Grace of a Wolf-Chapter 37: Caine: You Touched Her

CAINE

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 has come to my attention. No one’s acting out. Trouble is nonexistent. It’s unrealistically peaceful.

The succession ceremony was flawless, 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 plastered 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 cartilage give way beneath my grip.

Instead, I loose a deep breath. Fenris gave me one last command before falling into his deep resting state: Don’t kill anyone. Normally, I would ignore such a nonsensical order, but I remember how much fear spiked the girl’s scent when the bloodshed began.

"Congratulations on your succession." Giving him even a sliver of civility is hard, but I don’t want to hear Fenris nagging later. 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 accommodations satisfactory?"

I tilt my head. "Oh? Are you playing 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 there complaints?"

"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 successor.

The temptation is real, but I remind myself of Jack-Eye’s nagging and Fenris’s order. My rule will not be marred with death. I am more than my bloodlust.

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.

Her scent. On him.

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—I 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 steady compared to the pallor of his face and wide eyes. "To explain we were over, and to give her a final goodbye."

Lie.

"Did you touch her?"

"No."

Lie.

"You touched her."