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, sounding

Owen will clean

live with pigs, Jer." Ron. Then a

you hit

kickstart your brain, Jeridiot. You missed a whole strawberry

says primly. "Besides,

strawberry’s on Sara’s side of

walls amplify their

the bunny-eared Bun into my arms, I step out of the little bathroom/washroom section

where tiny hands can’t reach, turning it into a strange strawberry bouquet with some sort of wide metal

or the children, yet I

rescuer? The jury’s still

to her. Some primal instinct in me responds to her neediness, even

always said it was to keep me from getting hurt on accident due to their enhanced physical

now?" I

unintelligible babble

approaches with a small bundle in his arms—clothes and a diaper for Bun. I don’t even know where he got them from. A second ago he was sticking sticks of sugar-coated

remains expressionless as he hands

thumps against my ribcage; I was going to ask

maybe borrow your phone? To call my

moment, dark eyes unreadable. Then, without

easy agreement catches me off guard—I’d prepared for resistance, excuses, threats. The kids said

really doesn’t

just call Lyre and have her find me. Easy. And maybe

hum a little as I dress Bun in a faded yellow onesie with cartoon ducks printed across the front. It’s well-worn but clean, like everything else here. She cooperates by thrusting her arms up when needed, though she squirms impatiently as I navigate

and she’s fully clothed once

her feet, toddling toward the other children with surprising speed. They panic, still wiping up