Grace of a Wolf

Chapter 157: Jack-Eye: Standoff

JACK-EYE

Waves of dominance brush against the SUV as we roll up to the boondocking spot. I kill the engine, but don’t move right away. I’m in no rush to jump into the shitstorm brewing outside.

Lyre and Caine stand about ten feet apart, locked in some kind of standoff. Her rainbow hair seems to catch non-existent wind while he’s rigid and ready to attack.

The pressure wave of their combined power crashes against the car windows.

"This is gonna be great," Andrew mutters. He’s getting pretty mouthy.

I grunt in response. The question is whose side I’m taking when things go nuclear. Loyalty says Caine, but my dick has other ideas, especially with Lyre’s ass so perfectly molded by her jeans.

Owen doesn’t hesitate. The car’s barely stopped when he flings the door open and takes off toward the RV, not even glancing at the supernatural pissing contest. His stride is long, purposeful—a man with his mind on one thing only.

He’s been impatiently waiting for us to get here, to the point of dragging Thom into the shower to wake him up with cold water. The concept of lazing about until five minutes before check-out was denied with a flat stare and a grunt.

"Priorities, huh." I watch him disappear inside, wondering how it feels to have kids to worry about.

I wonder what Lyre’s natural hair color is...

"Are we coming with you?" Andrew asks, interrupting my happy thoughts.

I sigh.

"Yeah."

Whatever Caine and Lyre are fighting about—

Only one way to find out.

I push open the driver’s door and saunter toward them, hands in pockets, forcing casual confidence. The air between them practically sizzles, making my skin prickle. noveldrama

"Should I be recording this for posterity," I call out, "or are we settling things wolf-style in the dirt?"

Caine’s head snaps toward me, a growl rumbling from his chest. He’s not amused.

Lyre’s slitted eyes narrow dangerously. She’s not amused, either.

Wrong time. Message received.

"You don’t get between me and my mate again. Ever." My friend’s voice is deadly quiet. Looks like Grace was in the center of it again. No surprise there; Caine seems to lose his mind over the girl.

Lyre crosses her arms with a sigh. His alpha dominance doesn’t even faze her, which is is hotter than her ass in those jeans, but not as hot as her naked yesterday. "Sometimes you’re just going to have to butt out of a situation. That was one of them."

"Words are useful, Lyre."

"Wow, a wolf who knows how to use words." Her tone drips acid. "Sorry, I didn’t realize."

Caine responds with another growl, and I’m impressed he’s holding back. The man’s never been known for his patience for disrespect.

Granted, he was calmer once. A long time ago.

The rainbow-haired witch looks up at the sky, pressing her lips together. For some reason, I have the feeling she’s counting.

Then she looks down, and half the pressure of the area ceases to exist, settling the prickling hairs on my arms. "Fine. I’m sorry for throwing you out—"

"It only worked because I wasn’t expecting it," Caine announces, finally letting up on his dominance.

Amazing. I can’t tell if it’s because Grace has calmed the man with whatever strange power she possesses, or if Caine’s actually respecting the woman standing before him.

"Whatever, Ego King." Lyre’s eyes flash dangerously. "But there are things I can only share with Grace. Don’t you dare pressure her into telling you anything, either. If you do, I’ll neuter you like the dog you are, even if it makes her cry."

The air around us shivers and compresses. Dominance radiates off both of them in waves—Caine’s familiar, roiling and wolfish, pressing down like gravity, but Lyre’s... hers feels different. Ancient. Like standing at the edge of a storm that’s been building for centuries.

I clear my throat, about to ask what the fuck they’re actually arguing about since I’ll probably need to pick a side soon—

"Is it time?" A dreamy voice cuts through the tension.

We all turn to see Thom hovering nearby, looking like he just stumbled out of some magical trance. His eyes are fixed on Lyre with abject devotion, and my stomach curdles at the sight. The way he stares at her—like she’s the moon and he’s nothing but a helpless tide—makes my fingers itch with the urge to sucker punch him in the jaw.

The pressure in the area fades completely as Caine and Lyre both realize potential victims are nearby, and I struggle to keep my own in check. Letting out a little dominance around your already-agitated alpha is a great way to get your throat torn out, and Caine’s temper isn’t easy to quell.

Not unless your name is Grace, anyway.

"Maybe we should be neutering wizards instead of dogs," I mutter.

Lyre ignores Thom completely, rubbing her face like we’re all massive headaches she can’t shake. Caine’s still standing there, radiating fury and glowering at her.

"I’m warning you," she snaps at him, "don’t mess with Grace."

Caine’s lips curl into a sneer. "What I do with my mate isn’t your damn business."

Her face darkens, and I swear the sky goes dark for a second. She doesn’t respond—just scowls and storms past, brushing against my arm as she goes. The brief contact sends electricity crashing through my body, leaving my nerves raw in its wake.

My dick twitches.

Not the time, boy. Not the time.

It might be shocking to learn I do know how inappropriate my thoughts might be in certain situations. I just don’t normally care.

Then again, I never had someone who could turn me into a toad before...

Remembering that sends a mildly terrified shiver down my spine, but I try not to think about it too much.

She’s heading straight for Andrew, who’s leaning against the SUV, arms crossed over his chest. He watches her approach with an expression that morphs from studied boredom to wariness to outright alarm as she closes in.

I follow a few steps behind her, shadowing her movement. Something’s up. She’s focused on Andrew with a predatory intensity.

Andrew straightens as my witch gets in his space, but he’s not fast enough. She grabs his collar with surprising strength, yanking him down to her eye level.

My heart jumps into my throat. She wouldn’t—she’s not going to kiss him too, is she? Not another man, not right in front of me—

"Where’s your loyalty at?" Lyre demands, her voice sharp enough to skewer the boy where he stands.