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.

front of me, straightening his shoulders as he scents

Well. That’s unexpected.

his human half still maintains some functional instincts. Huh. Good to see he’s still functional, even when he’s

an alpha-level Lycan, which means he has the

Dumbass makes good

as I approach the shed. I already knew what I was going to feel, but it’s still strange and wrong to my senses. The

if we stumbled onto a loody crime scene wiped free of fingerprints

A deliberately manufactured void.

My stomach clenches.

left grime and residue behind. Magical evidence.

This? This is nothing.

This is Reaper-level sanitization.

Owen, an angel-descendant,

time-anchor spell forming beneath my skin. Arcana flows from my fingers

phone dings.

I’m the one who brought them here; protecting them shouldn’t be a fucking plausibility

Owen asks, and I can feel the anger simmering beneath

In some ways

creak, of course. They’d never allow something so pedestrian as a creaking

snap. To Jack-Eye and the others, nothing has changed. They’re frozen in place,

slightly. Sound dampens. All momentum bleeds away into perfect stillness,

I fight the urge to roll my

nothing. He’s wearing the ridiculous uniform they all insist on: matte-black cloak with shadows that cling too long, too thick. And, naturally, a full-length

to harm anything living. I guess they could use

those for balance, I

into a smile, but it doesn’t disturb a single muscle in his face. Creepy to

my arms, letting my weight shift to one hip. "Stop playing around. Why are you here so early? There’s a reason,

carries the exact same inflection it did three

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