Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 111: Jack-Eye: You’re Not Special

JACK-EYE

Three hours of silence is my limit. I fiddle with the volume dial just to give my hands something to do. Something like not sliding through the messy bun Lyre’s created out of her rainbow-colored hair.

"So... sleep. That’s still a thing, right?"

She doesn’t look at me. "I’m fine."

Okay.

The temperature in the car drops ten degrees with those two words. Not literally—though with Lyre, you never know. I clear my throat and lean back in my seat.

She’s been like this ever since Grace called. That girl has a talent for finding trouble, and it rivals Caine’s talent for making enemies. The fact they’re bound together is cosmic irony.

She seems sweet, though. Sweet enough to keep a feral witch like Lyre loyal to the girl.

Am I jealous? Maybe a little.

"Where are we headed, anyway?" I keep my voice casual, fishing for any reaction beyond her stone-faced focus on the road.

But it’s not Lyre who answers, damn it.

"We’re circling back toward where we started, actually." Thom’s voice pipes up from the back seat, so eager it makes my molars ache. "The ley lines around the Fiddleback territory are fascinating—they twist in ways I’ve never seen before. The mana flow creates these... these beautiful rivers of light that intersect and diverge. I can actually see them now, which explains how my tracking works. It’s like the signature leaves ripples in the—"

I grit my teeth so hard I’m surprised they don’t crack. I don’t need a lecture from the wizard-who-couldn’t. Especially not when he’s answering for her like they’re some kind of team now.

the fucking moon and stars—makes my skin crawl.

on for a couple more minutes, nerding out to this bizarre magic science I don’t understand, before finally ending with, "Anyway... who are we tracking,

without emotion. "Someone’s hair was on the body. We’re tracking

enough energy in the strand for me to track, though." He sounds like a confused fucking puppy. Not a

eyes flick up to the mirror, then back to the road. "That’s why

soft "ahh" sound, disappointment dripping from that single syllable, and something in me

ask, sarcasm

clears his throat and

don’t even fully understand what she did—some weird magical energy transfer that required mouth-to-mouth contact, I guess—but the thought of the

posture. Under her breath,

blooms in my chest. No interest, then.

you with that block, if you want." She says

My heart trips.

a wilted plant of a man getting a taste of divine, rainbow-colored

You’ll get it once

crumbles. I turn toward the window, watching the

course wizard-boy gets special lessons. Of course they can talk about magic and energy and ley lines like it’s pillow talk. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here imagining what it’d feel like if she slipped her

I don’t get possessive. I’m the guy who knows how to separate business and pleasure. The guy who’s

she grabbed my wrist and how good she smells. She smells like chamomile and something faintly citrusy—orange blossoms, maybe. Soft. Not

it’s in your lungs, it stays there. Warm.

as her scent hints, which means I’ve been

the time to want a hand job.