Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 106: Jack-Eye: Irrational, But Still

I push the door open wider, stepping inside the shed first because that’s what you do when you’re second-in-command. Take point. Assessment. Protection. All that shit.

Definitely not because I want Lyre noticing how I can take care of her, even if she’s the strongest person in this motley little crew of ours.

The rush of lemon hits my nostrils again, but underneath it—

"Fuck."

A body sprawls across the concrete floor, limbs at all the wrong angles like someone dropped him from a height. The position is too awkward, too unnatural. Like he tried to curl up before the end.

"What is it?" Andrew calls from behind me.

I don’t answer right away, my focus locked on the corpse. There’s no blood. No signs of a fight. Just this kid—a Fiddleback—dead on the floor. And I know him.

The more disturbing thing, though, is how Lyre’s acting. She got weird the second we reached the door. Tense in a different way than before, and no longer interested in what’s inside.

The door had swung open on its own too, which is freaky as hell when I can see the hinges and latch are in perfect condition. Someone must not have closed it properly, but my hinky magic meter—newly acquired and still working out the kinks—is pinging.

Just as I’m about to call out a warning, Thom comes up behind me and immediately recoils. His weak stomach strikes again.

"Oh, gods—" His face goes pale green and he bolts, the unmistakable sound of retching following his hasty exit.

Andrew steps in beside me, his nose wrinkling as he scents hard. "Why doesn’t it smell worse?"

I’m wondering the same thing. A dead body should reek, especially to our senses. But all I get is the strange lemon scent layered over the barest whisper of death. All the horrible rot and strange darkness? It’s gone, like it never existed. Like I’d imagined it all.

Owen gives the body a wide berth, moving straight to the metal cabinets along the far wall. He starts opening them methodically, patting the walls, searching for something. He’s supposed to be part angel or something, right? And yet he doesn’t even glance at the body. He’s busy looking for... I’m not sure.

Evidence, maybe. Or threats. Traps?

Lyre finally slips past me, her rainbow hair catching the dim light as she crouches next to the body with that eerie calm I’m starting to expect from her. Like death is just Tuesday.

Kind of thought she was heading back to the car, but I guess she changed her mind again. Strange woman. Still wildly appealing, though.

"It’s Marsh," I tell her calmly. "A Fiddleback. He brought Caine to their territory from the hospital."

The kid’s young. Shame he was born into such a shitty pack. Just a dumb kid. I doubt he really understood what his pack was up to.

Or maybe he did. Maybe his innocence and youth hid something darker inside. I wonder if Elizabeth was the same way. She’s probably dead, too, thanks to Caine and Fenris.

Marsh’s face looks peaceful despite how his body looks. No visible wounds, aside from the strange positioning of his limbs.

But Andrew’s right. The scent is all wrong. He’s already rotting, his abdomen bloated, with skin breaking down and—

Wait a second.

was alive two days

should smell worse," Andrew

was way too alive two days ago

observation. "The smell will come back. It’s only clean because

"What sanitization?"

hover over Marsh’s chest, not quite touching.

have already been here," she explains absently, pulling her fingers away. There’s some hair on his chest. Short, gray

my brain’s far more concerned about her

I think it over for another millisecond, "You don’t mean... Grim

turns her head slowly, giving me a blank, withering look, like I’m the biggest idiot in

Clearly there’s more to this supernatural shit than we learn in our packs, and I’m not a fan of feeling outclassed.

silence stretches uncomfortably. Owen returns to stand by her, and the mere ten inches between them has me rattled with

possessive over a woman in

grunt. "You brooding

cat slits again. They always seem to do it when she’s thinking hard, or doing something

can’t you track ’em from

She leans back on her heels, no longer hunched forward in observation. Something flickers

Wizard," she

the doorway, reluctantly edging inside. He sidesteps awkwardly, as

in here," Lyre

he starts, his face

need to. You can track,

does it every few minutes, but even more when he’s nervous.

says mildly. "But we’ll worry about that

and I find myself tensing, watching her every move. She drops her

you, it shouldn’t trip

eyes widen. "Wait—what

his face tight. He’s looking straight at her, for once.

are tight at his side, and his entire

not even

shirt and pulls him into a kiss. Not just any kiss—deep, deliberate, intense. The kind that ruins men, with

where their lips meet, crackling through the air like static electricity.

fucking butterflies—materialize out of nowhere, swirling around them in a luminous spiral before zooming off into different directions, phasing through the

not hers. Something ancient, from simpler times, roars to life in my chest, clawing its way up

have no claim on Lyre. I barely know

And yet...

move like that