Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 180

180 Grace: Fan Club

He’s a Rafe loyalist. He’s the second to last person on this planet I want poking his nose into my affairs.

[Lyrielle’s Fan Club: 573 new messages.]

“I’m fine.”

[TIME: Are you drunk?]

Ten miles from our destination, I finally check it again, only to see:

Then another hour.

C

“Are you okay?” Andrew asks, finally breaking the silence.

[Grace Harper has accepted the invitation to join Lyrielle’s Fan Club.]

Maybe I shouldn’t have ignored all the buzzing.

Taking a deep breath, I tap on the app icon. The interface looks a little different today, but still says (Limited). But now there’s a new chat thread at the top of my inbox, saying “Lyrielle’s Fan Club” in bold letters.

[TIME: How uncouth.]

What the actual hell is this, and who the hell is Lyrielle?

[WRATH: Perhaps you should take the stick out of your hourglass.]

The white cat rolls onto its back, and I rub at its stomach without thinking. All four paws wrap around my wrist as it lightly chews against my knuckles. It acts like a perfectly normal cat, just like Sadie acts like a perfectly normal dog, but…

At a quick glance, it makes me think of Lyre. And it would make sense, because who the hell else do I know associated with this app? Except the strange, face–shifting ma

in my dreams.

We’re almost there, and storm clouds have begun gathering in the sky, dark and menacing.

“I don’t need you to be-” Cutting myself off, I suck in a deep breath. My annoyance

180 Grace: Fan Club

with him aside, he hasn’t done anything except ask if everything’s okay. Sniping at him only makes me the immature one here. “Nothing’s wrong. I just want to get settled in for the night. This storm’s making me nervous.”

Occasionally, Caine checks in via the walkie talkic, asking if I’m okay. Sometimes it’s

Ron.

[TIME: Maybe it was you in an alternate timeline.]

How do they know? No; they don’t. They’re guessing.

I scroll through the messages, my unease growing with every exchange. These people definitely know each other, and I have no idea who they are.

[WRATH: Was it you, you piece of shit? We said no more invites.]

I type out a quick message asking if she’s okay and to text back when she can.

Well–third. Ellie exists, after all.

My skin crawls. He reeks of stalker vibes.

I open my messages and frantically type out a text to Lyre.

Totally normal reaction. 2

My phone chimes again with another notification. Despite my better judgment, I check

1. it.

[WRATH: Stop fucking with me. You know that shit makes my brain hurt.]

My head throbs, a dull ache building behind my eyes. Wrath. Time. Madness. Chaos. These aren’t just weird internet handles, not when Divinity Connect involves… well, divinities. These are entities. Forces. Or just people with really bad naming sense.

[CHAOS: This time, it isn’t me, little anchor. Do you miss me? I miss you.]

“Okay, okay. I was just worried.”

But Owen’s there. I’m sure he’s helping keep her in check.

I wait, watching for the read receipt, but it doesn’t happen. I’m not panicking, not exactly–this doesn’t feel like the bone–deep dread from before the last storm. This is just regular (I think) human anxiety about being contacted by strangers with weird

no.ca

25

[MADNESS: More importantly~ why isn’t she talking? Hello? I know you’re reading us~]

[WRATH Who the hell is this? Who the fuck sent out an invitation? This is our safe place, remember?]

[WRATH: @Lyrielle was it you?]

[WRATH: I’ll show you uncouth.]

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