Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 150

150 Lyre: Did You F#% Her?

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 rising, trying to

won’t be a great toy after all. His wolfish instincts are a 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.

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150 Lyre: Did You F#$% Her?

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.

“I’ll take the others,” he says finally. “Get them some rest, Lyre”

As simple as that. No argument. No questions. Just acquiescence followed by the sound of him herding the others into his truck.

I feel a twinge of–something–as I watch the taillights fade down the gravel road, leaving me alone with my arcana–charged camper and whatever mess waits inside.

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

bothered me before.

Maybe I’m getting soft.

The creaking of the RV door interrupts my thoughts.

In 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 and massive against the night.

I stiffen.

The smell hits me full force–Grace’s scent, wrapped in arcana, and unmistakably intertwined with sex. My lips curl into a cold, almost–smile.

I’m going to kill this son of a bitch. 1

“Where is she?”

“She’s resting” Caine replies, his tone clipped and emotionless. Aloof and unburdened by fear as he closes the door behind him and makes his way closer.

This piece of shit.

My gaze sharpens as I snark, “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

I circle him slowly, predatory and cool. Smelling him. Scenting every trace of what transpired here while I was gone. This foolish animal king with his instincts and his needs, unable to control himself around his mate.

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Caine steps closer, crowding my space. The air presses down–a pulse of dominance, primal and laced with challenge, rolls off him in waves meant to cow lesser creatures.

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