Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 105: Lyre: Time-Locked

LYRE

The trail’s not cold. It’s frigid. Cryogenically sealed in regret and futility.

I knew this place would be empty before we even turned onto the access road, but thoroughness is one of the many lessons learned over agonizing centuries. It means checking every lead, even the ones that reek of wasted time.

Better to knock out the possibilities now, before they come back to spirit you into another dimension for three weeks, four days, seventeen hours and eleven minutes.

Those are memories I’d rather not revisit. Or experience again.

Jack-Eye gets out first, stretches his long frame like he’s been folded into an origami wolf for too long. The others follow. And me? I’m too irritated to even open the damn door.

I already know what’s inside.

Tapping my fingers against the steering wheel, I stare at the front door, wondering exactly how hard the restrictions would hit if I went on a rampage here.

It’s tempting. Oh, so fucking tempting.

But being without power while trying to chase down the asshole trying to reanimate Isabeau would be a stupid decision, so I have to calm down before I lose my shit.

Deep breath.

Meditation was never my strong suit. Too impulsive, too fiery, too much

—the excuses are endless, but it all boils down to the same basic issue. It doesn’t fit with my personality.

Still, I borrow from it a little to cool the rage flowing in my blood.

Deep, deep, deep breath.

Gotta do it in the car, because sucking in a lung full of death and bloody arcana’s only going to raise my blood pressure more.

Finally centered and in control once again, I slip out of the car, pretending like nothing awful’s about to happen.

edges in front of me, straightening his

Well. That’s unexpected.

still maintains some functional instincts. Huh. Good

him as beta. He’s an alpha-level Lycan, which means he has the right

makes

was going to feel, but it’s still strange and wrong to my senses. The rot stench hangs

onto a loody crime scene wiped free of

A deliberately manufactured void.

My stomach clenches.

and residue behind.

This? This is nothing.

This is Reaper-level sanitization.

Owen, an angel-descendant, can’t

of a time-anchor spell forming beneath my skin. Arcana flows

phone dings. Right on

the one who brought them

can feel the anger simmering beneath his deceptively mild

In some ways

shed door swings open without so much as a creak, of course. They’d never allow something so

sets with a soundless snap. To Jack-Eye and the others, nothing has changed. They’re frozen in place, suspended between

palette of suspended time. Colors fade just slightly. Sound dampens. All momentum bleeds away into perfect stillness,

I fight the

eyes like black mirrors, reflecting everything and absorbing nothing. He’s wearing the ridiculous uniform they all insist

aren’t allowed to harm anything living. I guess they could use it in a battle against divinity, but those are all strictly regulated, thanks the

for balance, I see," I

in his face. Creepy

letting my weight shift to one hip. "Stop playing around. Why are you here so early? There’s a reason, isn’t there? Who’s

created a thread of deviation." His voice carries the exact same inflection it did three centuries

I’ve got better things to do than play cryptic bullshit bingo with you. Burn the shed, raze the evidence, do whatever administrative ass-covering you need to do. But I’m not stopping, and you can’t make me. So either get on board or