Page 4 of Grace of a Wolf 2
Even Fenris's presence feels… clearer, somehow.
"I'll explain what's happening to her when there's time," Lyre says, not even glancing my way. "But there's something more important you need to deal with right now."
"Nothing is more important than her." The words tear from my throat in a feral snarl.
Lyre doesn't flinch. Doesn't blink. Just stares at me with her uncanny eyes. Then she shakes her head with a sigh.
"Get outside and deal with who you brought here with your pointless display of dominance." Her voice drops to a hiss. "Or they'll be breaking down my door, and I promise you don't want that."
"What are you talking about?"
"Your little tantrum summoned an audience. Your beta's dealing with them right now, but you need to deal with it."
Ah.
I can feel it—the press of unfamiliar wolf energy against the periphery of my awareness. A pack. Territory holders. Apresence I would have noticed immediately, if I wasn't so focused on Grace.
I growl through clenched teeth.
"Indeed." Lyre places her hand on Grace's forehead. "The ambulance will be here soon, so take care of them before they scare off the EMTs. I've got Grace. Go be a king."
One more look at Grace, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the scatter of faint freckles across her nose, the slow rise and fall of her chest.
"I'll be right back," I whisper to her. "I promise."
Lyre sighs. "Just go."
Outside, Jack-Eye stands at the foot of the RV steps, his broad back a barrier between what's mine and a semicircle of wolves—eight of them, various ranks within their pack, all bristling with restrained aggression.
Their alpha isn't here, but the one might be their beta.
"Sir," Jack-Eye says, relief evident in his voice. "The Fiddleback Pack was concerned about our... presence."
I should be enraged. I should want to tear through these lesser wolves for daring to interrupt when my mate lies unconscious. Even Fenris should be clawing at my control, demanding blood for this intrusion.
But Fenris remains by Grace, silent in my head, leaving it to me.
And I feel… contained. A strange lucidity courses through my veins where molten fury should be. I can still access my anger—it's there, simmering beneath my skin—but it no longer threatens to consume me whole. The sensation is so alien I nearly stumble.
Jack-Eye studies my face with a frown.
I give Jack-Eye a curt nod, sidestepping him to face these interlopers. My shoulders square, stance widening—the postureof a king who refuses to acknowledge any challenge as legitimate.
The moment they catch my scent, and the light dominance rolling through the air, their faces grow pale. Jack-Eye's presence should have been enough, but not all wolves are smart enough to recognize a Lycan. Especially when they're weak.
"Where is your alpha?" My question cracks through the air.
The wolves shift uncomfortably, exchanging glances. This pack was clearly unprepared for a direct confrontation with the Lycan King. Their discomfort saturates the air, the forced bravado of those who've stumbled into something far beyond their capabilities.
A female wolf steps forward from their ranks. Mid-thirties, compact build, with sharp features and calculating eyes. Not their alpha, but someone of authority.
"High Alpha." She keeps her gaze fixed somewhere near my collar, avoiding direct eye contact. Smart. "I am Elizabeth, of the Fiddleback Pack."
I incline my head. "Why are you here?"
Elizabeth squares her shoulders, her face grim. "Until we felt a surge of alpha dominance unlike anything we've experienced before. In human domain. Our protocols require investigation of unusual shifter activity, especially this close to human populations."
My jaw tenses. "You do not recognize the authority of the Lycan Throne?"
