Page 17 of Grace of a Wolf 2
"What? No!"
"Did you hint at it? Tell him you wanted revenge?"
"Of course not."
She leans back, satisfied. "Then it wasn't because of you. It was because of him. His choice. His code. You can't take responsibility for how their life works, Grace."
Am I listening to the devil? Because somehow, the guilt eases. Not gone, but lighter. And that’s awful. People are dead. And I feel... relieved.
I twist the damp towel tighter between my fingers, and water drips onto the thin blanket covering my legs.
"So basically, I should just excuse massacres as cultural?"
"Not shrug it off. Understand it. There’s a difference." Lyre taps her thigh, tilting her head. "Humans made laws and prisons because your bodies are fragile and your lives are short. That’s what you grew up with. What’s familiar—all the way down to your..." She waves a hand. "Bone marrow?"
Ew.
"Anyway, anything outside that code will feel wrong. But shifters are stronger, heal faster, live longer. Their justice is immediate and physical."
The idea of Rafe delivering Caine-style justice twists my stomach. But then I remember how cold he was during the Mate Hunt. Was he pretending to be gentle just to play the part I wanted?
It’s like my memories have been under a filter—only showing me what I wanted to see.
"I guess I lived in a bubble."
Human but not. Pack but separate.
I lean back. A yawn threatens, but I tense my jaw to fight it. It burns my nose. My entire body feels bruised from the emotional fallout.
Lyre's shoulders ease, and she sighs—softer this time.
"Thank the Goddess. I thought I was going to end up owing that idiot."
I blink. "What?"
"Not you," she clarifies. "The other one."
Wait. What other one? Does she mean Caine? And if she’s clarifying I’m not the idiot...
My eyes narrow. "So Iaman idiot. Just not the one you’re talking about?"
Lyre holds up her hands, palms out, like she's surrendering. "Wow. You sure get sharp at the most awkward timing."
Well, it's not like it's the first time she's insulted my intelligence. Granted, I was oblivious the first few times… which only proves her point.
Damn it.
Chapter eight
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.
