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,

Just acquiescence followed by

of—something—as I watch the taillights fade down the gravel road, leaving me alone

bruised by my dismissal over the centuries. It’s never bothered me

Maybe I’m getting soft.

creaking of the RV door interrupts my

the annoying blockheaded Lycan King, his broad silhouette blocking most of the light from inside. His

I stiffen.

full force—Grace’s scent, wrapped in arcana, and unmistakably intertwined with sex. My

kill this son of a

"Where is she?"

emotionless. Aloof and unburdened by fear as he closes the door behind him and

This piece of shit.

as I snark, "Is that what

slowly, predatory and cool. Smelling him. Scenting every trace of what transpired here while I was

yourself for a single day?" I

His tone remains flat, detached. "What happens between

pull at the fabric of reality and show this pup exactly what concern

I get slapped with another Plausibility Warning here,

the

know the asshole

urge to kick him in

dominance, primal

I don’t flinch.

my own—calm, cold, and infinitely older than his bloodline. The pressure disperses

tightens. A silent standoff between ancient predators, neither

with your kind for

you go?" I ask

Stay fucking

says nothing, but