Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 118: Lyre: Maybe I Need to Blow Him

LYRE

I’m slouched in the only chair in this depressing motel room that doesn’t look ready to collapse, scrolling through my Divinity App while Jack-Eye makes significantly more noise in the shower than any one person should. The constant drumming of water hitting tile makes a surprisingly tolerable white noise—not that I’d ever admit it. There’s something satisfying about the rhythmic sound of someone else cleaning off the day’s grime that doesn’t involve me lifting a finger.

I have another direct message. Third one today. People are far too interested in what I’m doing, which means every step I take is going to be analyzed for Balance, damn it.

[CHAOS: Feels like the old times, doesn’t it, Witchlet?]

I snort. He’s been unusually talkative lately, which never bodes well. When Chaos gets chatty, worlds tend to crumble. Or at least have very bad days.

My thumb pauses over a new notification, pulsing red at the top of my screen.

[PLAUSIBILITY WARNING: EXCESSIVE INTERFERENCE IN REGION 23-BETA. FINAL STRIKE.]

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Not this again.

Excessive interference detected in Region 23-BETA. Current manipulations have exceeded Plausibility Threshold by 417%.

Timeline strain now approaching rupture tolerance.

You are hereby issued a FINAL WARNING for deviation from ordained narrative progression.

Further unsanctioned alterations may trigger Purge Protocol: Soft Reset.

—Divinity Connect Oversight Engine, Axis Protocols Enforcement Division

"Yes, yes, I know," I mutter, thumbing the warning closed with more force than necessary. "Balance can suck my—"

staring at

alone. I could track down our target

I do as I want, I’ll trigger divine

something bigger

they’re serious about triggering the Purge Protocol? The thought alone makes my skin crawl. Memory resets, localized timeline alterations... Grace might wake up

don’t handle

stuck with Thom—a magical container with all the power of a dying flashlight. He’s barely at five

water stops. The sudden silence is

earlier gave us three hours of decent tracking before he fizzled again. Energy transfer through

I need to

"Wh—what?"

voice. Guess he’s done showering. "The wizard. He’s down to fumes, and I need more from him. I’d rather not lose him from a magical backlash, so I have to meter it out. But hand-holding and forehead kisses are only doing so much. I need to transfer more,

stretches long enough

hair down his chest, a motel towel hanging so low on his hips it’s practically performing a disappearing act. His muscles are tensed like he’s waiting

huh?" he finally mumbles,

blink twice. "Why are you

opens, closes, then opens again. "I,

follow his vague gesture to the nearest mattress—the one I’ve already claimed, my bag

"That’s my bed."

one. The one that’s not

This is the feared Lycan Beta? Seven centuries of watching men fumble through excuses, and they never get any better at it. I return my attention to the screen. "Then dry off. You’re dripping

one hand gripping the back

if you have needs, you don’t

alpha, but his tone is hesitant virgin

an archaeologist who’s just unearthed a particularly confusing artifact. "And