Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 257

Chapter 257: Lyre: Owen’s Medicine

LYRE

I wish I could say it’s strange to wake up to two men in my bed, but alas—it happens more often than you’d think.

They aren’t usually clothed, though. So I guess I should be grateful for the small things... oh, and I’m still alive. There’s that, too.

Even if my body feels heavier than a dead cow.

Damn it.

No arcana. No strength. I’m feeling awfully freaking mortal about now, and I am not appreciating it.

"You okay?" Aaron asks, looking at me with an overabundance of caution I find strange coming from the most carefree shifter I’ve ever met this side of the century.

"I’m fine." Kind of. Not really. Maybe.

But it isn’t like he’d understand the full nuances of what I’m dealing with anyway.

"Yeah?"

If the man had wolf ears, they’d be pricked straight up. And his tail would definitely be wagging. Instead, he sits up and helps me do the same, resting me against the headboard. A quick glance assures me I’m in the same room I’ve been using, but I’m no closer to knowing who the other guy is sprawled across my legs.

Whoever he is, he’s heavy.

A quick jerk of my legs and shoving his inert body with my feet frees me, and Aaron’s face gets unbelievably smug once I do so.

"Who’s he?"

"Er—that’s Sam. You don’t remember him?"

I shake my head.

"He’s a medic—whatever. It’s fine. You don’t need to know who he is." Reaching across my body, he shoves the poor, deeply sleeping Sam until he falls off the edge of the bed. "Don’t worry about him. Let’s talk about you, instead. What the hell did you do down there?"

The smugness fades as he stares at me with a grim, you’re-in-so-much-trouble kind of stare.

Normally, I’m full of arcana and the idea of taking on a shifter head to head doesn’t worry me. Right now, though, I feel a bit like a recalcitrant child, and I don’t think I like it very much.

Or maybe I do.

It’s complicated, okay?

"Magic," I quip, fighting the urge to swallow under his unblinking gaze. "How’s our resident warlock?"

"Probably passed out on the floor outside this room. He’s been crying ever since he dragged you back, unconscious." Aaron’s lips tighten as he turns fully on the bed to face me. "Why did you push yourself so hard? You might think you’re Superwoman—"

"I think her name is actually Supergirl."

"—but you aren’t. You looked like you were dying. I was worried about you."

My heart warms, an uncomfortably intimate feeling. "I wasn’t dying." Exactly. Maybe. "I was... recuperating."

Not a single muscle in his face twitches as he continues to stare me down.

It’s enough to make a girl feel guilty, damn it.

I break eye contact—you know, to make him feel like his intimidation is working and absolutely not in any way, shape, or form because it actually is—and trace a random pattern on the bedspread. It looks new. Pretty sure it’s not the one I slept with last time.

Damn it. I’ve been alive for hundreds of years, and I suddenly have every urge to act like a bashful schoolgirl with her crush. What the hell is wrong with me?

An empty glass tumbler on the nightstand catches my eye, and a faint suspicion runs through my head. "Is that cup yours?"

"What?" Aaron turns reflexively, then shakes his head. "No. Owen gave us some sort of drink he said was medicine."

Of course he fucking did.

"Did it smell like mint?"

It takes him a second to answer. "I think so? I wasn’t really paying much attention at the time."

It probably smelled like mint.

My nose wrinkles. "And you fed it to me while I was unconscious?"

He nods.

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