Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 183

183 Lyre: Do You Sense It?

Of course, he follows. I’m sure he’s trying to think up a way to explain this to me.

In the third bedroom, the signature pulses stronger. The room reeks of Aaron and a wolf–female, young, fertile. The bed is still unmade.

The arcana here has been manipulated, but there’s no way to tell how long it’s been this way, or how many people have touched it. And as a denizen of Order, Owen isn’t prone to lies.

So childish, and yet the reaction is almost endearing instead of irritating. Maybe I’m getting soft.

The moment we hit the Fiddleback subdivision, the arcana changes. It’s darker, but strangely clean despite the undercurrent of blood magic seeping the land.

I definitely wasn’t expecting one here.

It isn’t impossible. Unlikely, though. Especially in this situation.

I turn to inspect him with a frown. For some reason, his scent is getting on my nerves, especially mixed as it is with the history of this room.

Owen just smacks him on the shoulder and moves deeper into the house, methodically checking rooms.

Owen pokes his head into the room, his silver eyes tight and dark they weren’t here before.”

I wave a dismissive hand, already uninterested in his explanation before it begins. Something else has caught my attention.

Each step up the staircase brings me closer to the source of that strange energy signature. It’s too orderly, too perfect–like someone took the chaotic weave of reality and combed it straight.

“Who are you talking about?” Aaron interrupts, his breath tickling my ear, as he gets even closer. “What’s new here?”

“Go shower,” I tell him flatly.

183 Lyre: Do You Sense It?

I check each room systematically, but the house is empty of personal effects, outside of what the wolves brought with them.

Priorities matter.

His eyes narrow, but instead of arguing with me, he directs his glower at Owen, as if the angel–blood is somehow responsible for me sending him away.

Aaron shifts closer to me, his body radiating heat. It’s annoying how he does that- inserts himself into my space like he belongs there. But I don’t shove him away.

problem lies within the many as you

In reality, there weren’t as would think. Certainly plenty, but the real

constant cycle of reanimating. Cutting them into pieces slows

it down significantly.

“Owen,” I say, cutting Aaron off mid–stammer. “Do you sense it?”

The flush crawls up his neck like wildfire, starting below his collar and racing across his cheeks. He scratches at his head, fingers tangling in his red hair.

Of course, it would have been over in seconds if I didn’t have so many damn Plausibility warnings piled up against me. It’s been at least two hundred years since the last ghoul outbreak…

But explaining is too troublesome and gives him too much hope, so I don’t. We can always settle it later, if it comes down to it. But not in the middle of gathering crucial information.

As expected. But he overestimates my/interest. This isn’t new information about the man, after all.

My lips twist down. “Explain.”

A muffled response floats up from below, too faint to make out. He’s probably collapsed onto the couch, still a mess after witnessing the infestation of ghouls.

“It’s strongest here,” I murmur,/“But why didn’t he sense it before? Another in his territory should have set off every alarm bell.”

“Aaron,” I say with deadly calm. “Go shower.”

His face does something complicated–relief mixing with what might be disappointment. He really thought I cared about his little werewolf flings.

“I’ve been to this place many times,” Owen says calmly, though his words are rougher than normal. Betrayal does that, though. His fists are tight, his back too straight, as he continues, “They were never here before.”

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