Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 81: Grace: Strawberries (II)

"Almost done, Bun." I rub a threadbare towel over her damp curls, careful not to tug. She giggles and stomps.

So. Freaking. Cute.

A pipe juts from the cave wall, spouting fresh water. Its source? No clue—maybe a spring somewhere. Whoever built this place balanced primitive with practical.

Her bath took place in a large brown basin—smaller than a kiddie pool, bigger than any basin I’ve ever seen. The water’s gone gray-pink from scrubbing off the strawberry massacre. The juices had run straight through her outfit.

Since the toddler seems intent on spending as much time as possible in my lap, having long ago realized I’m not a hungry dragon out to eat her, I asked Owen if she needed a bath. The man apparently thought it meant I wanted to give her a bath.

I didn’t, but it isn’t like anyone else offered, and now here I am—no relevant childcare experience, bathing a strange toddler in a cave after being pseudo (?) kidnapped.

I’m sure stranger things have happened in this world, but I can’t really imagine it.

Bun squirms and I pull the towel off, blinking at the actual, real life, honest-to-goodness fluffy white bunny ears popping out of her head.

They weren’t there just minutes before.

Shifter, then. Bunny shifter?

She looks shy, twisting her tiny little ham fists together in front of her as she peeks up. Is she old enough to worry about my response to her ears? My heart breaks a little at the thought.

"Hold still, sweetie." The endearment slips out naturally, and her giant, dark eyes glimmer with trust as I pat the last of the droplets from her chubby legs.

Behind us, Jer and Sara are using wet rags to clean up the sticky strawberry disaster while Ron supervises them with crossed arms. Must be the benefit of being the oldest, not having to do the actual work.

The kids are grumbling.

"Why did we have to clean it?" Jer hisses. "She made the mess."

baby, dummy." Sara,

messes. Owen

with pigs, Jer." Ron. Then a

Why’d you hit

Jeridiot. You missed a whole strawberry

aren’t motors," Sara says primly. "Besides, Owen said no

side of

stone walls

Bun into my arms, I step out of the

tiny hands

at me or the children, yet I sense

My... rescuer?

fingers, drawing my attention back to her. Some primal instinct in me responds to her neediness, even though I’ve

it was to keep me from getting hurt on accident due to their

clean now?" I ask

responds with unintelligible babble and a decisive

don’t even know where he got them from. A second ago he was sticking sticks of sugar-coated strawberries in a

remains expressionless as he hands them

to

I maybe borrow your

for a long moment, dark eyes unreadable. Then, without a word,

a no. His easy agreement catches me off guard—I’d prepared for resistance, excuses, threats. The kids said he was rescuing us, but it doesn’t mean the

unclenches. He really doesn’t mean

least I’m not trapped. I’ll just call Lyre and have her find me. Easy.

a faded yellow onesie with cartoon ducks printed across the front. It’s well-worn but clean, like everything else here.

and she’s fully clothed

and she immediately scrambles to her feet, toddling toward the other children