Grace of a Wolf-Chapter 66: Caine: Strange (I)

CAINE

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. Manicured lawns, 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 glances at me from behind the wheel, his expression placid. "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 stamp comes into view, a plastic 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 claim territory where their wolves can run free."

Marsh’s fingers tap against the steering wheel. "Numbers, mostly. Our pack isn’t large 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 another community 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 accidentally?"

"Hasn’t happened in fifteen years. Our control is exceptional."

I observe his profile. Though young—perhaps twenty-five at most—he carries himself with the confidence of someone comfortable 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 as law enforcement around here. We keep it clean."

"Law enforcement." The concept is strange. Wolves policing humans while suppressing their nature.

"Sheriff Halloway—Alpha Ian—was elected ten years ago. Most of our enforcers work for the department now."

We turn onto a wider street, the houses growing larger 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 your laws?"

Something shifts in his scent. "Justice."

Opening the pack link to my beta, I ask, What is the situation with Fiddleback?

Jack-Eye’s thoughts reach back immediately. Surprisingly luxurious for such a rural pack. Humans would love to live here. Thom’s impressed.

And the pack?

A little rough around the edges, but disciplined.

No pups. That detail snags my attention. Every healthy pack should have children running underfoot, testing boundaries, learning their place in the hierarchy.

Keep watch. Something isn’t right here.

Always watching, my King. His mental voice is syrup-sweet and obsequious.

Enough.

I break the connection as Marsh pulls into a curved driveway before the largest 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 place."

"No communal 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 place.

Fenris paces within me. I don’t like this.

"This way, High Alpha." Marsh gestures toward a set of double doors.

Before following, I glance 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 pack law. 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 accomplishments 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 pack law and outright defiance.

Perhaps I should visit more of these rural packs. See how common 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 fireplace. "Make yourself comfortable."

I remain standing, taking my time to study the room. A large flat-screen television dominates one wall. Art pieces hang at precise intervals. A gas fireplace, something no proper wolf would ever have in their home.

"Your territory is... unexpected."

Halloway’s smile tightens. "We’ve worked hard to create a comfortable environment."

"Comfortable." I step closer to the fireplace, 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 clasps 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 as lawyers, engineers, even teachers." His chest puffs slightly. "I myself have been the county sheriff for a decade. We pull our salaries, 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 manicured lawns and identical houses. "Being trapped in human occupations, playing 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—" novelbuddy.cσ๓

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. They’re strange.

If there’s rot here, I’ll find it.