Page 37 of Grace of a Wolf 1
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."
