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

bedroom, shutting the door behind me, desperate to find my last bit

whine from the bathroom

I mutter. Sadie. I’d completely forgotten

stall since I rinsed the applesauce off her tail. The bathroom now reeks of wet

girl," I call through the door. "As soon as I find

a professional dog

Bun decided to use applesauce as a projectile weapon. Give me a bit

drawers, looking for underwear. My last clean pair is apparently

laundry situation has reached crisis levels, and I

the Year.

I’m probably going to

find in the drawers is an assortment of lace, silk, and what appears to be something made entirely

supernatural disasters and hair dye, but we are absolutely

the final drawer shut with a groan. The few drawers I’ve stolen as my own are nearing levels of apocalyptic—in other

have to

too small and give me serious muffin top syndrome, tug at the crotch area a

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

the absence of panties.

make things

the bathroom door. Sadie looks up at me with betrayed eyes, her golden fur still damp thanks to the wrestling match her mini-shower had turned into, but

on. Let’s go outside and

Her tail droops.

* * *

"Ouch!"

door wide

me, one hand rubbing the back of his head where the

"Sorry..."

she’s caused, bounds down the camper steps and side-steps Caine warily before bounding into the grass to

mutters, dropping

the argument feels increasingly thin. Sadie certainly behaves like she’s mine, even if she technically belonged to a pair of weird old people and I still feel kind of guilty she’s with

I’ve left two dead old people to be discovered by some hapless camper in the future. Granted, they keep saying Doris and her husband

life is

but I know him well

really rocket science—the frown on his face gives it away

away and bring up the most pressing issue at hand.

flicker toward his unconscious subordinate. Instead, his gaze locks onto mine with

not ready

anything—I’m

Well, let’s be honest.

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