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."

Sara, sounding disgusted

She’s always making messes. Owen will clean it

with pigs, Jer." Ron.

Why’d you hit me,

Jeridiot. You missed a whole strawberry over

says primly. "Besides, Owen

Sara’s side of

stone walls

my arms, I step out of the little bathroom/washroom

moves between his workstation and the high rock shelf, arranging his latest batch of tanghulu creations where tiny hands can’t reach, turning it into a strange strawberry bouquet with some sort of wide metal cup

once does he look over at me or the children, yet I sense he’s

rescuer? The

instinct in me responds to

always said it was to keep me from getting hurt on accident due to their enhanced physical strength, but... well, let’s say I’m doubting a lot of things these

clean now?" I

responds with unintelligible babble and a decisive

diaper for Bun. I don’t even know where he got them from. A second ago he was sticking sticks of sugar-coated strawberries

as

ribcage; I was going to ask him a little

maybe borrow your phone? To call my friends?" I swallow. "They’re

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

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 guy isn’t

unclenches. He really doesn’t mean

I’ll just call Lyre and have her find me. Easy. And maybe she can get some answers out of

but clean,

snaps and she’s fully clothed once

her feet, toddling toward the