Grace of a Wolf-Chapter 47: Caine: Knock Like a Normal Person

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 place reeks of humans—their 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 dilated. "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 a large 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 with languid 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—blueberry 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 ventilation 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—at first glance he appears to be a large black 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.

Remember—calm and unthreatening, Fenris says as he pads beside me. She’s already frightened enough to run.

"I know," I mutter through clenched teeth.

Do you? Your face suggests otherwise.

I force my features to relax, 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?

Andrew, 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 eyes land on me. His body goes rigid.

Jack-Eye, to his credit, keeps his posture relaxed. 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—all 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 to come 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 blades prickles with unease. There’s something here—something 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 me behind. The thought cuts deeper than it should.

I take the final steps toward the camper door. For a brief, violent moment, I contemplate 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.

Don’t be ridiculous, he growls. Knock like a normal person.

I scowl down at him. "I am the Lycan King. I don’t need to—"

You’re also trying to win her trust, not terrify her further. Knock.

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. Have a little patience. We can hear them moving in there.

Which is exactly why they should have this door open already, damn it. I lift my hand again.