Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 150: Lyre: Did You F#$% Her?

LYRE

The RV is parked where it should be, easing some of the stress from my shoulders.

Knowing she made it safely and seeing it for myself are two different things.

Sucking in a breath of cooler night air, I tell Aaron, "Take the boys to a motel for the night."

Aaron freezes as he steps out of the vehicle, his shoulders stiffening as he slams the door closed. The night air hangs heavy, charged with something more than just the sound of the generator running, and I look at him with a frown.

"I thought I was staying with you," he says with a sigh, leaning back against the SUV with his arms crossed.

I raise one eyebrow, almost scoffing. Really?

But then I notice it—the slight furrow between his brows, the barely-there flare of his aura shifting from confusion to irritation. He’s trying so hard not to show it, keeping his face neutral except for the one tiny tell.

He’s serious.

Seriously, give a man one orgasm...

"There’s no reason for you to stay with me." My reply is calm and measured. Better to keep things simple.

Maybe he won’t be a great toy after all. His wolfish instincts are already rising, trying to claim me. Possess me as his own.

Not happening.

A beat of silence stretches in the night. Owen’s awake, but doesn’t open the door; he can hear every word, and he seems to have the presence of mind to keep out of this awkward situation.

He already knows things have transpired between us. Angels aren’t nose-blind like other supernaturals in this world.

Aaron’s eyes flick toward the RV, then back to me. I watch his expression dim—just for a second, a flash of hurt crossing his face before it flattens into nothing.

Better to hurt him now, before he gets too serious.

others," he says finally. "Get them some rest,

questions. Just acquiescence followed by the sound of him herding

down the gravel road, leaving me alone with my arcana-charged camper and whatever mess waits

seen countless men bruised by my dismissal over the centuries. It’s never bothered

Maybe I’m getting soft.

creaking of the RV

the doorway stands the annoying blockheaded Lycan King, his broad silhouette blocking most of the light from inside. His wolf pads out in front of him, ethereal

I stiffen.

smell hits me full force—Grace’s scent, wrapped in arcana, and

kill this

"Where is she?"

replies, his tone clipped and emotionless. Aloof and unburdened by fear as he closes the door

This piece of shit.

"Is that what we’re calling it

him. Scenting every trace of what transpired here while I was gone. This

couldn’t keep your claws to yourself for a single day?" I ask,

it. His tone remains flat, detached. "What happens between me and

with resonance, to pull at the fabric of reality and show this pup exactly what concern looks like. But I think of the

another Plausibility Warning here, I might lose

the power to defend

grind together, and I know the asshole wolf can

I stifle the urge to kick him in

my space. The air presses down—a pulse of dominance, primal and

I don’t flinch.

and infinitely older than his bloodline.

flare. His jaw tightens. A silent standoff between ancient predators, neither

been dealing with your kind for

you go?"

Stay

but his scent