(168 Lyre: Separated, Again
168 Lyre: Separated, Again
LYRE
Watching my camper leave without me is a strange feeling. I’m more attached to it than entire castles I’ve had built in the past.
Every girl dreams of a castle.
It just turns out my favorite one is shaped like a box and gets dragged behind a truck.
A warm weight settles against my waist, and something inside me twitches, instinctively repulsed by any form of casual, possessive affection.
The offending appendage wrapped around my waist is large and tanned. A working hand. A fighter’s hand. A hand with no business settling on my waist like it belongs there.
“You okay?” Aaron murmurs, leaning down so his breath is hot against my ear.
“That depends. Are you particularly attached to this hand?” 1
He pulls back immediately, the warmth vanishing.
Smart.
“I was just checking on you,” he says, keeping a careful half–an–arm’s–length distance.
“You seem worried.”
“I’m fine.” Do I look like I need babysitting? I know my fancy Korean facial creams make my skin glow, but it isn’t as if I’m as young as I look.
Thankfully.
Because then I’d be a sentient pile of dirt.
I pop the trunk of our SUV and toss my bag in, and Thom pops out of the backseat to follow at my elbow like a lovesick puppy.
“Lyre, I’ve been thinking about how we might approach the tracking when we-”
“Get in the backseat, wizard.”
16-20
1/5
168 Lyre: Separated, Again
He blinks through his ridiculous copper–wired glasses. “I–but I thought we should
“Backseat.”
He deflates and shuffles back to the rear door, now a kicked lovesick puppy.
I sigh.
Managing these men is going to be awful. 2
Sliding into the front passenger seat before Aaron can even think about it, I click my seatbelt into place and stare at the side of Owen’s face. “Your place first, right?”
Aaron’s left to go in the back, where he crams his tall frame behind Owen’s seat. He looks like he’s considering various methods of angelic decapitation. Behind the driver is the worst spot for someone his size, but it isn’t my fault he didn’t get in the car before the wizard. 1
Owen starts the engine without another word.
“So, where the hell are we going?” Aaron asks, his knee knocking against the back of Owen’s seat in what I suspect is a completely intentional move.
The angel–descendant doesn’t react. He probably has the patience of a saint.
“I can begin tracking now,” Thom pipes up, poking his head between us as he leans forward. “I still have the energy from our-” His cheeks flush as he looks at me out of the side of his eye. “From before.”
“Sit back, wizard.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Even without looking, I know Aaron’s grinding his molars against each other.
“We’re not tracking yet,” I announce. “We’re going to Owen’s place first.”
“The cave? Why?” This time the Lycan’s the one to lean forward and shove his face in my space, and I press my palm against it to push him back.
He doesn’t budge, and his tongue flicks out against my palm.
Refusing to lose, I infuse the faintest hint of arcana into my arm and shove again. He jerks back, his head slamming against the headrest.
Oops.
108 Lyra: Separated. Again
“I need to collect my vehicle before we leave, Owen says, unfazed by the wolfs shenanigans. His silver–gray eyes remain fixed on the road, as calmly as if he were announcing the weather.
It’s clear skies. For what it’s worth.
“Oh,” Aaron says from behind me, the word coming out pinched and nasally.
I twist in my seat to look back, an eyebrow arching. He’s prodding at his nose gingerly, checking for damage. A drop of blood beads at one nostril.
Again: oops.
“Is it broken?” I ask, even though I’m not particularly concerned. Wolves heal fast. It’s probably fine by now even if it was broken.
He drags his thumb across his nostril, smearing the blood. “Nah. That was a hell of a push, though. Do we have paper towels in here? Napkins? Baby wipes maybe?”
The center console has a hoard of napkins of various colors and types, and I toss a few at him. They flutter in the air, and he snatches one and lets the others fall like confetti. “Thanks.”
“Sh–she doesn’t like people in her space,” Thom tells him, his voice wavering a little with his sudden and random bravado. His glasses slip down as he leans forward, over my shoulder. “Right?”
1
I don’t bother with arcana this time. A simple palm against his forehead is enough to send him flopping back into his seat. His copper–wired glasses go askew, and he looks up at the car’s ceiling with a dazed expression.
There’s no way he’s hurt, which means…
Ugh. He might be one of those hopeless, lovelorn cases. The ones who always end up begging to be used and abused.
No, thanks.
I gesture emphatically to the empty space between Owen’s seat and mine. “See this? This is a no–person zone. Stay the fuck out of my personal bubble, both of you. If I can smell your breath, you’re too close. If I can feel it, I will punch your face. Got it?”
168 Lyre: Soparatod, Again
“Yes, ma’am,” Aaron drawls from the backseat, no longer nasally. See? He’s fine,
Before I can appreciate his momentary compliance, he lunges to lean into the exact space I’d just visually cordoned off, close enough for his breath to brush my ear. He whispers, “You’re hot when you get strict. Can we try a librarian roleplay next time?” The urge to elbow him in the throat is almost overwhelming. Instead, I shove at his face with tiny burst of arcana. He curses as he flops back again.
“Damn. I think it’s broken this time. You know that can kill a lesser man, right?”
“Are you a lesser man?”
Owen makes a small noise, his shoulders shaking. I’m pretty sure it’s amusement.
Good to know he can laugh. It’s hard with angels–they’re not exactly known for their Good to know he can laugh. It’s
sense of humor. Serious is their default.
There’s enough rustling in the back seat to assume Aaron’s grabbed one of the confetti napkins to stem whatever bleeding I not–accidentally–this–time caused.
His smug satisfaction radiates through the car in the form of syrupy sweet pheromones. He thinks getting a rise out of me counts as a win, as if I haven’t spent far too many lifetimes dealing with creatures more irritating than a freckled wolf with boundary issues.
“So, what’s the difference between a wizard and a warlock anyway? I’ve been meaning
to ask.”
Thom squeaks a little. “W–we’re the same thing. Wizard. Warlock. Magician. Sorcerer. Witches. We’re all the same.”
“Huh. Then why so many names?”
“I don’t know.”
I stare out the window at the passing landscape as Jack–Eye continues to quiz the wizard, feeling oddly hollow out of nowhere as we ride through the rough terrain. We could probably run faster than this car is going, but I’m not much for exercise.
This body is maintained through a bad diet and over–reliance on arcana. Gained ten pounds? A blast of arcana goes a long way.
Not through magic liposuction, but energy costs. Throwing a ton of arcana und will
168 Lyre: Separated, Again
eat through calories in no time. Who needs a healthy diet when they can lose weight almost at will?
Granted, it also means our hunger can be insatiable at times…
Thom clears his throat from the backseat. I guess their conversation’s already done. “Are you–do you need me after we get Owen’s car?”
“Yes, wizard.”
Judging by the faint growl coming from Jack–Eye’s corner, Thom’s beaming.
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