Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 204

Chapter 204: Jack-Eye: The Old Ways

JACK-EYE

Pulling the phone away from my ear, I stare at the screen to make sure I’m not hallucinating.

But no, the display is very clear, announcing I’ve been on the phone with contact "King Dumbass" for forty-seven seconds.

There’s only one "King Dumbass" in my contact list, and he’s thankfully oblivious to what I’ve named him. It changes every so often. For a few months he was Alpha Shitface, until Caine happened to see a message thread and asked who it was. Still can’t remember what lie I pulled out of my ass that day, but it worked.

It’s a perk of being best friends; you can name your boss whatever you want and probably survive when he finds out because he’s so sick of your bullshit he’ll just let it slide.

"I’m sorry, say that again, boss?"

Caine’s irritation is palpable even in the slightly staticky silence. "I said we’re putting together a forum to listen to their goddamn complaints."

Okay, that’s what I thought he said.

"You are?"

"Yes."

"Without me?"

Sigh. "Yes."

When I pull the phone away from my ear again, it still declares I’m on the line with "King Dumbass".

"Who’s helping you?" I ask suspiciously, because there’s no way Caine’s capable of the amount of patience this kind of thing requires.

"Do you think I’m incapable of gathering a few wolves and listening to what they have to say?" he snaps, and I nod vehemently, wishing he could see me.

"Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying."

Silence for about two-point-three seconds, then, "I’m going to kill you."

"No, you’re not. You’re too dependent on my pretty face and you have no idea how to add appointments to your calendar app."

Silence again. "Why the hell are you even calling?"

Ah.

Right.

"Just updating you. Doesn’t look like we have signal down in the tunnels, still haven’t seen even the tip of Halloway’s tail, but we’ve rescued about thirty-five shifters. I know you’re busy there in Blue Mountain, but I think you should send Dylan up here."

Caine grunts. "Fiddleback isn’t a large pack. The territory can be absorbed by their neighbors."

"Agreed, but the problem is the mess they’ve left behind. I’m not sure what a neighboring alpha might walk into, and we don’t need them following Halloway’s footsteps."

Another grunt. "Not Dylan. He’s helping me with the forum."

I smirk into the phone. "So you need help after all, my liege."

"Grow up," Caine snaps, his voice carrying that special strain of annoyance he reserves just for me. The one that means I’m right and he hates it.

I clear my throat, switching to a more professional tone. No need to antagonize him further when I need something. "If you can’t spare Dylan, perhaps send someone from home. We need bodies here. Every time I head back underground, the victims are left unguarded. Makes me feel a little itchy, you know?"

Caine’s long-suffering sigh whooshes through the phone. I can perfectly picture him rubbing his forehead, a vein probably throbbing at his temple. It’s like he’s here in the room with me, only better, because I don’t have to worry about him throwing a punch when I inevitably say something to piss him off.

He doesn’t do it often. Just sometimes.

And you deserve it each time, my wolf mutters, popping into my consciousness in a rare moment of interest.

"Fine. I’ll get a team out there. How many do you need?"

"Five or so should be enough."

"Got it. Forward me the address so they know where to go."

"Do you know how to share—"

"I’ll figure it out."

Yeah, right. I’m sure Dylan’s going to have to help Caine. It’s a sad sight to see a grizzled old wolf teaching the younger one how to use modern technology, but Caine’s always been tech-illiterate.

"Got it, boss. Send a healer, too. They’re in bad shape."

"Why not kidnap a doctor?"

"And how am I going to keep them here? I’m not leaving Lyre to deal with the tunnels on her own."

"Why not? She’s stronger than you."

My spine straightens. "Seriously, bro?"

"Call me bro again and you’ll be an omega before the moon comes up."

He hates the current generation of slang.

I clear my throat, tactfully returning to the conversation at hand. "Something’s going on. She can’t use her magic or some shit. It’ll be another half a day before she’s back to normal."

"How did that happen?" 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

"No idea. You know how she is."

He makes a soft sound of acknowledgement. "Okay. I’ll figure it out on my end."

"Rush it if you can. How’s Grace doing?"

Closing my eyes, I send up a prayer to the Moon Goddess to keep my king in her good graces. "Did they think she was your mate?"

Deer, I think.

Elk?

Then again, he’s kind of bulky, so I wouldn’t even bat an eye if he said he’s a buffalo shifter.

"Yeah." I roll my shoulders, working out the tension from holding the phone between my ear and shoulder for too long. "He’s sending help our way."

The shifter’s face transforms in an instant. His weathered features soften with something like reverence, and before I can process what’s happening, he’s making a fluid gesture with his right hand—fingers spreading like antler points before sweeping inward to touch his heart, then his forehead.

"May the throne stand strong," he murmurs, voice hardly a whisper. "May the moon’s light shine upon his path."

I blink. What the actual fuck?

The phrase and gesture is something we only do during the most formal ceremonies of a Lycan King’s ascension. Nobody does that shit out of nowhere anymore. It’s a relic of the past.

Basically, it’s like watching someone break out Shakespearean English at a McDonald’s drive-thru.

I narrow my eyes, studying him closer. "Where’d you learn that?"

My scent must’ve spiked with suspicion because the guy straightens, suddenly looking uncertain. "The old customs are still practiced in some circles. I mean no disrespect to the High Alpha."

Now I’m really interested. Prey shifters typically keep to their own communities, maintaining distance from predator packs due to the rampant bullying. They sure as hell don’t usually bow to wolf royalty.

Not anymore, anyway.

"Interesting choice of devotional for an elk," I say, crossing my arms and throwing out my guess as to his identity.

The elk shifter’s lips quirk in a small smile. "The Lycan Throne has long been a symbol of hope for many old shifter clans. Not just wolves."

Oh?

I straighten.

"What do you mean by that?"

He shakes his head. "The old ways have been long forgotten by most, but my grandfather taught me as a child. He remembered when the Lycan King stood for all shifters, not just wolves. Our duty was to pray for the day when the throne would once again bring equality to all shifters, both prey and predator."

My wolf, usually content to doze in the back of my mind, suddenly perks up with interest. We’ve never heard this particular interpretation of the Lycan monarchy. Sure, there are traditional packs who hold to ancient customs, who view the Lycan King with greater reverence than others, but prey shifters with a devotion to the throne? That’s unexpected.

"What, is there some kind of prophecy or something?"

He blinks at me, a strange look crossing his face. "No, of course not. Just a belief we hold."

Damn. It would have been cool if there was some ancient prophecy floating around.

Still, it’s interesting, though I can’t really imagine my blockheaded alpha being the one to bring equality to the world.