Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 192

192 Lyre: Restricted

192 Lyre: Restricted

“I’ll take them back to the safe house,” he says, turning to me once they’ve all been through a quick examination. Every one of them is able to walk, even if it is a shuffling gait. With only ten of them, all mobile, this will be the easiest rescue we’ve had.

But this is a ridiculous time to be distracted by his pretty looks. 1

The chamber branches in two directions. Both are equally dark, equally damp, and equally likely to hide more atrocities.

Our little warlock is growing.

Me, obviously.

But worst of all, none of us had expected to smell and hear the distinct sounds of people in cages.

Owen moves past me, his fresh angelic scent a welcome break from the festering air. The angel–descendant doesn’t speak as he kneels beside the nearest shifter–a woman with hollow cheeks and too–thin wrists, and a slightly protruding belly. Could be a nasty case of internal parasites, or pregnancy. It’s hard to tell. 1

The stench flooding out is unbearable with unwashed bodies, rotting flesh, and human

waste.

Usually, his eyes are wide and worshipful every time I’m within ten feet. But not anymore. Today his gaze is dark. Haunted.

It’s a habit at this point to check my phone. Divinity Connect ignores such mundane details as cellular connection and works regardless, but there are other small issues to deal with. Like battery life and the lack of ability to send or receive texts.

We’ve acquired a routine for these situations.

And I definitely didn’t expect removing one to cause an immediate Plausibility Warning to alert on my app, giving me a 36–hour limitation on arcana use.

Trauma has a way of changing people. Not always for the better, but sometimes.

Over twenty–four hours without sleep, crawling through mud and filth and who knows what else–some of these tunnels seem to serve as the sewer system–he still moves

08:40

192 Lyre: Restricted

like he’s fresh off vacation and filled with vitality.

LYRE

Under normal circumstances, I’d call it a day and book myself a spa retreat.

The near–worship has been replaced by something harder, something that looks too much like the beginning of actual backbone.

His mouth snaps shut, color draining from his already pale face.

“Save it,” I tell him, keeping my voice serene. Better not to show the boiling rage in my veins. All three of these men feed off my mood, and I don’t need them agitated. It’s a waste of energy.

The ward flickers. It’s a sickly yellow–green membrane, at least to the eyes of those who can see arcana, stretched across what appears to be solid rock. It pulses once, twice, then dissolves without a sound.

It takes him less than seconds to get the cage open. Practice makes perfect, I suppose. This is the fourth “collection point” we’ve found. The prison door creaks open with a loud, rusty screech, and my teeth tingle at the sound.

Thom’s glasses slip down his nose. His hands tremble as he traces the final sequence in the air, his fingers leaving pale blue trails of light to shimmer against the dank tunnel walls.

“Let’s keep going,” I tell Owen as Aaron takes the survivors back. He’ll catch up; backtracking doesn’t take long, but making our way through the ridiculous amount of wards and traps Fiddleback’s thrown down slows our rate of advancement to a crawl.

“These ones can walk; mostly,” Aaron continues, his gaze sweeping over the group. “The old man might need help, but-

The man’s exhausted. We all are. But there’s something particularly heartbreaking about watching a warlock drain his arcana to the dregs.

Wolves are useful in this way, but some people who had their access to arcana blocked by a particularly annoying divinity control system are exhausted.

So, even though I pull my phone out of my pocket to glance at it, the screen remains dark, the device powered off to conserve battery.

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192 Lyre Restricted

I glance over my shoulder, one eyebrow arched. “They were all people once. Are you really sure about that?”

Priorities.

I’ve already failed too many; turning back isn’t an option.

I point to the right path. “We’ll go right.”

His fingers curl weakly around my palm as I let a trickle of my power flow into him.

It’s as if they’ve forgotten that freedom is a possibility.

Admittedly, I hadn’t expected the Fiddlebacks to have such extensive warding through their little underground tunneling system, though it isn’t like I thought there would be no warding.

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