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 shoulders as he scents

Well. That’s unexpected.

instincts. Huh. Good to see he’s still functional,

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

Royal Dumbass makes good

as I approach the shed. I already knew what I was going to feel, but it’s still

humans, it’s as if we stumbled onto a loody crime scene wiped free of

A deliberately manufactured void.

My stomach clenches.

left grime and residue behind.

This? This is nothing.

This is Reaper-level sanitization.

even Owen, an angel-descendant,

beneath my skin. Arcana flows from my fingers to the air around this place, weaving itself into a large

phone dings.

Reaper’s path. I’m the one who brought them here; protecting them shouldn’t be a fucking plausibility issue. Of course, basic logic tends to mean nothing to the team of

and I can feel the anger simmering

some ways

open without so much as a creak, of course. They’d

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

time. Colors fade just slightly. Sound dampens. All momentum bleeds away into perfect stillness, like I’ve closed

and I fight the urge to roll

absorbing nothing. He’s wearing the ridiculous uniform they all insist on: matte-black cloak with shadows that cling too long, too

harm anything living. I guess they

for balance, I see,"

in his face. Creepy to humans, normal to those of us who

my weight shift to one hip. "Stop playing around. Why are

of deviation." His voice carries the exact same inflection it did three centuries ago, which is none. Monotone bastard. "We aren’t the only ones dispatched to

the shed, raze the evidence, do whatever administrative ass-covering you need to do. But I’m not stopping,