Grace of a Wolf-Chapter 78: Caine: Unnatural Silence (II)

CAINE

Bodies lie scattered around us, some moving, most still.

Fenris, sensing my intention, shrinks himself down to a less imposing size—though 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. freёnovelkiss.com

I let my shift reverse, bones cracking back into human form. Changing when wounded is never recommended, 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—not 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—not 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—Halloway introduced her earlier. Something about treasury management. I didn’t bother committing her name to memory. It was unimportant then, and only mildly useful now.

I place my bare foot against her throat, not pressing down—yet. "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 breath comes in short, desperate gasps.

"I—I don’t know—"

My foot presses down slightly, cutting off her words. "Try again."

Fear sharpens in her eyes. "I don’t—"

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—just 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.

Jack-Eye will be there soon. We will know more then.

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 glazing 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—I 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 she laughs, though the sound immediately turns into a sputtering, wet cough. "You’ll know soon enough," she wheezes.

I glance around the decimated hall. Bodies lie scattered across marble floors. Blood paints abstract patterns across white tablecloths. This is the Fiddleback Pack—or 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.

Look! 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 desiccates, cracking like ancient parchment. Her eyes sink deep into their sockets, darkening, shriveling.

In mere seconds, what was once a middle-aged woman becomes 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.

How unnatural, Fenris observes.

No shit.

But we don’t have time to investigate. We have to find Grace.

Let me see if I can find Elizabeth’s things. She has the keys.

"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."

Good point.

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 Majesticness." 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 claim no blonde women have been admitted in forty-eight hours."

"What the fuck do you mean she’s missing?" The lazy drawl vanishes from Lyre’s voice.

"When did you last 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—"

"Fuck," she hisses. "You trusted... 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."