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.

she hung the fucking moon and stars—makes my skin crawl. Like she’s his personal goddess because she did some magical

more minutes, nerding out to this bizarre magic science I don’t understand, before

emotion. "Someone’s hair was

enough energy in the strand for me to track, though." He sounds like a confused

mirror, then back to the road. "That’s why I gave you a

sound, disappointment dripping from that single syllable,

think she kissed you because you’re special?" I ask, sarcasm coating every syllable, with an undertone of

and leans

energy transfer that required mouth-to-mouth contact, I guess—but the thought of the sniveling little wizard

breath, just barely loud enough for me to

blooms in my chest. No interest, then.

could help you with that block, if you want." She says it casually, once again focused on the

My heart trips.

a wilted plant of a

to explain. You’ll get it once you

victory crumbles. I turn toward the window, watching the blur

and ley lines like it’s pillow talk. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here imagining what it’d feel like if she slipped

I’m the guy who knows how to separate business and pleasure. The guy who’s had

wrist and how good she smells. She smells

but once it’s in your lungs, it stays there. Warm. Familiar. Like the

as her scent hints, which means

the time to want a