what boondocking is, but I¡¯ll figure it out. The priority is moving now, not understanding terminology.


    Back at the cave entrance, I give the neighborhood onest scan before heading inside. Overhead, the clouds gather, thick and gray. Rain will hide our scent if something is tracking us. Small mercies.


    Inside, Grace has already mobilized the children with impressive efficiency. Each one clutches a small backpack, expressions solemn. Even Bun, currently sporting only human features¡ªa rarity¡ªbounces slightly on her toes but remains silent, her round face unusually serious.


    Jer stands closest to my mate, his face pinched with worry. Sara¡¯s eyes dart nervously toward the entrance as I enter, her hand clenched around something. Ron stands tall, his teenage frame already carrying hints of the man he¡¯ll be, shouldering thergest pack.


    I nce at the contents visible from the open top¡ªdiapers, wipes, form, a small stuffed rabbit. Baby supplies for Bun. His attention to detail makes something in my chest tighten unexpectedly.


    One day, these kids will make formidable pack members.


    Some primal force inside me has already imed them as pack. Regardless of their bloodline, they¡¯ll be considered Lycan if they choose to stay.


    "Food?" I ask, meeting Grace¡¯s eyes.


    She nods, her blonde hair pulled back tightly. I miss the brown, but I¡¯ll take her in any color.


    "Good call. We¡¯ll need it with the kids. I only have a few snacks packed."


    Without hesitation, I grab Owen¡¯s spare canvas bag from a hook on the wall and head to the small kitchen area. I don¡¯t bother with selection¡ªjust grab anything that looks edible and portable. Apples, protein bars, packages of jerky, a few cans of something. It all goes in.


    "Bun needs her cup," Grace says from behind me, reaching past to grab a purple sippy cup from the counter.


    Her arm brushes mine through the fabric of our sleeves, and even this indirect contact sends a jolt through my system. The bond between us doesn¡¯t care about timing or circumstance¡ªit happily urges me to throw her down on the nearest t surface and tear off everyst shred of fabric getting between us.


    Not the time, but a wolf¡¯s mating bond has never been considered rational.


    Outside, Lyre¡¯s truck sits where we left it. I¡¯ve never looked closely at it until now. The vehicle seems solid enough, though I question its ability to hold all of us.


    Grace already has the kids lined up, her movements crisp and decisive as she holds the toddler in her arms. "Ron, help Sara with her bag. Jer, stay close."


    There¡¯s a moment of uncertainty as we all stare at the truck cab.


    "Can we all even fit?" she asks dubiously.


    I reach past her, opening the door to reveal the bench seat. With a practiced motion, I flip up the hidden middle seat that had been folded down. "Fits six. Barely."


    Grace looks skeptical, eyes darting to Bun, who¡¯s currently leaned far over her arms to try and chew on Sara¡¯s sleeve. I share her doubt about the toddler¡¯s ability to endure a long drive without wreaking havoc, but we don¡¯t have options.


    The mood remains heavy as we load up. The children climb in with none of their usual arguments or chaos. They sense it too¡ªthe importance of moving quickly, the weight of Grace¡¯s warning.


    Smart kids.


    Ron helps strap Bun into a makeshift seatbelt arrangement in the rear seat, with Sara on the other side to keep her contained. Jer slides reluctantly into the middle of the front bench, his small frame barely taking up space between Grace and me.


    I insert the key¡ªconveniently left in the ignition¡ªand the engine rumbles to life. Lyre¡¯s carelessness with her vehicle security works in our favor today, though it seems odd the witch would make such a grant mistake.


    Bun crunches loudly on an apple, the sound startling in the tense silence. No one speaks. No one asks questions. The children, for once, seem to understand the gravity of the situation.


    Grace meets my eyes across the cab, her green gaze steady and trusting. Something unspoken passes between us¡ªan understanding, a shared resolve.


    "We¡¯re heading back to get the camper," I tell her, and she nods.


    I drive.


    Grace doesn¡¯t say a word.


    Neither do the kids.


    There¡¯s nothing left to say when the only thing that matters is getting out.

 Chapter 109: Grace: At the Campground

    <h4>Chapter 109: Grace: At the Campground</h4>


    "This is it," I say, pointing through the windshield as we pull into the campsite. Lyre¡¯s fifth-wheel camper sits right where we left it, nestled against the backdrop of beautiful woods.


    When we pulled in the first time, it looked beautiful and free.


    Today, it looks... ominous.


    Perspective is everything, I guess.


    "Is something wrong?" Caine asks, his voice rumbling through the truck. The kids are all quiet, even Bun. They understand danger in ways no child should.


    I shake my head, but the skin at the nape of my neck prickles. "It looks fine."


    But it doesn¡¯t feel fine.


    The camper sits undisturbed. No broken windows. No kicked-in door. Not a single sign of intrusion. And yet... something heavy hangs in the air. A pressure against my chest. A whisper just beyond hearing. My fingers twist into the fabric of my jeans.


    "Let¡¯s get the kids inside," Caine says, steel-eyed as he scans the tree line. He¡¯s felt it too. Or he¡¯s just naturally suspicious.


    "Finally!" Jer mumbles, unbuckling himself from the middle seat and following me out the door. "I have to pee so bad my eyeballs are floating."


    Okay, maybe they aren¡¯t as freaked out as I thought they were.


    "Gross," Sara mutters as she slides out of the back. Her red eyes dart toward the camper with undisguised relief; she¡¯s definitely more tense than the younger boy.


    Ron, of course, is as teenage-stoic as ever as he grabs Bun and hops down.


    "Careful, guys. Stay close."


    "We know," Sara and Jer chorus. They¡¯re already beelining for the camper door.


    Jer reaches it first, yanking the handle.


    Nothing happens.


    "It¡¯s locked," he whines, dancing from foot to foot.


    "Hang on," I say, digging in my pocket for the key Lyre gave me. "I¡¯ve got it."


    I hand him the key, watching him slide it into the lock and turn.


    No click. No give. The door remains firmly shut.


    "Let me," Sara pushes forward, her braid swinging as she grabs the handle and rattles it with surprising force for a nine-year-old. "It¡¯s stuck."


    "Maybe it¡¯s the wrong key?" Ron suggests, shifting Bun to his hip.


    "No, this is definitely it."


    "Let me try." Ron steps forward, adjusting Bun on his hip.


    He grabs the handle, yanking with more strength than either of the younger kids could muster. Nothing. The door remains stubbornly shut, like it¡¯s been welded closed.


    Bun leans forward in Ron¡¯s arms, reaching out her chubby hands toward the door. Before I can stop her, she starts banging her tiny fists against the metal surface, making hollow thumping sounds.


    "Bun, honey, that¡¯s not going to¡ª" I start, but the look on her face stops me. It¡¯s cute, with her giant eyes narrowed in concentration.


    Never mind. Keep banging. It¡¯s adorable.


    But an uneasy feeling slithers up my spine, and I nce around. No one¡¯s outside, no one¡¯s watching, but it just feels...


    Not right.


    "Okay, everyone get out of my way," I order the kids, who all back up onmand. Bun scowls at the door over Ron¡¯s shoulder.


    Caine steps closer, his body a wall of heat at my back. The prickling sensation isn¡¯t unpleasant¡ªit¡¯s almost groundingpared to the creeping unease trailing me all day.


    I step forward, suddenly self-conscious with everyone watching. I grip the key tight, my knuckles turning white. Another deep breath, and I slide it into the lock.


    The key turns smoothly. No resistance. The handle gives under my palm, and the door swings open with a soft creak.


    "See? It was just stuck," I say, trying to sound casual while my heartbeat hammers in my throat. "Come on in."


    I step inside, the familiar space of Lyre¡¯s camper greeting me¡ªcozy bohemian fabrics, the faint smell of incense, colorful ss bottles catching the afternoon light. But the air¡¯s too still and empty, like it¡¯s been abandoned.


    It¡¯s only been, like, two days.


    My feelings are all overly dramatized because of the dread. That¡¯s all.


    I¡¯ve be paranoid.


    "Jer, you can use the bathroom first," I say, turning back to the doorway. "Then Sara."


    But Jer isn¡¯t following me in. He stands frozen at the threshold, his face scrunched in confusion.


    "I can¡¯t," he says.


    "What do you mean, you can¡¯t? The bathroom¡¯s right there." I point toward the back of the camper. There are actually two of them, but I figure Lyre might not want them using the one attached to her bedroom.


    Jer steps forward¡ªat least, he tries to. His foot reaches the doorway and stops, like he¡¯s hit an invisible wall. He pushes against nothing, his sneaker meeting resistance where there shouldn¡¯t be any.


    "I can¡¯t get in," he says, voice rising. "It won¡¯t let me."


    Sara pushes past him, rolling her eyes. "You¡¯re just being dramatic." But the same thing happens to her. She hits the invisible barrier and bounces back slightly, her red eyes widening. "What the hell?"


    "Language," I say automatically, but my mouth has gone dry.


    Ron steps up next, still holding Bun. His expression is grim as he reaches out one hand toward the door frame. His palm ttens against thin air, like he¡¯s touching ss. Bun makes a frustrated sound, reaching for me, her little fingers sying against the nothing that¡¯s keeping her out.


    "Grace," Caine says, his voice a low warning. He doesn¡¯t need to borate. We both know this isn¡¯t normal.


    "Hey, kids," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "Why don¡¯t you wait by the truck for a minute? I need to call Lyre."


    "But I have to pee!" Jer hisses, hopping from one foot to the other.


    "Go behind a tree," Ron mutters, already leading them away. "Like a normal animal."


    "I¡¯m not an animal right now!" the younger one protests, but he follows. Sara lingers, her eyes narrowed at the camper.


    "It¡¯s magic, isn¡¯t it?" she asks quietly.


    Smart kid. Too smart for her own good. "Lyre probably has it spelled against intruders." Which is both relieving and unbelievably unwanted at this point in time.


    When they¡¯re out of earshot, Caine steps forward, his massive frame blocking out the sun. He reaches toward the door¡ªno hesitation, no surprise when his hand passes through without resistance. He steps inside, close enough that I can smell his scent. His dark, cologne-ad smell is as distracting as usual.


    His gray eyes scan the camper¡¯s interior, missing nothing. "A protection spell. But why would it keep out the cubs and not us?"


    "Lyre didn¡¯t know them when she put it together, obviously. Just give me a minute. I¡¯ll call her."

 Chapter 110: Grace: Being Watched

    <h4>Chapter 110: Grace: Being Watched</h4>


    I pull my phone from my pocket, hands shaking slightly as I find Lyre¡¯s number. It rings once, twice, three times. My heart sinks with each unanswered tone. What if she doesn¡¯t pick up? What if something¡¯s happened to her? What if¡ª


    "Grace?" Lyre¡¯s voice fills my ear, sounding slightly breathless. "I was just thinking about you."


    Relief floods through me. "Lyre, thank the Goddess. We have a problem."


    "When don¡¯t we?" she says, but the sarcasm sounds strained. "What¡¯s happening?"


    "We¡¯re at the camper, but the kids can¡¯t get in. There¡¯s some kind of... barrier keeping them out."


    "Oh, that." Lyre sounds utterly untroubled. "ess ward. Safety feature. Got tired of jackasses breaking in whenever I park somewhere remote. It¡¯ll disengage once you hitch it to the truck. Don¡¯t worry about it."


    "Don¡¯t worry¡ª" I bite back the rest of my sentence, too aware of little ears. "Fine. Thanks."


    "You good otherwise?" she asks, suddenly sharper.


    I hesitate, not wanting to voice the creeping dread slithering up my spine. "Yeah. We¡¯re fine."


    "Hmm." She doesn¡¯t sound convinced. "Call if you need anything else. I mean it."


    I hang up and turn to the kids. "Slight change of ns. The door won¡¯t open until we hook the camper to the truck."


    "But I need to pee!" Jer wails.


    "Go in the trees," Sara says, pointing.


    "I¡¯m not peeing in the trees! There could be bears!"


    "There are definitely bears," Ron says, deadpan.


    Jer¡¯s eyes widen in horror.


    "Enough," Caine¡¯s voice cuts through the bickering. The kids fall silent immediately. Even Bun stares at him with her huge, solemn eyes. "Everyone back in the truck. Lock the doors. I¡¯ll help Grace prepare the camper."


    "I think you should all stay in the truck," I say quietly. "Even you."


    Caine¡¯s eyes narrow. "You can¡¯t do this alone."


    "I¡¯ve seen Lyre do it. It¡¯s not thatplicated."


    "Then I¡¯ll help make it faster."


    I shake my head. "Ever pack up an RV before?"


    "No."


    "Then you¡¯ll be in the way. Stay with the kids. I¡¯ll do it."


    He nods once before striding back to the truck. I exhale shakily, relieved to have space to work without his looming presence adding to my anxiety.


    Alone, I move faster. Inside, everything loose gets shoved into nearby cabs. Certain pieces of furniture are moved together to keep them from moving around with any bouncing movement of the trailer. Anything questionable goes on Lyre¡¯s bed in the front.


    Then it¡¯s making sure there are no dirty dishes in the sink.


    A quick press of a button dumps the ck tank. Lyre likes to rinse it out a few times, but my shoulders keep prickling, so I forego the extra step. The gray tanks are next. A little water and some ck tank treatment and they¡¯re all ready to go.


    Slides go in, and the camper¡¯s ready¡ªon the inside, anyway.


    Outside, it goes quicker. Disconnect the water hose and electric. Stow away the gross sewer hoses. Use about half a bottle of sanitizer, even though I used gloves. Pull strange triangr blocks from the wheels, which are supposed to keep them from moving. Once it¡¯s ready, I rap on Caine¡¯s window and have him back up so we can hitch the trailer.


    All in all, I think it takes about forty-five minutes. I¡¯m sure Jer¡¯s about ready to burst, and I¡¯m only about half certain I did everything right.


    My breathes in shallow puffs, the feeling of being watched intensifying with each passing minute.


    I stop, scanning the trees again. Nothing moves except leaves stirring in the breeze.


    "You¡¯re being paranoid," I whisper to myself.


    Swallowing hard, I hit the button to retract the slides. The mechanical whirr seems obscenely loud in the quietness of the forest. Sweat trickles down my back despite the cool air.


    Caine¡¯s taken Jer to the campground bathroom, and I¡¯m about to burst with anxiety. Thankfully, the sheer terror over what ifs somehow meanders down the idea of horrible disasters, and horrible disasters reminds me to turn off the propane tanks.


    <i>That</i> would have been dangerous.


    Done. Everything Lyre showed me is nowplete. Maybe. Hopefully.


    If I break her trailer, I really hope she doesn¡¯t make get too mad, but other than that little fear? A tiny spark of pride res.


    I did it all. By myself.


    The trailer¡¯s now ready to go,


    Still, I don¡¯t linger to savor the feeling. Instead, I sprint back toward the truck, suddenly desperate not to be alone for another second.


    Just as my fingers brush the door handle, something moves in the trees behind me¡ªa sh of shadow, a rustle too deliberate to be wind.


    I freeze, whirling around, my heart in my throat.


    Nothing. Just sun-dappled foliage and the gentle sway of pine boughs.


    "Wind," I whisper. "Just the wind."


    But I know better.


    I yank the truck door open and scramble inside, mming it shut behind me.


    "Something wrong?" Ron asks, way too observant.


    "No. Just wind." Locking the doors, I huddle a little further into my seat. Caine and Jer should be back soon. "We ready for our adventure?"


    "Adventure?" Sara asks in confusion. "I thought we were running away."


    "We¡¯re not running away," I say, forcing brightness into my voice. "We¡¯re just being overly cautious. Like a fire drill, you know? Better safe than sorry."


    Sara¡¯s eyes narrow, skepticism etched across her small face. "Then why did you tell us to pack everything we own?"


    My stomach knots. "Because we might be gone for a few days. It¡¯s an adventure while we wait for Owen toe back."


    "An adventure," she repeats tly.


    I nod with more conviction than I feel. "Exactly. We¡¯ll find a nice campsite. You guys can explore, and we can do s¡¯mores at night." I¡¯mying it on too thick, but I can¡¯t seem to stop. "It¡¯ll be fun. Promise."


    Ron catches my gaze in the rearview mirror. His dark eyes cut through my bullshit like a knife through butter. He knows. Of course he knows. The slight tilt of his head, the tightening of his jaw¡ªhe¡¯s not calling me out, but he¡¯s not buying it either.


    I look away first, unable to hold his stare any longer. Shame crawls up my neck.


    "But what about Owen?" Sara persists. "How will he find us?"


    "He¡¯s with Lyre, and Lyre told us about this camping spot. Don¡¯t worry."


    Bun gurgles from her spot between them, sprouting delicate rabbit ears. They keep twitching. She must be picking up on my anxiety.


    "It¡¯s okay, Bun," I reach back to stroke her cheek. The rabbit ears recede, reced by normal human ones. "Everything¡¯s fine. Maybe we¡¯ll even stop by a store and get you a proper carseat. Would that be fun?"


    "Fuh," she chirps.


    Another lie. Nothing is fine. I have no idea what I¡¯m doing or where we¡¯re going. I just know we can¡¯t stay here.

 Chapter 111: Jack-Eye: You’re Not Special

    <h4>Chapter 111: Jack-Eye: You¡¯re Not Special</h4>


    <strong>JACK-EYE</strong>


    Three hours of silence is my limit. I fiddle with the volume dial just to give my hands something to do. Something like <i>not</i> sliding through the messy bun Lyre¡¯s created out of her rainbow-colored hair.


    "So... sleep. That¡¯s still a thing, right?"


    She doesn¡¯t look at me. "I¡¯m fine."


    Okay.


    The temperature in the car drops ten degrees with those two words. Not literally¡ªthough with Lyre, you never know. I clear my throat and lean back in my seat.


    She¡¯s been like this ever since Grace called. That girl has a talent for finding trouble, and it rivals Caine¡¯s talent for making enemies. The fact they¡¯re bound together is cosmic irony.


    She seems sweet, though. Sweet enough to keep a feral witch like Lyre loyal to the girl.


    Am I jealous? Maybe a little.


    "Where are we headed, anyway?" I keep my voice casual, fishing for any reaction beyond her stone-faced focus on the road.


    But it¡¯s not Lyre who answers, damn it.


    "We¡¯re circling back toward where we started, actually." Thom¡¯s voice pipes up from the back seat, so eager it makes my mrs ache. "The ley lines around the Fiddleback territory are fascinating¡ªthey twist in ways I¡¯ve never seen before. The mana flow creates these... these beautiful rivers of light that intersect and diverge. I can actually see them now, which exins how my tracking works. It¡¯s like the signature leaves ripples in the¡ª"


    I grit my teeth so hard I¡¯m surprised they don¡¯t crack. I don¡¯t need a lecture from the wizard-who-couldn¡¯t. Especially not when he¡¯s answering for her like they¡¯re some kind of team now.


    The way he looks at her¡ªlike she hung the fucking moon and stars¡ªmakes my skin crawl. Like she¡¯s his personal goddess because she did some magical party trick with her lips.


    He goes on for a couple more minutes, nerding out to this bizarre magic science I don¡¯t understand, before finally ending with, "Anyway... who are we tracking, exactly?"


    Lyre answers without emotion. "Someone¡¯s hair was on the body. We¡¯re tracking them."


    "There wasn¡¯t enough energy in the strand for me to track, though." He sounds like a confused fucking puppy. Not a brain cell in his nerdy little head.


    Her eyes flick up to the mirror, then back to the road. "That¡¯s why I gave you a boost."


    The wizard makes a soft "ahh" sound, disappointment dripping from that single syble, and something in me snaps.


    "What, think she kissed you because you¡¯re special?" I ask, sarcasm coating every syble, with an undertone of bitter jealousy.


    Thom clears his throat and leans back in his seat.


    I don¡¯t even fully understand what she did¡ªsome weird magical energy transfer that required mouth-to-mouth contact, I guess¡ªbut the thought of the sniveling little wizard believing she wanted him makes my blood simmer.


    Lyre nces in the rearview again, catching Thom¡¯s slumped posture. Under her breath, just barely loud enough for me to catch: "Humans are so fragile."


    A tiny re of triumph blooms in my chest. No interest, then. No threat.


    "I could help you with that block, if you want." She says it casually, once again focused on the road.


    My heart trips.


    "What magical block?" Thom perks up immediately, a wilted nt of a man getting a taste of divine, rainbow-colored water.


    She shrugs one shoulder. "It¡¯s hard to exin. You¡¯ll get it once you start feeling arcana properly."


    And just like that, my fleeting victory crumbles. I turn toward the window, watching the blur of dark trees.


    Of course wizard-boy gets special lessons. Of course they can talk about magic and energy and ley lines like it¡¯s pillow talk. Meanwhile, I¡¯m sitting here imagining what it¡¯d feel like if she slipped her hand over and¡ª


    Fuck. This isn¡¯t me. I don¡¯t get jealous. I don¡¯t get possessive. I¡¯m the guy who knows how to separate business and pleasure. The guy who¡¯s had more women than most men meet in a lifetime.


    But all I can think about is how warm Lyre¡¯s skin was thest time she grabbed my wrist and how good she smells. She smells like chamomile and something faintly citrusy¡ªorange blossoms, maybe. Soft. Not perfumey.


    The kind of scent you don¡¯t notice right away, but once it¡¯s in your lungs, it stays there. Warm. Familiar. Like the start of a memory.


    Makes me hard as soon as her scent hints, which means I¡¯ve been battling it off and on for hours.


    Get your shit together, man. Not the time to want a hand job. You¡¯ve handled greater temptations than this.


    My wolf whimpers in my head. He¡¯s still terrified of her. It should turn me off, but there¡¯s nothing like lusting after a woman strong enough to intimidate my wolf.


    Most of us don¡¯t have the same kind of rtionship with our wolves as Caine does. Some are more chatty than others, and usually the stronger the wolf, the more they talk.


    Mine doesn¡¯t talk much. Usually prefers to stick with growls, howls, and the asional chuff. He <i>can</i> speak as often as he wants... the key being, <i>if he wants</i>.


    He¡¯s made it clear he doesn¡¯t <i>want</i> to talk to me¡ªand he won¡¯t waste the energy unless it¡¯s absolutely necessary.


    We get along fine, though.


    <i>Do we?</i> he asks sourly. <i>If I have to endure one more image of your dick, I might bite it off myself during the next full moon.</i>


    My knees snap together in an automatic reaction, and Lyre nces over with a brow raised.


    I pretend like I just needed to shift position, which sucks because I was finallyfortable.


    <i>Shut up,</i> I snarl at my wolf, who¡¯s usually impable at keeping quiet. Guess he¡¯s tired of my horny imagination. Can¡¯t me him; it¡¯s a little frustrating, even for me.


    Every time we pass a restaurant? Thinking about throwing her down on a table. Rest stops? Taking her in a stall. Woods? Fucking her against a tree. When there¡¯s nothing particr to imagine, I think about her sliding her hand over and pumping me until I spray all over her dash. How cute it would be when she scolds me for making a mess. How she might lick her fingers clean¡ª


    <i>I¡¯m biting it off,</i> my wolf warns.


    Damn it.


    I watch Lyre¡¯s face. She¡¯s frowning at the road like it insulted her.


    If she crashes us all into a tree, at least I¡¯ll die looking at her.

 Chapter 112: Lyre: Rest

    <h4>Chapter 112: Lyre: Rest</h4>


    My phone buzzes in the console tray just as I notice Jack-Eye has finally shut up. He¡¯s slumped in the passenger seat with his arm half-covering his face, probably thinking I can¡¯t tell he¡¯s still awake. His breathing isn¡¯t even close to sleep rhythm.


    I nce down at the notification, swiping to read Grace¡¯s message.


    <strong>[GRACE: Made it to the spot. We¡¯re alive. Also... no water...]</strong>


    I swipe a quick reply.


    <strong>[LYRE: Why didn¡¯t you fill the tank before you left? Fresh water tank connection¡¯s right next to the city water.]</strong>


    <strong>[GRACE: Uhhhhh... oops?]</strong>


    A snort escapes before I can stop it. Endearing little disaster. At least she¡¯s safe for now.


    The truck hits a pothole the size of a small child, and Jack-Eye¡¯s head jolts up. He groans, reaching for the dashboard to steady himself. "Could you <i>not</i> text and drive?"


    "We¡¯ve all got to live dangerously sometime." I toss my phone back into the console tray. "Besides, vampires text and fly all the time. I¡¯m practically a safety expert byparison."


    In the rearview mirror, I catch a glimpse of Thom¡¯s panicked expression. He¡¯s seated in the middle, between Owen and Andrew¡ªboth sleeping¡ªand he has nowhere to grab for safety. He was probably asleep until the pothole, too.


    Humans and their pitiful need for rest. Not that I¡¯m immune. Even my energy has limits. Mine just don¡¯te as quickly as theirs.


    A flickering vacancy sign appears in the distance¡ªsome questionable roadside establishment. It probably hasn¡¯t seen fresh sheets since the Reagan administration and the carpet inside likely smells like despair and decades of poor life choices. Someone¡¯s definitely selling bodies in this ce. Not dead ones, obviously.


    Grace and Caine are far enough from Fiddleback¡¯s immediate zone now. They¡¯re safe enough to allow myself a few degrees of relief, and maybe grant these pitiful tagalongs some rest.


    Especially the wizard.


    I pull into the shady motel¡¯s parking lot, ignoring Jack-Eye¡¯s confused stare, and grab my phone again.


    <strong>[LYRE: Check the truck bed. Two 7-gallon Reliance jugs + three 5-gallon Aquatainers. Use a siphon or pump into the freshwater tank. Should hold you over.]</strong>


    Grace would have no idea the jugs carry potable water. We¡¯d normally have a full tank of fresh water, but it¡¯s been used. I would have topped up before we left, but¡ªwell, the current situation is what it is.


    The fact she remembered enough to get the trailer packed up and ready to go is already impressive.


    <strong>[GRACE: You¡¯re a goddess. A terrifying, beautiful goddess. I love you. I¡¯ll think of you when I shower tonight.]</strong>


    <strong>[LYRE: Sponge bath. The water will go fast. Either have Caine fill up the jugs in town or wait until we¡¯re back and use the water sparingly. Don¡¯t forget there¡¯s bottled water for drinking in the pantry.]</strong>


    She sends a thumbs-up emoji in response.


    I set the phone down and twist in my seat to get a better look at Thom. His aura is flickering like a dying shlight, dim around the edges. Pathetic. Even with the kiss I gave him¡ªan energy transfer most wizards would kill for¡ªhe¡¯s running on fumes.


    "Burns fast. Doesn¡¯t replenish well," I mutter, mostly to myself. The boy can¡¯t regte his arcana cirction for shit. Typical of modern witches.


    I sigh, shutting off the engine. "We¡¯re stopping for the night. Everyone needs to sleep."


    Jack-Eye immediately straightens. "You¡¯re getting your own room."


    I roll my eyes. "I¡¯m not wasting money. I¡¯ll just get a double."


    "One double for five people? With <i>you</i> in it?" Jack-Eye looks at me like I¡¯ve suggested we all sleep inva. Forever, obviously. "You¡¯re out of your damn mind."


    Owen stirs in the backseat, blinking his unsettling silver eyes. Even half-asleep, his voice is firm. "She should have her own bed."


    Of course the angel-blood thinks I need special treatment. He probably still believes in the old legends about my kind. As if I¡¯d burn the sheets or something. Or eat one of them.


    "Fine," I concede, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. "Two rooms, two queens each. Someone can share with me."


    I turn toward the backseat. "The wizard can¡ª"


    "I¡¯ll stay with you." Jack-Eye hastily announces.


    Andrew snorts. I guess he woke up, too.


    The interruption startles me, genuine surprise breaking through my usualposure. My brows knit as I study his expression. The wolf looks oddly... determined. He even throws the wizard a faint glower. His lip even curls a little.


    "He might need another top-off¡ª" I begin, but the Lycan cuts me off again.


    "I said I¡¯ll stay with you." His tone brooks no argument, though he has absolutely no authority to make demands.


    I hold his gaze long enough to make it clear I¡¯m choosing to acquiesce, not beingmanded. Then I nce back at Thom, who looks horribly dejected¡ªlike someone just told him Christmas is canceled. Thest thing I need is the wizard getting clingy, thinking my magical assistance means I have any interest in him.


    "Fine."


    Better to share with Jack-Eye before something awkward happens with the weak-willed wizard.


    I push open my door and slide out of the driver¡¯s seat and head toward the front office, leaving them behind without another word. The Lycan falls into step beside me, and I can practically feel the smugness radiating off him.


    "I¡¯ll pay," he offers, with a charming smile.


    He¡¯s the Beta of a wolf pack. As independent as most packs are, especially one as impressive as the Lycan Pack, there¡¯s no way they have money just floating around to spare on random adventures. Few wolves aim for sessful businesses in the human market, so every pack juggles financial woes.


    "I¡¯ve got it. You¡¯re all here because of me, anyway."


    "Still¡ª"


    "Don¡¯t argue with me, Jack."


    He goes quiet for a minute, still tagging along. "My name isn¡¯t actually Jack, you know."


    I roll my eyes. "Yes, I know, <i>Jack-Eye</i>."


    "Well," he concedes, "It¡¯s not far from my name. It¡¯s just that people always butcher it."


    Not interested, but he keeps going, "My real name is Aaron. Aaron Xhekaj. X-H-E-K-A-J, pronounced Jack-Eye." The way he says it, though, is with a slightly different inflection than we¡¯ve been using.


    "Congrattions. You have a name. I already forgot it. Can we just get these rooms in silence? We don¡¯t have to pretend to be friends."


    "Right," he mutters. "Silence. Since I can¡¯t talk magic with you or anything."


    His sour facees out of freaking nowhere, and I sigh. Keeping these damn humans corralled and happy is going to be the death of me.

 Chapter 113: Grace: Daddy Material

    <h4>Chapter 113: Grace: Daddy Material</h4>


    The disy for Lyre¡¯s sr power says 1,384W in, 98% battery, and then a number to actually make my stomach flip:


    Estimated Runtime: 3h 12m.


    Three hours? That¡¯s it?


    I nce at the humming AC vents, the dehumidifier pulling swamp air from every corner, and the fridge. We¡¯re pulling too much. Even with sr pouring in, it¡¯s not enough.


    <i>How is that possible with 98%?</i>


    My fingers hover over the thermostat. I can¡¯t shut everything off, but maybe I can cut the second AC. That¡¯s one less thing bleeding our battery dry.


    But first I have to figure out how.


    "What¡¯s wrong?" Caine¡¯s voicees from directly behind me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body without him actually touching me.


    I step quickly to the side, putting six more inches between us. "I have no idea what any of this means." I gesture at the panel. "How much power do we have? How long before we¡¯re out? I don¡¯t know anything about sr."


    All I know is it¡¯s expensive, which makes me wonder even more about how Lyre gets by.


    He leans in to examine the disy, his dark brows furrowed. The muscles in his arm tense as he braces himself against the wall, making sure not to brush against me. We¡¯ve be experts at this careful dance of almost-contact.


    "I know jack-shit about sr," he admits, straightening. "But I¡¯ve worked with generators before. Does she have one?"


    "I..." I realize I don¡¯t know. "I¡¯ve never seen her use one."


    Caine nods once. "I¡¯ll check the outside storage."


    He moves toward the door, navigating around Jer¡¯s dinosaur rampage¡ªliterally, he¡¯s bouncing between the kitchte and living room, going on aboutsers and dinosaurs¡ªand Bun¡¯s sudden fixation with light fixtures.


    The toddler climbs onto the dte table and reaches for the light with gleeful determination.


    "Bun, no!" I lunge across the room, catching her just before she can grab the swinging pendant light. She squeals in protest as I set her down on the bench seat, my heart hopscotching its way to a normal rate. "Stay low, okay? No climbing."


    She immediately starts to crawl under the table instead.


    I sigh, exhaustion washing over me. Lyre had texted, telling me to take the bedroom, since we¡¯ll need the extra sleeping space. It¡¯s a small load off my mind.


    The sleeping arrangements make sense in theory: me, Sara, and Bun in Lyre¡¯s queen bed; Ron and Jer on the daybed I¡¯d used, though it¡¯ll be a tight squeeze; Caine on the couch. In practice, I¡¯m not sure any of us will actually sleep.


    The door swings open, and Caine pops his head in. "Found it up front, but it¡¯s dry. No fuel."


    My stomach drops. "Fuel?"


    "Gas or propane. I¡¯m not sure how much propane we have, so we¡¯re going to need to get some gas. We emptied all her water jugs, too, so we need to refill those..."


    A flicker of panic ignites in my chest. We need the AC running. Bun¡¯s too small to handle this kind of heat¡ªbut even without her, all the kids need proper hydration and temperature control.


    This heat was a mild annoyance before, but now it¡¯s my biggest concern, outside from the strange itchy feeling between my shoulder des.


    "So we need gas for the generator, water refills, and probably more food." I mentally catalog our dwindling supplies. "Especially stuff the kids will eat."


    Caine moves to the window, sliding up the blinds to survey our surroundings. I join him, staying far enough away that our shoulders don¡¯t touch, but I sneakily breathe deep to experience his scent a little more thoroughly. Seriously, he smells <i>so</i> good.


    I get the whole <i>wearing your boyfriend¡¯s clothes because they smell like him </i>thing I¡¯ve heard about. I would wear his shirts every day just for that alone.


    Our boondocking spot¡ªturns out boondocking just means <i>no hookups at a campground, </i>aka "being off-grid"¡ªis basically a wide dirt clearing nestled in shallow hills. No trees for shade, just scrubby nts and packed earth. The fifth-wheel sits in a slightly lower area where recent rain has created muddy tire ruts and small puddles. A few other RVs dot thendscape, but they¡¯re parked far enough away, they¡¯re just metal rectangles on the horizon.


    "See that one?" I point to the most distant RV. "I think it¡¯s just an older human couple with a golden retriever. They were outside with their dog a few minutes ago."


    He nods, then pulls the blinds back down. They¡¯re ck and help a little with blocking out the heat. "We¡¯ll be okay. It¡¯s hot now, but the temperature should drop significantly tonight. We can open the windows for cross-venttion."


    "You sound like a weather report." I smile despite myself.


    "This heat is unseasonable. There¡¯s a cold front moving in tonight¡ªrain, too." He speaks with such certainty that I blink in surprise.


    "Did you check the forecast?"


    "I can smell it." His expression remains serious, but there¡¯s something almost domestic about this exchange¡ªlike we¡¯re an old married couple discussing the day¡¯s weather instead of people hiding from strange supernatural dangers.


    The absurdity of it all hits me suddenly. Two weeks ago I was freezing and naked in a forest after being rejected by my then-boyfriend. Now I¡¯m worrying about air conditioning and toddler safety while standing three careful inches away from the Lycan King.


    My life has turned into a fever dream.


    It¡¯s weird. I used to think he was a murderer. Now I keep picturing him chasing a toddler around with snacks and nap schedules. He¡¯s... daddy material. Not a kink I ever asked for, but here we are.


    I shake my head and head for the kitchen to check our food supplies. As I pass the rear window, something flickers across the ss¡ªtoo fast, too smooth to be a random shadow. My heart lurches into my throat, and I freeze, staring at the not-quite-ckout blinds as my pulse thuds hard.


    Then I lift them.

 Chapter 114: Grace: Everything. Is. Fine.

    <h4>Chapter 114: Grace: Everything. Is. Fine.</h4>


    Nothing there. Just the empty dirt clearing and¡ª


    "Sadie! Sadie, get back here!"


    A golden retriever bounds into view, racing toward the distant RV where someone stands in the doorway, waving.


    I exhale augh that sounds more like a gasp. See? Dog. Just a dog. Totally normal. Totally fine.


    Paranoia¡¯s getting to me. This skin-crawling feeling makes everything seem like some monumental problem instead of just some random neighbor¡¯s doging around to sniff the new arrival.


    Caine watches me carefully but doesn¡¯tment. After a long moment, he says, "I need to make a supply run, but it¡¯s at least a fifteen minute drive to town. I¡¯ll be gone about an hour."


    "You¡¯re leaving?" My voice pitches higher than I intended.


    "There¡¯s no indication we were followed." His tone is calm and measured as he exins, "We need water and fuel. I won¡¯t be long."


    I nod, though anxiety crawls up my spine like tiny spiders. He¡¯s right. We need supplies. Who knows how long we¡¯ll be here. Lyre doesn¡¯t sound like she¡¯sing back tonight. She said they were stopped at a motel because the others were tired.


    They were driving all night, so it¡¯s no surprise.


    Caine gathers his keys and moves to the door. His hand pauses over the handle as he turns back to me, his gray eyes intense. "Lock this behind me."


    "I will."


    He steps outside, and I follow him outside, watching as he motions toward the underside of the RV. Fenris appears, manifesting out of thin air, smaller than he usually is. Much like when I thought he was a ck dog instead of himself, with only the faintest hint of ethereal glow deep in his fur.


    He starts padding toward me, but Caine growls, and he jerks to the side and slithers under the RV, panting in the shade of its cover.


    "He¡¯ll stay here."


    I frown. "Does he have to stay outside?"


    "Yes."


    The wolf¡¯s gray eyes peer at me, and I swear they look pleading.


    "Can¡¯t hee inside...?"


    "No."


    Caine climbs into the truck, starting the engine. The moment the truck begins to roll away, chaos erupts.


    Jer and Bun burst past me, sprinting toward the moving vehicle, and Fenris bolts after them.


    "Stop!" I yell. Too harsh. Too sharp. But it¡¯s a moment of panic. "Get back inside, now!"


    The younger boy freezes, then turns with a scowl sour enough to curdle milk. The toddler, sensing the tension, hesitates too, reaching for Jer¡¯s hand once she sees Fenris behind them.


    The wolf circles, looking for all the world like... a herding dog.


    "Now," I repeat, my voice cracking.


    The boy stomps back up the steps, shooting me a dark look. Guilt twists my belly.


    Fenris chuffs, bumps my thigh, and slithers back under the trailer.


    "What¡¯s your problem?" Jer mutters.


    "I¡¯m sorry for yelling," I say, softer now, "but we need to stay inside. At least until hees back."


    Ron appears in the doorway, his steady presence an immediate balm. "Jer, knock it off. Treat it like Owen¡¯s ce¡ªemergency protocol, remember?"


    The boy¡¯s shoulders sag slightly, but he nods.


    The truck idles at the end of our clearing. Something¡¯s wrong. Caine¡¯s hesitating, and I can see his profile, rigid and alert. I hurry over, jogging the entire way. Fenris trots behind me, clearly taking his guard dog duty seriously.


    "What is it?" I call out.


    He¡¯s glowering out the window, his gaze fixed on the distant RVs, particrly the one with the older couple.


    "Probably safe isn¡¯t certainty," he says, his voice low and hard. "Get your ass inside and lock the door, Grace."


    I hesitate, but the authority in his tone is clear. I nod, jogging back. Up the steps and into the camper, the lock clicks with finality behind me. Poor Fenris remains outside.


    By the time I get to the window, he¡¯s already gone.


    "Who¡¯s hungry?" I ask, forcing brightness into my voice.


    Four nk faces stare back at me. No takers.


    "I can help you set up," Ron offers, breaking the silence.


    Sara stands too. "Me too."


    "Yeah, okay," Jer mumbles, already over his attitude. "What can I do?"


    Bun squeals and starts jumping on the daybed, her little bodyunching higher with each bounce. Just as she teeters dangerously close to the edge, Ron lunges forward and catches her.


    My heart jumps like an overcaffeinated rabbit. I cover with a deep breath, pushing down the panic that threatens to overwhelm me.


    We¡¯re safe. We¡¯re out. Caine will be back soon. Everything¡¯s fine. Bun¡¯s got all of us watching her, and no one followed us here.


    Everything. Is. Fine.


    But tell that to the creeping dread still following me around. Better than before, but still present.


    "Okay, team." I p my hands, finding strength I didn¡¯t know I had. "Sara, grab things off the bed in the back. Ask me if you aren¡¯t sure where something goes. Jer, can you unpack everyone¡¯s backpacks? Keep your clothes in your bags, but get all the food and other stuff out, and we¡¯ll find a ce for them. Ron, help me in the kitchen. There¡¯s a lot of stuff in the cabs we need to put back."


    I won¡¯t put <i>everything</i> out. Optional decor can stay packed, just in case we need to leave in a rush. But we need to at least make sure we¡¯refortable and can easily ess everything we need in the meantime.


    "Okay," all three of them chorus.


    Oh, wait. I still need to turn off the second AC unit.


    The thermostat is sleeker than I expect¡ªt, matte ck, with a soft-glow screen. It mentions zones¡ªone and two¡ªwhich is super helpful as someone who has no idea what she¡¯s doing. What¡¯s wrong with "living room" and "bedroom"? It would be a lot clearer.


    I poke at it until Zone 2 clicks off. The bedroom AC winds down with a mechanical sigh, and I check the sr panel with bated breath.


    Estimated run time: 11h 42m. Battery: 96%.


    Thank goodness.


    Though I¡¯m guessing the number will go down with the sun.

 Chapter 115: Grace: Hide and Seek, Peek-a-Boo

    <h4>Chapter 115: Grace: Hide and Seek, Peek-a-Boo</h4>


    I fish my phone from my pocket and shoot Lyre a quick text.


    <strong>[GRACE: Made it safe. Kids settled. Everything ok on your end?]</strong>


    The three dots never appear. Not even a "delivered" notification.


    Signal¡¯s probably garbage out here. Or she¡¯s napping. Could be dealing with her own crew of supernaturals with big personalities and bigger egos. Jack-Eye seems like he¡¯d either be helpful or a handful.


    Kind of like Jer, actually. Maybe they share initials for a reason.


    Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I squint at the sr panel disy again. The battery percentage has dipped slightly since Caine left, but we¡¯re still at a respectable 94%. Not bad for an hour of AC use. And the trailer¡¯s significantly cooler now.


    Behind me, Ron¡¯s taken over entertaining the kids. "Hey, Sara, wanna y a game with Bun?"


    "What kind of game?"


    "Hide-and-seek peek-a-boo, but with a twist. You shift into something small, and Bun has to find you. When she does, we all say peek-a-boo."


    A pause. "That¡¯s basically just regr hide and seek. And I can¡¯t say peek-a-boo in hedgie form."


    "So? She likes finding animals better than people, and she likes saying peek-a-boo. Come on, it¡¯ll keep her upied."


    "Pa-buu!"


    The camper jostles as they storm about, like we¡¯re a ship at sea. Sturdy¡ªLyre made it perfectly clear the movement is very normal¡ªbut probably strange to them.


    I¡¯m barely listening, focused on deciphering the sr disy, only to get distracted when my stomach grumbles. It¡¯ster in the day, and we¡¯ve only had breakfast.


    It isn¡¯t hard to make a giant te of baby carrots, sliced cubes of cheddar, apples, and even grapes. Putting it out on the counter? Even easier. Getting the kids to eat it...?


    Apparently, it¡¯s quite hard.


    "Snacks, guys!"


    Ron nces up from where he¡¯s crouched near the couch. "Thanks, Grace."


    Jer appears out of nowhere, his head at my elbow. "I¡¯m not hungry."


    Bun? Ignores me. It¡¯s mildly offensive. She was glued to me, but now she¡¯s trying to cram her head under the couch and oblivious to my existence.


    "That¡¯s fine. It¡¯s here if you want it." I scan the room. Something feels off, but I can¡¯t put my finger on what. Like I¡¯m forgetting something important.


    Jer hovers as I head back to the kitchte. "How does the water work in here?"


    Great question. I¡¯ve recently learned all about it, too. Okay, not all about it. But I do know there¡¯s a button for the water pump and now I know it¡¯s important to keep the "fresh water" tank filled.


    "There¡¯s a pump system," I answer, gesturing vaguely to the electric panel. "It¡¯s connected to a fresh water tank, and it supplies water to all the plumbing lines in the camp."


    "What about electricity? Is it all from the sun?"


    "Right now, yes. We have a generator, and that¡¯s why Caine¡¯s getting gas."


    "Why gas?"


    "It uses gas to... run." I¡¯m not super familiar with generators, either.


    "What happens if it rains for a week?"


    I blink. "I... don¡¯t actually know. We¡¯d probably use the generator more?" I wonder how much gas that would require.


    His eyes light up. "What if there was a zombie apocalypse? Would we still have power?"


    "As long as the sun rises, I guess." I lean against the counter, watching his mind work.


    "What if dinosaurs came back? Could we outrun them in this RV?"


    "Depends on the dinosaur," I reply, unable to hold back a smile.


    His questions are like pinballs, bouncing all over the ce. No idea where theye from¡ªor why¡ªbut I answer them all as best as I can.


    "Do you think the Lycan King could take on the King of Dinosaurs?"


    "You mean the chicken¡¯s great-grandpa?"


    His jaw drops, dark eyes wide with horror. Ron snorts in the background. "Chickens aren¡¯t dinosaurs!"


    "Actually, birds evolved from dinosaurs. So technically, T-Rex is rted to chickens."


    My lips quirk as he splutters, gangly arms waving in the air.


    "But the T-Rex is the King of Dinosaurs," he protests. "He would totally eat the Lycan King!"


    I shake my head. "T-Rex isn¡¯t the king. There¡¯s no dinosaur monarchy."


    "What¡¯s a monarchy?" He squints at me, looking more suspicious than curious. Like maybe I¡¯m lying to him.


    I¡¯m not¡ªobviously¡ªbut I <i>am</i> messing around with his head a little. It¡¯s more fun than I realized.


    "A monarchy is what a king rules over. Like Ennd. They have kings." I pause. "Well, a queen right now? Uh. No, maybe it¡¯s a king. Both?" I don¡¯t follow royalty, but I vaguely feel like maybe someone important over there died recently.


    "Then who¡¯s the dinosaur king?"


    "Nature doesn¡¯t work that way. But if you want my vote, I¡¯d pick velociraptors over T-Rex any day." I¡¯ve literally <i>never</i> thought about tiers of powerful dinosaurs before this very moment, so I just throw out one of the only other dinosaur names I can recall off hand.


    typus... no, they¡¯re not dinosaurs. What are the ones who¡ªright. Pterodactyls. The ones with wings.


    And there we go. The extent of my dinosaur knowledge. Chicken evolution and three whole dinosaur species.


    I recognize more than three, to be fair.


    "Like in Jurassic Park?" His eyes widen. "They were super smart."


    "Exactly." Probably the only reason I remember their existence, too.


    "But Caine¡¯s super big. His arms are even bigger than Owen¡¯s!"


    "True." I watch as he slides onto the bench seat, grabbing a baby carrot while still debating dinosaur royalty in his head. His serious expression over something so ridiculous makes my heart squeeze with unexpected tenderness.


    Something thuds against the camper, and there¡¯s a high-pitched shriek. It has a very distinct <i>outside</i> sound, not something the kids did.


    My heart high-jumps its way into my throat and my eyes immediately go to the door. It¡¯spletely still.


    Jer scoots closer. Ron straightens, instantly on alert as he looks at me. Only Bun continues crawling around the furniture, whispering "Pa-buu" to herself.


    For one wild moment, I wish Caine were here. Just his presence¡ªsolid, watchful, impossible to startle¡ªwould be enough to make this less terrifying.


    "What was that?" the younger boy whispers.


    I force air into my lungs. Fenris is under the camper. It¡¯s probably just him, shifting position or bumping against something.


    "It¡¯s okay," I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds. "Probably just Fenris. He¡¯s the ck wolf Caine left behind."


    Ron moves to the window, lifting the blind to peer outside. "The golden retriever is running away. Maybe Fenris scared her off. Dogs are terrified of wolves."


    "See? Nothing to worry about." I ster on a reassuring smile, feeling my pulse gradually slow.


    Jer picks up his carrot again, but his eyes keep darting to the window. "Do all Lycan Kings tame wolves?"


    "Um¡ªno. Fenris isn¡¯t a tame wolf. He¡¯s..." I grope for an exnation, but don¡¯t have one. I¡¯m not entirely certain how it work. "He¡¯s just Caine¡¯s partner."


    "Huh. I want a wolf pet, too."


    Grabbing a bottle of water, I guzzle it down like it¡¯s going to wash away the unease still crawling over my skin. The camper¡¯s quiet again. Bun and Ron continue to y together.


    Everything¡¯s normal.


    Sweet, even.


    Great, if you really think about it.


    But it feels like the calm before a storm. Something¡¯sing.


    Or my paranoia¡¯s just a permanent resident in my head.


    Something small and warm wraps around my leg and I nearly jump out of my skin. ncing down alerts me to Bun¡¯s enormous eyes. She¡¯s wrapped around my leg with a wide grin.


    Goddess. She scared the shit out of me.


    "Hey, baby." I scoop her up one-handed, and her little warms wrap around my neck. Peppering the top of her head with kisses, I murmur, "You scared me, kiddo."


    I nce around the camper, tallying heads absently. Jer at the table. Ron by the window. Bun in my arms. Wait.


    Where¡¯s Sara?


    My heart stutters. I scan the dte again, then the daybed, then peer behind the curtain to the queen bed in back. Nothing.


    "Ron," I call, trying to keep my voice level. "Where¡¯s Sara?"


    Ron turns from the window, giving me a look like I¡¯vepletely lost it. "She¡¯s under the couch."


    I stare at him nkly. "What?"


    As if on cue, a small, spiky ball emerges from beneath the sofa. Tiny ck eyes blink up at me from a pointed face.


    Bun shrieks in my arms, pointing excitedly. "PA-BUU!"


    The hedgehog rears up on its hind legs before rapidly morphing into Sara, who appears kneeling on the floor with a triumphant grin.


    "Aren¡¯t I the best hider?" she asks.


    My heart starts beating again, the relief making me dizzy. "Yes," I manage weakly. "You¡¯re the best, Sara."


    I set Bun down gently, my hands shaking slightly as the adrenaline ebbs. Vaguely, I recall something about hide-and-seek peek-a-boo. Now it makes sense.


    Mental note: I am so not cut out for watching shifter children.

 Chapter 116: Caine: Storm Rolls In

    <h4>Chapter 116: Caine: Storm Rolls In</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    The pump clicks off again¡ªthe third time in only a few seconds. I throw my head back and rub at my nape, feeling my teeth grind together.


    Patience.


    I am capable of patience.


    Even when dealing with a piece of shit, malfunctioning fuel pump.


    Fuel trickles into the second red jug at an agonizing pace, for the fourth try. The first jug filled fine. The second keeps stopping, as if the pump decided to malfunction midway through.


    Not my fault.


    It just... happened.


    Rolling my shoulders back, I squint at the sky. Not at the numbers inching upward. No point in feeding my annoyance, or this restless energy racing under my skin.


    A gust of wind whips across the station. The scent it carries is sharp and artificial, and my nose wrinkles as I sniff it in a little deeper. It¡¯s strange; I can¡¯t quite ce it, but it just doesn¡¯t smell like a normal weather pattern. And beneath it all, something kind of itchy and strange.


    Ten minutes ago, the sky was clear blue. It¡¯s being taken over by heavy, dense storm clouds.


    "Martha, you seein¡¯ this?" an old man calls to his wife from the next pump over. He¡¯s filling up a rust-bitten pickup that¡¯s seen at least three decades of hard use. His pump seems to be functioning just fine.


    Maybe I should wait in line at one of the other pumps. There are only three others, though. It¡¯s a small station, with prices bloated to match.


    "Were we supposed to get a storm in tonight?" he continues, stepping a few paces to the right and squinting through his wrinkles.


    The woman pokes her head out of the passenger window, shouting, "They never get it right anymore. Storms never came in like this when I was a girl."


    He¡¯s not far enough to warrant the increase in her volume. Either he¡¯s hard-of-hearing, or she is. Or both. They¡¯re certainly in the right age bracket for it. Their voices grate on my nerves.


    Contrary to popr belief, a wolf¡¯s sensitive hearing doesn¡¯t make shouting any more painful than it would be for a human... but I¡¯m on edge as it is, and hearing gravelly old voices chat about the weather isn¡¯t helping matters.


    The pump clicks off again. I bite back a snarl.


    "Goddamn technology," I mutter, squeezing the handle with enough force to warp the metal. Something is wrong with today. With the storm. With me.


    My chest feels tight, like the moments before a shift when my bones prepare to crack and reshape themselves. But this isn¡¯t a shift. This is something else¡ªa pressure building inside with nowhere to go.


    I take a deep breath. Release it slowly. It doesn¡¯t help.


    The second jug finally fills, and I cap it with more force than necessary. Every nerve in my body feels raw, exposed. The slightest sound¡ªa car door mming, the old man¡¯s crackling radio¡ªis like a grater taken to what¡¯s left of my dwindling supply of patience and manners.


    I still need water. Gasoline isn¡¯t the only reason I¡¯m here.


    Get this done, and then I can get back to Grace. And the kids.


    Inside the store, fluorescent lights buzz. Not a sound to normally capture my attention, it¡¯s somehow too loud to ignore this time.


    Two of Lyre¡¯s blue jugs in hand, I head for the bathroom. But the sink isughably small, barely enough to wash hands, and certainly not capable of filling these containers.


    I stare at it, calcting how many times I¡¯d need to fill a bottle and pour it in to make this work. Too many.


    There has to be an easier way.


    Back at the counter, an attendant with e-scarred cheeks and the distinct scent of marijuana clinging to his clothes watches me approach.


    Human male. Adolescent. Terrified enough to release a familiar, pungent scent.


    "I need to fill these with water, but your sink¡¯s too small in the bathroom." I ce the empty jugs on the counter. "Where can I fill them?"


    His pupils dte, and he shuffles his feet. "Um. The bathroom sink isn¡¯t for, like, that."


    Obviously.


    I lean forward and lower my voice, keeping it soft and steady. Don¡¯t want to spook the kid further. He might wet himself. "Then where would you suggest I get water?"


    "There¡¯s Trucker¡¯s Roost about a mile down the highway. They got a water station for RVs and stuff." His voice has gone up an octave, and his eyes keep darting everywhere but at me. The pungent scent of his fear should bother me, but instead it soothes the beast inside. Just a little.


    A low growl builds in my chest. The kid takes a jerky step back, and my metaphorical hackles lower.


    It¡¯s good to be feared.


    "Hey man, I don¡¯t want any trouble," he says, hands raised. His coworker, a girl with blue hair, reaches for the phone. "There¡¯s nothing I can do."


    "There¡¯s no trouble." Grabbing the jugs, I head out the door.


    Trucker¡¯s Roost. I think I saw a sign for it on our way up. There was, if I recall, a chicken on the billboard. Driving a semi.


    If Jack-Eye were here, he¡¯d have plenty to say about it.


    "Drugs are a real problem these days," I hear him mutter to his coworker as I push through the door.


    Outside, the first fat droplets of rain st against the asphalt. The air smells worse than before, almost electric and burning. The clouds have swallowed the sky now, turning afternoon to premature dusk.


    A giant white cat sits atop the ice machine, its blue eyes fixed on the darkening horizon. Its posture speaks of disdain, as if it¡¯s taking the weather as a personal offense. As I pass, it turns that steady gaze on me, assessing. Then, without hurry, it hops down and disappears beneath a parked car.


    Not afraid. Not even slightly concerned.


    A strange reaction for a cat.


    Bigger than a normal housecat, too. Then again, I¡¯m not around them much, so maybe my sense of normal is skewed. Cats hate wolves.


    I load the empty water jugs into the truck bed next to the fuel cans and climb into the cab. The moment I shut the door, it hits me¡ªher scent. Grace. Still clinging to the seatbelt, ghosting through the small space.


    Sweet blueberry muffins, with the hint of Grace beneath.


    I inhale sharply, unprepared for how instantly it calms the storm inside me.


    The realization strikes with ufortable rity: I¡¯ve been near her constantly, breathing her in. Her pillow, her clothes, her skin. Her presence has been regting me without me even realizing it.


    Without her here, my senses are raw, exposed. Unfiltered. Is this how I always felt before her? It seems impossible that I could have forgotten this constant, grinding agitation.


    I¡¯m going to need to steal her new pillow and keep it in the truck. Maybe switch it out daily.


    I reach for the mental link that connects me to my wolf.


    <i>How is she?</i>


    Fenris¡¯s irritation floods back immediately. <i>The dog keepsing back. I scared her off again.</i>


    I can feel his frustration at being left outside while I took the truck. He¡¯d rather be inside with Grace, standing guard properly instead of lurking beneath the camper.


    <i>No one suspicious?</i>


    <i>Only humans camping.</i>


    I nod, though he can¡¯t see it. His update should ease my tension, but it doesn¡¯t. The wrongness in the air is digging under my skin, setting every instinct on high alert.


    The rain¡¯s falling harder now.


    I¡¯ll stop at Trucker¡¯s Roost for water, then grab food¡ªburgers, chicken nuggets, fries. Something to appease the small monsters.


    As I pull out of the gas station, my gaze returns to the sky. Dark. Roiling. Moving too fast. My gut twists with certainty.


    Something¡¯s strange about this storm.

 Chapter 117: Caine: Interference

    <h4>Chapter 117: Caine: Interference</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    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 vors that fills the cab. I¡¯ve already wolfed down my own burger¡ªpun 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.


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


    <i>I already ordered you two. And that¡¯s all you get.</i>


    <i>Good enough.</i>


    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¡ªa 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¡ªpurpling 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¡ªnot 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.


    I¡¯m not, and my nerves remain steady as I pass several erratic drivers in the two minutes it takes to reach the freeway.


    My radio clicks on.


    I didn¡¯t touch it. The volume dial shows zero, but static hisses from the speakers. White noise rises and falls with no pattern. I jab the power button, but nothing changes.


    Wind hits the truck broadside, and the whole vehicle shudders, my back end skidding slightly to the right. Rain patters harder, fat drops exploding on the windshield.


    "What the hell," I mutter, easing pressure off the as pedal. My wipers are already on high, but they¡¯re streaking now instead of clearing my windshield.


    The rain¡¯s too... heavy. Thick.


    My headlights flicker on with a click, then off. Then on again. I didn¡¯t touch those either.


    The fuel gauge jumps from full to empty and back. The temperature gauge spins in aplete circle, and the clock scrambles like it¡¯s trying to solve a code.


    By now, I¡¯ve slowed down to a pathetic twenty miles per hour.


    The engine hups, a hard jolt that sends the truck lurching forward, then again. A metallic whine cuts through the static from the radio¡ªhigh-pitched, like steel being bent just past its tolerance. I grip the wheel tighter.


    <i>Now</i> myposure is starting to fail.


    Up ahead, cars have already pulled to the shoulder. Hazard lights blink in erratic patterns, out of sync with each other. None of the steady, even rhythm they should have. It¡¯s pouring now, sheets of water hammering the truck. Wind rocks us, and I have to fight to keep us centered in thene.


    My ears pop with sudden pressure, and the truck stutters hard¡ªa violent, shuddering convulsion.


    "Fuck!" I yank the wheel right, guiding us onto the shoulder as the engine cuts outpletely. The truck rolls to a stop, momentum bleeding away.


    I turn the key.


    <i>Click. Click.</i>


    Nothing.


    It¡¯s dead.


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


    The rain switches from steady downpour to full assault, like someone flipped a cosmic tap to maximum. It hammers the roof so hard I can barely hear myself think.


    Some of the humans dash back into their cars.


    I reach for Fenris.


    <i>What¡¯s happening there?</i>


    His growl rumbles through my mind. <i>The she-dog keeps pacing near the camper. I¡¯ve chased her off four times.</i>


    <i>Not that. Grace and the kids¡ªare they okay?</i>


    <i>They¡¯re inside. Safe.</i> A pause. <i>For now.</i>


    That doesn¡¯t sound reassuring.


    <i>You sense anything unusual?</i> I press, trying to see through his eyes. Our connection wavers.


    <i>The air feels wrong. Makes my hackles rise.</i> His mental voice is terse, irritated. <i>Something smells... off. Not natural.</i>


    My jaw clenches. <i>Should I shift and run back?</i> I could make it faster on four legs than waiting for whatever this is to pass.


    <i>If something happens, I¡¯ll tell you.</i> His annoyance crackles between us. <i>Stop backseat guarding.</i>


    I break the connection, reluctantly epting his assessment. Fenris doesn¡¯t miss threats. If he says they¡¯re safe for now, they are. The storm doesn¡¯t seem to have made it to them yet, which means it¡¯s moving slow.


    Condensation fogs the windows. I wipe a clear patch on the windshield with my sleeve, peering into the darkening sky. The clouds have formed what looks like a funnel, but it¡¯s not spinning. It¡¯s... pulsing. Expanding and contracting like a heart. Never seen anything like it.


    My mind races. What if this storm¡ªwhatever this is¡ªhits the campground next? What if it¡¯s not natural? Grace and the kids are in a metal box on wheels with no way to move it. If this is some kind of electrical storm, they¡¯re sitting targets.


    But if I run now, I leave behind the water, the food, the fuel. Things they need. I¡¯d arrive sooner, but empty-handed. And if this is magical in nature, I¡¯d be racing into it blind.


    My ws extend, digging into the steering wheel. The wrongness in the air presses against my skin from all sides. The wolf in me paces, instincts wing at the inside of my skull, demanding action. Run. Fight. Protect. But there¡¯s nothing to fight, nowhere productive to run.


    A low growl builds in my throat. I tell myself it¡¯s just a storm. A weird atmospheric event. Electrical interference.


    But deep down, beneath the logical exnations and practical concerns, I know.


    It¡¯s not.


    I try the engine again.

 Chapter 118: Lyre: Maybe I Need to Blow Him

    <h4>Chapter 118: Lyre: Maybe I Need to Blow Him</h4>


    <strong>LYRE</strong>


    I¡¯m slouched in the only chair in this depressing motel room that doesn¡¯t look ready to copse, scrolling through my Divinity App while Jack-Eye makes significantly more noise in the shower than any one person should. The constant drumming of water hitting tile makes a surprisingly tolerable white noise¡ªnot that I¡¯d ever admit it. There¡¯s something satisfying about the rhythmic sound of someone else cleaning off the day¡¯s grime that doesn¡¯t involve me lifting a finger.


    I have another direct message. Third one today. People are far too interested in what I¡¯m doing, which means every step I take is going to be analyzed for Bnce, damn it.


    <strong>[CHAOS: Feels like the old times, doesn¡¯t it, Witchlet?]</strong>


    I snort. He¡¯s been unusually talkativetely, which never bodes well. When Chaos gets chatty, worlds tend to crumble. Or at least have very bad days.


    My thumb pauses over a new notification, pulsing red at the top of my screen.


    <strong>[PLAUSIBILITY WARNING: EXCESSIVE INTERFERENCE IN REGION 23-BETA. FINAL STRIKE.]</strong>


    Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake. Not this again.


    Excessive interference detected in Region 23-BETA. Current maniptions have exceeded usibility Threshold by 417%.


    Timeline strain now approaching rupture tolerance.


    You are hereby issued a <strong>FINAL WARNING</strong> for deviation from ordained narrative progression.


    Further unsanctioned alterations may trigger <i>Purge Protocol: Soft Reset</i>.


    ¡ªDivinity Connect Oversight Engine, Axis Protocols Enforcement Division


    "Yes, yes, I know," I mutter, thumbing the warning closed with more force than necessary. "Bnce can suck my¡ª"


    I stop, staring at the ceiling.


    If I¡¯d known we¡¯d be racing against divine bureaucracy, I would¡¯ve handled this differently, made sure I was alone. I could track down our target myself and be done with this in hours, and the hit probably would have been less without witnesses.


    But now, if I do as I want, I¡¯ll trigger divine consequences.


    And if something biggeres...


    Worse, if they¡¯re serious about triggering the Purge Protocol? The thought alone makes my skin crawl. Memory resets, localized timeline alterations... Grace might wake up with no idea how she got into a camper with a man she considered a murderer just days before.


    Humans don¡¯t handle paradox well.


    But right now, we¡¯re stuck with Thom¡ªa magical container with all the power of a dying shlight. He¡¯s barely at five percent of his capacity, and ambient charging of his arcana channels is painfully slow.


    The water stops. The sudden silence is jarring.


    I stare at my phone, my upper lip curled in frustration. The kiss I nted on Thom earlier gave us three hours of decent tracking before he fizzled again. Energy transfer through physical contact is efficient, but limited by intensity and duration.


    "Maybe I need to blow him."


    "Wh¡ªwhat?"


    I don¡¯t bother looking up at the sound of Jack-Eye¡¯s voice. Guess he¡¯s done showering. "The wizard. He¡¯s down to fumes, and I need more from him. I¡¯d rather not lose him from a magical bacsh, so I have to meter it out. But hand-holding and forehead kisses are only doing so much. I need to transfer more, more efficiently."


    The silence stretches long enough that I finally nce up.


    Jack-Eye is frozen mid-stride, water dripping from his hair down his chest, a motel towel hanging so low on his hips it¡¯s practically performing a disappearing act. His muscles are tensed like he¡¯s waiting for someone to take a photo.


    "The kiss wasn¡¯t enough, huh?" he finally mumbles, his lips twisting like he tasted something sour.


    I blink twice. "Why are you naked?"


    His mouth opens, closes, then opens again. "I, uh... forgot my clothes on the bed."


    My eyes follow his vague gesture to the nearest mattress¡ªthe one I¡¯ve already imed, my bag sitting at its foot.


    "That¡¯s my bed."


    "No¡ªI meant the other one. The one that¡¯s not yours. Obviously."


    I stare at him,pletely unmoved. This is the feared Lycan Beta? Seven centuries of watching men fumble through excuses, and they never get any better at it. I return my attention to the screen. "Then dry off. You¡¯re dripping everywhere."


    But he doesn¡¯t move. Instead, he does something so predictable I almostugh: he positions himself closer, one hand gripping the back of my chair as he leans down slightly. Water drips from his hair onto the screen of my phone.


    "You know, Lyre... if <i>you</i> have needs, you don¡¯t have to use the wizard."


    His bodynguage is dominating alpha, but his tone is hesitant virgin teen.


    I tilt my head, examining him like an archaeologist who¡¯s just unearthed a particrly confusing artifact. "And who else here can process arcana, Beta Aaron Xhekaj <i>of the Lycan Pack</i>? Can you?"


    His lips part, a breath caught between them, then close again without sound.


    "Thought so," I say, turning back to my phone.


    He retreats to his bed, rustling through his bag with unnecessary force. The silence has teeth now, sharp little incisors digging into the space between us. I hear the zip of jeans, the soft cotton sound of a shirt being pulled over his head.


    Even without looking, I can tell he¡¯s pouting.


    "Are you really going to... do that?" His voice is gruff, all hard edges and sulking.


    I don¡¯t look up. "Do what?"


    "You¡¯re really gonna suck off the wizard?"


    The corner of my mouth quirks up despite myself. There¡¯s something almost charming about his juvenile difort. Almost.


    "Are you worried it¡¯ll affect team morale, Lycan Beta Xhekaj?"


    Jack-Eye doesn¡¯t answer, just makes a low sound in his throat that might be a growl. Or indigestion.


    I slide my gaze over to him, now fully dressed in a ck t-shirt and jeans that have seen better decades. What exactly is his problem? Wolves are famously horny creatures, their blood running as hot as their tempers.


    Humans might not realize it¡ªthey¡¯re often starry-eyed over the idea of mates, especially fated ones, and tend toward the romantic when ites to a wolf¡¯s amorous life¡ªbut the reality is they¡¯d often fuck a tree if it flirted back. But he¡¯s acting like a teenager whose crush just announced she¡¯s taking someone else to prom.


    It would be amusing if it weren¡¯t so inconvenient. He¡¯s far too old to be acting like this¡ªlooking at me like I¡¯vemitted some personal betrayal by even suggesting getting Thom into a state where he could actually help us.


    "I didn¡¯t expect this attitude from you, of all people," I murmur, turning my attention back to my phone.


    "What do you mean by that?"

 Chapter 119: Jack-Eye: What’s in a Name?

    <h4>Chapter 119: Jack-Eye: What¡¯s in a Name?</h4>


    <strong>JACK-EYE</strong>


    "I didn¡¯t expect this attitude from you, of all people," she murmurs, turning her attention back to her phone.


    Her words are another hit to my already bruised ego. I blink, then blink again, my mouth opening before promptly snapping shut. It feels like a habit around this woman.


    My usualebacks have abandoned me. Something hot crawls up my spine and settles in my chest, sharp and leaden all at once.


    "What do you mean by that?" I ask, a little too sharply. Defensively.


    The image of her with another man¡ªher mouth, her lips, doing the things I¡¯ve spent a <i>lot</i> of time imagining¡ªms into me with a possessive intensity I don¡¯t know how to manage. It¡¯s not like I haven¡¯t watched her touch him. But this? Her going down on the wizard? That¡¯s something else.


    I might have to kill the guy. Wring his scrawny little neck. Maybe stomp on his dick for good measure.


    "Beta Aaron Xhekaj of the Lycan Pack."


    My name on her lips should not make my cock twitch. But it does. And I hate it. She hadn¡¯t looked like she was even paying attention when I told her my name. She remembers. She keeps using it. It¡¯s destroying something vital in my brain. No big deal. Just rational thought. And logic. And impulse control.


    Poof.


    Gone.


    Vaporized because the way she says <i>Xhekaj</i> makes me want to fuck three or four kids out of her. At least.


    "You have a reputation," she adds, scrolling idly. "I thought you¡¯d be thest person bothered by what I have to do."


    I know what she¡¯s saying. She¡¯s not wrong.


    Fuck, I did hook up with a she-wolf the other day just to keep her distracted from Caine. That¡¯s not exactly a noble deed, now is it? And how is it different from what Lyre¡¯s saying now?


    I rub a hand down my face, jaw clenched. Guilt crawls through me.


    Like an army of centipedes.


    Creepy, crawly, ufortable. Something I want to stomp out of existence.


    "This is different," I mutter.


    "Is it?" she asks, ncing up. "Or are you just not used to being on this end of the equation?"


    "There¡¯s no equation." It¡¯s a lie, and we both damn well know it.


    That¡¯s the problem.


    She <i>knows</i>.


    She sees straight through me. ys me with a single line.


    I don¡¯t know how she does it, but she freaking knows, damn it.


    There¡¯s no way she¡¯s saying this out of nowhere. She¡¯s not guessing. She¡¯s not ying a game. Lyre has no need to do any of it. She just... already knows about me. Probably knows the name of every woman I¡¯ve ever fucked.


    Even I don¡¯t know them all.


    The silence drags out. I can¡¯t answer her without admitting she¡¯s right, but I don¡¯t want to admit to my own past.


    "Whatever, Jack-Eye. It¡¯s just energy transfer. I¡¯m not proposing to him."


    Jack-Eye. Not Aaron. Right. Demoted. Stripped of first-name privilege. Casualty of a tactical blowjob.


    Yep. I¡¯m gonna have to kill Thom.


    She tosses her phone onto the cheap motel table. It skids across the scratchedminate with a stic tter. Then she stretches her arms over her head, her shirt riding up just enough to reveal a pale strip of skin. I catch sight of a thin, intricate line of symbols etched there, disappearing beneath the hem.


    My mouth goes dry. I nce away toote.


    I want to lick them all.


    "Guess I¡¯ll have to blow him after all," she sighs, rolling her neck. "Hopefully it won¡¯t take too long."


    My jaw tightens until I feel something crack.


    She starts massaging her jaw absentmindedly, rubbing at the hinge like she¡¯s prepping for it. My eye twitches. My cock aches.


    Traitorous.


    Hopeful.


    Is it hot in here? It¡¯s hot in here.


    "You¡¯re staring, Beta," she says, not even bothering to look at me.


    I cross the room in three strides and nt my hands on the arms of her chair, boxing her in. Her scent hits me like a damn freight train, wild and sharp and divine. I lean in until I¡¯m close enough to count hershes.


    "You can only do it if I¡¯m in the room," I growl.


    She doesn¡¯t flinch. Doesn¡¯t blink. Just lets a slow, serpentine smile unfurl. "Didn¡¯t realize you were into that sort of thing."


    That smirk. It breaks something.


    I snap.


    My mouth crashes into hers. It¡¯s a messy, hungry thing of a kiss¡ªreckless and aching. My fingers slide into her hair, dragging her closer, angling her up to meet me.


    And she lets me. Her lips part under mine, warm and soft. But there¡¯s no hunger. No spark. No heat behind thepliance.


    She¡¯s just letting it happen.


    And that should ruin it¡ªbut it doesn¡¯t. Because I¡¯m drowning. Her scent, her taste, the closeness I¡¯ve been craving like air¡ªI¡¯m spiraling.


    She exhales into my mouth, and something in me jolts. It¡¯s like she¡¯s breathing life directly into my soul.


    Mine, damn it. She¡¯s mine.


    I want her.


    Want to mark her. im her. Chase her down and ruin every trace of scent that doesn¡¯t belong to me.


    I want her pressed against the floor. The bed. The wall. Until her body sings only for me.


    My ws prickle beneath my skin. I¡¯m shaking. From the tension. From the restraint. From the desperate, visceral urge to pull her onto myp and make her forget the wizard exists.


    But I don¡¯t.


    When I finally pull back, my chest is heaving, my heart thundering in my ears.


    She stares up at me, serene as a goddess.


    Unruffled. Unimpressed.


    Aside from how my hands have ruined her hair, there isn¡¯t even a flush of color in her cheeks. Her eyes are clear. Her lips are pink and wet, but her expression is clinical.


    "Do you want to see how a kiss should really feel?" she asks calmly.


    My cock lurches again.


    I should say yes.


    I should say no.


    But mostly, I want to die.

 Chapter 120: Jack-Eye: Ruined

    <h4>Chapter 120: Jack-Eye: Ruined</h4>


    <strong>JACK-EYE</strong>


    Lyre¡¯s fingertips touch my jaw. Cold as winter but intent like summer heat. Her other hand presses against my chest, not pushing hard but with enough pressure to make me straighten.


    She stands, one fluid motion that has me backing up instinctively. One step forward from her, one step back from me. A dance I¡¯m suddenly not leading. My spine hits the wall before I realize she¡¯s maneuvered me across the entire room.


    "Rules," she says, voice low and matter-of-fact. "You can¡¯t touch me. Can¡¯t move. No begging." Her cat-like eyes hold mine, unblinking. "No calling my name. No calling for the Goddess. No prayers."


    I snort. Is she serious? I¡¯ve had my share of wild nights, but she¡¯s acting like this kiss might break me.


    "Can you follow those rules, Aaron?"


    "I think I can handle a kiss without calling for divine intervention." My words sound confident. My dick? Not quite as sure.


    It¡¯s already painfully hard.


    The corner of her mouth quirks up, and her tongue darts out to wet her lips. Just a sh of pink against her smirking mouth. My cock throbs in response, sudden and painful.


    Fuck.


    I swallow hard.


    She leans in, and her mouth touches mine. It¡¯s gentle. Controlled. Intentional. Nothing like the desperate crash of our lips from moments ago.


    That¡¯s it? I almostugh. This is what she¡ª


    Heat.


    It doesn¡¯t start at my lips. It¡¯s everywhere at once, sinking beneath my skin like liquid fire, wrapping around every blood vessel, every muscle, every tendon. My entire body tingles like she¡¯s somehow touching all of me at once.


    Thenes the ice¡ªtiny flickers of cold dancing between the waves of heat. Like she¡¯s ying my nerves, strumming me like an instrument.


    Her fingertips are still on my chest. Her mouth is still barely touching mine. It¡¯s the only physical contact between us, but my body feels like it¡¯s being caressed everywhere.


    My spine arches slightly against the wall, a puppet pulled by pleasure¡¯s strings.


    My wolf stirs, aroused beyond reason. His deep growls echo what I¡¯m already thinking.


    im her.


    Mark her.


    Keep her.


    My hands twitch at my sides, desperate to pull her against me. The moment they move, she pulls back.


    The pleasure stops so abruptly I almost whimper.


    <i>Almost</i>.


    I have pride, you know.


    It might... not be very apparent, but it¡¯s there, somewhere behind my straining, aching, begging cock.


    "No," she says, eyes heavy-lidded as she meets my gaze.


    Just the one word. Nothing more.


    I drop my hands back, fingers opening and closing in tight fists, trying to ground myself before I lose my mindpletely.


    She runs her tongue over my lips, a slow, deliberate tease. Her hand slides up my chest, around my neck, tiny touches that leave fire in their wake.


    Then she grabs at the back of my neck and yanks me down.


    My heart jumps. My cock follows suit, eager for more sweet agony.


    Something electric moves through me from her touch¡ªher energy seeping into my chest, into my bones. It¡¯s not enough. I need more of it, more of her, and her goddamned soft, breathy touches are driving me insane.


    If she wants to dominate, she should do it. Not... whatever this horrible undoing is.


    She breathes against my mouth, nuzzling my lips with soft, sensual kisses. Her tongue flicks against the seam of my lips, promising but never delivering. I need to take control. Need to deepen this. Need to devour her.


    But I can¡¯t move. Her rules. I force my hands to stay at my sides, my entire body trembling with the effort not to say fuck it all and just take what I want.


    I realize with distant shock that I¡¯m breathing in perfect rhythm with her. She¡¯s pacing me, controlling even the air in my lungs.


    My hips buck once, instinctively seeking friction. She breaks the contact with my mouth.


    Nothing touches.


    And nothing¡¯s satisfied.


    I force my hips intocency. No thrusting against her like a rutting beast. Got it. Message received.


    She exhales softly, directly into my mouth. I suck it in like it¡¯s oxygen in space.


    A moan escapes me before I can stop it. Pathetic. Needy.


    Shut up. Men don¡¯t moan like that. We¡¯re strong and capable and don¡¯t melt just off a woman¡¯s exhale.


    But I did.


    She¡¯s barely touched me, hardly kissed me, and I¡¯m already falling apart.


    My wolf keeps wing at my insides, frantic and feral. I can barely hold him back. His need for her mingles with mine until I can¡¯t tell where the animal ends and the man begins.


    My scent¡¯s spiked, sharp and musky, probably filling the room. I can barely smell her beneath the dominance rolling off me, and yet my scent lies.


    It ims domination, but I¡¯m already at her feet.


    I want to im her. Mark her. Not just her body, but her entire existence. Bind her to me so deeply that neither of us could ever be free.


    Yet I¡¯m also willing to beg and prostrate myself for even a whisper of a kiss. Sell my soul for a little more.


    My cock pulses again, straining painfully against my jeans.


    I¡¯m trembling now. Actually fucking trembling, like some virgin getting his first taste of a woman. My thighs are tight, stomach clenched, every muscle wound to breaking.


    Lyre did this.


    And yet she¡¯s done almost nothing.


    My mouth aches for more, still open, waiting for her next breath, her next taste. I¡¯ve be a vessel for whatever she¡¯ll give me.


    Her tongue flicks against the roof of my mouth and holy shit¡ªI see stars. Actual stars explode behind my eyelids.


    She slides deeper, and I suck greedily at her tongue. It sweeps through my mouth in long,nguid movements, teasing and retreating. Her taste is stronger than before¡ªsweet, addictive, otherworldly.


    I almost break. My hands lift slightly before I force them back, fingers wing at empty air. My cock throbs so hard it hurts, skin too tight, body too small to contain what¡¯s happening.


    It feels like she¡¯s touching me everywhere¡ªhands on my cock, mouth sucking me, fingers inside me¡ªbut it¡¯s just her lips on mine, her hand on my neck.


    And my wolf¡ªhe feels it too, like some bond between us is being stroked and teased. Like we¡¯re building toward something that¡¯ll shatter us both.


    Then she pulls back. Not far. Still close enough for her breath to hit my lips. The sweet nectar of oxygen, even if it¡¯s actually carbon dioxide.


    My eyes can¡¯t focus. I don¡¯t know my own name. The day of the week. The fucking century.


    But her energy doesn¡¯t leave. It stays, buzzing under my skin, vibrating through every cell. I¡¯m still being kissed even though her lips are gone.


    I¡¯m so close to the edge I could cry. My balls ache like they¡¯ve been slowly roasted over open me. One touch and I¡¯d explode, if she¡¯d just... be kind enough to touch me.


    She isn¡¯t.


    Instead, Lyre studies me like I¡¯m her littleb specimen, head tilted slightly, eyes clinical. At least this time there¡¯s a little color in her cheeks, a little droop in her eyelids.


    "That was your warm-up," she says.


    I can¡¯t answer. Don¡¯t have words. My hands shake uncontrobly. My throat is too dry to swallow.


    I want to punch through the wall. Want to throw her onto the bed and fuck her until we break it. Want to fall to my knees and pray for mercy.


    Ah. Now I see why she said no prayers.


    She steps back, straightens her shirt with casual indifference, and walks toward the door like absolutely nothing happened.


    "You have all that power under your skin, and you never even bring it out to y," she says, ncing over her shoulder. She looks like some sort of sexy pinup model, and I want to destroy her perfect appearance. But I¡¯m still processing all the feelings she¡¯s left me with. "Don¡¯t worry. You can¡¯t hurt me. But maybe if you learn how to use it, you can make me scream."


    Ruined. She¡¯s ruined me.


    I¡¯m fucking doomed.


    There¡¯s no way I can ever kiss another woman. Or even think about fucking anyone other than Lyre.


    The door clicks shut behind her.


    My wolf snarls, low and possessive in my mind. <i>im her.</i>


    There¡¯s a hidden <i>or else</i> in his words, like he might actually go dormant and turn me into little better than an omega if I don¡¯t seed.


    I stay pressed against the wall, legs embarrassingly weak, breathing ragged. My heartbeat refuses to slow.


    This thing between us? This game? I¡¯m going to win, damn it. No matter what it takes.


    Of course, I say that, but I can still feel her on my skin...

 Chapter 121: Lyre: Every Girl Needs a Toy

    <h4>Chapter 121: Lyre: Every Girl Needs a Toy</h4>


    <strong>LYRE</strong>


    Aaron tastes so much better than I thought he would.


    Enough for a tiny little pulse of heat to thud between my legs.


    Maybe a smidgen more than tiny.


    Okay, yes, I¡¯m wet. But I¡¯m not going to tell him that. Men don¡¯t need their egos stroked; they grow without water or care. I¡¯m here to prune it. Shape it into what I need.


    Every girl needs a toy, and this man seems exceptionally willing. Always a plus.


    Generally, I have a rule against mixing with wolves, but... well.


    I saunter out of the room, humming under my breath. There¡¯s something satisfyingly twisted about the Eurythmics in this moment. I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯ve left Jack-Eye¡ªsorry, Aaron¡ªready to w through walls. I¡¯d apologize if I felt even remotely bad about it.


    I don¡¯t, though.


    He started it.


    I¡¯m just... ending it.


    Or maybe beginning something new.


    The wizard and the others are several doors down. A mild annoyance, as it means I can¡¯t monitor the wizard¡¯s arcana levels very well, but since I have a new n... it won¡¯t matter very much.


    He¡¯ll be topped off after the transference. Granted, he¡¯ll need at least six hours to recover from the sudden influx. Arcane fever tends to hit these new generations of witches hard, since they¡¯re not used to pure arcana. The type of energy they pull is muddy and inefficient.


    If you see arcana as water in the air, I pull out ny-nine percent of what¡¯s there.


    Thom? Pulls about five percent, and it¡¯s dirty. It isn¡¯t that he¡¯s exceptionally bad. It¡¯s standard for the new generation.


    I knock on the boys¡¯ room with three sharp raps. Entertainment awaits.


    The door opens, and oh¡ªwell, hello there. Owen stands shirtless, his chest broad and well-defined, as expected for an angelic descendant. Water droplets cling to his corbone. Must have just gotten out of the shower.


    His silver-gray eyes re wide when he catches my scent. He physically recoils, stepping back with genuine fear in his expression.


    Delicious. He¡¯s gotten used to having me around. Spend a little time away, and now he¡¯s scared again.


    "What do you want?" he asks, not making eye contact.


    "Rx, angel boy. Not here for you."


    The room behind him is dim. The werewolf kid is stretched out on one of the beds, face turned to the wall, body too rigid to be truly asleep. I can hear the shower running in the bathroom. Process of elimination tells me it¡¯s where our jumpy little wizard must be.


    I slip past Owen, who ttens himself against the wall rather than risk touching me. My current high makes his reaction even more amusing. Nothing like a little fear and lust cocktail to make a girl feel powerful.


    Without bothering to knock, I push open the bathroom door. Steam billows out. "Hey, wizard. You decent?"


    Thom¡¯s head pops out from behind the shower curtain, wet hair stered to his forehead. Without his sses, he¡¯s squinting. He holds the curtain against his chest like a pearl-clutching Victorian maiden.


    "Uh¡ªLyre? Is that you?"


    No shit. Who else would it be?


    "Finish up ande to my room when you¡¯re done," I tell him. "Be quick. I¡¯m not waiting forever."


    His expression flickers between confusion and hope.


    At least he¡¯ll be clean. Shame about the rest of him.


    I close the door, turning back to find Owen ring at me, arms crossed over his chest.


    "You know, that protective stick up your ass might loosen if you tried having a good time once a century," I tell him, waggling my fingers as I pass. He doesn¡¯t flinch this time. Mildly disappointing.


    I briefly consider turning him into a toad. Just for a few seconds. Just to refresh his delicious fear response. But it would be cruel, even for me. Besides, I¡¯m feeling uncharacteristically good-natured tonight.


    Huh. Weird.


    When I re-enter my room, Aaron¡¯s still exactly where I left him, back against the wall. His chest rises and falls in sharp movements. Fists clenched. Eyes wild. Erection visible through his jeans.


    "Was it really that earth-shattering?" I ask with feigned innocence. Of course it was. He¡¯s never had an arcana-infused kiss before.


    It¡¯s the best aphrodisiac. All-natural, too.


    His teeth clench so hard I¡¯m surprised they don¡¯t crack, and he speaks through them with slow, painful words. "Whatever you did hasn¡¯t left. It still feels like you¡¯re blowing me."


    I frown.


    Did I really...?


    I look closer, past the physical and into the arcane. Sure enough, tendrils of my magic still wrap around him like hungry little sex fingers. Several threads coil around his cock, pulsing with my particr resonance.


    Oops.


    Rookie mistake. One I certainly shouldn¡¯t be making at my age and level of mastery. Must have been distracted.


    Actually¡ªwait. I¡¯m impressed. The touch of arcana is hundreds of times more potent than physical stimtion. Having it stroke you endlessly without release would be torture. Yet here he is, still holding on, jaw clenched, enduring it. Most men would have copsed in a puddle within a minute.


    "Hmm. You haven¡¯te yet. That¡¯s promising," I murmur, stepping closer.


    He grunts.


    I trail my fingers across his hip, dancing along the waistband of his jeans,ing close to¡ªbut never quite touching¡ªwhere he wants me most.


    "Do you still have to be in the room when I¡ª" I ask sweetly.


    "Yes." The word explodes from his gritted teeth.


    His hips jerk forward, and suddenly his hands are on me¡ªgrabbing my waist, spinning me around, mming my back against the wall. Control snapped. Patience gone.


    He kisses me like he¡¯s drowning and I¡¯m air¡ªdesperate, sloppy, hard. There¡¯s no artifice here, no calction. Just raw, unfiltered need.


    I like this. This is a man whose restraint has fractured.


    Not one who¡¯s thrown it away.


    It¡¯s very different.


    I kiss him back, tangling my fingers in his hair. He¡¯s rutting against me like a wild wolf, and it¡¯s more pleasant than I thought it would be.


    Especially when he slides his hands down to my ass and lifts me up. I wrap my legs around his waist as he rocks and shoves against me, his denim-d cock a sweet tease of pressure against my clit.


    My nails rake his scalp, and I jerk his head back, baring his throat. I sink my teeth into the tanned skin where his neck meets his shoulder.


    "Stop," I whisper against his skin, even as I bite again. "Thom will be here soon."


    Aaron groans, his breath hot against my ear. "Do you have to bring him up right now?"


    "Yes," I murmur. His skin is salty, but I like it. "Because Thom¡¯s not the one who¡¯s supposed to be watching. Remember?"


    A knock on the door interrupts us. Aaron groans again, his fingers spasming against my ass as he stops thrusting his hips against me.


    Sliding my legs down until my feet meet the floor. He squeezes one more time before ttening both hands against the wall, breathing hard.


    I straighten my clothes, feeling his gaze track my every movement as I smooth down my shirt and fix my hair. There¡¯s something darkly amusing about how thoroughly I¡¯ve disarmed him.


    "There¡¯s another dick you can wrap your mouth around," he grits out.


    I smirk. "Careful, or I¡¯ll leave you knotted like a balloon."


    He sighs, and I duck away from his body heat, stepping toward the door. My hand hovers on the doorknob as I nce over my shoulder.


    He¡¯s staring at me, nostrils ring.


    "Can you smell it?" I ask, with a slow smile.


    He gives me one tight little nod.


    Of course he can. Wolves have such good noses. And I¡¯m not even attempting to hide the signs of my arousal.


    "Be a good boy and wait and watch. If you don¡¯te by the time I send the wizard away¡ª"


    Another knock at the door cuts me off.


    I smooth my expression into a pleasant smile and pull the door open. Thom blinks up at me like a lost puppy, towel clutched in his hand, sses still foggy.


    Aaron stands with his back to the wall again, his eyes dark as midnight as he stares.


    "Come in," I tell the wizard, with a bright smile.

 Chapter 122: Grace: Monster in Her Skin

    <h4>Chapter 122: Grace: Monster in Her Skin</h4>


    The sky goes dark so fast I think I¡¯m imagining it. One second, the kids are shrieking over hide-and-seek. The next¡ªit¡¯s like the sun gets yanked right out of the sky. Clouds roll in thick and gray, swallowing up the blue like it never existed.


    Sara¡¯s nose is pressed to the RV window, her breath fogging the ss. "What¡¯s happening?"


    She hasn¡¯t moved since the thunder started.


    Caine would probably be upset the blinds are open, but Fenris would know if someone¡¯s out there watching us. It should be okay.


    Jer bounces between couch cushions. "Maybe aliens. Maybe the apocalypse. Maybe the dinosaurs are reincarnating¡ª"


    "Maybe it¡¯s just a storm, Jer," Ron cuts in. He definitely has less patience for the younger boy than he does Sara or Bun, probably because Jer never stops talking.


    Every time I touch something, I get shocked. Static electricity is strong in the air, but none of the kids mention it. Maybe it¡¯s just me.


    Something about this storm feels... off, though. Wrong. Not like normal rain.


    The older girl turns toward me, eyes wide as she asks, "Is it gonna lightning? I want to see lightning."


    "Probably." I check the sr disy, already worried. With the sun in hiding, it means the panels aren¡¯t getting anything in, right?


    The disy flickers. Numbers drop. Then they spike. The overhead lights flicker and the air conditioner stops abruptly.


    A secondter, the lights are back, and so is our air.


    "Oh, no. Is our power going to go out?" Jer asks, craning his neck to stare at the light above him like it¡¯s going to give him answers.


    "It shouldn¡¯t... We have batteries, too." But everything flicked out for a second when it shouldn¡¯t, which doesn¡¯t really make me confident in my answer. The microwave clock reads 12:00, blinking obnoxiously to let me know it reset.


    Rain hits the camper¡ªnot in drops, but in sheets, a solid wall of water mming against the fiberss encasing the camper.


    The entire trailer shudders, before settling into a new rhythm of noise.


    Sara squeals with delight, once again glued to the window. "I love rain! I love it so much. I hope it lightnings more!"


    "Maybe we shouldn¡¯t stand near the windows during a¡ª" My warning dies as lightning forks across the sky, illuminating Sara¡¯s face.


    "Look!" she shrieks, bouncing on her toes on the couch even as her nose stays pressed against the ss. "It was a big one!"


    Thunder reverberates, as if to agree.


    Within seconds, we¡¯re all crowded around the windows¡ªeven Ron, though he pretends it¡¯s just to keep the little ones in check. Jer holds Bun reluctantly, her tiny fists gripping his shirt as she stares wide-eyed at the deluge.


    "You know," I say, forcing lightness into my voice, "this is perfect weather for a movie. I¡¯ve got snacks all set out¡ª"


    "Rabbit food," Jer mumbles.


    Yeah, healthy food doesn¡¯t have the same appeal as chips and popcorn.


    And there¡¯s the whole sr issue. If I run the TV and a movie, with the sun not out...


    Lightning and thundere with rming frequency. Sara flinches at one particrly loud boom. It shakes the entire camper.


    "Ho-lee!" Jer yells. "That was a big one!"


    Bun cries.


    "That wasn¡¯t even that loud," the older girl announces, rearranging her face into nonchnce, like she wasn¡¯t as scared as the younger kids.


    Another bolt of lightning, closer this time. The camper lights dimpletely before surging bright again.


    The pressure in my ears builds with each crash of thunder. Something about this storm feels... personal. Targeted. I shake my head at the ridiculous thought.


    Bun stiffens in Jer¡¯s arms, her crying suddenly silent.


    Her little nose twitches once, twice. She sniffs the air hard, like she¡¯s caught something none of us can smell.


    "Bun?" I step forward just as her body contorts.


    The growl she makes isn¡¯t the yful rumble we hear sometimes when she¡¯s being stubborn. It¡¯s deep, guttural... adult.


    Her eyes dte until almost no iris remains, and something in my mind screams: <i>danger</i>.


    I reach for her, but I¡¯m too slow.


    Sheunches herself at Jer¡¯s face¡ªtiny hands now sporting curved, vicious ws. Not the kind you¡¯d see on a housecat. These are built for rending flesh, for hunting. They catch Jer across the cheek as he falls backward with a shocked yelp, blood spattering across the floor.


    Shit.


    Sara¡¯s scream pierces through the thunder. Jer drops Bun as he falls, hand pressed to his bleeding face.


    Ron moves faster than any of us.


    His teenage body ripples, bones cracking as dark fur erupts across his skin. His gori form is massive in the confined space of the camper, hunched and powerful, yet his movements are controlled as he lunges for the toddler.


    But Bun isn¡¯t Bun anymore.


    I¡¯ve seen predators shift mid-fight. But this? This is a baby with a monster in her skin.


    Her tiny features have distorted¡ªjaw elongated, teeth bared in a snarl that belongs on a mountain lion. Her body¡¯s half-shifted, enough to leave bloody pawprints on the ground as she avoids his reach.


    She leaps toward Sara, who screams again. Ron¡¯s massive gori hands catch Bun mid-air as the older girl scrambles out of the way, but the toddler twists and sinks her massive teeth into his forearm.


    "Stop! Bun, stop!" I rush forward, trying to wedge myself between them.


    Pain slices across my palm as Bun¡¯s ws connect. I jerk back, blood welling from four perfect lines across my skin.


    This isn¡¯t right. This isn¡¯t Bun. Her eyes arepletely wrong¡ªblown ck and feral, foam gathering at the corners of her mouth. She snarls.


    The teenager grunts in pain as she swipes a w across his furry chest. He¡¯s trying to restrain her without hurting her, but she¡¯s like liquid fury, twisting out of his grasp to cause new wounds.


    It¡¯s only been seconds and already feels like a long ten minutes.


    I spin around, pushing Sara and Jer behind me. "Bedroom, now! Go, go!"


    The child they know isn¡¯t in the room with us. There¡¯s something else inside of her, somethingrge and angry, and it isn¡¯t safe. For any of us.


    Which is crazy.


    This is Bun. Our sweet little baby girl, the one who goes nuts over tanghulu and crushes strawberries all over the floor. The same baby who woke up in the middle of the night to crawl into myp. The one who stole my heart even though it¡¯s only been two days.


    "But¡ª" Jer starts.


    "Now!" I shove them toward the front of the camper. "Lock the door!"


    They scramble away as I turn back to the chaos. "Bun!"


    My voice disappears under a crash of thunder so loud it feels like the sky is splitting open. The camper rocks, either from their wrestling or the wind. It¡¯s hard to tell. The air conditioner dies with a pathetic whine, and the lights flicker outpletely, leaving the room dark.


    I can still see them locked inbat, and smell the blood dripping onto the floor. She¡¯s going to kill Ron. A sweet little toddler is going to hurt the person she loves and cares for most in this world.


    I can¡¯t let it happen.


    "We need to get out of here!" Jer shouts, his small feet thudding.


    Toward me. Not away. He and Sara should be locked in the rtive safety of Lyre¡¯s bedroom.


    Instead, he¡¯s bolting down the hall and yanking the door open. "Come on, Sara! Outside!"


    "No, Jer, don¡¯t¡ª!"


    The door flies open, yanked out of his hand by the strong wind. He falls to his knees.


    A massive ck shape barrels through the sudden opening, clearing Jer¡¯s head in a graceful leap.


    Fenris fills the space, ethereal blue light pulsing beneath his midnight fur. Dominance rolls off him like a wall, I stagger back, my knees weakening for a moment, before it passes over me.


    The kids aren¡¯t as lucky.


    Ron shifts back instantly, his human form copsing against the entertainment center, blood running from several wounds. Sara and Jer tten to the floor.


    Bun¡¯s the only one still moving. Shrieking in defiance, still feral, and still wrong. She tries to dart away, then turns to fight¡ªbut Fenris pins her with nothing but a stare and a snarl.


    She shifts partially back¡ªher limbs human again, but her face contorted, teeth still too sharp, eyes still wild. A continuous growl rumbles from her tiny chest.


    My heart lodges in my throat.


    Blood¡¯s everywhere. Ron¡¯s chest heaves with exertion, but his eyes are glued on Bun, his hands clenched tight. Worry¡¯s written all over his face.


    Jer¡¯s still bleeding from his cheek, too. Sara¡¯s the only one unharmed, and she¡¯s huddled against the floor in terror.


    And Bun¡ªmy sweet, chaotic Bun¡ªcurls in a defensive position beneath Fenris¡¯s massive form, snarling like a cornered animal.


    The storm isn¡¯t just battering the camper from outside. Somehow, it¡¯s gotten into her.


    "Bun?" I step forward hesitantly.


    Fenris snaps at the air between us¡ªa clear warning to stay back.


    I ignore it, dropping to my knees beside them. "Bun, honey, it¡¯s me."


    She lunges, teeth snapping at my extended fingers. I jerk my hand back with a gasp, then steel myself and try again¡ªthis time cing my palm gently on her leg, far from her teeth.


    Her snarling quiets a fraction. Her eyes still sh with something foreign and feral, but there¡¯s a flicker of recognition fighting through. Or maybe it¡¯s my wishful thinking.


    "Bun? Can you hear me now?"

 Chapter 123: Grace: Comfort

    <h4>Chapter 123: Grace: Comfort</h4>


    Something shifts in Bun¡¯s eyes. The wildness retreats like a tide going out, leaving behind the little girl I know.


    Her features shrink back to normal, pointed ears rounding, ws retracting, even her teeth shortening until they¡¯re just tiny baby teeth again. Her heaving chest slows until soft, hitching whimpers.


    Tears drip.


    "It¡¯s okay," I whisper, reaching out again. "Bun, honey, it¡¯s me. It¡¯s Grace."


    This time, she doesn¡¯t snap. She doesn¡¯t even hesitate.


    Her little arms shoot out and wrap around my neck with desperate strength. She buries her face against my corbone and sobs¡ªnot the tantrum cries of a toddler, but something deeper and horrible. The kind of crying you do when you¡¯re so full of fear you can¡¯t even understand what you¡¯re feeling.


    I hold her tight, rocking back and forth without even thinking about it. "Shh, it¡¯s okay. I¡¯ve got you, baby."


    Fenris stands over us like a living shadow, his blue glow pulsing faintly through his midnight fur, but much lighter now. His storm-gray eyes track every movement in the room as Bun¡¯s sobs gradually soften to hups.


    Jer closes the front door, shutting us out from the roar of rain and wind and thunder. My ears pop when he does.


    Only when the toddler is quiet does Fenris sit. But his ears keep swiveling.


    The other three children stand together, and my heart hurts to see the blood all over two of them.


    "Has this ever happened before?" My voice sounds strange in my own ears. Too calm for the trembling in my chest. I vaguely recall my mom sounding like this sometimes, usually when I was worried about something. Now, I get it.


    This is how moms sound when they¡¯re trying to pretend they aren¡¯t scared, too.


    Ron¡¯s face is pale beneath his oliveplexion, his eyes a little too wide. Blood smears his chest and arms in thin, drying lines. But he¡¯s calm as he says, "No. Nothing like this. Not for any of us."


    "But something simr?" I adjust Bun in my arms, feeling her tiny fingers clutch at my shirt as she snuffles against my neck.


    "Sometimes we slip a little during a shift. But nothing like this. Might run after a bunny without thinking or go for a run, but..."


    Sara shudders and leans into his side, and Ron wraps his arm around her without even looking. His big hand pats at her head. "My skin feels weird and crawly," she mutters. "Like the lightning¡¯s gotten under it."


    "Mine, too," Jer pipes up, still holding his hand to his cheek. He winces as he talks.


    "How¡¯s your face?" I ask softly.


    He shrugs. "Still stings. It¡¯ll heal, though."


    I move toward him, carefully shifting Bun to my grip so I have an arm free. "Let me see."


    He hesitates before dropping his hand. I reach out and gently pull his chin up to examine the w marks. They¡¯re already closing¡ªsupernaturally fast healing, as expected. Still, they must hurt.


    Sara darts to the sink and returns with a damp towel. I reach for it, but Ron intercepts, taking it from her with a quiet, "I got it. You take care of Bun."


    I¡¯m not sure what I would have ever done without Ron here. Everything from basic childcare to even the emergent situation of just moments ago, he¡¯s stepped forward and taken over without being asked.


    He kneels in front of Jer, gently dabbing the cuts with careful hands.


    Jer winces, then straightens his spine. "It doesn¡¯t hurt as much as it did," he says again, sounding proud. "I didn¡¯t cry, neither."


    "Good," the older boy says quietly. "It¡¯s already healing."


    I look at the blood staining Ron¡¯s chest, the deeper cuts along his forearm where Bun had bitten him. "You¡¯re hurt worse than any of us."


    He shakes his head. "It¡¯ll be fine. Don¡¯t worry about it."


    "We should have you checked out."


    His head moves more vigorously this time. "No. We can¡¯t go to hospitals."


    The matter-of-factness in his voice catches me off guard. "Why not?"


    "They¡¯re not safe for people like us," he says simply.


    My arm tightens around Bun, who seems to have fallen asleep. Or maybe she¡¯s just quiet. It¡¯s hard to tell with her face buried against me. "What do you do if you get sick?"


    Jer¡¯s the one to answer this time, piping up, "We don¡¯t. Not really. And we heal when we¡¯re hurt."


    I don¡¯t press. But the ache in my chest grows, spreading outward until my ribs feel too tight.


    Bun¡¯s body is heavy, and I try to shift her to my other arm¡ªbut she whines and wraps her arms tightly around my neck. Not asleep, then. At least, not yet.


    "You should take her for a nap," Ron says, wiping down his own wounds. Sara snatches the towel from him.


    "I¡¯ll do it."


    "¡¯Kay."


    Leaving them to their own devices seems strange and wrong after so much trauma, but Bun¡¯s clearly exhausted. I hesitate, but Jer scowls at me and says, "Go!"


    Fenris sneezes, and the kid jumps.


    "I mean... Bun¡¯s tired. You should put her to sleep."


    "That sounds like you¡¯re telling her to¡ª"


    Ron smacks his hand over Sara¡¯s mouth. "Hush."


    "What? I¡¯m just saying, it <i>sounded</i> like it. He should be more careful with his words."


    "I <i>am</i> careful with my words!"


    Their return to bickering somewhat lightens the heavy load pressing against my heart. "I¡¯ll be back once I get her to sleep, guys."


    "Okay," Sara and Jer chorus, before sticking their tongues out at each other.


    Ron rolls his eyes and grabs the towel back from the distracted Sara and heads for the bathroom in the back.


    Fenris follows as I carry Bun to Lyre¡¯s bedroom. The wolf¡¯s nails click quietly against the floor, and it¡¯s strangelyforting. Good to know I¡¯m not alone, even if I can¡¯t converse with him like I can with Caine.


    Lyre¡¯s bedroom is dim, the shades already pulled. There¡¯s a box fan by the bed, and I switch it on, trying to chase away some of the humid heat, though it really just pushes the same warm air around in the room.


    With the A/C off in here, it¡¯s going to remain warm.


    Better not to use a nket.


    Crawling onto the bed with a determined baby clinging to my neck is harder than I expect, and I end up flopping onto my side. Bun grunts a little when her body hits the mattress and she curls up even tighter against me, burying her face even closer. She sniffles.


    I¡¯m exhausted.


    Not just tired, but my entire body feels heavy and my skin¡¯s too tight, like I¡¯m retaining a hundred pounds of water.


    I drop a kiss on Bun¡¯s soft curls. At least she¡¯s not crying anymore.


    Fenris¡¯s presence is steady and soothing as he climbs onto the bed. Lyre¡¯s probably going to kill him for leaving fur on herforter, but we¡¯ll just clean it before shees back, I guess.


    The storm¡¯s voice bes a distant rumble, and I hope it¡¯s passing through. No more storms. No more strange, feral Bun shifts. I just want everything to go back to normal...


    Even if I¡¯m not sure what normal looks like.


    Very little time has passed, and yet so many things have changed.


    My eyes drift closed, but the voices from the main room carry through the thin walls.


    "Do you think she¡¯s gonna leave?" Sara whispers.


    "Maybe." Jer¡¯s cocky attitude is gone. He sounds strangely subdued. "We¡¯re scary now. Wouldn¡¯t me her for wanting to go."


    "She won¡¯t," Ron¡¯s voice is low and calm. I thought he was going to wash himself off, but I guess not. "She¡¯s not like that."


    There¡¯s a pause, then Sara again: "But what if she does?"


    Ron doesn¡¯t answer.


    I want to sit up, to yell down the hall: <i>No. Never. I¡¯m not going anywhere. </i>


    But I can¡¯t. I can¡¯t even open my mouth. Can¡¯t lift my head from the pillow.


    Everything feels soft. Drained. Floaty.


    Bun breathes against my neck. Fenris guards the door. The storm still howls outside. And I...

 Chapter 124: Caine: No Limits

    <h4>Chapter 124: Caine: No Limits</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    The truck¡¯s tires skid through mud as I m to a halt beside the camper. I don¡¯t bother turning it off¡ªjust fling the door open andunch myself into the rain.


    Every heartbeat is louder than thest, drumming insistently through my veins as I wrench the camper door open. The entire thing rocks as I storm inside, halting only when I see three kids standing in front of me, eyes wide and smelling of fresh panic.


    I scared them.


    <i>Idiot,</i> Fenris mutters, like he wasn¡¯t the one to send me the <i>get back here as fast as you can</i> message less than ten minutes ago.


    Ron, shirtless and bleeding, stares nkly as he holds a towel to one of his wounds.


    "What happened?" The question rips from my throat even though I already know. Fenris told me¡ªBun lost control. Granted, the worthless lump of fur and fang was short on detail and ignored me when I demanded more, saying he was a too busy to exin.


    Ron immediately stiffens, shoving the bloody cloth behind his back. "Nothing."


    His jaw sets, defiant despite standing half a foot shorter than me and looking like he went three rounds with a mountain lion. The kid has balls. He doesn¡¯t want me upset with the baby.


    He has no idea I already know.


    "Bun¡¯s asleep," he adds, dropping his to a whisper. "Be quiet."


    <i>And if you wake her, I¡¯ll bite you myself,</i> Fenris murmurs.


    Oh, <i>now</i> he talks.


    <i>I was busy.</i>


    There¡¯s a deep, visceral urge to snarl aloud at my own damn wolf, but I throttle it back. Ron already thinks I¡¯m ring at <i>him</i>, not privy to the conversation in my head.


    I force my shoulders to rx and close the door softly behind me, shutting out the storm¡¯s howl. Water drips from my clothes onto the floor, pooling around my boots.


    Should probably turn off the truck, too.


    A small gaspes from the only girl of the trio. What¡¯s her name again? She avoids me for the most part, but I¡¯d been under the impression she was getting better about it. Apparently not.


    "You¡¯re getting everything wet," she whispers, something close to horror in her voice.


    Before I can respond, she bolts toward the back bathroom and returns with a faded blue towel, which she hurls at my feet like she¡¯s afraid toe within arm¡¯s reach.


    You¡¯d think I was the monster in this scenario, and not the toddler who carved up two of her packmates.


    Fenris growls. <i>Take care of the pups while Grace sleeps.</i>


    I freeze, one hand halfway to the towel. "Grace is asleep too?"


    Ron says, "I don¡¯t know. She¡¯s with Bun, though."


    But, of course, I wasn¡¯t talking to him.


    <i>Yes.</i>


    Strange. Why would she sleep when the kids are still bleeding? Perhaps all of this stress has been too much on someone still recovering. Humans are so fragile.


    The need to check on her burns through me, but I force myself to assess the situation. Three sets of wary eyes track my every move. Jer¡¯s small face has a few scratches on it, though they¡¯re already mostly healed. The girl... Sara. Right. She¡¯s unharmed, though her eyes are glued to the puddle at my feet.


    Ron has the most wounds, but it only takes a nce for me to see they¡¯re already healing. Within an hour, he shouldn¡¯t be bleeding anymore.


    But they¡¯re all more than stressed. They¡¯re terrified.


    "Go sit in the living room," I order all three of them, spreading the towel at my feet to soak up the water I¡¯d brought in.


    None of them move, and I look up with narrowed eyes. "Now."


    Just a tiny hint of dominance whips out and cracks between us, and all three scramble to obey. Even the slightly rebellious teenager.


    I follow behind, leaving the towel on the floor. "Tell me exactly what happened. From the beginning."


    The three exchange nces. Ron speaks first.


    "We were just waiting out the storm. Then Bun..." He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "She started shifting. But not normal. Her eyes went all wrong."


    "Wrong how?"


    "ck," Sara whispers. "Not like animal-ck. Like... empty-ck."


    I frown. "That¡¯s not possible."


    "It is," Jer interrupts, his small face pinched with fear. "We saw it. She went all weird and growly and then¡ª" he gestures at Ron¡¯s chest "¡ªshe did that."


    I study the wounds more carefully. Deep puncture marks, w rakes across the sternum. Defensive wounds on the arms. It looks like an adult attack, not something a toddler could inflict, shifted or not.


    "Did something trigger her? Something that scared her?"


    Sara shakes her head. "Just the storm. We were ying hide and seek."


    "No, we weren¡¯t," the younger boy corrects her. "We were ying hide and seek before, but then we were just sitting here when she went crazy."


    "She¡¯s not crazy," Ron snaps. "She just lost control for a minute."


    <i>It wasn¡¯t normal cub aggression,</i> Fenris admits. <i>Even for an unstable shifter. Something else is at work here. She fought my dominance, too.</i>


    I¡¯ve seen countless shifts over the centuries. Young cubs getting their first ws, adolescents struggling through moon-cycles, even adults driven to frenzy in battle rage. But a toddler generating this kind of violence? The damage Ron¡¯s sporting would require significant strength and intent¡ªneither of which a child Bun¡¯s age should possess.


    "Has this happened before?" I ask.


    Ron hesitates. "No."


    Something in his tone indicates there¡¯s more he isn¡¯t saying.


    "Exin."


    "She¡¯s always been... different. But never dangerous."


    "What do you mean, different?"


    The teenager scratches at the back of his neck with a sigh. "Jer and Sara only have a few forms they can shift into, right?"


    I arch a brow in a silent bid for him to continue.


    "Well, Bun and I are different."


    "How so?" My voice is still sharp, but it doesn¡¯t deter him.


    "We don¡¯t have a limit." He pauses, taking a deep breath, then releasing it in a sudden <i>whoosh</i>. He grimaces. "More than no limit. I could shift into a dragon if you really wanted me to. Or a griffin. Anything I can imagine. I can even change what I look like as a human."


    <i>I believe it,</i> Fenris says as I stare nkly at thisrge child. <i>She was not forming into any recognizable creature, and she often mixes her shifts.</i>


    I blink at the kid, trying to gauge whether he¡¯s serious or just trying to sound impressive. Dragons? The sheer ridiculousness of it almost distracts me from the reality we¡¯re facing.


    <i>Caine.</i>


    "What?" I snap, and Ron flinches. "Not you, kid."


    <i>Grace isn¡¯t asleep.</i>


    He speaks with urgency, and I turn with a frown, staring down the hall.


    "What do you mean?"


    <i>I think she¡¯s unconscious again.</i>


    I¡¯m moving before he¡¯s finished the sentence, darting across the tiny camper with inhuman speed.


    Grace is curled up around the little toddler we call Bun, her breathing steady and her face pale. Her scent should be strong and overpowering this space with the fresh-baked blueberry muffin smell, but it¡¯s faint. Almost unnoticeable.


    The baby, on the other hand, is rosy-cheeked and looks quite peaceful after such an ordeal.


    It takes only a second for my brain to click through what I already know.


    Grace is capable of transferring her energy into me. And when she did, I felt... calmer. More in control of myself.


    <i>She calmed the child,</i> Fenris admits.


    As I thought.


    I yank the toddler out of the bed, feeling guilty when she stiffens and ils, screaming as she reaches for Grace. "No," I snap, holding onto her tightly. "You can¡¯t touch Grace."


    "No!" Bun shrieks, twisting herself into a toddler-sized pretzel. "Mama! <i>Mama!</i>"


    "You can¡¯t y with Mama right now, Bun."


    <i>Doesn¡¯t that mean something else?</i> Fenris asks.


    Jer¡¯s curly-haired head pokes in. "Bun? Where does it hurt?"


    The toddler freezes in my arms, her lower lip stuck out as far as it can go as her giant baby eyes fill with tears. "Mama."


    "Does it hurt on your head?"


    She shakes it.


    "Your hand?"


    Another shake.


    "Did you hurt your feeties?"


    She screams.


    "Does your heart hurt?" I ask, rubbing at her chest.


    The scream stops abruptly, and she hups. Then she nods. "Mama."

 Chapter 125: Caine: In the Rain

    <h4>Chapter 125: Caine: In the Rain</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    The lights flicker for the third time in as many minutes, casting strange shadows across Bun¡¯s tear-streaked face.


    "Fuck," I mutter under my breath as I bounce her on my hip. The toddler¡¯s settled into a persistent whimper rather than full-blown screams, which is an improvement, but the damn RV is a new concern.


    "Fah," Bun whispers between big sniffs.


    I pace to the front of the camper, where the control panel sits mocking me with its iprehensible disy. Numbers and letters with noprehensible logic. Grace was the one who set everything up¡ªall I did was drive the damn thing to this godforsaken spot.


    The screen flickers, then goespletely dark before lighting up again. A warning icon blinks in the corner.


    <i>Maybe it¡¯s failing, </i>Fenris observes helpfully.


    "No shit." I shift Bun to my other hip, her small hands fisting in my shirt.


    "Nuh shuh."


    I dig my phone out of my pocket and dial Lyre, cursing the woman for owning this rolling death trap. The line doesn¡¯t even ring before an automated voice cuts in: "Please try againter."


    I try Jack-Eye and get the same result.


    "Something¡¯s not right about this storm," I mutter, staring at the nk phone screen.


    <i>There¡¯s magic to it,</i> Fenris agrees.


    We¡¯ve said the same thing at least ten times already.


    My eyes drift toward the back room where Grace lies unconscious. I want nothing more than to curl around her, to guard her while she¡¯s vulnerable. To feel her heartbeat against mine and know she¡¯s safe. To suck in everyst bit of her blueberry muffin scent, which is probably the only thing keeping me from rampaging in this tiny space.


    But I can¡¯t. Not with Bun still radiating unstable energy. Not with three other potentially vtile shifter children who could lose control at any moment. Besides, I¡¯d just make it all worse.


    This inability to touch the woman is driving me mad.


    <i>She¡¯s breathing better,</i> Fenris reports from where he stands guard in the bedroom doorway. <i>Steadier.</i>


    "Good."


    I turn to survey the rest of the cramped living space. The kids have fallen into an uneasy quiet, and it¡¯s more concerning than their earlier panic. Sara sits pressed against the window, her small fingers syed on the ss as if reaching for the storm itself. Her eyes track the lightning with unnerving focus.


    Jer can¡¯t seem to stay still. He bounces from one cushion to another, his small body vibrating with excess energy even as he mutters, "Everything feels weird. Everything feels weird," under his breath like a mantra.


    The oldest does a better job of appearing calm. But I don¡¯t miss how his head tilts up seconds before each thunderp rings out, his body tensing in anticipation. He feels iting.


    They¡¯re twitchier than a room full of hair-trigger pups during a blood moon.


    Something about this storm is affecting all of them.


    "What¡¯s wrong with you?" I direct the question at Sara, who tears her gaze from the window reluctantly.


    She wrinkles her nose. "It¡¯s like... my skin doesn¡¯t fit right."


    The younger boy stops his frantic bouncing long enough to scratch violently at his neck. "It itches," he whines, leaving red marks on his skin.


    I look to Ron, raising an eyebrow.


    "My ears hurt," the teenager says gruffly, then frowns. "No, not hurt. Just... pressure."


    Their agitation is building with each passing minute. I can smell it. Stress in shifting adolescents often ends up with a wild shift, though it¡¯s never at the level of whatever happened to the toddler.


    <i>Let¡¯s take them outside,</i> Fenris suggests.


    I nce out the window. "It¡¯s storming," I point out. Of course he knows already. We all do. Kind of hard to miss when it¡¯s knocking our your electronics and turning kids into feral beasts.


    <i>Better out there than tearing this ce apart,</i> he counters. <i>If one of them shifts violently in here, someone could get hurt. Or worse¡ªthey could go for Grace.</i>


    Between us, we can dominate any of these children¡ªor all of them at once if needed. Better to have them where we can see them, where they have space to move, than bottled up in this tiny tin can.


    Even if it¡¯s wet.


    They¡¯re going to be a muddy mess, but at least it¡¯s easier to clean up than blood.


    "Come on," I announce, shifting Bun to my other hip. "We¡¯re going outside."


    "But it¡¯s raining," Jer protests, even as his body continues to twitch.


    "Now."


    Themand has them all jerking to their feet. Sara first, followed by a relieved-looking Jer. Ron hesitates, his eyes darting toward the hall.


    "She¡¯s fine," I tell him, relying on Fenris¡¯s words.


    "Okay."


    Ron finally moves toward the door.


    Rain pours in sheets as we step outside, immediately soaking through our clothes. I¡¯m surprised when the kids don¡¯t protest but rush into it instead. All except Bun, who Ron gently takes from my arms to help down the steps. Her small hands reach for the falling water with wonder, even as she squints in the rain, barely able to keep her eyes open.


    I take a moment to trudge through the mud to the truck, finally killing the engine I¡¯d left running in my rush to check on Grace. For a second, there¡¯s silence but for the rain and thunder.


    When I turn back toward the camper, I freeze.


    A golden retriever sits beside me, ears perked, tail wagging against the wet ground. Just... staring up at me with intelligent brown eyes.


    This isn¡¯t right. Dogs never approach wolves, much less Lycans. Ever. My scent¡ªpredator, alpha, danger¡ªsends them running.


    "What the hell are you doing here?" I mutter.


    The dog¡¯s tail wags harder. It¡¯s strangely untouched by the rain, too.


    Fenris materializes from the shadows, a low growl rumbling from his throat. In one fluid motion, he lunges at the retriever, teeth snapping at its heels.


    The dog yelps, scrambling backward before turning tail and bolting for the RV camped in the distance. I narrow my eyes, watching as it scampers away.


    <i>It keepsing back,</i> Fenris notes. <i>It¡¯s either stupid or there¡¯s something strange about it.</i>


    I¡¯m betting on thetter.


    "Aww! He was cute!" Sara calls from where she¡¯s spinning in circles, arms outstretched to catch the rain.


    Jer scoffs. "That was mean. He wasn¡¯t doing anything to you!"


    Ron doesn¡¯tment. He¡¯s too busy holding Bun¡¯s hands as she toddles through a puddle, her bare feet sshing with childish delight.


    I watch them move through the storm, tension easing from their small bodies. Sara continues her spinning, wet hair stering to her cheeks as sheughs quietly to herself. Jer has abandoned hisints to roll in the mud, giggling, though he still flinches at each thunderp. Ron paces the perimeter like a guard dog, always keeping Bun in his sight.


    The older one will be a good wolf. Strong pack instinct mixed with his cautious nature will do him well as an adult shifter.


    Strangely, the storm feels... calmer now. Or maybe it¡¯s just because the unhappy kids finally seem at peace.


    I walk the perimeter, keeping close to Fenris¡¯s dark shape as he prowls the edges of our makeshift camp.


    The camper¡¯s still dark; I guess the electricity isn¡¯ting back anymore. It¡¯s a miracle the truck was still running.


    I can¡¯t see Grace out here, but I know she¡¯s inside, vulnerable and alone.


    <i>Her heart rate is stable,</i> Fenris says, sensing my concern. <i>Body temperature is normal. We caught the drain before it went too far. Not like the night you tried to mate with her.</i>


    I growl at the reminder. I should be with her, not out here babysitting a bunch of unstable shifter kids in the rain.


    I shake off the irritation immediately. These are just pups. They need protection too. And Grace would be furious if I didn¡¯t take care of them properly.


    They¡¯re pack now, and I need to appeal to Grace, who seems singrly determined not to fall in line with her role as my mate.


    Thunder rumbles and cracks again.


    I wish I understood what was happening with this storm. What Fiddleback¡¯s damn experiments might have unleashed on this ce.


    I duck into the truck cab, trying to escape the downpour for a moment. My clothes are soaked through, and now my seat is too.


    But phones don¡¯t work in water.


    I try Lyre¡¯s number again. Won¡¯t connect.


    Jack-Eye. Same result.


    Again.


    "Goddamn storm," I mutter, switching to text messages instead, sending them both the same terse message.


    <strong>[CAINE: Report in. Communication down. Need update.]</strong>


    I look up through the windshield, squinting through the rain-streaked ss to check on the kids. Ron stands near Bun, helping her ssh in a puddle. But¡ª


    Where the hell are the middle two?


    I throw the truck door open, nearly ripping it off its hinges.


    "Ron!" I bark. "Where are they?"


    The teenager jerks his head toward the camper without even looking up. "Under there."


    Sure enough, two small bodies are army-crawling beneath the camper, their clothes caked with mud as they wiggle from one end to the other.


    "What are you doing?" I demand.


    Sara¡¯s head pops out from beneath the metal frame, hair stered to her face, grinning wildly. "It¡¯s a secret tunnel! We¡¯re exploring!"


    "Get out from under there. Now."


    Jer¡¯s voice calls from somewhere in the middle. "But we found something cool!"


    "I won¡¯t ask again."


    There¡¯s a moment of silence before both children emerge, covered head to toe in mud. Sara looks disappointed, but Jer clutches something in his small fist.


    "Look!" He holds up what appears to be a small metal object, perfectly round and slightly rusty. "Treasure!"


    I sigh heavily, tension draining from my shoulders. I can only imagine how much groveling would be necessary if I lost two of them. Grace seems sweet, but there¡¯s a stubborn edge to her. Seeing her angry might be cute, but I have no doubt it would slow our cial rtionship progress to an absolute stop.


    <i>This is worse than war,</i> Fenris observes. <i>At least in battle, you know where the enemy is.</i>

 Chapter 126: Grace: Waking to Chaos (I)

    <h4>Chapter 126: Grace: Waking to Chaos (I)</h4>


    Sharp, digital beeps wake me out of what feels like a msses-like sea of sleep.


    My eyes are too heavy to pry open, but I manage anyway.


    I¡¯m not in the camper.


    Panic is immediate, freezing every muscle. It was already hard to move, and now it¡¯s impossible.


    Two feet, d in ck flip-flops and wearing an anklet with a bell, chiming sweetly with every step, pace toward me. They¡¯re men¡¯s feet, making the anklet seem so much more out of ce. It¡¯s on a delicate golden chain, and I wonder how it doesn¡¯t snap every time he walks.


    "Oh, dear. You aren¡¯t supposed to be here."


    His voice slides over me, soft like silk and dripping with the sweetness of honey, but with the faint, smokey sound of a man trying to seduce you in the dark.


    I¡¯m already on guard.


    The casual amusement in his tone wraps around me with unsettling familiarity, as if we¡¯re old friends reuniting after a brief separation. Far too intimate.


    I try to sit up, pushing against whatever invisible force pins me down. My muscles strain against nothing and everything at once. The effort makes my vision swim, ck spots dancing.


    And then the world... glitches.


    The floor beneath me shifts from cool marble to an infinite expanse of stars, then to absolutely nothing at all¡ªvanishing and reforming with each desperate blink. My stomach lurches.


    I¡¯m seasick, and reality¡¯s fracturing.


    He crouches beside me, and I try to focus on his face and not his feet floating above... nothing.


    Big mistake.


    His features refuse to settle. Too symmetrical one moment, then subtly wrong the next. His eyes cycle through impossible colors¡ªviolet blending into gold, then abyssal ck, then something which isn¡¯t a color at all, but more of an impression of chaos.


    His skin tone shifts with each blink, his hair growing and shortening and changing texture constantly. Beautiful, but the kind where my brain hurts just trying to perceive it. An optical illusion, cranked to the max.


    "You¡¯re causing quite the stir, you know." He tilts his head, and the movement leaves tracers in my vision. "The Order is watching your every move. Bnce is ready to intervene. And Chaos?"


    He leans closer, his breath cool against my face. Long fingers tilt my chin up, and his lips hover dangerously near mine¡ªnot quite touching, but close enough for it to feel so very wrong.


    "Chaos really likes you..."


    Something flickers deep in my chest, a spark of heat spreading outward in a sudden rush. And inside the heat, something else responds¡ªnot me, but something within me. It snarls, the sound reverberating through my bones without making a sound anyone can hear.


    I wrench backward, away from his almost-touch, my spine arching with sudden strength I didn¡¯t know I had. The movement feels instinctual, primal¡ªand strangely, it doesn¡¯te from me alone. I¡¯m pulling from somewhere else, someone else.


    Caine.


    Our bond burns white-hot, flooding through my veins like liquid fire. Raw power surges through the connection, fierce and primal and alive in a way I¡¯ve never felt before. My fingers dig into whatever surface I¡¯m on, anchoring myself against the onught of energy.


    Heughs, his face full of delight as he watches me. "Fated wolves are always so <i>prissy</i>."


    The strange man stands up straight¡ªor at least I think he does. His height flickers too, sometimes towering, sometimes merely tall, never settling on a single dimension. The amusement on his ever-changing face is the only constant, though it also flickers and changes with his rise and lowering of his cheekbones and the shape of his mouth and nose.


    "I¡¯m not a wolf," I say, surprised by how level my voice sounds. Steady. Like I¡¯mmenting on the weather instead of having an impossible conversation in an impossible ce. My voice doesn¡¯t match my racing heart or the scream building in my throat. It¡¯s like my body and brain are slightly out of sync, operating on different frequencies.


    The steadiness rattles me more than panic would have.


    I suck in a breath, wondering how I¡¯m even breathing in this ce. But I am, and strangely, the air feels wonderful¡ªcool and clean, filling my lungs and easing the weight from my limbs. Each breath brings a little more rity, a little more strength.


    He ps a hand dismissively. "No, but there¡¯s a wolf who¡¯s imed you, no?" His features ripple again, settling momentarily into a beautiful, golden-haired face before shifting away. He sports a giant, bushy beard now, and heavy brows. His nose wrinkles as he squints at me. "Though we don¡¯t even get to see the juicy parts since you keep fainting."


    The genuine disappointment in his voice sends heat rushing to my cheeks.


    The air suddenly changes, pressure building around us. Separate from the weight holding down my body, it feels like it¡¯s holding onto this space. He clicks his tongue, the sound unnaturally sharp. "Damn. They¡¯ve already noticed you¡¯re here."


    "Who are you?" I blurt out, the questions finally tumbling over themselves. "Where am I?"


    Irritation flickers across his ever-changing features. "Why ask such generic questions? Wouldn¡¯t you rather know how..." He leans down again, pressing one finger to my chest, directly over my heart. The contact sends a riot of sensations through me¡ªhot and cold, pleasure and revulsion, tingling electricity and unsettling numbness¡ªall warring for dominance. "...to control what¡¯s inside you?"


    "What¡¯s inside me?" My voice wavers for the first time.


    His smile stretches too wide. "Kiss me and find out."


    "Absolutely not." The words snap out, firm and certain. Whatever¡¯s happening, whatever answers I need, I¡¯ll find them my own way.


    He throws back his head andughs. "Why do wolves have to be so damn loyal?"


    "I¡¯m not a wolf," I repeat, the words feeling more like a question this time.


    He shakes his head, something like pity crossing his features. "No. You¡¯re much stronger than that."


    The space around us stretches and shrinks. The nausea in my belly ramps up. Panic seizes me as I realize he¡¯s leaving¡ªor I am.


    "Wait! No, I have more questions! Please!" I cry out. "What¡¯s Bnce? And Order? What are you? Why¡ª"


    "I¡¯ll see youter, darling," he says, his voice thest thing to fade as darkness reims me.

 Chapter 127: Grace: Waking to Chaos (II)

    <h4>Chapter 127: Grace: Waking to Chaos (II)</h4>


    The now-familiar beeps wake me up again.


    My throat is raw and scratchy. My body weighs a thousand pounds, limbs heavy and uncooperative as I try to push myself up, but it¡¯s still better than the dream I just had.


    Something¡¯s off. The air is too still, too warm. The fan¡¯s off.


    I grope for the light beside the bed, clicking the switch. Nothing. Power¡¯s still out, as expected.


    The gentle patter of rain against the metal roof fills the silence¡ªstill storming then. But underneath that steady rhythm, there¡¯s something missing. No shuffling of little feet. No whispered conversations between the kids. No soft breathing from Bun beside me.


    Bun.


    My heart ms against my ribs as I pat the bed around me. Empty. "Bun?" My voice cracks. The darkness offers no answer, just a hollow silence that screams <i>wrong wrong wrong</i>.


    Then¡ªfaintlyughter. Children¡¯s voices from outside the camper, muted by distance and rain.


    They¡¯re outside? In this strange storm? Alone?


    Adrenaline floods my system and I bolt upright, my head spinning from the sudden movement. My legs tangle in the sheets as I scramble toward the bedroom door, toward the sound. One foot catches, and I stumble forward, pitching headfirst into the narrow hallway.


    The world tilts as I tumble down the small stairwell, my shoulder mming into the wall, knee cracking against the floor. Pain bursts white-hot behind my eyes. Ind in an ungraceful heap at the bottom, bruised and disoriented.


    I push myself up onto my hands, ready to crawl if I have to, when¡ª


    "Stay where you are, Jer. Sara, hold onto Bun for me."


    Caine¡¯s voice cuts through my panic like a knife¡ªdeep,manding, but oddly gentle. The single anchor in a world gone sideways.


    My wild heartbeat stutters, then slows. I freeze, hands pressed against the cool floor, and force myself to breathe. One deep inhale. One shaky exhale. They¡¯re not alone. Caine¡¯s with them. They¡¯re safe. It¡¯s fine. Everything¡¯s fine.


    I pull myself to my feet, wincing as I brush dirt from my palms and rub at my throbbing knees. My gaze drifts to the wall-mounted sr panel monitor, and I blink, confused by the disy. The battery percentage is dancing erratically, shing impossible numbers¡ª394%... 712%... 1046%¡ªtoo high to be real.


    Without thinking, I smack the disy with my palm. The screen goes ck, then flickers back to life with more reasonable numbers. 57%. Not great, but not impossible.


    I wonder how long I¡¯ve been asleep.


    The lights flicker on overhead a momentter, and the blessed hum of the air conditioner follows. I exhale in relief as cool air starts to circte.


    A bottle of water and a few desperate swallowster, the cool liquid soothes my parched throat. It doesn¡¯t do anything for the lingering unease clinging to me like second skin, though. I shiver violently in this humid heat.


    That dream... it felt too real. The man with the shifting face, talking about Order and Bnce and Chaos like they were people. The sensation of power crawling through my veins. The way the world just... disappeared.


    The beeping starts again, pulling me from my thoughts. It¡¯s not the monitor¡ªit¡¯s silent, just disying numbers like a silent sentinel of electricity use. I follow the sound, eyes scanning the small space until theynd on my phone lying on the dte table.


    It¡¯s not a sound the device has ever made before.


    The screen pulses with light. I pick it up, frowning at the unfamiliar notification banner sshed across the lock screen.


    <strong>[Divinity App (Restricted): 2 new notifications.]</strong>


    What the hell? I don¡¯t remember downloading anything like this. Maybe it¡¯s one of Lyre¡¯s weird apps? That would make sense. It probably synced to my phone somehow.


    I swipe it open, curiosity overriding caution, and throw a mental apology her way. I¡¯m not probing. I¡¯m just... investigating. Yeah.


    The interface is sleek. A minimalist ck background with glowing white text and shimmering silver icons. Three tabs glow at the top: DMs, Urgent Requests, and Warnings.


    Under Warnings, a notification:


    <strong>[PLAUSIBILITY WARNING: Intrusion Detected: Mortal Presence within Divine ne]</strong>


    I blink, stunned. What the actual hell? I tap the notification, but it only expands to show the same message with no further exnation.


    My finger hovers over the DMs tab, hesitating before I press it. A single message appears:


    <strong>[CHAOS: Good to meet you, my sweet little anchor. Tell Lyrielle I miss her.]</strong>


    The air leaves my lungs in a rush, and I¡¯m dizzy.


    Chaos. Chaos is who I met in my dream? And he¡¯s connected to this strange app, and it was <i>real</i>?


    This can¡¯t be real. It has to be some borate prank, or a weird glitch, or¡ª


    <strong>[CAUSALITY WARNING: Breach of Divine Integrity.]</strong>


    The newest notification pops up as I¡¯m still staring at the screen.


    <strong>[WARNING: An Anchor-ss anomaly has enabled CHAOS-thread intrusion beyond permitted thresholds. Divine boundary integritypromised.</strong>


    <strong>Unauthorized Entity: CHAOS </strong>


    <strong>Event Cascade: ACTIVE</strong>


    <strong>Temporal bleed risk: ELEVATED</strong>


    <strong>Convergence trajectory: UNSTABLE</strong>


    <strong>Current Timeline Viability: 71% </strong>


    <strong>Rmended Action:</strong>


    <strong>? Cease further resonance with CHAOS-thread </strong>


    <strong>? Await Bnce intervention]</strong>


    There are even three buttons at the bottom. Two are greyed out, though.


    <strong>[Acknowledge] [Suppress Warning (Locked)] [Request Guardian Support (Unavable)]</strong>


    Oh, I get it. I¡¯m dreaming. It must be a dream within a dream. Now it all makes sense.


    Panic slithers away and I suck in a deep, humid breath, smiling at the ceiling with relief. Yeah. This is just a dream. I¡¯ll just crawl back into bed and go to sleep and wake up properly¡ª


    The RV door ms open so hard it bounces against the wall. Caine bursts in, rain-soaked and wild-eyed, scanning the space until his gaze locks onto me. The tension visibly drains from his shoulders.


    My hand spasms on my phone.


    "Grace." Just my name, exhaled like a prayer.


    Before I can respond, he crosses the small space in two long strides and pulls me into a fierce hug, arms banding tight around me. For a heartbeat, I melt into it, the solid warmth of him afort against the lingering chill of fear¡ª


    Until something under my skin reacts. A faint pulling, like something¡¯s leeching out of me and into him. Lyre said this is dangerous.


    I gasp and shove him away with all my strength. "No touching!"


    Caine goespletely still, hands raised, body rigid with shock. He backs away immediately, giving me space, but his eyes never leave my face. The silence stretches between us, taut and ufortable.


    When he finally speaks, his voice is low and cautious.


    "You¡¯re awake."


    "I am¡ªoh." The sudden sound of rain against the roof disappears, and I nce out the window. "It stopped raining."


    The sun¡¯se out.

 Chapter 128: Jack-Eye: Watching

    <h4>Chapter 128: Jack-Eye: Watching</h4>


    <strong>JACK-EYE</strong>


    The walls of the motel room press in, trapping her scent, her magic. I¡¯m still burning from the inside out. Whatever she did with that arcane kiss, it¡¯s crawling under my skin like electricity, making my wolf pace and snarl. I breathe through my teeth, fighting for control.


    When I hear Lyre invite Thom in, my stomach drops. I know what¡¯sing. What she¡¯s about to do. But knowing and seeing are two different kinds of torture.


    The door creaks open and there he is¡ªthe wizard. Damp hair hanging in his face, smelling of cheap motel soap and nervousness. Too clean. Too weak. I don¡¯t move from my spot against the wall, don¡¯t speak. Just watch, every muscle in my body locked tight as steel.


    Thom freezes when he sees me, his eyes darting between us. "I¡ªuh¡ª"


    Lyre slides past him, shutting the door with a soft click. "Come in,e in. Let¡¯s get this over with." Her voice is bright, casual, like she¡¯s about to help him move furniture instead of¡ª


    She grabs a chair from the small desk, dragging it to the middle of the room. I don¡¯t miss how she angles it with deliberate precision, making sure I¡¯ll have the perfect view of her face. Of her mouth.


    Unfortunately, his dick will be in the picture. But I¡¯m trying not to think about it.


    Thom hovers, uncertain. "What exactly is¡ª"


    "Sit," shemands, and he does, perching nervously on the edge.


    The smirk she shoots me makes my cock twitch. Her eyes lock with mine as she begins exining to the wizard, her tone clinical and detached.


    "Arcana transfer works best with physical contact. The more intimate, the purer and faster the transfer." She tilts her head, rainbow hair cascading over one shoulder, and I want to grab it in my hands and yank until she¡¯s on her knees and begging for more.


    From me. Not from the stupid wilting human.


    "The most efficient way for <i>us</i> would be oral contact," she continues, making this blow-job sound like a medical procedure.


    I like that.


    But not if she speaks that way to meter.


    Then again, I might have a new kink. Nurse Lyre, sucking the evil out of me with her mouth...? Yeah. I¡¯m okay with this.


    Thom¡¯s eyes widen, his pulse quickening so loud I can hear it from across the room.


    Less okay with <i>that</i>.


    "You mean¡ª"


    "My mouth, your dick."


    "M-my d-dick?!"


    "I¡¯m going to blow you, yes." She doesn¡¯t look at him, keeps her gaze fixed on me, like she can read my mind. Her lips are curved up on one side in the faintest smirk and I really wish it was my cock going between those pretty lips of hers.


    This is going to be torture.


    "Problem?" she asks the magic-user, still not looking his way.


    Thom squirms in his seat, swallowing hard. His eyes flick to me, then back to her. "D-does he have to be here?"


    "Yep." She doesn¡¯t even turn to acknowledge him. Just smiles at me, knowing exactly what she¡¯s doing and how hard my cock¡¯s getting.


    Fuck.


    I don¡¯t blink. Don¡¯t move. Want him to feel just how unwee he is in this space between Lyre and me.


    Thom withers under my stare, shoulders hunching. "Okay," he mutters, trying to sound nonchnt. Failing. "I guess that¡¯s... fine."


    Lyre kneels in front of him, and every movement is swift andposed. She looks like she¡¯s done this a thousand times. My fists clench involuntarily, and my wolf both growls and whimpers in my head. He has no idea how to feel, either.


    She takes her time unbuckling his belt, sliding down his zipper. Everything deliberate. Everything for my benefit, because she¡¯s watching me as she does it.


    The wizard¡¯s already trembling.


    When she takes him in her mouth, I see everything¡ªher lips stretched around him, the sh of her tongue, the fluttering of her eyshes. And always, always, her eyes on mine.


    Heat sears through me. My wolf ws at my insides. I want to rip the human to pieces. I want to be the one in that chair. Want her pretty, sassy little mouth wrapped around my cock instead of his. The tension builds in my chest until I can barely breathe.


    His head falls back, a strangled noise escaping his throat. His hands, which had been white-knuckled on the armrests, suddenly shoot up to grab her head.


    Lyre jerks back instantly, his dick sliding out of her mouth as she snaps, "Don¡¯t touch me."


    Thom gasps, face flushed, hands iling back to the armrests. "S-sorry! I wasn¡¯t thinking¡ª"


    I don¡¯t change my expression, just cross my arms over my chest. But inside, satisfaction mingles with the rage. She doesn¡¯t want his hands on her. Good.


    She returns to her task. Thom¡¯s chest heaves, his face bright red. His hands twitch and spasm on the armrests as he fights to keep them still.


    Lyre cups his balls, and my own cock jerks in response. I¡¯m harder than I¡¯ve ever been in my life, watching her work. Every muscle in my body strains with the effort of standing still, of not charging across the room.


    Thom¡¯s breathing grows ragged. His legs tremble. He¡¯s close.


    "I¡¯m¡ªI can¡¯t¡ª" he chokes out.


    Lyre doesn¡¯t speed up, doesn¡¯t slow down. Just maintains her rhythm until his hips jerk and hees with a strangled cry.


    She pulls back immediately, her expression twisting with disgust. She doesn¡¯t swallow.


    Without thinking, I push off from the wall, pulling my shirt over my head in one smooth motion. I hold it out to her, silent. She meets my eyes and spits into the fabric without hesitation. The intimacy of the moment cuts through my rage.


    I step closer, gently wiping her lips with a clean corner of my shirt. Her lips curl into a small smile, and my heart stutters.


    Fuck.


    She¡¯s got me wrapped around her gorgeous little finger, and I¡¯m delirious to be here.


    I drop the shirt to the floor between us. Neither of us speaks.


    Thom sits dazed in the chair, struggling to fasten his pants with fingers that don¡¯t seem to work right. Magic crackles around him¡ªvisible even to my non-spellblood eyes¡ªa hazy glow illuminating his skin. He smells a little like... potato chips.


    "Get some rest," Lyre tells him, not bothering to look his way. "Tomorrow¡¯s going to be busy."


    He staggers to his feet, flushed and unsteady. "Th-thank you," he stammers.


    Now she does look at him, expression t. "It¡¯s just a transfusion, Thom. Nothing to thank me for."


    "Still..." A small, dazed smile appears on his face. "I liked it."


    A growl rips from my throat.


    Thom jumps, eyes wide with terror, and fumbles for the doorknob. The door ms behind him.


    The second we¡¯re alone, I snap. Crossing the room in two strides, I grab Lyre and push her against the door. Her back hits the wood with a soft thud.


    "I¡¯m done with your games," I growl, face inches from hers.


    She raises one eyebrow,pletely unfazed by my disy of dominance. "Is this the part where I pretend not to be in control?"


    My anger splutters, my hands spasming around her shoulders.


    My cock doesn¡¯t mind. It twitches just by having her heat close to us once again.


    I groan, dropping my forehead against hers. "Why do you always have to destroy the moment?"


    She slides one hand up my bare chest, her touch like fire against my skin. "Ooh, yes, big bad alpha," she drawls, "I¡¯m so afraid. Whatever are you going to do with me?"

 Chapter 129: Lyre: His Dominance

    <h4>Chapter 129: Lyre: His Dominance</h4>


    <strong>LYRE</strong>


    My mouth tastes like shit and disappointment.


    Not literal shit¡ªthough after what just happened, I¡¯d need to think about it. Arcana transfer through sexual contact always leaves a distinct vor of shame, regret, and something unpleasant. Like... licking a subway pole after a rush hourmute.


    Never a fun time.


    Who the hell set the metaphysicalws of arcana transfer to porn logic, anyway? Probably Chaos. It¡¯s always Chaos. Some bored cosmic entity sitting on their multidimensional ass, thinking: <i>"You know what would make power exchange more interesting? If they had to suck dick for it."</i>


    I resist the urge to spit again as Aaron¡¯s forehead presses against mine, his breath hot on my face. His bare chest radiates heat, and his hands still grip my shoulders from mming me against the door. The wood presses into my back.


    I¡¯m still buzzing from the transfer¡ªpower crackling beneath my skin, ready to snap and burn everything it touches. It would be so easy to push him back, to remind him who¡¯s really in control here.


    But I¡¯m curious.


    "Well?" I ask, keeping my voice cool and casual. "You watched me suck someone else¡¯s dick. Are you gonna do something about it, or what?"


    His shoulders shake withughter, though there¡¯s nothing amused in the sound. It¡¯s rough, gritty, like it¡¯s being dragged out of him against his will.


    "So this is your idea of being submissive?" He looks down at me, pupils blown wide, a muscle twitching in his jaw.


    I shrug, stretching my neck and arching my back slightly¡ªa deliberate, catlike movement, brushing my breasts against his chest. "It¡¯s harder than it looks, alright? Take it or leave it."


    His eyes track the movement, lingering on the exposed line of my throat. Good. Let him think about sinking his teeth there. Let him imagine what I¡¯d do to him if he tried.


    "Hurry up and m me down, big bad alpha." I curve my lips into a taunting smile. "Show me what a <i>real</i> wolf can do."


    He groans. "I¡¯m just a beta, remember? Wouldn¡¯t want you too disappointed."


    The man¡¯s got jokes. We both know he¡¯s an alpha-strength Lycan, but he¡¯s desperately clinging to his humor to keep himself under control.


    Time to make it snap.


    I raise an eyebrow. "So you disappoint a lot of women, then?"


    His nostrils re. His scent spikes with something sharp and tingly.


    Before he can respond, I reach out and palm the hard length of him through his jeans. His cock jumps beneath my hand, hot even through the denim. Even if his technique sucks¡ªand I¡¯m sure it doesn¡¯t¡ªit¡¯ll feel good from the stretch alone.


    My tongue slides across my teeth as I nce up at him through my eyshes, aiming for sultry and innocent.


    Innocent... might not work very well. I¡¯m not great at it. As you can see.


    "Oops," I say, giving him a light squeeze. "My hand slipped."


    His breath catches. A snarl rips from his throat, vibrating through his chest and against my palm.


    "You still suck at being submissive," he mutters.


    I tilt my head, meeting his gaze directly. "Then <i>make</i> me submit."


    Something changes in his eyes¡ªa switch flipping. The yful tension disappears, reced by something darker, hungrier. His grip on my shoulders tightens for a fraction of a second before sliding down to capture my wrists in a single swift movement as he spins us both around.


    He walks me backward, his body crowding mine, forcing me to retreat step by step toward the bed. For once, I allow myself to be moved. I could stop this¡ªcould drop him with a thought, with a whispered word, with just the right flex of power.


    But I don¡¯t.


    I watch him carefully, gauging his every reaction. The way his pupils dte. The flush creeping up his neck. The careful control in his grip¡ªfirm enough to guide me, not hard enough to bruise.


    "You¡¯re gonna regret that challenge," he growls, his voice dropping to something low and dangerous. Normally, alpha posturing doesn¡¯t do much for me. His? Sends an unexpected shiver racing down my spine.


    My calves hit the edge of the mattress. His hands release my wrists only to nt firmly on my shoulders, and he pushes.


    I fall back onto the bed, the cheap motel mattress creaking beneath my weight. Thending isn¡¯t hard¡ªhe¡¯s measured his strength, thrown me down with enough force to im space but not enough to hurt.


    Augh bubbles up from my chest, breathless and excited despite myself.


    "There we go," I say, propping myself up on my elbows. "That¡¯s the spirit."


    The sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor sends a twisted thrill through me. It¡¯s thenguage of intention¡ªmetal against cheap carpet, the scrape of a zipper. Purposeful. Deliberate.


    Aaron stands at the foot of the bed, fingers hooked in his belt loops, jeans hanging low on his hips. His expression has hardened into something cold andmanding.


    "Strip."


    One word. No embellishment. He¡¯s learning.


    I take my time, dragging my fingers to the hem of my shirt, pulling it up inch by agonizing inch. His gaze tracks every movement, hungry but controlled. He wants to rush me¡ªI can see it in the flex of his jaw, the tight press of his lips¡ªbut he doesn¡¯t.


    Good boy.


    I maintain eye contact as I bare my torso, discarding my shirt to the side. His nostrils re slightly. The room suddenly feels smaller, tighter, the air between us charged with static electricity.


    Aaron sheds his jeans with efficient movements, never looking away from me. His cock springs free, hard and thick, flushed at the tip. He kneels at the end of the bed, wrapping his fingers around his length with casual ownership.


    My turn.


    The slow glide of fabric down my hips. The deliberate arch of my back as I bend to remove my underwear. Every movement a silent challenge, a test of his restraint. I¡¯m not ying submissive¡ªI¡¯m making him earn it.


    When I¡¯m finally naked, I straighten, letting him look his fill. His eyes have turned molten gold, wolf bleeding through as he strokes himself. The room fills with his scent, and I can imagine him suddenly: wolfed out, in the rain, deep in the mountains. Wild and natural.


    He¡¯s releasing his pheromones deliberately, filling the air with his dominance.


    Good boy.


    I keep my arcana passive, quieting the usual crackle of power. I let his aura reach for me instead, testing the borders of my energy. It brushes against my magic¡ªnot forceful, not demanding, but with velvet strength.


    My skin prickles. My pussy throbs.


    Well, well. He¡¯s figured out finesse in record time.


    His breathing deepens, chest rising and falling in a measured rhythm as he watches me. "Turn around," hemands, voice dropping an octave. "Hands and knees."


    A flicker of disappointment curls in my stomach. Straight for the gold? Predictable wolf. But his dominance presses against me, not just pheromones but genuine alpha energy, and I find myselfplying. Not because I must¡ªI always have a choice¡ªbut because I¡¯m curious where this leads.


    I position myself on all fours, my back to him, waiting for the dip of the mattress, the heat of his body covering mine. Instead, the bed lightens as he moves away. His warmth disappears entirely.


    Where¡ª?


    I turn to look over my shoulder, confused.


    The crack of his palm against my asses without warning. Sharp, stinging heat blooms across my skin, and I jerk forward with a startled gasp.


    "Don¡¯t look," he orders. "Eyes forward."


    Oh.


    Sting. Heat. A pleasant tingle going straight between my legs.


    My pussy clenches around nothing.


    It¡¯s a game.


    Not a straightforward fuck at all. Something with rules and consequences.


    I bite back a smile as I face forward again. Perhaps he¡¯s more interesting than I thought.

 Chapter 130: Jack-Eye: Clean Your Dirty Mouth

    <h4>Chapter 130: Jack-Eye: Clean Your Dirty Mouth</h4>


    <strong>JACK-EYE</strong>


    I have no idea what I¡¯m doing.


    Not that I¡¯d ever admit it out loud. I¡¯ve had my share of women¡ªmore than my share, if we¡¯re being honest¡ªbut this is different. Lyre wants something more. Something with teeth and edges. A dominance running deeper than two bodies colliding.


    Her ass is pink from my hand, a perfect handprint streaked across her creamy skin. She¡¯s still on all fours, legs spread just enough to give me a cock-throbbing view. She¡¯s wet¡ªslick and glistening¡ªand every instinct in my body screams to just drive into her, im her, make her mine.


    But no. First things first. Stop getting distracted, Jack-Eye.


    I turn abruptly, walking away from the bed and her perfect ass. From the bathroom, I grab one of those wrapped stic cups they leave by the sink and fill it with water from the tap. When Ie back, she¡¯s sitting up on her heels, a slight frown creasing her forehead. The sight of her naked and waiting makes me want to toss the cup over my shoulder and force her pretty little mouth onto <i>my</i> cock, to feel the heaven she already bestowed upon the damn twitchy wizard, but I keep my expression neutral.


    "Drink," I thrust the cup into her hand, my voice a little rougher and deeper than I mean for it to be.


    One eyebrow arches perfectly. "You left me alone for <i>this</i>?" The sarcasm drips from her voice, but there¡¯s something else there too¡ªcuriosity, maybe.


    "Get him out of your mouth, sweetheart."


    Her lips twitch, almost imperceptibly, but I catch it. A tiny crack in her imprable wall.


    Between the barest ghost of a smile and the scent of her arousal between her legs, wafting delicately in the air, I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯m doing okay.


    For now.


    Maybe.


    "You¡¯re too sweet for your own good, wolf," she says, but there¡¯s less bite in her tone than usual. Something¡¯s shifted. Defenses officially breached.


    I climb onto the bed behind her as she takes a sip, settling on my knees. My hands find her back, running down her spine in firm, possessive strokes. Her skin is warm silk under my palms. But even as I touch her, I can¡¯t shake the image of Thom¡¯s dick in her mouth, spurting his nasty wizard cum into her mouth.


    It doesn¡¯t sit right¡ªthe thought of any part of him still inside her burns my gut.


    I want to drag her out in front of him, take her from behind as he watches. Want my cock deep inside, my hand around her throat, showing Thom she was never his and always meant to be mine.


    Fuck.


    My balls tighten even thinking about it.


    Thinking about how I could im her, suck the tender skin of her neck and bite down as he watches. How I¡¯d make her beg and scream and writhe under my touch, my hands, when she wouldn¡¯t even let him touch her.


    Prove who¡¯s really winning here.


    She swishes the water around in her mouth, and something in me snaps. I grab a fistful of her rainbow hair. The jealousy turns bitter and nasty in my stomach.


    "Spit," I order.


    Without turning, without question, she obeys¡ªspits into the cup cleanly. I take it from her hand and set it on the nightstand, as far away from us as I can reach.


    She remains on her knees, still and waiting. Then she reaches behind her, finds my hands, and ces them firmly on her breasts. The weight of them fills my palms perfectly. I hesitate for just a heartbeat¡ªthis is the moment to decide how far we¡¯re going.


    Fuck it.


    Her nipples pebble beneath my thumbs, taut and aching. I stroke my fingers slowly across her curves, teasing the sensitive tips until her hips slowly grind back against me.


    Her breathing¡¯s shifted. No longer calm and rhythmic, ites in harsher pants and quicker beats. I can smell her pussy, the heat and invitation there, and it¡¯s so fucking hard not to throw her forward and take her in one full stroke.


    That would be pathetic.


    A one-pump chump kind of move.


    And there¡¯s no way I can keep Lyre around if I show her that side of me, even if my dick¡¯s all too willing.


    I roll one nipple between my fingers, pinching it hard enough to make her hiss. Her breath stutters, but she doesn¡¯t pull away. I do the same to the other, twisting it slightly, and she makes a small, strangled noise low in her throat.


    There we go.


    My sweet Lyre¡¯s responsive beneath her indifferent attitude. A spitfire in bed. I knew she would be.


    So fucking hot and soft in my hands. Every touch feels like a button I¡¯ve just discovered¡ªone I want to press until she breaks apart.


    Her hips twitch again, spreading a little wider.


    My cock throbs.


    And I let go of the restraint I¡¯ve been clinging to. Let the wolf rise just beneath the surface of my skin.


    Her body reacts instantly. Her breath stutters. Her thighs quiver. I send a heavier wave between them, sliding across her pussy. Her hips twitch, as if she can¡¯t help herself. A small, soft breath slips out, a strangled moan.


    I¡¯d meant to test her. What I didn¡¯t expect was her reaction testing <i>me</i>. The deeper I push, the more she bends. Not breaking¡ªnever that. But yielding. Luring me in like a trap set with silk.


    Fuck. She <i>likes</i> this.


    And Goddess help me, so do I.


    "Is this all you¡¯ve got?" she murmurs, her voice husky but still challenging. Always challenging.


    "Don¡¯t push unless you¡¯re ready for what happens next," I warn, my lips grazing the shell of her ear.


    She turns her head just enough that I can see her profile, the curve of her smile. "Show me what you¡¯re hiding, wolf. I can take it."


    This isn¡¯t just sex for Lyre¡ªit¡¯s a test. She¡¯s measuring me, seeing if I can handle her, dominate her, im her in the way <i>she</i> needs. She isn¡¯t emotionally invested. Yet.


    It¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll get her there.


    For a second, I pause. My hand slides from her breast to tangle into her hair again. My other hand curves around her throat. She¡¯s so still I can feel her pulse pounding against my fingers.


    We stare at each other, suspended in a breathless moment.


    Then I jerk her head back as I press my cock between the cheeks of her ass. Goddess, they¡¯re so soft.


    "We haven¡¯t even started yet," I growl against her neck. "I had to clean your dirty mouth

 Chapter 131: Lyre: Wash it Out

    <h4>Chapter 131: Lyre: Wash it Out</h4>


    <strong>LYRE</strong>


    Aaron¡¯s fumbling a little, hesitating before he jerks my head back, his voice trembling just a little when he tries to sound cold.


    It¡¯s cute.


    Like he wants to treasure me, not take me like amon whore.


    But I don¡¯t want to be something precious. I want dirty. Filthy. And to see exactly how much dominance lies under his skin.


    I know he¡¯s thinking about it. About how easily I took the wizard in my mouth. How I didn¡¯t even flinch. It¡¯s the kind of thing to bruise a man¡¯s ego.


    Good.


    Let it bruise.


    Let him fuck me like he¡¯s got something to prove. I want his ws out, his teeth at my throat¡ªnot worship. I want him to use me. Break the illusion that I¡¯m untouchable. Leave marks where everyone will see them. I¡¯ll heal, but he needs to know what it feels like to fuck something divine¡ªand realize she liked it.


    Being powerful is like a drug. The highest of highs, but ites with its own side effects¡ªlike knowing no one can put their hand to your throat and expect to live through it.


    I¡¯m tired of being the strongest in the room. Of being worshipped. Sex is little more than an itch to be scratched every few years, usually with some random slop of a human. And they¡¯re always so reverent, so awed, unable to handle the power oozing even from my breath.


    But not Aaron.


    He¡¯s hesitant, but he isn¡¯t weak.


    Demanding things of me, even when he has no ce to do so.


    If Caeriel tried it, I¡¯d tear out his fucking spine.


    But when Aaron yanks my hair back again and I can feel his hard, heavy cock pressed against my ass, my heart thumps hard. He¡¯s willing to y along, and I <i>like</i> it.


    The air smells of wolf and alpha heat, my pussy¡¯s throbbing from his aura whispering against it, and for the first time in far too long, I¡¯m aching for more.


    If he stops, I might actually kill him.


    "My mouth?" I purr, shoving back against his cock. "How dirty is it?"


    Aaron¡¯s voice drops to a rough whisper, and I swear the sound alone drags across my clit. "That mouth is a fucking sin. Makes promises your body can¡¯t cash."


    A delicious shiver ripples through me.


    The usual rhythm of existence is tedious immortality punctuated by brief moments of violence or necessity. This? This feeling of yielding control to another¡¯s hand? It¡¯s rarer than an honest politician.


    Let him think he¡¯s in control. Let him think this is about him. The truth is, I¡¯m the one who gave him the leash¡ªand that makes it mine.


    His thumb presses against my cheek, pushing slowly over my lips until it breaches my mouth. My breath catches in my chest. He¡¯s understanding my assignment so well I could purr. I give his thumb a long, slow lick, tasting salt and wolf.


    "This mouth¡¯s gonna get you in trouble." His voice strokes along my nerves, low and deliberate, sending a slick pulse of want straight between my legs. "First it¡¯s all over another man¡¯s cock, and now you won¡¯t shut the fuck up."


    Iugh¡ªlow, mocking, sultry¡ªthe sound scraping against his thumb. "You gonna punish me, puppy?"


    His hand glides from my face, down my throat, over my shoulder, trailing heat across my skin. In one swift motion, he captures my wrist and twists my arm behind me, forcing my back to arch, my breasts to thrust forward. The sudden shift in power sends a flood of wetness below.


    Fuck.


    Yeah.


    He knows what he¡¯s doing.


    The fumbling is done. Whatever decision he¡¯se to, it¡¯s exactly what I needed.


    "You sound like you want me to," he growls against my ear.


    His heat rolls off him like a second skin, brushing mine without ever quite touching. My breath hitches, not because I¡¯m nervous¡ªbut because my body¡¯s an attention whore.


    I can smell his arousal, thick and wolfish, bitter with jealousy and something darker. Every inch of me reacts to it. It¡¯s humiliating. And fucking delicious. My thighs are already slick, my spine arched like I¡¯m begging for it. I¡¯m not. But I <i>will</i> let him think so. Let him believe he¡¯s in charge, just long enough for both of us to enjoy the lie.


    The spark he ignites isn¡¯t just desire. It¡¯s a challenge. A game worth ying.


    I lean my head back against his chest, deliberately exposing the vulnerable line of my throat. My eyes find his from below, half-lidded and taunting. I¡¯ve faced death and walked away intact¡ªI¡¯ll surrender, but only to someone strong enough to earn it.


    He leans down, and I brace for impact, for teeth and hunger and dominance.


    Instead, his lips meet mine with unexpected restraint. Slow. Controlled. His teeth catch my bottom lip, tugging gently before releasing. His breath warms my cheek, scented with desire and restraint. This kiss isn¡¯t iming¡ªit¡¯s savoring. It leaves me unexpectedly breathless.


    His dominance holds my body still, unable even to wriggle against the throbbing low in my belly. I could fight it, but I don¡¯t. It would be defeating the point of this little game of ours.


    He has me metaphysically tied.


    It¡¯s sexier than any sin.


    "You¡¯re gonna suck my cock until tears spill down your face," he murmurs against my lips, each word a caress and threatbined. "Until you can¡¯t breathe without tasting me. I won¡¯t stop ¡¯til you¡¯re gagging, choking, crying, and <i>begging</i> for more."


    I chuckle, the sound vibrating between us. I¡¯m still in control. Barely. My body hums with anticipation, my skin thrilled everywhere he touches me. This restraint, this patience¡ªit¡¯s more devastating than brute force could ever be.


    He learns so quickly.


    "That¡¯s a lot of words and no action," I purr, each syble dripping with challenge.


    A growl tears from his throat, rumbling through our bodies. His nostrils re, his pupils dting with primal jealousy. I can smell it.


    "I can still taste him in your mouth."


    Seven hundred years of existence, and this might be the first time I¡¯ve considered letting someone truly possess me, if only for a night. The thought should terrify me. Instead, it thrills.


    I tilt my face back further.


    "Then wash it out for me."

 Chapter 132: Jack-Eye: Her Game (I)

    <h4>Chapter 132: Jack-Eye: Her Game (I)</h4>


    <strong>JACK-EYE</strong>


    She looks at me, lips parted, eyes blown wide with want. "Then wash it out for me."


    The invitation hangs between us, filthy and explicit. I know exactly what she wants from me. She wants my cock down her throat until she¡¯s sobbing. Wants me to fuck her mouth until she can¡¯t taste him anymore, until there¡¯s nothing left of Thom¡¯s magic or his presence.


    And Goddess help me, I want it too. Have been dreaming about it since I first caught her scent. The thought of sliding between those sharp little teeth, watching those cat eyes water as she takes me deep¡ªit¡¯s been torturing me since Iid eyes on her. I hated watching her do it to another man. Hated everything about it.


    But giving Lyre exactly what she wants? Too easy. She¡¯s testing me. Everything with her is a game, a challenge, a way to see if I¡¯ll break. And I refuse to fail.


    My mind wanders to a ridiculous ce. I imagine grabbing her wrist, dragging her into the bathroom, and brushing her damn teeth. Slow and condescending, standing behind her at the sink mirror, watching her furious eyes as I move the brush over every tooth.


    "Minty fresh," I¡¯d say with a smug grin, right before she¡¯d spin around and punch me in the balls.


    The image is so absurd that my lips twitch, amusement flickering briefly across my face.


    Lyre¡¯s eyes narrow immediately. Nothing gets past her. "What are you thinking?"


    "Nothing," I lie, my voice a little too casual.


    Her pupils contract slightly at the obvious bullshit. She doesn¡¯t want jokes. She wants control¡ªmy control¡ªover her. My wolf growls, the sound vibrating through my chest. I¡¯ve been sucked into her orbit, drawn in by her arousal, by the strange pull she has over us both. The promise of dominating the woman who scares my wolf to death is impossible to resist.


    I bend down, my grip firm on her hair as I kiss her¡ªupside down, her head tilted back against me. My mouth consumes hers, tongue pushing inside without hesitation. I taste her, explore her, deep and slow, cleaning every crevice. My tongue slides against the roof of her mouth, behind her teeth, intentionally thorough.


    It¡¯s filthy. I love it.


    When she tries to catch and suck on my tongue, I bite her bottom lip hard enough to make her gasp. "Open," I growl against her lips.


    She hesitates¡ªalways testing, always pushing. I reach down and pinch both nipples, hard and sudden. Her back arches off the bed as a moan spills from her mouth, giving me exactly what I want.


    I don¡¯t stop kissing her until her mouth is thoroughly fucked. By the time I pull back, her lips are swollen and red, her eyes ssy with arousal. I run my fingers over her mouth possessively, tracing the outline of her lips. Then I press two fingers past them, pushing in slowly.


    She epts them immediately, tongue curling around my knuckles as she sucks. The wet heat of her mouth sends jolts straight to my cock.


    She takes them like she¡¯s starving, her cheeks hollowing with every suck. The heat of her mouth draws a hiss from between my teeth, and I have to close my eyes for a second¡ªjust a second¡ªor I might lose the plot entirely.


    I want to keep her like this, mouth full and obedient, tongue flickingzy circles like she¡¯s savoring it. She¡¯s not just teasing me back. She¡¯s showing me she <i>knows</i> what she¡¯s doing.


    "I had a different kind of washing out in mind," she murmurs between licks, her voice a purr of challenge.


    "I know you did." My wordse out like sandpaper against my throat; it¡¯s dry and parched from all this damn want I¡¯m holding back.


    Without warning, I jerk back and flip her over in one fluid motion. Shends with a startled gasp that quickly transforms into a moan as one of my arms hooks beneath her hips, lifting her ass into the air. My other hand yanks a pillow from the head of the bed and shoves it underneath her, elevating her hips perfectly.


    Her legs spread for me instinctively¡ªno hesitation, no shyness. She¡¯s dripping, flushed pink and so wet I can see it gleaming on her inner thighs. The sight of her disyed like this, offered up and waiting, makes my wolf howl with primal need.


    Lyre shudders beneath me, all that wless skin begging for my hands, my mouth, my teeth. Even my wolf whines with the need to im her. And fuck, it would be so easy to give in.


    But I don¡¯t. I won¡¯t.


    Instead, I trace two fingers along the slick outer edges of her pussy. No pration. Just a teasing brush, barely there. Just enough to feel how wet she is without giving her what she wants.


    Her hips buck involuntarily, chasing my touch. I pull back so she can¡¯t get pressure where she needs it, and she makes a frustrated little sound in the back of her throat. So fucking adorable.


    "Problem?" Restraint has me sounding like a chain-smoker of fifty years, and I hope it doesn¡¯t turn her off. But it¡¯s hard, damn it.


    She scowls at me, her slitted eyes shing with impatience. Her breath catches when my fingers pass close to her entrance again, circling without dipping inside.


    "You¡¯re stalling," she says, trying to sound bored. But her voice trembles on thest syble.


    "Not stalling." I drag my fingers up one side of her slit, then down the other. So close, but never where she wants me. "Taking my time."


    My cock throbs, achingly hard, desperate to rece my fingers. To sink into her slick heat until she¡¯s gasping, until those sharp little teeth are sinking into her own lip as shees undone beneath me. But I¡¯ve spent my life learning restraint. Caine might be all impulsive instinct, but I¡¯m the one who has to think with his brain instead of his wolf.


    And right now, my brain knows giving Lyre exactly what she¡¯s asking for is the surest way to lose this battle before it begins.


    I have to break <i>her</i>, while letting her think she¡¯s breaking <i>me</i>.

 Chapter 133: Jack-Eye: Her Game (II)

    <h4>Chapter 133: Jack-Eye: Her Game (II)</h4>


    <strong>JACK-EYE</strong>


    She pushes back against my hand, trying to force my fingers inside. I pull back again, denying her. Her growl of frustration sends a shiver down my spine.


    "I thought you were going to wash out my mouth." She¡¯s trying to provoke me, challenge me. "Or are you all talk, wolf?"


    In response, I let my dominance pour out of me like smoke¡ªthick, suffocating, filling the air between us. It rolls over her skin, a ripple of goosebumps rising in its wake as it presses against her like an invisible hand.


    I¡¯ve never seen a non-wolf react to alpha energy like this. This is a trick that works on betas, omegas¡ªpack members who recognize the hierarchy. Humans might fall beneath it, might struggle to breathe and be crushed by its pressure, but they don¡¯t <i>feel</i> it like we do. Like more than just a wave of heavy, crushing weight.


    But Lyre¡¯s back arches under it, her breathing faster.


    I lean forward and grab a handful of her breast, squeezing with slow, deliberate pressure. My thumb circles her nipple before giving it a firm twist, just enough to leave a phantom ache behind.


    She doesn¡¯t moan, doesn¡¯t flinch¡ªbut her breath hitches, barely perceptible, and her skin tightens beneath my palm. I switch hands, repeating the pattern with quiet focus. No rush. No mercy. I want her keyed up and off bnce before I even truly begin.


    Then something strange happens. Her magic pushes back against mine. Not resisting, exactly¡ªmore like... teasing. ying. Her energy slides against mine, coy and challenging, like fingers dancing along the edges of my power.


    The feeling is electric. My skin prickles with it¡ªthis sensation of her magic taunting mine, coaxing it, then slipping away when it gets too close. My wolf snarls, frustrated by this game she¡¯s ying, even as my body burns with arousal at the strange intimacy of it all.


    I push harder, concentrating all my dominance into a focused wave of alpha energy. It crashes over her, breaking through the teasing resistance with an outpouring of primal power. Her magic buckles under it¡ªnot surrendering, but yielding space, acknowledging the force behind my will.


    Sheughs breathlessly, the sound of it half-moan.


    "Good boy," she murmurs, like I¡¯m the one being trained. "I was beginning to think I¡¯d have to spell out what I wanted in small words."


    That condescension, that edge of control even when she¡¯s spread out beneath me¡ªit makes my wolf bare its teeth, makes my heart pound. She¡¯s not fighting me for dominance; she¡¯s still trying to control how I dominate her.


    Her thighs fall wider, an invitation. Her scent curls around me, thick and decadent. Not just arousal¡ª<i>hers</i>. Sweet, sharp, and soaked into the sheets.


    My wolf howls for it, for a taste. I want to bury my face between her thighs and drink until I drown.


    I draw my hands back, not touching her at all now. Instead, I concentrate my aura <i>there</i>, between her legs. I¡¯ve never tried this before¡ªusing my dominance as a physical force, focused so precisely. But something about her magic makes me want to try new things, push boundaries I didn¡¯t know existed.


    I shove my energy forward, a little at a time. It¡¯s hard to control, hard to keep focused in such a small area. Sweat beads on my forehead with the effort. Every nerve in my body is screaming at me to abandon this and just fuck her, but I dig in deeper.


    The control. The precision. The knowledge that I¡¯m touching her without touching her¡ªrewriting the rules of what it means to dominate someone.


    It¡¯s intimate in a way I wasn¡¯t prepared for. Violent, too, because it tears something open in me. Something I didn¡¯t know I¡¯d sealed shut.


    Her pussy flutters, opening without a single physical touch. Just my dominance pressing inside her, invisible but powerful, filling her inch by inch.


    The sight nearly breaks me. I grab the base of my cock, squeezing hard to maintain control as I watch her open for me, millimeter by glorious millimeter. It¡¯s the most erotic thing I¡¯ve ever seen¡ªher body responding to nothing but my will, my energy, my power.


    And the feeling is indescribable. It¡¯s both like my cock¡¯s inside her and not at the same time. I can feel her heat, her wetness, the way she clenches around nothing but my aura. I¡¯m buried inside her without a single inch of flesh¡ªjust will and want, driving her open.


    "Fuck," I breathe, watching as she takes more of my energy, her body trembling with each invisible thrust. "How have I never thought to do this before?"


    I push deeper, harder, watching her back bow with the pressure of it. Her hands fist in the sheets, knuckles white with tension as her body shakes. Every muscle in my body is tight with the strain of maintaining this connection, this focused point of dominance. But it¡¯s worth it for the way she writhes before me, taken apart by nothing more than my will.


    My teeth grit. Holding this much power in one ce feels like keeping a damn earthquake on a leash.


    She groans, throwing her arm over her eyes as it overwhelms her. "Where¡¯d you learn that?"


    I lean over, mouth near her ear, my chest brushing against her straining breasts. I keep my aura firmly pressed inside her, unrelenting as I whisper, "From you. When you left me with your magic fingers all over my cock to grab another man to blow."


    Her whole body jerks at that.


    I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s the reminder of what she did to me or the way I¡¯ve turned it back on her, but something about my words breaks through thatst bit ofposure she¡¯s been clinging to.


    She trembles around the pressure, trying to grind back into it, but there¡¯s nothing to grab onto. No friction. Just me¡ªmy will¡ªpushing inside. Her whole body sings with it, and my name would probably be on her lips if her pride would let it.


    But she¡¯s Lyre. She¡¯d rather bite through her tongue than give me the satisfaction.

 Chapter 134: Lyre: Her Game (III)

    <h4>Chapter 134: Lyre: Her Game (III)</h4>


    <strong>LYRE</strong>


    His dominance pushes deeper inside me¡ªan invisible, maddening pressure. it fills without filling. My hips buck against it, desperate for friction that isn¡¯t there. Just this ethereal presence stretching me open while I clench around nothing but air and alpha energy.


    "Fuck," I gasp, grinding down harder. It¡¯s maddening¡ªtoo much and not enough. Both filled and empty. Every thrust of his aura just reminds me I¡¯ve got nothing solid inside me.


    My magic sparks wildly under my skin, crackling along nerve endings that haven¡¯t fired in way too long. I¡¯mpletely lit up with want so intense it borders on pain.


    Aaron slides his cock against my entrance, and I jerk forward, positioning myself just right, ready to take him in one perfect thrust¡ª


    But the bastard sees iting.


    He pulls back with a smug <i>fuck-you</i> smirk, dodging me just as I line him up.


    "Goddamn it," I growl, my thighs trembling with the need to m myself down on him anyway. Arcana surges, wild and hungry,shing out to drag him in¡ªgreedy and reckless, just like me.


    But he¡¯s learned faster than expected, using his dominance to hold firm against my need. His aura expands inside me, pressing deeper, wider, filling me with everything but what I want.


    I¡¯m furious. I¡¯m aching. If he wanted to fuck my mouth, I¡¯d open for him. If he wanted to fold me in half and pound me through this shitty motel mattress, I¡¯d wrap my legs around him and beg for more. But this? This slow, torturous denial? I might actually lose what¡¯s left of my mind.


    I snarl. "You¡¯re going to regret this."


    The alphahole in him must be smug as fuck, because he chuckles. <i>Chuckles</i>. "Maybe. But right now?" His eyes drift down to where I¡¯m spread open for him, clenching around invisible pressure. "Right now I¡¯m enjoying every twitch, every pulse, every drop of you. You¡¯re so fucking wet I can see it."


    His words push me higher, tightening the coil of need. I¡¯ve always been the one setting the pace, dictating the terms. Now I¡¯m writhing beneath an alpha wolf who¡¯s figured out how to use his dominance, making my ancient blood sing.


    "Look at you," he murmurs, voice dropping to a panty-melting register. Fuck. "Every time I push a little deeper¡ª" He demonstrates, his dominance surging inside me, thrusting deep enough to have my back arching off the bed. "¡ªyour body just pours for me. So wet you¡¯re soaking the sheets."


    My hips roll forward against my will, seeking him, begging without words because I refuse¡ªabsolutely refuse¡ªto plead. But my body betrays me, tilting upward, trying to capture the head of his cock as he teases it along my entrance.


    "Then do something about it already," I snap, frustration making my voice crack.


    I¡¯m braced for some smart-ass remark, but instead his mouth finds my breast. No warning, no softness¡ªpain. I hiss, back arching as he draws my nipple through his teeth. Then he soothes with his tongue,zy and deliberate, like he¡¯s iming the spot he just marked.


    His cock slides along my folds, hot and slick with my arousal, but he still doesn¡¯t fuck me¡ªjust keeps thrusting against me like a goddamn tease, every wet drag of him making me twitch with need. His dominance pulses inside me in time with each thrust, a maddening rhythm of almost-but-not-quite.


    Arcana ripples under my skin, desperate to capture him, to pull him inside. But he¡¯s learned to counter it, his energy sliding against mine, teasing but never surrendering.


    "Aaron," I grit out. A plea disguised as a warning.


    He answers by shifting me onto my side, rough hands arranging me like I¡¯m a doll. One of my legs lifts over his thigh, exposing mepletely. His cock slides between my thighs, gliding along my entrance, gathering wetness.


    <i>Finally,</i> I think, relief surging through me as he positions himself. But then he presses my leg down, sandwiching his cock between my thighs instead of pushing inside. The pressure against my clit makes me jerk, a strangled sound escaping my throat.


    I tilt my hips at the perfect angle, ready to capture him on his next thrust, calcting the exact moment¡ª


    And the fucker pulls back just enough to dodge me, knowing exactly what I¡¯m trying to do. Again.


    The groan escaping my lips is animalistic, primal¡ªthe sound of a creature pushed beyond patience. I could kill him. I could set this whole motel on fire. I could unleash power to leave nothing but a smoking crater from here to the state line.


    Instead, I grind against him, desperate for friction, for release, for anything to ease this unbearable tension.


    He keeps thrusting between my thighs, cock sliding along my folds but never entering. His dominance continues its invisible iming, pulsing inside me with each roll of his hips. The dual sensation¡ªhis aura filling me while his cock teases my entrance¡ªis maddening, overwhelming.


    My body twitches with each pass of his cock against my clit. Every nerve ending is raw, hypersensitive. My magic crackles along my skin, sparking between us where we touch, little jolts of energy that make him hiss but never break his rhythm.


    He¡¯s stronger than he looks. In more ways than one.


    "That¡¯s it," he murmurs against my neck, his teeth scraping behind my ear. "Let me feel it. I want to feel you falling apart."


    A st of dominance ms into my core, and he twists my nipple with zero hesitation. The pain lights a fuse; arousal races straight between my legs, and I can¡¯t stop the sound I¡¯m making¡ªa wrecked, needy noise I¡¯ve never made before.


    His hand wraps around my throat, firm but not choking. Just holding. Owning. His cock keeps sliding between my thighs, slick and steady, hitting my clit with every pass while his aura fucks me open from the inside.


    "Come for me," he growls, his voice deep and rumbling behind my ear. "Now."


    And I do.


    My body locks up, hips jerking as I fall into it. My magic res, sparking across the room¡ªliterally. The bedsidemp explodes in a crack of static, and all I can do is cling to him while the orgasm rips through me.


    But it¡¯s not enough.


    Even after, I¡¯m still clenching, still empty, still desperate for something real. That release? A false high. Like scratching a phantom itch that never stops burning.

 Chapter 135: Lyre: Her Game (IV)

    <h4>Chapter 135: Lyre: Her Game (IV)</h4>


    <strong>LYRE</strong>


    "Get inside me before I turn you into a toad."


    The wordse out before I can think twice, but I won¡¯t take them back.


    I¡¯m going to kill this man if he keeps up this game of his. I know he wants more; know he¡¯s nowhere near satisfied. And yet he¡¯s holding out.


    His hands on my skin, his cock teasing my pussy, his power pulsing inside of me... it¡¯s infuriating. Intoxicating.


    Almost like I¡¯ve started a game I have no chance of winning. But of course not. I¡¯ve just handed him the reins for today.


    One time. A temporary release. A single night of pleasure with an oversexed wolf. Maybe more, since he¡¯s proving himself to be a very nice toy...


    But that¡¯s all this is.


    Lyrielle doesn¡¯t beg.


    Aaron leans down, his lips brushing my ear. His breath sends shivers down my spine, tickling my skin.


    "That¡¯s not how you beg, Lyre."


    This bastard. I could kill him for this¡ªfor making me want, for making me surrender. And yet here I am, legs spread, hands clutching at the sheets, every fiber of my being centered on the semi-empty ache between my thighs.


    My teeth grind together as I fight the urge to simply hex him. I could do it. A snap of my fingers, a whispered word, and this wolf would be on his knees. But that¡¯s not what I want. Not right now.


    "...Please."


    It¡¯s a false surrender on my tongue. Bitter and sweet at the same time.


    He rewards me immediately, lining himself up against my entrance. I can feel the head of his cock pressing against me, the promise of fullness after all his teasing. My body is slick, ready, trembling with anticipation. I hold my breath, waiting for the moment he finally pushes inside.


    <strong>ERRRNNNN. ERRRNNN.</strong>


    We both freeze.


    The sound of an emergency alert slices through the glorious moment like an entire cier thrown at our naked, sweaty bodies.


    Son. Of. A. Bitch.


    My phone screams from the bedside table, a distinct tone that I¡¯ve heard only a handful of times before.


    Pure instinct takes over. My foot connects with Aaron¡¯s chest, shoving him off me with enough force to send him sprawling backward. I lunge across the bed toward my phone, grabbing it from the nightstand.


    "You¡¯ve got to be fucking kidding me," the Lycan growls, sprawled awkwardly at the edge of the bed, his cock still hard and jutting upward.


    My eyes scan the screen, heart pounding for reasons entirely different from moments ago.


    "Sorry. It¡¯s an emergency. Can¡¯t ignore it..." The words tumble out automatically as I swipe through the notification.


    Silence settles over us as we both process what¡¯s happening. My thighs are still shaking, my pussy still pulsing with unfulfilled need. Aaron looks like he might punch a wall, his erection showing no signs of gging despite the interruption.


    The alert expands on my screen.


    <strong>[Divine Warning Protocol: Cosmic intervention documented in region 23-BETA and 20-L. Pattern recognition suggests coordinated action against established parameters.]</strong>


    Damn it.


    The specificity of the timing isn¡¯t lost on me. Seven hundred years I¡¯ve been avoiding entanglements, and the one time I decide to indulge...


    "Looks like the gods are jealous," I mumble, checking my other notifications. There¡¯s a few texts from Grace, and I frown.


    Aaron frowns. "What did you say?"


    "Nothing¡ª"


    A sharp, authoritative knock cuts through the air. Three precise impacts against the door. The arcana outside is easy to recognize, all golden and pure; Owen.


    Jack-Eye flops back on the bed with a groan, equal parts frustration and resignation. He drapes an arm over his eyes, muttering some inventive curses. Something about being blue-balled by a phone, among other things. Hellfire on a leash? That¡¯s a new one.


    My eyes drift to his cock¡ªstill hard, still perfect, still not inside me. A genuine pang of regret hits.


    Owen knocks again.


    "I¡¯ll be there in a second!" I shout toward the door, knowing he can hear me perfectly well. The angelic asshole must be able to smell what¡¯s behind our door, too, making it a smidgen more irritating he¡¯s out there banging to interrupt the moment.


    It doesn¡¯t take a genius to know why he¡¯s here.


    I sigh. "Get dressed. Owen¡¯s outside."


    Aaron lifts his arm off his face and looks at me incredulously. "It can¡¯t wait ten seconds?" He props himself up on his elbows. "Five. Hell, I can do it in two."


    A snort escapes me despite everything.


    But¡ªwell, he brought me over the edge, denying himself the pleasure. Maybe I can help him out.


    I cross back to the bed, feeling a twinge of guilt at his obvious difort. Leaning down, I press a soft kiss to his lips. My hand slides down his chest, over his abdomen, until my fingers wrap around his length. His hips jerk instinctively toward my touch.


    "I thought you said to get dressed," he says, but he¡¯s definitely notining as he wraps his hand around mine, forcing me to squeeze as he pumps his hips once again.


    My lips quirk against his. "This will take less than a second."


    I wiggle my way down the bed until I¡¯m bent over his bottom half, sliding his cock into my mouth in one smooth motion. It¡¯s not just physical¡ªI channel arcana directly through my lips, my tongue, my fingers, straight into his flesh.


    He¡¯s strong enough to handle it, though... he¡¯ll be forever chasing this high for the rest of his life.


    Aaron reacts with a sudden shout, his back arching off the bed. His hands grasp my head, fingers tangling in my hair as he ms his cock all the way into my throat without warning. I feel the pulse of his release, hot and sudden.


    Semen is bitter and disgusting, and I never swallow if I can help it.


    But, looking at his face through myshes, seeing the cords in his neck tighten with the force of his orgasm, I¡¯m struck with the urge.


    His hands twitch in my hair before falling to the bed.


    I swallow, then slide my mouth off his length, looking up at his dazed expression.


    "Better?"


    "Holy shit," he mutters. "That was..."


    "Heaven?"


    "Better." His eyes go straight to my mouth. "Let¡¯s do it again."


    Iugh. "Get dressed, Romeo."

 Chapter 136: Lyre: Sight

    <h4>Chapter 136: Lyre: Sight</h4>


    <strong>LYRE</strong>


    More knocks.


    The bliss of orgasm has already faded, and Aaron tugs his boxers on swiftly. Thankfully, he isn¡¯t one of those men who¡¯dy there dazed for hours after even a brief burst of arcana.


    The muscle in his jaw ticks as he watches me yank my shirt down over my hips. It barely covers what it needs to¡ªjust enough to maintain the illusion of modesty, which has never been my strong suit anyway.


    Another sharp knock at the door. Owen has zero patience and even less consideration for what he¡¯s interrupting.


    I slide on my panties, ignoring Aaron¡¯s glower as I move toward the door. His possessiveness radiates off him, hot and aura-dense. He looks ready to lunge between me and whoever¡¯s on the other side.


    I roll my eyes. As if he has any im over who sees my body. I could answer the door stark naked if I wanted to.


    I don¡¯t, though. Some battles aren¡¯t worth fighting.


    When I pull the door open, Owen stands there like judgment incarnate¡ªall broad shoulders and nk expression, exuding an infuriating angelicposure.


    "You got it, too?" I ask, not bothering with pleasantries.


    He nods once, his silver-gray eyes flickering down to where my shirt stops and my thighs begin. His eyebrows twitch ever so slightly¡ªa microexpression of disapproval he can¡¯t quite suppress.


    Typical. Angels are tedious prudes obsessed with other people¡¯s genitals. They¡¯ve got an entire rulebook about who can fuck whom and under what circumstances. Unsanctioned sex with non-Divine-affiliated partners is practically heresy. A "power imbnce," they call it. Morally corrupt. Eternally frowned upon.


    Of course, once they <i>do</i> have sex? They¡¯re like fucking bunnies.


    Angel sex is divine. Pardon the pun. Definitely would do it again. But the <i>talking</i>... fuck, they¡¯re annoying.


    I wonder which section of the celestial handbook covers an Echo Witch getting railed by a Lycan Beta. Probably an entire appendix devoted to this particr sin.


    "Thom still needs sleep," I say, cutting directly to logistics and ignoring his silent judgment.


    Owen¡¯s posture shifts minutely. "I can keep him asleep in the car."


    I pause, weighing our options. With what¡¯s most likely Chaos poking around, we need to move fast. But pushing Thom too hard could burn him outpletely¡ªand a drained wizard would be worse than useless.


    His tracking is currently unavable, more or less on pause as he sleeps off the sudden infusion of pure arcana. But it¡¯s unlikely the direction will change much, and Grace and Caine are that way as well.


    I nod. "Get everyone ready. We leave in thirty."


    He doesn¡¯t argue, but his eyes dart past me to Aaron, who¡¯s standing halfway between the bed and bathroom, radiating territorial wolf energy.


    My phone buzzes in my hand. I nce down, scanning Grace¡¯s texts again. There¡¯s also one from Caine.


    I look back up at Owen. "Pretty sure Chaos is in the area."


    He grunts acknowledgment before turning to walk back toward his room. I lean against the doorframe, watching him retreat down the dingy motel corridor. His shoulders roll with each step, the fluid movement of someone who knows exactly what his body is capable of.


    Too bad he¡¯s an angel. Such a nice specimen of man.


    "Are you really staring at another man in front of me?" Aaron growls, sounding distinctly put out.


    I turn slowly, arching an eyebrow. "Am I not allowed to?"


    His face darkens like a thundercloud. He swears viciously under his breath, storms into the bathroom, and ms the door hard enough to rattle the cheap artwork on the wall.


    From heaven to hell in only minutes.


    He was fine until I opened the door skimpily dressed, of course.


    I step back inside and close the door with a sigh. Wolves¡ªso predictably territorial. You give them an orgasm and suddenly they think they own exclusive viewing rights.


    A pulse throbs behind my eyes, and the world disappears for a heartbeat. My Sight flickers on without permission¡ªa snapshot of something not quite here and now:


    Grace and Caine standing close. A tension between them that¡¯s more than sexual. Something electric. Dangerous. And someone else¡ªa presence I can¡¯t quite make outing toward them. Someone with purpose.


    The vision slips away like water through fingers, leaving nothing but uneasy prickles along my spine. The most frustrating part is not knowing when. Could be happening right now. Could be a month from now. Could¡¯ve already happened hours ago, the damage already done.


    I rub my forehead, irritation simmering under my skin. Divine interference always gives me migraines.


    My thumb swipes over my phone, opening the Divinity App. The interface glows, notifications stacked high in the corner.


    I open the messaging section and type:


    <strong>[LYRIELLE: You know Bnce is gonna kick you in the ass for this, right?]</strong>


    I hit send, though I know better than to expect a response. At least not yet. He likes to keep people on edge. It¡¯s his nature.


    A swift response is toofortable for him.


    I toss my phone onto the bed and grab my jeans from the floor, yanking them on with more force than necessary.


    "Pretentious cosmic assholes," I mutter, shoving my foot through a pant leg. "So many lifetimes of the same tedious script. You¡¯d think at least one of them would y by the fucking rules."


    It¡¯s funny how they¡¯ll call me out every time I step in, but whenever something seems interesting enough, they¡¯ll dive in without remorse.


    But not when they¡¯re desperately needed. Or wanted.


    No, it¡¯s always on their own agenda.


    The whole pantheon needs a collective kick in the ass.


    The bathroom door opens just as I tug my shirt back down. Aaron stands there, water droplets clinging to his chest, eyes dark and searching. Did he throw himself into cold water to calm his temper?


    Seems so.


    Adorable.


    I ignore him, focusing instead on the task at hand. We have children to protect, Chaos¡¯s interfering hands to smack, and miles to cover before anything happens to Grace.


    The game we were ying will have to wait.


    The universe has terrible timing. Always has.

 Chapter 137: Caine: Fraying

    <h4>Chapter 137: Caine: Fraying</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    The storm¡¯s wandered off, calming the air. But not me.


    My skin doesn¡¯t fit. My muscles twitch with excess energy. I pace the narrow confines of Lyre¡¯s camper like something caged, each circuit bringing me closer to Grace, then forcing myself away.


    Fenris is still outside. The blessing of the Lycan King¡ªto have my wolf as a distinct entity. Right now, it feels like a curse. Double the chaos, double the pressure building with nowhere to go.


    <i>You need to settle</i>, Fenris growls through our bond. <i>The pups can sense your distress. You¡¯re leaking it out.</i>


    I ignore him. Grace had pushed me away earlier, hands firm against my chest, eyes wild with panic. Smart girl. I understand why¡ªthe logical part of my brain even agrees with her caution¡ªbut the primal core of me seethes with rejection.


    Her scent fills the confined space. Blueberry muffins, warm and sweet. It used to calm me. Now it agitates, hooks into something dark and hungry, demanding satisfaction.


    "Are you sure you¡¯re okay?" Grace asks from behind me, her voice soft.


    I close my eyes. "Fine."


    But I¡¯m not. And she knows it.


    Grace leans over the dte table, gazing out the window where the children are ying under Fenris¡¯s watchful eye. The now-bright skies highlight her face, the cascade of her artificially golden hair. She is soft, human, and thankfully oblivious to the war raging inside me.


    <i>Something¡¯s wrong</i>, Fenris says, agitation rushing his words. <i>I feel out of control.</i>


    Me, too. <i>Keep the kids outside</i>, I snap. If theye in here... I don¡¯t want to scare them again.


    He huffs. Then, <i>Don¡¯t touch her.</i>


    "I know," I hiss. The words are anathema on my tongue, against every desire crashing through my body.


    But I can¡¯t walk away. Can¡¯t leave her.


    Can¡¯t stay.


    <i>If you don¡¯t get it together, I¡¯m going to lose it too</i>, Fenris warns. <i>The young ones don¡¯t need to see that.</i>


    I drag in a breath through my mouth, trying to center myself. But her scent permeates everything, amplifying with each heartbeat. It fills my lungs, curls through my blood.


    Need, not peace.


    I dig my fingers into my palms, tensing my body against the onught within.


    Graceughs suddenly, the sound light and musical. She turns to me, eyes bright with delight. "Did you see that? Bun¡ª"


    I snap.


    My hand catches her arm, and I pull her in¡ªtoo fast, too hard, but it doesn¡¯t matter, because her soft, perfect little body is finally flush against mine. Her breath hitches, her words lost as my mouth crashes into hers.


    The kiss is brutal. Hungry. A mistake. But the second our lips touch, everything inside me goes quiet.


    Blessed stillness.


    My hands slip to her hips, gripping tight¡ªtight enough that a normal woman would bruise. But Grace just exhales against my mouth, her body stiff for half a second before she melts.


    Her fingers find my hair. Her lips open under mine. She <i>kisses me back</i>, just as desperate, just as fucking <i>gone</i> under this damn temptation of our bond.


    I groan into her mouth. I need her. Need all of her. To pin her, mark her, bury myself in her until the storm in me has nowhere left to go.


    But then she hesitates, her lips no longer as pliable and soft, her body stiffening.


    A breath caught wrong. A tremble under my palms. She tries to speak, to pull away, and I don¡¯t notice fast enough.


    My mouth moves over hers again, teeth grazing soft skin. My hands slip under her shirt, her bra, my fingers flicking over her nipple. Skin. Heat. Hers.


    She breaks the kiss, jerking back with a gasp. "Caine! What the hell is wrong with you?"


    Outside, Fenris howls, the sound sharp with rm. The kids shout in response.


    I blink, my chest heaving. The world freezes around me. The pressure is gone, reced by horrified rity.


    I jerk away, hands shaking. I¡¯m an ass. I didn¡¯t mean to, but¡ª


    Grace rubs her arms, eyes shing a little at my reaction. "I mean, you don¡¯t have to act like I¡¯m contagious..."


    But her words trickle off. She did the same thing just moments ago.


    "I¡¯m sorry," I grate out, struggling to understand what just happened. The drive to im her had been uncontroble, unstoppable. I¡¯ve only felt that kind of all-consuming need once before in my life, with¡ªfuck.


    I shake my head violently, trying to dislodge the thought. For one disorienting moment, another face oveys Grace¡¯s. Another beautiful blonde, with cold eyes and a faint smirk...


    "Are you okay?" Grace asks, her anger softening to concern.


    Pain stabs, sharp and sudden, in my skull. I clutch my head, a growl escaping through clenched teeth. "I¡¯m fine."


    <i>You¡¯re scaring her</i>, Fenris snaps.


    "You¡¯re scaring the kids," I snarl back.


    Silence falls in my head, thick and heavy.


    "Uh... Caine? This is weird, right?" She says after a moment, rubbing her thumb over her bottom lip. I follow the movement like a starving man. She seems to notice and drops her hand to awkwardly gesture toward the window. "Fenris seems a little... Are you messed up from the storm, too?"


    My hand lifts of its own ord, reaching for her again. I yank it back, disgusted with myself. "I don¡¯t know."


    "Caine..." She steps toward me, concern creasing her brow.


    I back up until the counter hits my spine. She¡¯s too close. Too soft. Too tempting. The need to mate, to im surges again, violent in its intensity.


    She reaches out before I can stop her, brushing cool fingers against my forehead.


    Everything stills.


    The chaos in my mind goes quiet. The tension drains from my muscles. My lungs expand.


    She frowns, staring at her hand. Then her eyes widen, and her mouth drops open. "I think I can feel it."


    "Feel what?" My voice is barely audible, choked with the force of my restraint. Just one quick grab and I could flip us both, bend her over the counter, tear off the flimsy clothes she¡¯s wearing and plunge deep inside while biting her neck until¡ª


    "The energy." Her eyes widen with wonder. "I can really feel it. How it¡¯s moving."


    I jerk away from her hand, terror recing desire. If I give in to what I¡¯m feeling, I could kill her.


    "Don¡¯t touch me again." Themandes out as a growl.


    "No¡ª" She shakes her head, stubborn as always. "I think I can stop it. If I try hard enough. Maybe. I¡¯ll have to touch you again to make sure."


    I narrow my focus to the only thing that matters, the one ray of impossible hope in this nightmare. My voicees out hoarse, stripped of all pretense.


    "Are you sure?"


    "Well, no. But maybe?" She touches my forehead again, and I grab onto the counter edges with a soft curse, telling myself not to grab her. Don¡¯t throw her down like a wolf in rut.

 Chapter 138: Grace: Arms Outstretched

    <h4>Chapter 138: Grace: Arms Outstretched</h4>


    I close my eyes and focus, searching for that spark again. For a moment, there¡¯s nothing but the warmth of his skin, the steady thunder of his heartbeat.


    There¡¯s some sort of current between us, pulling something out of me and into him. I can <i>feel</i> it, but seeing it is another matter entirely.


    Still, there¡¯s a strange sensation of something tangible, like water pouring through a pipe. Not easy to hold onto, but with some sort of weight and density, if I can somehow reach out and grab it. If I can just concentrate a little harder, push a little more...


    It¡¯s <i>right there</i>. I can almost taste it, and it¡¯s strangely sweet and metal at the same time, giving me an almost sickening feeling behind my jaw. My eyes burn behind my eyelids, and my heart squeezes and jumps around, falling out of rhythm.


    For one flickering second, I swear I can grasp it, bend it¡ª


    Caine jerks his head away.


    "No. We¡¯re not doing this." His voice leaves no room for argument, and I swear frost covers my skin over how freaking <i>cold</i> he sounds.


    Disorientation has my head spinning, and I bIink hard. It takes a little too long for his face toe into focus, and I wish it stayed out of focus once it gets there. He¡¯s staring at me with a hard, t expression.


    My body¡¯s still primed for a momentum no longer there, like a rollercoaster mming to a freaking stop midway down the first big hill.


    And everything under my skin is unbnced and off-center, as if a vital piece of my soul¡¯s been disconnected. Dramatic, I know, but it¡¯s hard to exin something you¡¯ve never given words before.


    I rub my arms, trying to recapture even a whisper of that sensation, but there¡¯s nothing¡ªjust memories of a vague potential he snatched away right at the most important moment, damn it.


    "But I was getting somewhere!" Okay. I sound a little childish and maybe not as reliable as I should be, but damn it, I was <i>right there</i>, and he moved, and now he¡¯s saying I can¡¯t try again? Really?


    "You just fainted again," he says, arms folded to really hammer in his <i>don¡¯t touch me</i> aura. "I¡¯m not risking it again."


    I roll my eyes, frustration bubbling up hot in my chest. "I didn¡¯t faint. I fell asleep."


    But his mouth curves down into a frown and his eyebrows draw together, and I remember the strange dream and the odd way everything felt so tired and heavy right before I closed my eyes.


    "Probably," I add reluctantly.


    "Probably?" Caine raises an eyebrow now, thoroughly unimpressed. "That¡¯s not reassuring."


    "But I was so close to¡ª" To what? Understanding? Power? I don¡¯t even know what I¡¯m reaching for, just... it feels important. Essential, even.


    The Lycan King in front of me doesn¡¯t budge. He¡¯s not warm Caine with daddy vibes anymore, not the guy who just kissed me against my will (and made me like it, but we aren¡¯t talking about <i>that</i> little detail). He¡¯s definitely the crowned wolf king at this particr moment, all cold and standoffish.


    His expression might as well be carved from granite. Maybe that¡¯s what I should get him for a birthday. A stone carving of a wolf, saying it looks just like him.


    A sharp bark cuts through the tension stewing between us, and Caine¡¯s head jerks up as he glowers out the window.


    He growls, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. "I swear, if that damn dog is back, I¡¯m going to kick it."


    I blink at him, momentarily forgetting my frustration. "You can¡¯t just kick people¡¯s dogs, Caine." And he was surprised I might have¡ªfor a <i>little bit</i>, okay¡ªthought he was a serial killer. Sheesh.


    "Watch me," he mutters, skirting around me like I¡¯m the ck gue in human skin and storming out the door. The entire camper shakes with each footstep.


    I follow him outside, squinting in the sunlight. Everything has that peculiar after-rain-fresh smell to it, the air scrubbed clean. I breathe in deep.


    A high-pitched squeal breaks through the quiet. Bun, spotting me from where she¡¯s ying with Sara and Jer, races forward on unsteady legs, arms outstretched, with a huge grin on her face.


    My heart melts, and I bend, ready to scoop her up¡ªbut Caine moves with supernatural speed, swooping the toddler into his arms before she can reach me.


    I stop short, arms empty.


    Bun¡¯s face scrunches with confusion, little hands reaching for me even as Caine holds her firmly against his chest.


    Jer bounds toward me next, dark curls bouncing. "Grace! Did you see what I¡ª"


    Caine neatly steps in his path, redirecting the boy with a hand on his shoulder. "Come help me check the generator," he says.


    The boy looks between us, deting visibly. "Oh. Uh, okay? What¡¯s a generator? Do we get to make a fire with it?"


    Even Fenris, usually so attentive, keeps his distance, circling wide around me as if I¡¯m surrounded by an invisible barrier. Ron isn¡¯t even looking at me¡ªhe¡¯s looking in the direction of the golden retriever bounding our way.


    I wrap my arms around myself, feeling very alone and leprous all of a sudden.


    Seriously, I can understand <i>Caine</i> avoiding me, but why isn¡¯t he letting the kids near me?


    Twenty feet away, the golden retriever bounds to a stop, tail wagging in a slow, steady rhythm and mouth open in a happy dog smile. Her coat catches the sunlight, turning into molten gold.


    Sara bounces on her toes, pointing as she squeals, "The dog came back!"


    Jer squirms away from Caine, his previous disappointment already forgotten. "Can we pet it? Please?"


    "No."


    Fenris trots forward, hackles raised as he snarls. It¡¯s a horrible, skin-crawling sound, louder than anything you¡¯d hear from any domestic dog¡ªand yet none of the kids flinch, though Sara does turn to frown at him.


    The golden retriever ttens herself to the ground, tail tucked, ears back. Doesn¡¯t even blink. And, strangest of all, doesn¡¯t... leave.


    Any normal dog would have run off with their tail between their legs.


    Maybe she¡¯s one of those dogs with only two brain cells to rub together?


    "Hi, neighbors!"

 Chapter 139: Grace: Started Early

    <h4>Chapter 139: Grace: Started Early</h4>


    I turn to find the elderly couple from the nearby RV approaching with cheerful waves. The woman¡¯s dressed like she¡¯s out for a hike, with a huge, floppy hat on her head. The man¡¯s wearing overalls sttered in oil and paint. Both of them walk with a spryness belying their apparent age; judging by their wrinkles and the whiteness of their hair, they¡¯re pushing seventy.


    Then again, I¡¯ve never been great at guessing age. Once I thought someone was forty, and it turned out they were in their twenties. Another time I thought someone was sixty, and he was seventy-three.


    Don¡¯t get me started on kids. I¡¯m notoriously bad at guessing them. I¡¯ve already been guessing Bun at two and Jer at about eight, Sara around ten, and Ron at fifteen. I should probably ask them. As their de facto guardian of the moment, I should definitely know how old these kids are.


    Behind me, I can practically feel Caine coiling with tension. Before he can do something regrettable¡ªlike growl at two senior citizens¡ªI hustle forward to intercept.


    "Hello!" I call, stering on my best everything-is-normal smile. I hope I don¡¯t look like a freaking lunatic. "What a strange storm, right?"


    "Don¡¯t," Caine warns under his breath. "You shouldn¡¯t talk to strangers."


    I shoot him a look over my shoulder and hiss, "They were here first. It¡¯s not like they followed us." Then I ster a weing smile back on my face as I greet our new neighbors.


    I never expected to be the family with a bunch of kids at some sort of camping spot, but here I am, with four of them. And a wolf I have to somehow pass off as a dog.


    ... hopefully Fenris doesn¡¯t eat them.


    The couple stops a respectful distance away, their smiles unwavering. There¡¯s something oddly symmetrical about them, their posture mirroring each other with uncanny precision. I¡¯ve heard old couples start looking like each other over time.


    Does that mean I¡¯m going to look like Caine when I¡¯m old...?


    "Quite the electrical storm," the man says, his voice pleasantly weathered. "I think I finally understand what they mean by that term!" He chuckles, like he¡¯s made a joke.


    The woman nods, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Did you all lose power too? Our camper¡¯s been on the fritz since it hit. Batteries arepletely drained! We¡¯re going to have to power up the generator."


    "We had some issues," I admit, rxing slightly. We¡¯re all just normal people making normal conversation. Nothing strange here.


    Movement at my feet draws my attention. The retriever¡ªSadie, if I remember correctly¡ªhas belly-crawled thest few feet to where I¡¯m standing, her eyes fixed hopefully on my face. I bend down to pet her, running my fingers through her soft fur.


    Caine growls again, the warning in his tone unmistakable.


    I ignore him. Sadie¡¯s fur is silky, warm from the sun, and she leans into my touch with a contented sigh. At least someone isn¡¯t afraid to let me near them.


    "She¡¯s usually much more reserved with strangers," the woman says, sounding mildly surprised.


    Jer and Sara have edged closer, their eyes bright with excitement.


    "Can we pet her too?" Sara asks, practically wiggling.


    The man nods, his smile widening. "Of course! Sadie loves children."


    The kids don¡¯t need further invitation. They crowd around the retriever, who epts their enthusiastic pats with dignified patience.


    I notice Bun wriggling in Caine¡¯s arms, clearly wanting to join the fun, but he holds her firmly, his expression unyielding.


    A presence at my shoulder makes me start. Ron has materialized beside me, silent as always. Has he always been so tall? He¡¯s past my height now, hisnky frame filling out with adolescent muscle. It¡¯s literally been two days. He couldn¡¯t possibly grow in two days, right?


    "The weather¡¯s just getting weirder each year, isn¡¯t it?" he says to the couple, his voice gentle and a little deeper than usual.


    The elderly pair chuckle appreciatively.


    "Such good manners," the woman says, beaming at Ron. Her gaze shifts between him, Caine, and me, taking in our mismatched group. She tuts knowingly, her smile softening. "You two got started on your family early, didn¡¯t you?"


    My brain fries at her insinuation. I blink rapidly, my mouth opening and closing without producing sound.


    Do I... look old enough to have a kid Ron¡¯s age? This is a horrifying thought. Lyre is a fanatic about her skincare regimen and even tried to get me onto it. Maybe this is why.


    There¡¯s of course the knee-jerk reaction to exin this isn¡¯t like the olddy thinks it is, but the words refuse toe out. Because I¡¯ve been thinking of all four of them as mine, and (as has been made abundantly clear to me), Caine and I are fated mates. So, regardless of what I think, we¡¯re... in a rtionship. Sort of. More or less.


    So, if you <i>really</i> break it down, the olddy isn¡¯t exactly... wrong.


    Beside me, Caine¡¯s low rumble stops abruptly. I nce at him, expecting annoyance or dismissal, already primed to jump in if he says anything particrly cold or cutting.


    Instead, his face has softened, the hard lines of tension easing away. For the first time since the storm hit, he looks... pleased. Almost content. Rxed and <i>weing</i>, which is highly unexpected and strange and what am I supposed to do with this?


    My heart does a peculiar little flip in my chest, and I have no idea what to do with that, either.


    "A house full of pu¡ªchildren is a happy home," he says, tacitly agreeing with the olddy without even batting an eysh. He smiles at me. A warm, soft curve of his lips, coupled with an affectionate stare. A very <i>I¡¯m your man and we¡¯re a family and you totally had all these kids with me</i> kind of stare.


    Something inside me melts while the other half is still panicked over how old I must look.


    Bun shrieks like she¡¯s dying, right on cue. She¡¯s pissed. Caine¡¯s still got his arm wound around her, and she¡¯s wriggling like a dying fish, desperate to get at the dog.

 Chapter 140: Caine: A Rescue Mutt

    <h4>Chapter 140: Caine: A Rescue Mutt</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    <i>My family.</i>


    Two simple words, and they¡¯ve sunk their way deep into my chest, leading me to stand a little straighter. And if my face seems to glow a little, well, sometimes kings glow.


    I adjust Bun against my hip, her little body surprisingly heavy for such a small thing, and her screaming suddenly sounds like music instead of a tantrum.


    "NOOOOO!" she screams directly into my ear, her entire body rigid with want as she reaches both arms toward the golden retriever. Her shriek could shatter ss, but I just pat her little bottom with a smile.


    "DA DA GA! DA DA GA!"


    The old coupleugh, delighted by her enthusiasm. I remain smiling faintly, still patting the young child,pletely neutral to the assault on my eardrums.


    Let them see a man unbothered by a toddler¡¯s tantrum.


    Let them see a <i>father</i>.


    "She really loves dogs, I guess," Grace exins, her face flushing pink. "I¡¯m so sorry, she isn¡¯t normally like this..."


    Bun thrashes against my hold, her tiny little legs kicking my ribs hard enough to bruise a normal man. She¡¯s too strong for a bunny shifter child. "DA DA GA!" she shrieks again.


    I tighten my grip just enough. "No, Bun."


    My voice carries no heat, no anger¡ªjust absolute finality. Kings don¡¯t negotiate with two-year-olds, especially in front of a strange old couple who considers me her father.


    Bun¡¯s face crumples like she¡¯s been mortally wounded. Her screams intensify for exactly eight more seconds before she goespletely limp, draping herself across my forearm in theatrical defeat. Her bottom lip pushes out, and her thumb finds its way to her mouth. She fixes the retriever with a look of such profound longing that I almost¡ª<i>almost</i>¡ªfeel bad.


    But I don¡¯t put her down.


    Grace, on the other hand, looks at me like I¡¯m the worst being on this for letting her get to this point.


    She¡¯s soft. It¡¯s a good thing. Kids need a soft mother.


    The old woman¡¯s eyes crinkle with amusement. "Looks like you¡¯ve got your hands full."


    I nod, allowing her the smallest smile. My hands are indeed full¡ªwith a soulspliced toddler and her chaotic shifting abilities. My arms cradle a child who, only half an hour ago, transformed into something feral and tried to tear her family apart. But beyond that, my chest swells with something dangerously close to pride.


    <i>Family</i>.


    Here I stand, holding a baby while a beautiful blonde woman entertains conversation beside me, and our three other children orbit around us.


    My arms are full, and my ego is fuller.


    Jer picks up a stick, waving it over his head. "Hey, dog! Wanna y fetch?"


    Sara joins in, grabbing another stick off the ground. There are plenty. "Let me do it! I can throw farther than you."


    "Can not!"


    "Can too! I¡¯m bigger, so I can throw harder. It¡¯s called psychics!"


    "Physics, Sara. It¡¯s <i>physics</i>."


    "Whatever, Ron. You know what I mean."


    The golden retriever watches their antics with mild interest, tail waggingzily. When Jerunches his stick with surprising force for a seven-year-old, Sadie doesn¡¯t move. When Sara¡¯s stick sails even farther¡ªI note with quiet approval she has excellent form¡ªthe dog still doesn¡¯t budge.


    Instead, Sadie stands, stretches with deliberate slowness, and then ambles over to Grace¡¯s feet. The dog plops down directly onto them, looking up at her with naked adoration in her chocte-brown eyes.


    My jaw tightens. My eyes narrow.


    The dog¡¯s strange, showing such affection to my mate. Between my presence, and Fenris, she should be hiding in their camper, unwilling toe out for fear of being hunted by the king of beasts.


    And it isn¡¯t as if my Grace is a dog whisperer¡ªshe¡¯s just a woman. <i>My</i> woman. The same woman this stupid mutt is far too close to.


    The dog presses harder against Grace¡¯s legs, and I have to fight back the urge to snarl.


    "She really likes you!" the old woman exims.


    Grace smiles down at the retriever, reaching to scratch behind her ear. "I like her too."


    That¡¯s when I catch it¡ªthe barest flicker of something in the dog¡¯s eyes. Something intelligent. Something watchful.


    Fuck this mutt.


    A blur of ck fur streaks past. Fenris nts himself in front of the retriever, lips pulled back to expose teeth the size of steak knives. His growl vibrates even the ground beneath our feet.


    Grace stumbles backward. "Fenris!"


    The golden dog ttens herself to the ground, belly scraping dirt as she scrambles behind Jer and Sara. Within seconds, the dog transforms from cheerful pet to terrified prey, eyes wide, tail tucked.


    Fenris, smug bastard he is, settles onto his haunches directly in front of Grace. He licks his chops with deliberate slowness, curling his tongue around his own muzzle while staring directly at the cowering retriever.


    <i>Show-off</i>.


    My chest loosens as I inhale deeply. Blueberry muffins mix with the over-clean scent of the storm¡¯s aftermath, and it¡¯s back to calming me down. The chaotic energy building inside me recedes a bit.


    I¡¯m almost calm. Almost cid. Even with my suspicion bubbling over these old people and their strange dog.


    <i>That¡¯s definitely not a normal dog</i>, Fenris says in my head, his mental voice dripping with disdain. <i>But it doesn¡¯t seem to have any animosity toward us.</i>


    I stare at the retriever, now peeking from behind Sara¡¯s legs with the most pathetic expression I¡¯ve ever seen on a canine.


    <i>Even a kid could see there¡¯s no animosity there</i>, I reply dryly. <i>What amazing observational skills you have, king of all wolves.</i>


    Fenris turns his massive head toward me, baring his teeth in a silent snarl. The old man notices, leaning in with sudden interest.


    "Those are some impressive canines," he says, his eyes widening as he leans in close. "Never seen a dog quite like that before."


    Grace freezes like a deer in headlights, even as my wolf preens, raising his head a little higher. "Oh, he¡¯s, uh, a rescue. A mutt."


    I can physically feel the wolf¡¯s outrage m into me through our bond. A <i>mutt</i>? The ancestral wolf spirit of the Lycan Kings, a creature of legend and magic, reduced to amon mutt?


    <i>I will eat her in her sleep</i>, Fenris seethes, his mental voice practically vibrating with indignation.


    <i>You will not</i>, I counter, fighting to keep my face neutral. Apparently his devotion to Grace ends where his immense pride begins.


    <i>How dare she. After all I... a mutt? She calls me a </i>mutt<i>?!</i>


    Jer snickers, not even trying to hide his amusement at Fenris¡¯s obvious offense. The wolf¡¯s ears tten against his skull as he looks at Grace out of the corner of his eye.


    Sara approaches cautiously, reaching out a trembling hand to pat his enormous head. Her movements are painfully slow, like she¡¯s afraid he might snap her arm off¡ªwhich, to be fair, he absolutely could. If he wanted to.


    "Nice doggy," she says, her voice unnaturally high. She¡¯s determined to back Grace up. What a good kid.


    <i>I will eat this one too.</i>


    Theugh catches in my throat before it can escape. The mighty Fenris¨²lfr, terror of the supernatural world, reduced to being awkwardly petted by a nine-year-old girl who¡¯s calling him "doggy" while an old couple coos at the scene.


    If the other alphas could see this, he¡¯d never live it down. Or me, for that matter.


    "What breed mix do you think he is?" the old woman asks, squinting at Fenris with clear curiosity.


    "German shepherd and... Great Dane?" Grace offers weakly.


    <i>Dire wolf and ancient god</i>, Fenris mutters in my head, snapping at the air. Sara jerks her hand back.


    He huffs indignantly, sprawling across the dirt to make a point of how massive he is. His head is at Grace¡¯s hip even lying down, and his paw isrger than her hand. No one with functioning eyeballs would believe he¡¯s just an unusuallyrge dog.


    Though he was definitely smaller earlier. He¡¯s purposely boosted his size.


    "Must eat you out of house and home," the old manments.


    Fenris once devoured an entire elk without sharing.


    "He¡¯s on a special diet," I say, the corner of my mouth lifting slightly.


    <i>Yes, the souls of my enemies and stupid humans who call me a mutt</i>, he grumbles.


    This time I can¡¯t hold back the short bark ofughter that escapes me. Everyone turns to stare¡ªapparently the Lycan King doesn¡¯tugh often enough for it to go unnoticed.


    Grace raises an eyebrow at me, a silent question on her face.


    "Sorry. I had something in my throat."


    Ron snorts. "Right."


    His disbelieving noise is a bit of a surprise; he usually tends to stay in the background.


    Bun haspletely surrendered in my arms now, her head lolling against my shoulder as she watches the golden retriever with mournful eyes. Her thumb hasn¡¯t left her mouth, and I can feel a wet spot forming on my shirt where she¡¯s been drooling.


    The olddy smacks at her husband¡¯s back and motions toward the children, and he clears his throat. "So... y¡¯all like barbecue?"

 Chapter 141: Caine: Brat vs Brot

    <h4>Chapter 141: Caine: Brat vs Brot</h4>


    <strong>CAINE</strong>


    "We¡¯re firing up the grill tonight," the old woman says, patting her husband¡¯s arm affectionately. "Got some ribs marinating since this morning. You folks should join us!"


    Grace stutters beside me, her cheeks flushing as her eyes dart from me to our new, extra-friendly neighbors. "Oh, that¡¯s¡ª"


    "Is there gonna be BRAT-worsts?" Jer interrupts, bouncing on his toes with a manic energy that makes me wonder if he¡¯s capable of standing still for longer than three seconds.


    Grace whispers, "It¡¯s <i>brot</i>¡ªnot brat."


    The kid crosses his arms, defiant as he frowns at Grace. He has spunk, but he¡¯s going to need to learn not to cross a Luna so easily. "I like <i>brat</i>wurst."


    "You should at least <i>say</i> the word right," Sara mutters, conveniently cing Jer between her and Fenris. She probably doesn¡¯t think anyone notices, but I do.


    Most parents would probably be displeased at the idea one of their children would willingly sacrifice the other, but my lips quirk. A little sibling rivalry goes a long way to character development. It isn¡¯t as if Fenris would hurt the children, but if he were truly an unstable wolf, it would be a lesson well-learned for the younger boy. Never ignore the unstable wolf beside you.


    Ron clears his throat, scratching at his head as he says, "Oh, we don¡¯t like to impose."


    He acts too old for his age, and I frown. He could do with a few pups his age. It¡¯s time for him to get into a little trouble and learn his own way, not spend his time watching over the children. Jack-Eye has arge family; I¡¯m sure he has a nephew or cousin to take Ron in.


    "Right, right!" Grace adds quickly, nodding too enthusiastically. "We wouldn¡¯t want to impose."


    The old man waves a weathered hand. "Nonsense! We <i>love</i>pany."


    Jer¡¯s eyes light up again. "Are we gonna stick the brats on <i>sticks</i>? Over fire?"


    "Brots," Sara hisses, smacking him in the shoulder. Then she freezes and looks at Fenris.


    I chuckle, and she jumps a little, slowly turning around to peek in my direction. She looks worried, and I smile at her.


    Somehow, it makes it all worse, and she dashes over to Ron¡¯s side, clinging to his hand.


    The old manughs at Jer, a full-bellied sound of a kind and gentle soul. "Sure thing, boy!"


    Grace¡¯s smile strains as she shoots me a sideways nce. Her cheeks are flushed red from themotion, and the slightly sour scent of anxiety rolls off her in waves thick enough to taste.


    Bun reaches for her, but I shift her to my other side, patting her diapered behind again. She grunts and settles into her thumb-sucking with extra ferocity, looking particrly grumpy.


    I inhale deeply, trying to ce the old couple¡¯s scent. There¡¯s something... not quite human about it. Not shifter, exactly. More like... Owen.


    <i>Yes, they smell like Owen,</i> Fenris agrees. <i>But not like family.</i>


    They¡¯re not human, and yet they¡¯re posing as such. They should be able to recognize ourck of humanity, so it makes no sense for them to continue this pretense.


    Better to figure them out now.


    "We¡¯d appreciate it," I cut in smoothly, watching Grace blink as I ept their invitation. She doesn¡¯t seem to think I¡¯m capable of interacting with others.


    <i>Considering how you met, this should be obvious,</i> Fenris mutters. I can still feel him sulking over the muttment.


    Ignoring him, I continue, "We¡¯re still settling in, and this storm¡¯s only made it harder. It¡¯s our first time taking this rig out with the family."


    Ron gives me a long, confused look. Sara goes a little pale beside him, mouthing "family?" at him with wide eyes.


    The old couple either doesn¡¯t notice, or pretends not to.


    Jer,pletely unconcerned with the nuances of our strange social dynamics, throws a fist in the air and roars, "FIRE!" before taking off, heading toward the old couple¡¯s camper. The golden retriever bounds after him, tail wagging enthusiastically.


    "Come back!" Grace yells after him, panicking. It¡¯s easy to tell by the way her hands flutter around and she spins between me, Jer, and the elderly couple, clearly uncertain if she should apologize, wait for me to handle it, or run after him.


    The old couple justugh,pletely unperturbed by the chaos. "Let the child run," the olddy says with a dismissive wave. "It¡¯s good for them."


    "Oh, but..." She looks back at me, and I nod.


    Everything¡¯s okay.


    But for some reason she just looks more distressed after I try to reassure her.


    <i>Again, considering your history of behavior¡ª</i>


    <i>Lay off, Fenris.</i>


    "This¡¯ll be so helpful, youing," the olddy continues, patting her husband¡¯s arm as she beams. "We always make too much. Big fridge, you know. We¡¯re used torger family affairs. He always says I cook like I¡¯m making food for an entire army."


    Graceughs awkwardly, the sound pitched a little too high to be natural. Her eyes continue to dart between the old couple, the retreating back of Jer, and me.


    I slide my arm behind her, not quite touching but close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body. It¡¯s an exquisite torture. "Let¡¯s go, dear."


    An even deeper flush spreads across her cheeks at the endearment, her eyes widening slightly. I¡¯ve never called her that before. It feels good.


    A little <i>human</i>, but... good.


    "How sweet," the old woman coos, patting her husband¡¯s shoulder again. He must bruise with how often she does it. "Remember when we were like that, dear?"


    Grace twitches a little at her use of <i>dear</i> but just remains staring at me, looking somewhat dazed.


    Humans love their pet names. <i>Mate</i> would be my choice, though.


    <i>Sweetheart, honey, babe, baby. These are your choices. And for the sake of all the gods above and my sanity, do not call her Muffin.</i>


    Hmm. I¡¯d never considered it, but Muffin would be¡ª


    <i>No.</i>


    I frown a little, freezing the expression when Grace jerks again. Have to watch my face around her. <i>Honey and baby are on the list, but not Muffin? How does that add up?</i>


    <i>Don¡¯t bother questioning me. You¡¯d never understand.</i>


    Fenris lopes off, catching up to Jer and Sadie with swift ease, and I return my attention to the now-stiff woman beside me. She looks almost panicked. If our lives depended on subterfuge... she would definitely give it all away.


    Cute.


    But we might need to work on that.


    The Lycan King doesn¡¯t always announce his presence, after all. And as my Luna and Queen, she would be in too much danger if I wasn¡¯t by her side.


    <i>Don¡¯t underestimate her. She¡¯ll be fine once she stops worrying about your sanity.</i>


    I frown again, my mouth freezing as soon as I realize I am. Instead, I try to smile at my mate, who¡¯s still staring at me with concern. <i>What do you mean?</i>


    <i>You¡¯re being too sweet and neighborly, and far too affectionate. It¡¯s confusing her.</i>


    I am perfectly capable of sweet. And neighborly. I run an entire pack, and visit several more in a single month alone. As far as affection, I¡¯ve been showing it as best as I can since epting her as my mate¡ª


    <i>Yes, yes. You¡¯re just a beacon of humanity.</i>


    I can¡¯t help the slight shudder of revulsion at his words.


    <i>Exactly. You¡¯re acting human, and it¡¯s weird.</i>


    Ah. Now I understand.


    Grace prefers a Lycan to a human; acting like one throws her off. My slightly cringed shoulders ease. Well, who wouldn¡¯t prefer a Lycan to a human? Of course, I¡¯d never choose a she-wolf over her...


    <i>That¡¯s not what¡ªyou know what? Never mind.</i>


    "Uh, let me just change Bun¡¯s diaper first," Grace stammers, holding out her hands. She¡¯s no longer frozen, but she won¡¯t meet my eyes.


    The toddler¡¯s been trying to lean across my body to reach her, frustrated when I keep holding her back.


    Ron, picking up on her distress, steps forward. "I¡¯ll do it." He plucks Bun from my arms with practiced ease and heads back toward the camper without another word.


    "Sweet kid," the old man announces, like we don¡¯t already know that. My parental pride wars with parental annoyance.


    "He¡¯s a good one," I agree politely, and Sara stares at me with huge eyes. I smile at her. She looks at Ron¡¯s back, then turns and runs after her little brother, instead.


    I drop my arm as we begin walking, following the old couple at a safe distance. Grace¡¯s hand swings by her side, her fingers asionally brushing against the fabric of her pants. The urge to reach for it, to tangle my fingers with hers, is strong.


    I clench my fist instead. The image of her lying pale and unconscious on Lyre¡¯s bed shes in my mind¡ªa stark reminder of what happens when we get too close.


    Maybe when she¡¯s rested and stronger. Maybe then.


    She looks so tired. The shadows beneath her eyes have deepened, and her skincks its usual glow. Her shoulders slump forward slightly, like she¡¯s carrying an invisible weight. She needs real food. Water. Rest. And she probably doesn¡¯t even realize it.


    The olddy loops her arm through Grace¡¯s cheerfully,unching into a story about her grandchildren I only half listen to. My mate smiles politely, but I can see the tension in her jaw, the slight crease between her brows as she looks back at me.


    My teeth clench as I watch them. The old woman¡¯s grip looks gentle, but there¡¯s something proprietary about it, making me bristle.


    But I can¡¯t just kick an olddy. It would horrify Grace.


    <i>You¡¯re finally learning. Congrattions.</i>


    But maybe I can kick my wolf.

 Chapter 142: Grace: Acting Weird

    <h4>Chapter 142: Grace: Acting Weird</h4>


    Caine¡¯s acting weird. Too polite, too friendly, too... everything not-Caine. He¡¯s smiling¡ªnot smirking, actually <i>smiling</i>¡ªat the middle children as they dance around the campfire.


    The elderly couple, Archie and Doris (we finally introduced each other by name), poke at the massive fire they¡¯ve built in their stone-ringed pit. A smoker sits off to the side, ribs already going inside. Apparently they¡¯ve been going all day.


    The smell of them makes my stomach growl, but something about this whole setup just feels... strange.


    "This is my brat-dance!" Jer announces, performing some chaotic bounce and wiggle; it looks like he¡¯s being electrocuted. Or having a seizure. Or both.


    Sara rolls her eyes. "It¡¯s called the floss, dummy. And you¡¯re doing it wrong." She demonstrates with quick, precise arm movements, though her cheeks flush with embarrassment. "See? Arms straight."


    "I¡¯m not a dummy. I just made it better!"


    Archie chuckles and shuffles over to join them. "Let me try," he says, swinging his arms with creaky enthusiasm.


    As terrible as it sounds, he makes the dance look like some painful physiotherapy exercise.


    It would be charming¡ªsweet, even¡ªif not for how unsettled I feel. I can¡¯t pinpoint what¡¯s wrong exactly, and there¡¯s absolutely no reason to suspect these two sweet old neighbors.


    Which means it must be Caine and his bizarre level of friendliness.


    "Bun, no!" The man in question bolts after the toddler, who¡¯s wandered dangerously close to the fire for the third time in five minutes. He moves with calcted speed, scooping her up and redirecting her away from the mes.


    "No!" Bun shrieks, squirming in his arms.


    "No." His voice is firm, but gentle.


    He sets her down several feet from the fire pit, and like a heat-seeking missile, she immediately pivots and toddles back toward danger. Caine follows, shadows her movements, redirects again. It¡¯s a dance they¡¯ve been performing since we arrived, and despite his obvious frustration, he hasn¡¯t snapped once.


    Bun breaks free from his watchful eye for just a second¡ªlong enough to hurl her sippy cup directly into the fire pit.


    The stic immediately starts to melt and smoke. Bun¡¯s face crumples, and she stands in the dirt and wails, face to the sky, like the world¡¯s just ended.


    Because she threw her own cup into the fire.


    Toddler logic. I¡¯ve vaguely heard of it, but seeing it in action is an entirely different experience.


    I lunge forward, but Caine is faster. He crouches by the fire, somehow extracts the half-melted remnant with a stick, and grunts, "It¡¯s fine." As if retrieving melting stic from open mes is something he does every day.


    Bun sobs louder, her tiny body heaving with the dubious injustice of losing her cup. Sadie ambles over and sniffs curiously at Bun¡¯s bare toes; her shoes have disappeared somewhere, too.


    The toddler¡¯s sobs transform into hupping giggles.


    "See? All better," Caine murmurs, rubbing her head.


    Who is this man, and what has he done with the Lycan King? My heart can¡¯t take it. It¡¯s going to explode if he calls me <i>dear</i> again, like we¡¯ve been married forever or something.


    "Hey, Caine!" Jer yells, waving his arms frantically. "Come on, just try it!"


    He seems to have developed an appreciation for the scary man.


    Sara, on the other hand, goes absolutely pale, her arms freezing mid-floss as she stares at Jer like he¡¯s justmitted suicide. Ron frowns at her, giving the faintest shake of his head.


    Yes. We¡¯re supposed to be pretending to be a happy family, but Sara keeps acting like Caine¡¯s about to eat her.


    Archie ps Caine on the shoulder¡ªactually touches him without permission!¡ªand announces, "It¡¯s more fun than I expected," even if he¡¯s wheezing a little as he says it.


    Caine¡¯s face goes statue-still, and I recognize the look. It¡¯s how he looked when he was listening to Alpha Brax babble, right before he lost his temper. This must be the outer limit of his hospitality.


    But slowly, with obvious reluctance, Caine lets Archie push him over to the dance group. Jer¡¯s delighted as he chatters instructions, demonstrating the move again with exaggerated motions.


    I watch, wide-eyed, as the Lycan King¡ªruler of all wolf shifters, nightmare of his enemies¡ªattempts to floss. His powerful arms move stiffly, his timingpletely off. It¡¯s the most awkward, endearing, terrifying thing I¡¯ve ever seen.


    Ron snickers behind his hand, quickly masking it with a cough when Caine nces his way.


    Sara looks absolutely horrified, her hands to her mouth, but she can¡¯t look away, either.


    A sharp yip draws my attention to the camper. Fenris has cornered Sadie underneath it, his massive form blocking her escape. Bun yanks on his ear, but even so his stance radiates smug wolf superiority as Sadie yelps again and scrambles belly-first into the dirt.


    She¡¯s clearly outssed by the supernatural wolf, though I doubt she understands exactly why.


    Or maybe she does. Though, if she did, you¡¯d think she¡¯d be miles away by now.


    My list of <i>things that don¡¯t make sense</i> is getting longer by the minute.


    Doris emerges from their camper with arge tray of raw burger patties and bratwursts. The meat glistens in the firelight, and I squint. It looks like there are diced onions in the patty.


    "The cheese is already mixed in," she tells me, smiling wide. "Have you ever cooked over open fire? It¡¯s my favorite."


    Ah. Cheese, not onions. Even better.


    But I stare at the zing inferno Archie¡¯s built. "Er... I¡¯ve cooked hot dogs on sticks?"


    How are we supposed to cook anything over this, though? It¡¯s absolutely roaring. We¡¯ll have charcoal on the outside and raw meat inside.


    Dorisughs creakily. "Oh no, dear. We have to wait for it to burn down to embers. That¡¯s when the real magic happens."


    A cold pit forms in my stomach as I realize what she means. We¡¯re going to be here a while. Hours, maybe.


    With a temperamental Lycan King and a toddler who nowcks a sippy cup and has a mild obsession with fire.


    Bun toddles toward the tray of raw meat, reaching for it with gleeful fingers.


    "No¡ªno, no¡ªdon¡¯t touch that." I grab her tiny wrist, pulling her hand back.


    Her bottom lip protrudes in a dramatic pout. Her mouth opens, and I catch a glimpse of sharp, pointed teeth¡ªdefinitely not the normal teeth of a toddler. My heart lurches as I nce at Doris, who isn¡¯t even looking. Thank goodness.


    "We have to cook it first, sweetie," I exin, trying to keep my voice steady. Calm. Reasonable.


    Is it possible to reason with a toddler?


    We¡¯re about to find out.


    "It¡¯s not safe to eat raw meat, baby."


    As if understanding, the sharpness recedes, returning to her normal baby teeth. Bun gives a disappointed "Hmph," but stops reaching for the meat.


    Once Doris ces the tray on the aluminum table she¡¯s ced near the fire, she does something unexpected. She sps her hands over it and bows her head.


    "We ask divine blessing now, before me shapes flesh," she intones, her voice suddenly deeper and more resonant. Less... old.


    I hold Bun against my hip, deeply unsettled. People say grace before eating, not before cooking. And those words don¡¯t sound like any blessing I¡¯ve ever heard.


    Then again, I haven¡¯t lived with humans for years. Maybe I just don¡¯t know¡ª


    I look at Caine, who¡¯s stopped dancing mid-move and is staring at me so intensely, my breath catches. His jaw is tight, eyes narrowed.


    Bun ps once, loudly, mimicking Doris¡¯s gesture.


    "Ah." Doris chuckles. "Children always know where to find joy."


    Caine storms over, snatching Bun out of my arms. "Darling, you shouldn¡¯t be holding her."


    I blink. He¡¯s smiling again. And he called me <i>darling</i>.


    Not dear, but <i>darling</i>.


    I don¡¯t know who this man is, but he¡¯s definitely not mine. Or he¡¯s infected.


    "What a devoted daddy you are!" the olddy says, beaming. "You¡¯re so lucky, Grace."


    Jer dashes toward us, screeching to a stop in front of me as he announces, "I need to go pee."

 Chapter 143: Grace: Too Domestic

    <h4>Chapter 143: Grace: Too Domestic</h4><subtxt> A few hourster, we¡¯re finally back in the camper. Thest of the barbecue has been packed away, the fire doused, the children full and sleepy, even though Jer insists he¡¯s wide awake even as he rubs his eyes.


    My shoulders ache from the tension I¡¯ve been carrying, but I check the sr panel as the kids flop onto the couches in the living room, relieved by the cool, air-conditioned air.


    "The battery¡¯s low," I mutter, checking the disy panel. The numbers flicker between 10% and 11% in a way that makes my stomach knot. Something¡¯s still not right, even though the storm has passed and everything looks normal.


    "I¡¯ll start the generator," Caine says, already heading for the door.


    "Thank you," I call after him, but he¡¯s already gone.


    When he returns, the roaring of the generator apanies his re-entry.


    The battery¡¯s already gone back to 11% and is now steady, as if all the strange flickering never happened. Relief washes through me for all of three seconds before Caineunches into action.


    "All of you, go wash up," he orders the kids, who groan from their positions on the couch. Bun looks around at each of them, then mimics the groan.


    "We don¡¯t have much water¡ª"


    "We¡¯ll sponge-bathe," he corrects himself. "We need to conserve."


    "I already washed my hands," Jer protests, but Caine gives him a Look.


    The boy scurries into the bathroom, followed by Sara. Immediately, there¡¯s a spat of squawking.


    "Get out of my way!"


    "Stop elbowing me, Jeridiot! Go stand in the shower!"


    "But we aren¡¯t even using it."


    "So? At least your ugly face won¡¯t be next to me."


    Ron sighs and gets up, but Caine waves him down. "I¡¯ve got it."


    The older kid blinks and looks at me, and I shrug. The man¡¯s in Daddy mode again; I have no exnation for him.


    Caine wades into the fray of Jer and Sara¡¯s constant squabbling. "Take turns. Jer, wash in the shower, just don¡¯t keep the water on. Wet this washcloth with some soap and scrub yourself down..."


    Sara squeezes out of the bathroom, her face a little white from being too close to Caine again, and jumps onto the couch beside Ron, whispering, "I think he¡¯s fattening Jer up to eat himter."


    Ron shakes his head and pats hers. "He¡¯s not going to eat us. Get over it, already."


    "He <i>is,</i>" she hisses. "Didn¡¯t you see how mad he was when he first came back?"


    "He wasn¡¯t mad. He was concerned. There¡¯s a difference."


    She grunts. "Concerned his dinner might have run away."


    My lips quirk. "Sara¡ª"


    "Sara," Caine interrupts, popping his head out of the bathroom. "I¡¯ll have you wait until Jer and Ron are done, since you¡¯re a girl."


    The color drains out of her face as Ron heads to the bathroom. "Yes, Sir."


    Caine frowns. "You don¡¯t have to call me ¡¯sir¡¯, Sara. Just Caine is eptable."


    "Right, Sir."


    While the kids take their turns in the bathroom¡ªCaine even brings them their backpacks so they can get dressed in something clean¡ªI¡¯m ushered into a couch to sit and rx.


    Bun is dragged to the kitchen sink, where Caine wipes her down on the counter and she does her best to make music with various utensils and the countertop. She¡¯s surprisingly well-behaved for the wipe-down.


    By the time she¡¯s done, Ron is back, and he takes Bun as Caine wipes down the counters. Then he goes around straightening cushions and folding the nket on the daybed that Jer had disturbed with his bouncing earlier. He looks like some kind of deranged househusband, moving with military precision through domestic tasks.


    Bun whines from her spot in Ron¡¯sp, making grabby hands at nothing in particr. Ron¡¯s trying to work the TV to y one of her favorite cartoons.


    "What¡¯s wrong, sweetheart?" I move toward her, but Caine is there in an instant, scooping her up.


    "She¡¯s thirsty," he announces, as if he¡¯s suddenly fluent in toddler. He grabs a sippy cup from the cab, fills it with water, and hands it to her without missing a beat.


    Even Ron looks surprised, his eyebrows raised as he turns on some show about a blue dog.


    Jer groans. "Not this again."


    "Bun likes it, and we left her tablet behind. So either watch it or don¡¯t."


    "<i>Fine</i>. But I want to choose what we watch when she goes to bed."


    "You¡¯ll be going to bed at the same time," the Lycan King says, not even ncing up to see the disappointment on his face.


    "Aw, man..."


    The older girl creeps out of the bathroom, trying to avoid Caine as she goes to squeeze onto the couch beside Ron.


    Thankfully, between this couch, the loveseat, and the daybed, there are enough ces for all of us to sit. Jer, for example, has sprawled all over the daybed Caine just finished fixing. Theforter¡¯s already a mess as he rolls around in boredom.


    "Sara," Caine says, and the girl freezes. "Come y a card game with me. I found one in the closet. Jer, you too."


    "Ca ga?" Bun asks, shaking her sippy cup.


    "You can y, too," he says seriously, taking her with him as he grabs a strange box out of the closet.


    I squint at it. "I don¡¯t think this is appropriate for a toddler."


    He frowns at the box. "It says it¡¯s for humanity. How bad can it be?"


    "It¡¯s probably not appropriate for me, either," Jer says, but he looks excited. "I¡¯ve heard about this game. It¡¯ll be fun."


    Sara hesitates, ncing at me before reluctantly joining Caine at the dte. Jer¡¯s a lot more enthused, and Bun just wants to grab anything within reach, demolishing every card at her fingertips.


    Caine reads through the instructions, then exins the rules to the children like he¡¯s some sort of expert.


    Jer suddenly slides out of the dte andes running at me. "Grace,e y with us! It¡¯s more fun with more people!"


    Before he canunch himself at me, Caine¡¯s got him by the back of the shirt.


    "Grace is tired," he says, redirecting Jer to the dte. "Why don¡¯t you help me with Bun¡¯s hair after this? It¡¯s all tangled."</subtxt>

 Chapter 144: Grace: I’m Fine

    <h4>Chapter 144: Grace: I¡¯m Fine</h4>


    Something clicks in my mind. The patternes into focus with sudden rity: Caine is orchestrating everything so that I¡¯m not needed. And he¡¯s blocking anyone from getting close to me.


    Ron scratches at his cheek, watching them all. "He¡¯s just trying to help," he whispers, following my gaze to where Caine is demonstrating how to shuffle cards to Sara. "But you look like you¡¯re gonna punch him."


    "What? No, I¡¯m enjoying the peace." But the wordse out through gritted teeth.


    I uncross my arms, not realizing I¡¯d been holding myself so rigidly. I should be grateful. Caine is being attentive, gentle with the kids, helpful around the camper. But it feels smothering, like he¡¯s wrapped me in cotton and ced me in a disy case.


    The air conditioner cycles off again, the third time in thest five minutes. I nce at the temperature disy¡ªit¡¯s dropped outside, and with the sun going down, we¡¯re wasting battery power.


    "I¡¯ll turn off the AC," I announce, standing up. Finally, something I can do. "Let¡¯s just keep the dehumidifier going and open the windows."


    I move toward the control panel, but Caine is there before me, dropping the game immediately to get in my way. His hand covers the panel, stopping me from doing anything. "I¡¯ll do it," he says. "You should rest."


    "I¡¯m fine," I insist, reaching past him.


    Even with my fingers just an inch from his, his hand doesn¡¯t budge. "You¡¯re exhausted. You need rest."


    Something in me snaps. A rubber band pulled too tight, finally giving way.


    "Fine," I mutter, not bothering to hide my irritation. "I¡¯ll go take a nap if you insist on ying martyr."


    I turn and stalk to Lyre¡¯s bedroom, feeling his eyes on my back the whole way.


    The door clicks shut behind me, and I flop onto the bed after opening the windows for a cool breeze and spend the next few minutes glowering at the ceiling. My jaw aches from clenching it so tight. Only after a long exhale does the tension begin to release, my muscles unclenching one by one.


    I roll onto my side and pull out my phone. The screen lights up, reminding me of something odd from earlier¡ªthe strange Divinity App. I scroll through my apps until I find it, tapping the icon.


    The screen flickers, but the app won¡¯t open. I frown, looking more closely at the icon itself. It looks different now¡ªdesaturated and dim, as if all the color has been leached from it.


    Was it a hallucination? Some kind of glitch caused by the storm? I¡¯ve never seen an app change its appearance before.


    My phone vibrates with an iing text. Lyre¡¯s name shes across the screen.


    <strong>[LYRE: We¡¯re on our way. Should be there in a few hours.]</strong>


    Relief floods through me. Lyre will know what to do about... everything. About Caine¡¯s strange behavior, about the storm, about that weird app.


    A second message appears:


    <strong>[LYRE: Is everything okay now?]</strong>


    My fingers fly over the keyboard.


    <strong>[GRACE: Yes. We had a weird storm that messed with electronics but it passed.]</strong>


    The dots appear, indicating she¡¯s typing a response. They stop. Start again. Stop. There¡¯s a long pause, and I stare at the screen, waiting.


    Finally, a new message.


    <strong>[LYRE: I¡¯ll be there as soon as I can. Try not to interact with anyone.]</strong>


    I frown.


    <strong>[GRACE: Toote. We ate with the neighbors. Older couple and a dog. They were here before us, though, so I¡¯m sure they aren¡¯t a problem.]</strong>


    She¡¯s typing again, but all thates through is:


    <strong>[LYRE: ...]</strong>


    Then:


    <strong>[LYRE: If Caine¡¯s with you, you¡¯re probably fine. But be reclusive. Don¡¯t trust anyone right now.]</strong>


    <strong>[GRACE: Why? What should I be on guard for?]</strong>


    No response. The messages aren¡¯t even showing as "read" anymore.


    The bedroom door cracks open, and Caine peers in. "You should rest," he says with alpha finality.


    I glower at his overhelpful face. "I <i>am </i>resting!"


    How much more resting can I get when I haven¡¯t even left the bed?


    He opens his mouth to reply, but I cut him off: "It¡¯s not like I have anything else to do, right?"


    The wordse out bitter and resentful, but I don¡¯t take them back. I¡¯m still grumpy over how he¡¯s not letting anyone near me. Didn¡¯t invite me into the game. Won¡¯t even let me push buttons on a freaking disy.


    He¡¯s going overboard.


    Caine stares at me, silent. His expression unreadable. Then slowly, he pulls the door shut again.


    Through the thin walls, I hear him tell one of the kids, "Shh. Grace is trying to sleep."


    I groan, pressing my palms against my eyes until I see spots. Now I feel horrible for being so ungrateful when he¡¯s being the most helpful person ever.


    But I don¡¯t need a keeper. I don¡¯t need to be bubble-wrapped and set aside like some fragile figurine. It isn¡¯t as if I don¡¯t want him to help¡ªI¡¯m incredibly grateful he¡¯s here. What would I do without him around? Even when he was gone to get gas, I was worried and wanted him back.


    But his fake family portrayal with the old couple, the way he keeps calling me <i>dear</i> and <i>darling</i>, started a strange feeling under my skin. Something restless and a little frustrated by the facade he¡¯s putting forth.


    I¡¯m not even sure how I feel about it. A little happy. No, a <i>lot</i> happy. But also, a <i>lot</i> strange. Especially when he wouldn¡¯t let me try to figure out this strange situation between us where I can¡¯t even touch him.


    Maybe he¡¯s right. Maybe I do need sleep, and I¡¯ll feel normal and bnced and less like some sort of weird crazy woman after I get a little rest...


    But every time I think of how he won¡¯t let the kids even <i>touch</i> me, I grab a pillow and smack my face into it, trying not to scream.


    My entire body stiffens when I feel Caineing up the steps to this room again. It¡¯s impossible not to tell¡ªthe entire camper moves whenever someone¡¯s walking around.


    I jerk theforter over me and do my best to pretend to be asleep.


    Steady breathing. I¡¯m calm. Everything¡¯s fine and I¡¯m not having a strange mental and emotional breakdown over someone being <i>too helpful</i>. I¡¯m not.


    I¡¯m asleep.


    Thankfully, it¡¯s dark in here without the light on, so he must not notice when my eyelids keep twitching. Instead, I focus on keeping my breathing deep and even.


    Then, slowly, he leans forward and lifts my head off the pillow. Almost immediately, I feel a surge of energy bursting out of me and into him at the contact.


    Still pretending to sleep, I try to focus on the feeling, on how it almost feels like I can reach out and touch it¡ª


    ¡ªand Caine pulls the pillow out from beneath my head.


    Then he slides a different one under it and lets me go, ending the strange connection between us.


    I jerk upright. This man has a strange obsession with pillows. "What are you doing?"


    He stiffens. "Nothing. Go back to sleep, Grace."

 Chapter 145: Grace: The Deal with Pillows

    <h4>Chapter 145: Grace: The Deal with Pillows</h4>


    I sit upright in bed, ring at Caine, who clutches my old pillow against his chest like some kind of security nket. His knuckles are white against the pale cotton, and he¡¯s avoiding my eyes with the dedication of someone who¡¯s been caught doing something deeply embarrassing.


    "This one¡¯s morefortable for you," he says, nodding at the pillow he just slid under my head.


    "What is your deal with pillows?" The words snap out of me before I can stop them.


    His entire body straightens further. "I don¡¯t have a deal with pillows."


    The silence stretches.


    And stretches.


    He doesn¡¯t say anything else, just stands there, rigid and awkward, clutching the damn pillow to his chest.


    I sigh, and he immediately asks, "Why are you so angry?"


    "I¡¯m not angry." The response is automatic, defensive, and a total lie to my current state of emotions.


    He raises an eyebrow, skepticism written across every part of his face, and I wince.


    "I¡¯m not," I insist. The truth is, I do think the pillow thing is creepy. Weird. Inexplicable. But saying so would hurt his feelings, and despite how irritated I am in this moment, I don¡¯t actually want to do that.


    "No. You¡¯re angry," he says firmly, like he already knows. Which... he isn¡¯t wrong, so he does, but even his certainty grates on my nerves. "You¡¯ve been angry for a while. And I don¡¯t understand what I did wrong."


    I groan, pressing my palms against my face. I¡¯m not prepared for this emotional reckoning. Not now. I was still busy pouting and being outraged and hadn¡¯t worked through my feelingspletely. The storm left me dizzy and off-kilter, and I was relying on sleep to fix it.


    I exhale slowly, dropping my hands to myp, twisting the nket between my fingers. It¡¯s warm in here since we kicked off the air conditioner, but the faint hint of a cool breeze is at leasting through the windows.


    "I don¡¯t know. Maybe I¡¯m going crazy." My voicees out tiny and pathetic, lowering further into a mumble as I continue, "But every time you won¡¯t let the kids even <i>near</i> me..."


    I lower my hands, peeking out from behind a curtain of blonde hair I¡¯m still not used to seeing in my peripheral vision.


    Caine is finally looking at me again. His brow is furrowed, eyes serious, the storm-gray of them focused entirely on my face. The intensity of his stare makes my skin prickle.


    "Bun took your energy," he says calmly. "Of course I can¡¯t let her touch you."


    "What?"


    My brain screeches to a halt. Did he just say¡ª


    "Bun took your energy," he repeats, with the t certainty of someone stating water is wet.


    I stare at him, mouth slightly open, trying to process these words that make no sense. "What are you talking about?" I¡¯ve held Bun so much and she¡¯s never taken my energy before.


    "She took your energy. I came in here and you were unconscious, still holding her. Bun is fatal to you right now, and I¡¯m not risking it. With any of the kids."


    My heart twists. "Fatal?"


    Caine nods once, sharp and precise. "It must have been triggered with her shift during the storm. It might be... why she calmed down."


    My head suddenly hurts. A lot. I squeeze both sides of my head together, feeling a little like my skull is trying to split apart. "Are we sure? Maybe I just fainted." I <i>was</i> feeling particrly lethargic and tired, but then again, I did juste out of the hospital... well, was kidnapped out of it. An altruistic kidnapping, if you will.


    But denial is strong within me, because we¡¯re talking about <i>Bun</i>. Sweet little baby Bun, who needs hugs and kisses and constant affection. I can¡¯t just <i>not touch her</i>. "This doesn¡¯t make sense. I was just... tired. Exhausted. The storm was weird. I¡¯m not used to mothering four kids."


    "You were dying, Grace."


    The certainty in his voice chills me again. He believes what he¡¯s saying. And... I do, too.


    But I don¡¯t want to.


    "Then why didn¡¯t you tell me?" I demand, my anger ring hot again. Better to be angry than deal with whatever¡¯s really going on, because <i>I can¡¯t touch Bun</i>. "Why keep it a secret and just... just manage me like I¡¯m some kind of invalid? You¡¯ve been treating me like ss, keeping the kids away, doing everything yourself, calling me ¡¯darling¡¯ in front of those old people¡ª"


    "Grace."


    Caine sits awkwardly at the edge of the bed, perching there like it¡¯s going to copse beneath him. By the way it¡¯s dipping, it might. He clears his throat and scoots up a little closer, and the mattress no longer dips. Of course, this now means he¡¯s only a couple inches away from me.


    "What?" I¡¯m surly, and he doesn¡¯t deserve it. This man is trying to protect me, and he¡¯s shown me how far he can go to do it. But I¡¯m still angry and this anger has to go somewhere.


    "Your scent..." His fingers brush against the pillow in his arms, and he sighs. "It has some special power over me. Calms me when nothing else has. Keeps my thoughts clear. For the most part." His eyes drop to my mouth, going a little dark.


    <i>For the most part</i>.


    A little tingle shoots through my back and into my abdomen, and I shiver. Caine clears his throat.


    "Fenris said she was wild. Feral. Wouldn¡¯t calm down until you touched her."


    I nod stiffly. Remembering Bun like that isn¡¯t something I like doing. I¡¯d rather not think about it.


    He reaches out a hand, resting it gently on my knee, covered by the nket. There¡¯s a vague, soft flush of something going into him from me, but it¡¯s muffled. Like something¡¯s in the way.


    "You seem to have a power to calm the beast inside of us. I¡¯m not sure how or why; I¡¯ve never heard of anything like you before. It¡¯s why you could calm Bun. But until we know what the limits of this power is, or how it¡¯s triggered..."


    "By touch."


    "Yes. But when? Why? How much? And how much can you take?" He turns more fully toward me, letting the pillow fall limp in hisp as he reaches out to grab a strand of my hair. His voice goes husky. "I don¡¯t want to risk seeing you hurt, Grace. That¡¯s all. I¡¯m not trying to take the children away from you."


    It¡¯s hard to focus on his words with the way his eyes are focused on mine, but I manage. Somehow.


    Maybe I could get a gold medal in Surviving Werewolf Pheromones. It should be an Olympic sport.


    "Okay."


    All the anger I had fizzles out with all his soft, calm words and reasonable exnations, leaving me feel strangely empty. And tingly. And...


    The back of his fingers brush against my cheek and I stiffen at the explosive contact, sucking in my breath hard. Caine¡¯s breath hitches, too, and he yanks his hand away.


    I grab his wrist, feeling the surge of energy between us. "Touch me. Don¡¯t pull away this time."


    The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and


    continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

 Chapter 146: Grace: Zero to Sexty

    <h4>Chapter 146: Grace: Zero to Sexty</h4>


    Caine tries to jerk his hand back, but I hold on, my fingers tightening around his wrist. No way I¡¯m letting him pull away now. The strange current between us is back, and I¡¯m determined to figure it out, damn it.


    Otherwise I can¡¯t hold Bun.


    "It¡¯s too dangerous," he snaps, but his resistance is already faltering. Though his muscles remain taut with tension, he stops trying to break free of my grip.


    "I¡¯m never going to learn to control whatever this is if you don¡¯t touch me," I say, my voice far steadier than theck of certainty in my head. I can <i>feel</i> it, but it doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯ll be able to control it. Still, I want to try. "You can¡¯t protect me by keeping me in the dark about my own power, Caine."


    He groans, dropping his head forward until his dark hair falls across his face. "Look at yourself, Grace. You¡¯re exhausted. Weak. You need rest, not... experiments."


    "I feel fine right now." I straighten my spine, trying to look stronger than I probably appear. "You just need to stop if I start looking... bad."


    A corner of his mouth twitches up despite everything; I can see it, even from this angle. "You¡¯ll never look bad."


    I blink, momentarily thrown off bnce. "Are you seriously flirting with me in the middle of this conversation?" I push indignation into my voice even as I fight the smile threatening to form. Butterflies dance in my belly.


    He looks up with a sigh, but his mouth is still half-quirked in amusement. "You¡¯re killing me, Grace."


    Goddess. Every time he says my name...


    <i>Dear</i> and <i>darling</i> do it, too.


    Basically any time he looks at me like that, I¡¯m drowning in a sea of tingly, throbbing feelings.


    "I thought you were the one killing me, though?" I counter, trying to make the atmosphere a little less... seductive.


    He growls low in his throat. It doesn¡¯t help the throbbing down below, damn it. "That¡¯s not what I mean."


    Okay. Better not to talk at all.


    "Hush. I¡¯m concentrating." I turn his palm around, my heart racing as I slide my hand against his. Even the slide of his callused palm against mine sends frissons of excitement through my skin, and I fight the urge to wiggle. If I do, my reaction will be obvious, and thest thing I need is to be obvious.


    I lock our fingers together, squeezing slightly as I focus on the strange sensation flowing between us and <i>not</i> the throbbing between my thighs. This time it¡¯s easier to feel. Not just sense, but actually <i>feel</i> the current passing from me to him.


    My eyes squeeze shut as I concentrate harder. My face scrunches. I probably look ridiculous.


    Whatever this energy is, I need to grab it, control it. But it¡¯s like trying to hold waterpletely fluid, passing through my mental "hands" no matter how I try to grasp it.


    Then, behind my closed eyelids, I see it¡ªa glowing golden thread. No, not one thread¡ªcountless threads, pulsing and alive, connecting our joined hands. I can see our fingers, or at least strange, luminous outlines of them, like x-ray images dunked in a sea of iridescent rainbows.


    Fascinated, I mentally reach out, stroking the threads with my consciousness. They respond, vibrating like harp strings.


    Caine groans¡ªnot in my mind but out loud, the sound rumbling from his chest and shaking the bed a little.


    My eyes snap open, but I don¡¯t lose the sensation. The golden threads remain visible in my mind¡¯s eye even as I focus on Caine¡¯s face. His jaw is clenched, cheeks flushed with heat.


    I stroke the energy threads again, experimenting, and his whole body goes rigid. His eyes darken, pupils expanding until there¡¯s barely any gray left, and they drop to fix on my lips.


    The intensity he exudes steals my breath.


    "Um, I think I¡ª" The words die in my throat as he lunges forward.


    His mouth crashes into mine, desperate and hungry. The force of his movement sends me falling backward onto the bed, his weight pressing me down into the mattress. The energy between us explodes from controlled threads into a raging river¡ªwild, untamable, impossible to grasp.


    But I can¡¯t focus on that anymore. Not with his lips devouring mine, his tongue pushing into my mouth with bruising urgency. His hands move down my body with frantic need, finding my breasts and squeezing them through my shirt, fingers digging in hard enough to make me gasp against his mouth.


    The air around us suddenly smells sweet. My skin¡¯s on fire. One of his hands shoves up my shirt as I try to wrest his off; we¡¯re a tangled mess of kissing and shirts and <i>oh my Goddess</i>, his hand is <i>in my bra</i> and he¡¯s pinching my nipple hard enough to hurt.


    Except it doesn¡¯t.


    It does, but it <i>doesn¡¯t</i>.


    I give up on pulling his shirt off and grab at his other hand, shoving it down to my pants.


    "We can¡¯t¡ª" Caine murmurs against my lips, even as his fingers fumble for the zipper.


    "Can," I say, even though energy¡¯s surging through me at an rming rate and I have literally zero control over it. But if he doesn¡¯t touch me, I might actually die. My entire body¡¯s strung tight, going from zero to sexty in one kiss.


    His lips nt over mine again, his tongue shoving past my teeth in a crude and way-too-sexy-for-these-sloppy-noises enactment of what exactly he wants to do to my body.


    And he¡¯s taking too damn long to get my pants off.


    So I help him, popping the buckle and jerking them down my hips, kicking them off in panicked need as he rips off my panties. Just rips them off. It must be a thing for him, because he destroyed Lyre¡¯s shirt thest time, too.


    "Fuck, you¡¯re wet," he mutters against my mouth as his fingers slide through it all.


    I whimper, my entire body ready to explode. He leans back, pressing gently against my core with a finger as he growls, "Do you have control, Grace?"


    The lie feels natural. I should lie. Say yes, let him do whatever he wants to me, and damn the consequences. I want it more than anything.


    But... those consequences aren¡¯t small.


    So I shake my head slightly as he stares down at me with arousal-darkened eyes and whisper, "Not yet."


    "Take control, Grace." His finger slips in with the slightest stretch, and I arch my hips with a moan. "Now."

 Chapter 147: Grace: Squeeze

    <h4>Chapter 147: Grace: Squeeze</h4>


    His finger pushes deeper, hitting a perfect, toe-curling spot inside me.


    I can¡¯t think, can¡¯t breathe¡ªcan only feel. The energy between us rushes like a freaking tidal wave; it¡¯s be millions of threads, impossible to contain as it overwhelms every rational thought.


    He curls and drives his finger just right, dragging moans out of me with every slow grind, and it¡¯s absolute madness in my head.


    My hips buck against his hand with a will of their own. I¡¯m grinding down, chasing the pressure, the friction, desperate for more. The golden threads connecting us pulse brighter with each movement, multiplying until they¡¯re all I can see behind half-closed eyes.


    "Do you have control, Grace?"


    Fuck. I was supposed to be focusing.


    His voice is strained, as if he¡¯s hanging onto his restraint by a thread.


    Me, too.


    I shake my head¡ªwildly, desperately, honestly. The confession burns my pride, but lying now would be catastrophic.


    I¡¯m trying¡ªI swear I¡¯m trying¡ªbut every time he curls his fingers¡ªfuck¡ªmy brain goes nk.


    He growls, the sound rumbling through the room and straight to my clit. His free hand grabs my chin, fingers digging into my jaw as he ims my mouth again¡ªwet, open, demanding. His tongue sweeps inside,manding rather than asking, and I surrender willingly.


    The energy surges between us, doubling in intensity. I feel it everywhere¡ªnot just where his finger works inside me, but racing along my skin, crackling through my veins, setting fire to every nerve ending and diving into him at every goddamn opportunity.


    His finger curls, pressing hard against a swollen spot deep inside, and I cry out against his mouth. He adds a second finger, stretching me, filling me, working me with ruthless precision.


    I arch. I can¡¯t not. My back arches hard, and I clutch the sheets as if they¡¯ll anchor me. I can¡¯t even tell what I¡¯m reacting to anymore¡ªthe pressure, the tension, the way everything slick and perfect keeps winding me tighter, or the magic racing wild beneath my skin.


    I should be doing something¡ªanything¡ªbut my brain¡¯s gonepletely sideways.


    No control.


    No thought.


    Just sensation, heat, pulse, and more. Too much and not enough all at once. I think I¡¯m panting. Or maybe whimpering. Goddess, he¡¯s going to kill me with this.


    The golden threads in my mind¡¯s eye are so bright I can¡¯t look directly at them anymore. They¡¯re searing white at the center, blinding, overwhelming. I try¡ªreally try¡ªto grasp them, to contain them, but it¡¯s impossible.


    It¡¯s like trying to hold onto an orgasm on the edge of freaking heaven, and I might actually explode if I try. But also I might die if he doesn¡¯t...


    No.


    It¡¯s too much.


    I have to tell him...


    Fuck, it feels so good. The way his fingers m inside, how his thumb rubs at my clit, the way my entire body¡¯s coiled and about to¡ª


    "You have to stop," I gasp, tearing my mouth from his. "I can¡¯t¡ªit¡¯s too much¡ª"


    He pulls away like he¡¯s been burned, yanking his hand back and rearing up on his knees above me. "Fuck!" The curse rips from him, his chest heaving as he stares at me like a wild man.


    It¡¯s awkward.


    Of course it¡¯s fucking awkward.


    I was a literal half-second from glory and he hasn¡¯t even gotten a hint of release yet, and I mmed the brakes right in the middle of my whimpering puddle of almost-orgasm.


    For a moment, he just stares down at me, eyes wild. Then he brings his glistening fingers to his mouth and slowly, deliberately licks them clean, his eyes locked on mine the entire time.


    My core clenches painfully at the sight. It¡¯s a im, pure and simple. An ownership of my pleasure, my taste, my desire.


    Shit.


    I want him to do it again.


    I¡¯m wrecked beneath him¡ªthoroughly undone, breathless and flushed. My shirt clings where it shouldn¡¯t, and my whole body feels like it¡¯s been rung out and left wanting. I throb in all the wrong ces, desperate and unsatisfied.


    The broken current between us leaves tingles skimming over my skin. Magic jitters in my veins, sparking and seeking release, trapped just beneath the surface as it makes my fingers twitch and my legs weak..


    He probably feels the same. Maybe even worse, judging by how the bulge in his pants strains.


    My gaze flicks up to his face, only to find him now staring directly between my thighs. The heat in his eyes could melt steel. Shit. That¡¯s hot, too.


    Everything about him has me on fire.


    He holds out a hand silently, offering connection again. I hesitate only a second before reaching up. Our fingertips brush¡ªand a spark ms through me, forcing reconnection. My body jerks on the bed, back arching involuntarily, but I force myself to maintain contact.


    It¡¯s not a rush anymore, but a steady stream of a few threads. It¡¯s fine. I can do this.


    I need to get control of this. Need to understand it. Need to master it.


    Slowly, we link our fingers again, palm to palm. The arcane surge builds once more¡ªslower this time, but no less intense. Strong. Erotic. Inexorable.


    I try again to control it, focusing on pulling the energy back toward me, trying to yank it into submission. Nothing happens. The flow continues unabated, moving between us, a current I can¡¯t redirect.


    Caine¡¯s face is tight with strain, his body trembling. His knuckles are white where he grips the sheets with his free hand. I¡¯m not doing any better¡ªmy body¡¯s tight as a bowstring, every muscle clenched in anticipation.


    I want more.


    <i>Need</i> more.


    A kiss can¡¯t be that bad, right? I should be able to handle a kiss without losing controlpletely.


    "Kiss me," I whisper, the words escaping before I can think better of it. Stupid idea. Bad Grace. I can¡¯t even handle holding hands, what makes me think I can handle a kiss?


    But I <i>want it</i>.


    "No," he growls, jaw clenched, eyes screwed shut tight. The tendons in his neck stand out like cords. "If I do¡ªI¡¯ll lose control."


    Damn him and his responsibility and smart choices. Must be nice.


    Frustration and arousal build in equal measure. I shift on the bed, wiggling just slightly to ease the ache between my legs.


    The effect on him is immediate and devastating.


    Caine groans, his head tilting back to expose the strong column of his throat, his hands fisting in the sheets beside my hips. "Don¡¯t move like that," he rasps. "Don¡¯t smell like that."


    I freeze, but my mind races, desperate for a solution. Pulling didn¡¯t work. Maybe...


    This time, I stop trying to pull the energy back. Instead, I imagine squeezing it¡ªlike gripping a garden hose to slow the water flow. I focus onpressing the golden threads with my mind or whatever the fuck I¡¯m using, applying pressure rather than direction.


    The energy flow slows. Not stops¡ªbut definitely slows. My eyes widen. Holy shit. It¡¯s working.


    Caine¡¯s reaction is immediate and visceral. A groan tears from his throat, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. A low snarl escapes him, primal and uncontrolled.


    "Whatever you just did¡ª" he pants, eyes flying open to fix on mine, "¡ªdon¡¯t do that."


    I stare up at him, chest heaving. "What if I do it again?"


    His eyes narrow in warning, but I¡¯m not deterred. I squeeze again, applying more mental pressure to the energy flow.


    This time, Caine drops to all fours over me, his face buried against my neck, his body caging mine. The snarl that vibrates against my skin is barely human.


    And then he bites me.


    The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and


    continue reading tomorrow, everyone!