Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 209

Chapter 209: Grace: Commando

One tiny jar of applesauce can make an enormous mess.

It’s bathed half the living room, the ceiling, a toddler, and a dog. The cat, miraculously, escaped. Jer and Sara were lucky enough to be on the far side of the room.

One awkward water-conserving shower later is when I realize no one’s kept up with the laundry.

Bun has no clean clothes. Zero. Zilch. She’s now running around naked with a diapered bottom, Ron’s missing, and I’m out of underwear.

"Where’s Ron?"

"Outside," Jer says, fiddling with the TV remote. Now that we’re hooked up to electricity, the RV has full wi-fi access via something-or-another and they’re browsing the TV, arguing on the merits of turtles with access to samurai swords versus kids bitten by radioactive spiders and acquiring superhuman prowess.

"Why is he outside?" I ask sharply, even though it feels a little weird to be upset with a kid barely younger than me. How am I supposed to discipline him? Bend him over my knee and spank him? Yeah, right.

But still, he shouldn’t be outside—

"He’s talking to Caine," Sara continues, snatching the remote from Jer.

"Hey! Give it back!"

"No way."

I peer through the window to check and sure enough, Ron’s sitting on the camper steps. Caine’s in front of him, arms crossed and a stern expression on his face. Is he berating the teenager?

Seems like it.

My first instinct is to bolt outside. Whatever’s happening between them, Ron shouldn’t be facing Caine alone. He might be tall and overly responsible, but he’s still just a kid.

Then an air conditioning-propulsed breeze hits my legs, and I remember my current predicament. No underwear, which is not exactly prime intervention attire.

It’s amazing how much confidence a pair of panties can bring your way. Try walking around in public without them.

If it doesn’t feel any different, kudos to you, but me? I feel naked.

"Jer, Sara, keep an eye on Bun for a second," I call over my shoulder, not waiting for their response.

"We’re busy!" Jer protests, still wrestling with Sara over the remote.

"She’s eating paper," Sara adds casually, not even looking at the toddler.

I whip around to see Bun happily shredding what appears to be tissues, as evidenced by the bright green Kleenex box beside her.

Damn.

"Come on, guys. Watch her. Just—don’t let her choke, okay? Two minutes."

chorus with identical

into Lyre’s bedroom, shutting the door behind me, desperate to find my last

from the bathroom interrupts my

Sadie. I’d completely forgotten about

in the shower stall since I rinsed the applesauce off her tail. The

a little longer, girl," I call through the door.

this one distinctly accusatory. I can sense it. I may not be a professional dog trainer, but this whine definitely says

to use applesauce as a projectile weapon. Give me a

the dresser drawers, looking for underwear. My last

crisis levels, and I had

of the

awards can I accrue in a day? I’m probably going

an assortment of lace, silk, and what appears to be something made entirely of straps, and none of it is mine. I close that

I might have bonded over supernatural disasters and hair dye, but we are absolutely not panty-sharing close. There

stolen as my own are nearing levels of apocalyptic—in

to

clean jeans, which are a size too small and give me serious muffin top syndrome, tug at the

an alpha werewolf while wearing zero underwear. There’s probably a metaphor for my life somewhere in that. And it’s unlikely to be

can smell the absence of panties. I sure as

would make things

fur still damp thanks to the wrestling match her mini-shower had turned into, but she’s

outside and confront

Her tail droops.

* * *

"Ouch!"

the doorway like a golden torpedo, slamming the door wide enough to crack against the unlucky someone on the others

scowling at me, one hand rubbing the back of his head where the door must have connected. His dark eyes narrow

"Sorry..."

chaos she’s caused, bounds down the camper steps and side-steps Caine

Ron mutters, dropping his hand from his

she’s mine, even if she technically belonged to a pair of

this is either considered dog-napping or I’ve left two dead old people to be discovered by some hapless camper in the future. Granted, they keep

is

gives nothing away, but I know him well enough now to read

frown on his face gives it away more than

my throat, I point at the unconscious Lycan several feet away and bring up the most

unconscious subordinate. Instead, his gaze locks onto

shit. I’m not ready

hiding anything—I’m

Well, let’s be honest.

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