Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 106

Chapter 106: Jack-Eye: Irrational, But Still

I push the door open wider, stepping inside the shed first because that’s what you do when you’re second-in-command. Take point. Assessment. Protection. All that shit.

Definitely not because I want Lyre noticing how I can take care of her, even if she’s the strongest person in this motley little crew of ours.

The rush of lemon hits my nostrils again, but underneath it—

“Fuck.”

A body sprawls across the concrete floor, limbs at all the wrong angles like someone dropped him from a height. The position is too awkward, too unnatural. Like he tried to curl up before the end.

“What is it?” Andrew calls from behind me.

I don’t answer right away, my focus locked on the corpse. There’s no blood. No signs of a fight. Just this kid—a Fiddleback—dead on the floor. And I know him.

The more disturbing thing, though, is how Lyre’s acting. She got weird the second we reached the door. Tense in a different way than before, and no longer interested in what’s inside.

The door had swung open on its own too, which is freaky as hell when I can see the hinges and latch are in perfect condition. Someone must not have closed it properly, but my hinky magic meter—newly acquired and still working out the kinks—is pinging.

Just as I’m about to call out a warning, Thom comes up behind me and immediately recoils. His weak stomach strikes again.

“Oh, gods—” His face goes pale green and he bolts, the unmistakable sound of retching following his hasty exit.

Andrew steps in beside me, his nose wrinkling as he scents hard. “Why doesn’t it smell worse?”

I’m wondering the same thing. A dead body should reek, especially to our senses. But all I get is the strange lemon scent layered over the barest whisper of death. All the horrible rot and strange darkness? It’s gone, like it never existed. Like I’d imagined it all.

Owen gives the body a wide berth, moving straight to the metal cabinets along the far wall. He starts opening them methodically, patting the walls, searching for something. He’s supposed to be part angel or something, right? And yet he doesn’t even glance at the body. He’s busy looking for… I’m not sure.

Evidence, maybe. Or threats. Traps?

Lyre finally slips past me, her rainbow hair catching the dim light as she crouches next to the body with that eerie calm I’m starting to expect from her. Like death is just Tuesday.

Kind of thought she was heading back to the car, but I guess she changed her mind again. Strange woman. Still wildly appealing, though.

“It’s Marsh,” I tell her calmly. “A Fiddleback. He brought Caine to their territory from the hospital.”

The kid’s young. Shame he was born into such a shitty pack. Just a dumb kid. I doubt he really understood what his pack was up to.

Or maybe he did. Maybe his innocence and youth hid something darker inside. I wonder if Elizabeth was the same way. She’s probably dead, too, thanks to Caine and Fenris.

Marsh’s face looks peaceful despite how his body looks. No visible wounds, aside from the strange positioning of his limbs.

But Andrew’s right. The scent is all wrong. He’s already rotting, his abdomen bloated, with skin breaking down and—

Wait a second.

He was alive two days ago.

“For this level of decomp, it should smell worse,” Andrew says, still fixated on the scent.

“He was way too alive two days ago to be this far along,” I point out.

Lyre doesn’t look up from her examination, unimpressed by my observation. “The smell will come back. It’s only clean because of the sanitization.”

“What sanitization?”

Her fingers hover over Marsh’s chest, not quite touching. I wonder if she’s doing something magic.

“The Reapers have already been here,” she explains absently, pulling her fingers away. There’s some hair on his chest. Short, gray hair. Maybe fur.

But my brain’s far more concerned about her little verbal bomb. “Reapers? What reapers?”

Then, after I think it over for another millisecond, “You don’t mean… Grim Reapers?”

She turns her head slowly, giving me a blank, withering look, like I’m the biggest idiot in the room. “What other kind would make sense here?”

“Right.” Clearly there’s more to this supernatural shit than we learn in our packs, and I’m not a fan of feeling outclassed. I’ll have to talk to Caine about upgrading our education.

Lyre remains crouched by Marsh, silent and brooding. The silence stretches uncomfortably. Owen returns to stand by her, and the mere ten inches between them has me rattled with a strange level of possessive irritation.

I’ve never felt possessive over a woman in my life.

“What now?” I grunt. “You brooding your way to an answer?”

She doesn’t look at me, her eyes fixed on the body. I can’t see from here, but I bet they’re cat slits again. They always seem to do it when she’s thinking hard, or doing something magical. “They sacrificed a viable young wolf. Not one of the breeding stock. That means they’re close. Real close.”

“Then can’t you track ’em from here?”

“Not close in distance, fool.” She leans back on her heels, no longer hunched forward in observation. Something flickers across her face—an idea forming, probably. Her scent’s a little sharper with purpose.

“Hey. Wizard,” she calls suddenly.

Thom reappears in the doorway, reluctantly edging inside. He sidesteps awkwardly, as if determined not to look at the corpse.

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