Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 157: Jack-Eye: Standoff

JACK-EYE

Waves of dominance brush against the SUV as we roll up to the boondocking spot. I kill the engine, but don’t move right away. I’m in no rush to jump into the shitstorm brewing outside.

Lyre and Caine stand about ten feet apart, locked in some kind of standoff. Her rainbow hair seems to catch non-existent wind while he’s rigid and ready to attack.

The pressure wave of their combined power crashes against the car windows.

"This is gonna be great," Andrew mutters. He’s getting pretty mouthy.

I grunt in response. The question is whose side I’m taking when things go nuclear. Loyalty says Caine, but my dick has other ideas, especially with Lyre’s ass so perfectly molded by her jeans.

Owen doesn’t hesitate. The car’s barely stopped when he flings the door open and takes off toward the RV, not even glancing at the supernatural pissing contest. His stride is long, purposeful—a man with his mind on one thing only.

He’s been impatiently waiting for us to get here, to the point of dragging Thom into the shower to wake him up with cold water. The concept of lazing about until five minutes before check-out was denied with a flat stare and a grunt.

"Priorities, huh." I watch him disappear inside, wondering how it feels to have kids to worry about.

I wonder what Lyre’s natural hair color is...

"Are we coming with you?" Andrew asks, interrupting my happy thoughts.

I sigh.

"Yeah."

Whatever Caine and Lyre are fighting about—

one way to find

pockets, forcing casual confidence. The air between them

this for posterity," I call out, "or are we settling things wolf-style

me, a growl rumbling from

eyes narrow dangerously.

Wrong time. Message received.

is deadly quiet. Looks like Grace was in the

jeans, but

"Words are useful, Lyre."

to use words." Her

back.

he was calmer once. A long time

looks up at the sky, pressing her lips together. For some

pressure of the area ceases to exist, settling the

it," Caine announces, finally letting up on his

tell if it’s because Grace has calmed the man with whatever strange power she possesses, or if

Don’t you dare pressure her into telling you anything, either. If you do, I’ll neuter you like the dog you are,

of them in waves—Caine’s familiar, roiling and wolfish, pressing down like gravity, but Lyre’s... hers feels different. Ancient. Like standing at the edge of a storm that’s

fuck they’re actually arguing about since I’ll probably need

A dreamy

nearby, looking like he just stumbled out of some magical trance. His eyes are fixed on Lyre with abject devotion, and my stomach curdles at the sight. The way he stares at her—like she’s the moon and he’s nothing but a helpless tide—makes my fingers itch with the urge to sucker punch him in

fades completely as Caine and Lyre both realize potential victims are nearby, and I struggle to keep my own in check. Letting out a

name

should be neutering wizards instead