Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 112

Chapter 112: Lyre: Rest

My phone buzzes in the console tray just as I notice Jack-Eye has finally shut up. He’s slumped in the passenger seat with his arm half-covering his face, probably thinking I can’t tell he’s still awake. His breathing isn’t even close to sleep rhythm.

I glance down at the notification, swiping to read Grace’s message.

[GRACE: Made it to the spot. We’re alive. Also… no water…]

I swipe a quick reply.

[LYRE: Why didn’t you fill the tank before you left? Fresh water tank connection’s right next to the city water.]

[GRACE: Uhhhhh… oops?]

A snort escapes before I can stop it. Endearing little disaster. At least she’s safe for now.

The truck hits a pothole the size of a small child, and Jack-Eye’s head jolts up. He groans, reaching for the dashboard to steady himself. “Could you not text and drive?”

“We’ve all got to live dangerously sometime.” I toss my phone back into the console tray. “Besides, vampires text and fly all the time. I’m practically a safety expert by comparison.”

In the rearview mirror, I catch a glimpse of Thom’s panicked expression. He’s seated in the middle, between Owen and Andrew—both sleeping—and he has nowhere to grab for safety. He was probably asleep until the pothole, too.

Humans and their pitiful need for rest. Not that I’m immune. Even my energy has limits. Mine just don’t come as quickly as theirs.

A flickering vacancy sign appears in the distance—some questionable roadside establishment. It probably hasn’t seen fresh sheets since the Reagan administration and the carpet inside likely smells like despair and decades of poor life choices. Someone’s definitely selling bodies in this place. Not dead ones, obviously.

Grace and Caine are far enough from Fiddleback’s immediate zone now. They’re safe enough to allow myself a few degrees of relief, and maybe grant these pitiful tagalongs some rest.

Especially the wizard.

I pull into the shady motel’s parking lot, ignoring Jack-Eye’s confused stare, and grab my phone again.

[LYRE: Check the truck bed. Two 7-gallon Reliance jugs + three 5-gallon Aquatainers. Use a siphon or pump into the freshwater tank. Should hold you over.]

Grace would have no idea the jugs carry potable water. We’d normally have a full tank of fresh water, but it’s been used. I would have topped up before we left, but—well, the current situation is what it is.

The fact she remembered enough to get the trailer packed up and ready to go is already impressive.

[GRACE: You’re a goddess. A terrifying, beautiful goddess. I love you. I’ll think of you when I shower tonight.]

[LYRE: Sponge bath. The water will go fast. Either have Caine fill up the jugs in town or wait until we’re back and use the water sparingly. Don’t forget there’s bottled water for drinking in the pantry.]

She sends a thumbs-up emoji in response.

I set the phone down and twist in my seat to get a better look at Thom. His aura is flickering like a dying flashlight, dim around the edges. Pathetic. Even with the kiss I gave him—an energy transfer most wizards would kill for—he’s running on fumes.

“Burns fast. Doesn’t replenish well,” I mutter, mostly to myself. The boy can’t regulate his arcana circulation for shit. Typical of modern witches.

I sigh, shutting off the engine. “We’re stopping for the night. Everyone needs to sleep.”

Jack-Eye immediately straightens. “You’re getting your own room.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not wasting money. I’ll just get a double.”

“One double for five people? With you in it?” Jack-Eye looks at me like I’ve suggested we all sleep in lava. Forever, obviously. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

“I’ll pay,” he offers, with a charming smile.

He’s the Beta of a wolf pack. As independent as most packs are, especially one as impressive as the Lycan Pack, there’s no way they have money just floating around to spare on random adventures. Few wolves aim for successful businesses in the human market, so every pack juggles financial woes.

“I’ve got it. You’re all here because of me, anyway.”

“Still—”

“Don’t argue with me, Jack.”

He goes quiet for a minute, still tagging along. “My name isn’t actually Jack, you know.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, I know, Jack-Eye.”

“Well,” he concedes, “It’s not far from my name. It’s just that people always butcher it.”

Not interested, but he keeps going, “My real name is Aaron. Aaron Xhekaj. X-H-E-K-A-J, pronounced Jack-Eye.” The way he says it, though, is with a slightly different inflection than we’ve been using.

“Congratulations. You have a name. I already forgot it. Can we just get these rooms in silence? We don’t have to pretend to be friends.”

“Right,” he mutters. “Silence. Since I can’t talk magic with you or anything.”

His sour face comes out of freaking nowhere, and I sigh. Keeping these damn humans corralled and happy is going to be the death of me.