Grace of a Wolf-Chapter 17: Grace: Everything Goes South

"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—she was never marked—"

"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. Insanity.

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 claim?"

The pressure in the room doubles. Voices cry out as every shifter in the Blue Mountain Pack presses themselves flat 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—impossible, really—but 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—I’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 play unfold. Or a TV show. The king’s power thrums through the room, but my mind fixates on the oddest details—the 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—things 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 mine, 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 place. 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 play.

Rafe’s mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out.

The king’s head snaps up, his storm-gray eyes finding Alpha. "Was she truly unclaimed after the Mate Hunt?"

Alpha’s face goes slack. 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 words come 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 claimed."

The silence that follows feels like glass 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 words come out choked, as if each one causes him physical pain. Maybe they do.

A laugh cuts through the silence. It’s not a pleasant sound—my 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 incompetent 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—"

"Silence."

The command 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 playing 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 nervous laughter 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 incompetence." 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—it’s the same ethereal light as the wolf.

"Fenrisúlfr."

A massive black, glowing wolf materializes beside the king, and my brain short-circuits. No. That’s impossible. Impossible. 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."

The command barely registers in my ears when Fenris lunges. My scream tears through the silence as his massive jaws clamp 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 a large 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 are large, these creatures are enormous. Every one of them is larger than Alpha, and Fenris grows larger still, until his shoulders brush the ceiling. Every step of a paw is a crunch of someone’s bone, accompanied 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 flank him.

The first clash sounds like thunder. Bodies collide in a fury of teeth and claws, and my vision goes black.

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.