Grace of a Wolf - Chapter 243

Chapter 243: Caine: Moonbane
CAINE

I stand in the middle of the main lodge, keeping my expression neutral while Blue Mountain wolves exchange glances and wrinkle their noses. Dylan’s covered from head to toe in dried mud and slime, smelling of swamp and death rot. If it weren’t for the pack bond between us, I’d doubt his identity.

But it’s him, gripping an equally muddy Sadie’s collar with a death grip and dangling a grumpy-looking, once-white cat in his other arm. Whatever adventure the animals went through was very obviously torture for Dylan, who’s gone without sleep to relentlessly track them since they bolted.

“High Alpha,” Dylan says through clenched teeth, his dignity barely intact as Sadie’s tail swishes slowly across the floor to smear more muck across the polished floor. “I’ve returned with your… pets.”

The inane greeting is necessary because of basic hierarchical obligations, but also to give the animals status in the eyes of the Blue Mountain Pack. Which is why I’ve welcomed him here, in the main lodge, instead of in Brax’s—now Alpha Raphael’s—office.

But it’s hard to find a proper response when looking at this bedraggled trio.

“Your effort is… commendable,” I finally say.

My focus shifts to the small square, presumably a box, clamped between Sadie’s jaws. It’s roughly the size of a human fist, details indistinguishable thanks to the grime and mud coating it. The dog’s posture changes when I eye it—her tail stops wagging, her hackles rising.

Interesting.

“What’s with the box?” I nod toward Sadie, keeping my voice calm.

My subordinate lets out a low growl. “She won’t release it. I attempted twice. Got this for my trouble.” He shifts his weight to reveal a tear in his pants—not deep enough to break skin, but a warning nonetheless. Whatever scratch Sadie’s claws may have caused has already healed over.

“From her?” The surprise is real. The golden retriever, though obviously not a mere dog, has shown no signs of aggression to this point.

That thing runs when I look at her sideways, Fenris agrees.

“Yes, sir.”

Two Blue Mountain wolves hover nearby, cleaning supplies in hand and hostility radiating from their gazes. Not at Dylan, of course, but at Sadie. Even with their status as my pets, it would be strange to expect any wolf shifter to look at a mere dog with respect.

I wave everyone out of the room, not wanting them to bear witness to the details. Once they’ve left, I raise a single brow. “Report.”

Dylan’s face settles into a blank mask, probably to hide the annoyance wafting off him. Lycans may be loyal, but he’s definitely holding a grudge over this one.

“They ran for an abandoned hunter’s cabin, sir. A human one, nothing the pack would use. It was approximately two miles from the edge of their territory to the south. They made a direct line for it with no deviation, hesitation, or rest, almost as if…”

He hesitates, which is understandable. Even for a battle-hardened veteran of the Lycan Pack, it’s strange to think a random dog and cat would act in this way.

“As if they knew exactly where they were going,” I finish for him.

“Yes, High Alpha. The basement was partially flooded, the water scummy. Shit was growing down there, despite being indoors. Other than that, nothing strange about the place. Except the fact the basement existed at all.”

Hunter’s cabins don’t generally have basements. They aren’t homes; just rest areas for, as the name suggests, hunters.

So his suspicion over its origins is eminently reasonable. I’m curious about it, too.

“What did they do there?”

“They ran all over the place sniffing, and Sadie ended up digging through the water until she got this out.” He glances askance at the now-growling retriever, who jerks her head away with a faint snarl when he does. “I tried to take it from her, but…”

“Don’t,” I warn Sadie, who growls deeper in response.

Dylan shrugs. “As you see, High Alpha.”

Scrubbing a hand over my cheeks, I shake my head a little. “You made the right call bringing them here.” Sadie’s strange protectiveness over her haul aside, they’re contaminated by whatever scum is thriving in a flooded basement.

“Yes, sir. Didn’t want the little one touching this.”

“Alright. Clean yourselves up. Use the facilities out back. Once you’re decontaminated, bring Sadie to Grace’s camper.”

Dylan’s eyebrows lift a fraction. “Sir? The box—”

“Let her keep it.” I step closer to Sadie, meeting her gaze directly. Her ears perk forward attentively, her hackles lowering as I speak. “Don’t fight her for it. I suspect she wants to bring it back to Grace.”

At the mention of Grace’s name, Sadie’s tail wags enthusiastically, spattering more swamp muck across the polished floor.

“Yes, sir.” Dylan doesn’t question further, though I can tell he wants to. “And the cat?”

The white feline meets my gaze with undisguised contempt, as if being carried by Dylan is the greatest insult it’s ever suffered.

“The cat needs to be washed too. I’m sure you can survive a few scratches.” Felines seem infamous for hating baths.

“Yes, sir. Oh, and Reggie checked in with me. He’s been following the missing alpha. He’s staying in some hidey hole not far from where the animals went. His phone’s dead, so he hasn’t been able to call. Kid seems like he’s waiting for something. Thinks he might be suffering from some kind of withdrawal.”

My brows raise. I haven’t been worried about the man—he’s capable of handling a hell of a lot more than a whelp of an alpha and a lack of sleep—but this update is a pleasant bonus.

Concerning, but pleasant.

It’s good to know he’s far from Grace, especially with what I have planned for tonight, but before that…

“Withdrawals? Have you seen any evidence of illicit substances in the territory?”

He shakes his head. “No, sir. Not even a peep. Outside of wolfsbane, but…”

“Wolfsbane isn’t addictive,” I murmur. Gets you drunker than a skunk, gives a bit of a false high, but is also toxic at higher doses. One of the few substances with the ability to bypass a shifter’s natural healing and metabolism, it’s highly regulated but not illegal.

Generally, the only wolves you’d see indulging are the shifter equivalent of alcoholics, or young, curious shifters.

But if he’s acting like some sort of addict…

“Moonbane.”

He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “That’s his thought.”

It’s a new product, something considered wolfsbane-adjacent. Unfortunately, it’s highly addictive… and several times more toxic.

My fingers tap against my thighs. “Get cleaned up. I’ll look into this.”

“Yes, High Alpha.”