Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 183

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.

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

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