Wolf's Grace

Chapter 199: Caine: Mired CAINE My subordinates remain quiet as they followto the alpha lodge, which no longer reeks of blood and death. Instead, it smells pleasantly of citrus and less pleasantly of bleach.

The Blue Mountain shifters all still move with a sense of gloom and inefficiency, though, which leadsto wonder what the hell my Lycans were doing while I was gone.

A lack of proper leadership brings out weak habits in otherwise strong wolves, and it's prevalent through this entire territory. We weren't even approached on our way in, and it wasn't as if we were hiding our presence.

I scan the lodge, taking in the shifters hunched over their tables. They sit in pockets of strained silence, barely acknowledging each other.

It's the weight of uncertainty—a pack without direction.

And where the fuck is their so-called alpha? Grace's ex should have been at the door the moment my scent hit his territory. This blatant disrespect only darkens my already foul mood.

I turn to Reggie with a scowl. "What the fuck have you all been doing here? This place is running like a wounded animal." Reggie clears his throat, shifting his weight in the way he does when he knows I won't like what he's about to say. They all do it.

Most alphas would never allow their subordinates to have a voice, but I do.

To an extent.

"High Alpha, the neighboring packs have sent official complaints regarding Brax's death. They're also challenging the legitimacy of the new alpha's claim to the pack." I grunt. Nothing unexpected there. A dead alpha always brings vultures, especially when the succession isn't clean. But that's not what I asked.

"That doesn't explain why this pack is functioning like it's been gutted. Where's the discipline? Where are the patrols? I walked straight into this territory without so much as a wave." He rubs the back of his neck. "There's been a split, sir. A big one. Several members want Forest Springs to absorb Blue Mountain entirely. Believe they'd be better off under established leadership." My jaw tightens. "And the others?" "Others have sided with the new Alpha, Raphael. They're loyal to the bloodline, following tradition." As expected.

"That still doesn't explain this mess." Reggie's eyes flick to the side before meeting mine again. "There's a third faction, small but vocal. They reject both options. They want to establish their own Alpha through the old way-combat trials. Strongest wolf leads." I stare at him coolly, my patience thinning with every second. "The Alpha has already been chosen and established, with the approval of the Lycan Throne." He holds out his hands in a slight shrug, a gesture that borders on insubordination. On any other day, his drawl would earn him a fist to the face. "With all due respect, High Alpha, a certain king wandered off to chase a human girl right after destroying the stability of a pack. Things weren't exactly handled in the proper manner." My frown would send most wolves cowering. Reggie holds his ground, but his scent shifts to something more cautious.

Yes, I allow my people to have a voice.

But I don't stand for insubordination.

His spine straightens as my dominance leaks out, and he clears his throat. "My apologies, High Alpha." I bare my teeth at Reggie, letting a low growl rumble through my chest. "Don't open your mouth if you can't filter your filth." He averts his gaze immediately, the proper response when I flex even a fraction of my dominance. It isn't worth punishing him further—I need my men cohesive, especially in this shitshow of a territory. The bitter tang of discord hangs in the air.

Dylan steps forward, his weathered face impassive. He's always been the steady one, more diplomat than brawler. "High Alpha, where is our Beta? I expected him to return with you." The mention of Jack-Eye pulls at a loose thread of irritation. He should be here, handling this mess while I deal with more important matters-like Grace and whatever the fuck is happening with her. Instead, he's off chasing Lyre's skirts and fighting who-knows-what.

I conveniently overlook the part where I assigned him to do those very things.

Of course you do.

"He's on a mission." I keep my voice clipped, offering nothing further. "He'll return when it's done." Dylan's eyes narrow slightly, but he nods. He's been around long enough to recognize when I'm withholding details, but he's also smart enough not to push.

"Understood." He shifts his weight, glancing at the scattered pack members around us before lowering his voice. "If I may suggest High Alpha-formal forum would be appropriate. The leaders of each faction, including this standing Alpha, should present their cases. Perhaps representatives from the neighboring packs that filed complaints should attend as well."

I run my hand through my hair, barely containing the snarl building in my throat. This political bullshit is m precisely why I've always hated territorial disputes. Blood and claws are cleaner. Faster. But ignoring the proper channels creates more problems than it solves. And all of this-every fucking bit of it—is my job. My responsibility.

Plus, I started it by killing Brax without taking a second to consider the consequences.

Still, resentment burns in my gut. It's more taway from Grace and the children, leavingmired in pack politics until my teeth ache from not sinking them into someone's throat.

"Make it happen," I grunt, already calculating how long this will take. Too long. "And send the current Alpha pup to my room. Immediately." Dylan nods sharply. "Your previous room on the second floor is prepared for you, High Alpha."

At least that's something. I stride away without dismissal-I don't need to excuse myself from my own men. Wolves part before me, their scents spiking with a mixture of fear and curiosity as I climb the stairs to what was once Brax's domain. Then I pause.

Reggie-go keep an eye on the children.

Better not to leave them unattended, especially when I'm about to be busy.