Grace of a Wolf

Chapter 183: Lyre: Do You Sense It?

LYRE

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 notice the house before Jack-Eye points it out, because it glows like a beacon of bright arcana.

"That’s where they had us stay," he says, as expected.

On the outside, it looks no different from the others. I’m sure the wolves wouldn’t be able to sense how unique this particular domicile is. Perhaps even Fiddleback didn’t know.

The moment we enter, the smell hits. It’s not a physical scent—nothing the wolves would notice. But it’s like a lingering odor clinging to the threads of arcana, mixed with sweat, wolf musk, and the unmistakable residue of werewolf sex.

One scent stands out with embarrassing clarity.

I glance at Aaron from the corner of my eye. "You worked hard."

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.

"I was—" he starts.

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

"Owen," I say, cutting Aaron off mid-stammer. "Do you sense it?"

The angel-descendant’s silver eyes narrow, his jaw tightening as he gives a single, grim nod. "Yes."

"Sense what?" Aaron looks between us as the blush slowly recedes. "What are you talking about?"

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

Aaron rolls his shoulder with a scowl. "What the hell was that for?"

I head for the stairs, not bothering to explain or see if he follows.

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

"It was reconnaissance," he mutters behind me. "Getting close to potential informants is standard procedure."

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

"Mmm."

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.

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

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

Aaron clears his throat awkwardly. "There was nothing serious between us."

I turn to stare at him, genuinely surprised by the comment. "Why would there be?"

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

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.

Priorities matter.

I return my attention to the room, extending my senses beyond the physical as I inspect the threads of arcana, perfectly and unnaturally aligned.

"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."

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

My lips twist down. "Explain." noveldrama

He steps fully inside, gaze sweeping the room without focusing on anything physical. I recognize the look—he’s seeing what I see, the perfectly knitted strands of arcana.

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.

"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."

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.

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

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

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.

"Go shower," I tell him flatly.

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.

Ridiculous creature. He acts like I’m asking him to travel to another dimension rather than down the hall for basic hygiene. The real issue, of course, is being sent away while Owen stays.

Wolves are such a pain.

"Aaron," I say with deadly calm. "Go shower."

He holds my stare for two seconds before stomping toward the door, not even acknowledging the order.

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

His feet thump down the hall, and I can hear him shout down the stairs, "Thom, I’m taking a shower. Take yours after I’m done."

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.

In reality, there weren’t as many as you would think. Certainly plenty, but the real problem lies within the constant cycle of reanimating. Cutting them into pieces slows it down significantly.

Burning takes care of the rest.

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...

I definitely wasn’t expecting one here.

Probably should have, though.

Order really hates when people mess with the dead. Balance does, too. Chaos, of course, delights in it.

What was more surprising was how Divinity Connect hadn’t said a single word about it. Reanimation is usually cause for an emergency alert.

But now that we’re here, it’s starting to make sense.

Once Aaron’s footsteps fade and a door slams, I turn back to Owen, dropping my voice as I hiss, "What the fuck is an angel doing working with a sanguimancer?"