CAINE
Owen’s cave is, strangely enough, located in a run-down neighborhood. Half the lawns are overgrown, and most families use their yards as storage instead of a decorative display.
The building housing Owen’s strange cave system looks the sa as the rest. Several sun-bleached gnos decorative what used to be so sort of garden, and more windows are boarded than not. Before Owen had given us access, the house was as empty inside as it looked from the outside.
Dirty, dusty, and bare of any life or even basic furniture.
I haven’t asked what strange magic connects the cave to this place. Lyre and those connected to her seem to live by strange rules. While magic isn’t necessarily unfamiliar, the strength and breadth of their powers are leagues beyond what any normal wizard could ever dream of accomplishing.
I circle the periter a third ti, scanning for anything out of place, but nothing pings my radar.
The silence is absolute. Too absolute.
Animals go quiet when predators approach. Right now, not even the birds call.
"Sothing’s coming," Grace had said with absolute certainty. Not a question, not a fear—a fact.
She senses things she shouldn’t be able to sense.
Fenris’s voice is sluggish in my mind, weakened from our battle at Fiddleback. He’s quiet most of the ti now, conserving strength, but Grace’s warning roused him.
His power is great, but the price of its consumption is equal in asure.
I grunt. He sounds a little too thoughtful, but I have no interest in questioning things further. There are more important things to deal with. I don’t question it.
It’s more than a feeling. The wolf’s curiosity ripples through our shared consciousness. A human shouldn’t detect danger before a wolf. She’s showing traits she shouldn’t possess. Don’t you wonder what that ans about who she really is?
My jaw clenches. Don’t care. She’s Grace.
That’s not an answer. She could be—
She’s Grace. I cut him off with a flash of irritation. My mate. That’s all that matters right now. If there’s a threat incoming, we get her and those kids out. Nothing else takes priority.
Fenris huffs, a grudging concession rather than agreent. His fascination with Grace is no less than mine, but it feels as if our roles have reversed since he first t her during the Blue Mountain Mate Hunt.
The vibration of my phone cuts through the tension. Jack-Eye’s na flashes on the screen.
"Status," I snap, waiting beside the front door. I’ll go in soon, but I don’t want the children to hear any bad news., voice low.
"We’re heading back your way, I think," Jack-Eye replies, his voice tinny through the speaker. "Signal’s shit out here."
He’s too far to utilize the pack link. While I can access any wolf on my pack territory, anything outside a fifteen-mile radius is too far outside of it.
"Are you coming here, or looking for sothing else?"
"About that." There’s a hesitation. "She hasn’t exactly shared our exact destination yet. Driving blind. Well, you know Lyre. She’s an open book. One with all its pages glued together."
I grunt, unsurprised. That woman’s defining trait is her refusal to give straight answers.
"We’re evacuating the cave. Grace has... a feeling. Sothing’s coming."
There’s a pause, too long to be casual. I hear the murmur of voices in the background—Jack-Eye relaying the information.
"Lyre says that’s smart," he finally responds. "She says Grace should take her truck and camper. There’s a remote boondocking site—whatever the fuck that is—about forty miles northeast. Secluded enough to hold you over. Grace knows how to set it up."
My eyes narrow at the quick response. "Lyre anticipated this?"
"You’ve t her, right?" There’s a dry note in Jack-Eye’s voice. "I’ll text the coordinates. We’ll et you there when we can."
"Fine." I don’t bother with a goodbye, ending the call with a press of my thumb.
I have no idea what boondocking is, but I’ll figure it out. The priority is moving now, not understanding terminology.
Back at the cave entrance, I give the neighborhood one last scan before heading inside. Overhead, the clouds gather, thick and gray. Rain will hide our scent if sothing is tracking us. Small rcies.
Inside, Grace has already mobilized the children with impressive efficiency. Each one clutches a small backpack, expressions solemn. Even Bun, currently sporting only human features—a rarity—bounces slightly on her toes but remains silent, her round face unusually serious.
Jer stands closest to my mate, his face pinched with worry. Sara’s eyes dart nervously toward the entrance as I enter, her hand clenched around sothing. Ron stands tall, his teenage fra already carrying hints of the man he’ll beco, shouldering the largest pack.
I glance at the contents visible from the open top—diapers, wipes, formula, a small stuffed rabbit. Baby supplies for Bun. His attention to detail makes sothing in my chest tighten unexpectedly.
One day, these kids will make formidable pack mbers.
So primal force inside has already claid them as pack. Regardless of their bloodline, they’ll be considered Lycan if they choose to stay.
"Food?" I ask, eting Grace’s eyes.
She nods, her blonde hair pulled back tightly. I miss the brown, but I’ll take her in any color.
"Good call. We’ll need it with the kids. I only have a few snacks packed."
Without hesitation, I grab Owen’s spare canvas bag from a hook on the wall and head to the small kitchen area. I don’t bother with selection—just grab anything that looks edible and portable. Apples, protein bars, packages of jerky, a few cans of sothing. It all goes in.
"Bun needs her cup," Grace says from behind , reaching past to grab a purple sippy cup from the counter.
Her arm brushes mine through the fabric of our sleeves, and even this indirect contact sends a jolt through my system. The bond between us doesn’t care about timing or circumstance—it happily urges to throw her down on the nearest flat surface and tear off every last shred of fabric getting between us.
Not the ti, but a wolf’s mating bond has never been considered rational.
Outside, Lyre’s truck sits where we left it. I’ve never looked closely at it until now. The vehicle seems solid enough, though I question its ability to hold all of us.
Grace already has the kids lined up, her movents crisp and decisive as she holds the toddler in her arms. "Ron, help Sara with her bag. Jer, stay close."
There’s a mont of uncertainty as we all stare at the truck cab.
"Can we all even fit?" she asks dubiously.
I reach past her, opening the door to reveal the bench seat. With a practiced motion, I flip up the hidden middle seat that had been folded down. "Fits six. Barely."
Grace looks skeptical, eyes darting to Bun, who’s currently leaned far over her arms to try and chew on Sara’s sleeve. I share her doubt about the toddler’s ability to endure a long drive without wreaking havoc, but we don’t have options.
The mood remains heavy as we load up. The children climb in with none of their usual argunts or chaos. They sense it too—the importance of moving quickly, the weight of Grace’s warning.
Smart kids.
Ron helps strap Bun into a makeshift seatbelt arrangent in the rear seat, with Sara on the other side to keep her contained. Jer slides reluctantly into the middle of the front bench, his small fra barely taking up space between Grace and .
I insert the key—conveniently left in the ignition—and the engine rumbles to life. Lyre’s carelessness with her vehicle security works in our favor today, though it seems odd the witch would make such a flagrant mistake.
Bun crunches loudly on an apple, the sound startling in the tense silence. No one speaks. No one asks questions. The children, for once, seem to understand the gravity of the situation.
Grace ets my eyes across the cab, her green gaze steady and trusting. Sothing unspoken passes between us—an understanding, a shared resolve.
"We’re heading back to get the camper," I tell her, and she nods.
I drive.
Grace doesn’t say a word.
Neither do the kids.
There’s nothing left to say when the only thing that matters is getting out.
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