Chapter 230
“Come on, sweetie, just one more bite.” I hold the spoon of scrambled eggs in front of Bun’s mouth, but she turns her head away, rabbit ears flopping dramatically as she does.
She’s eaten about five bites of her breakfast, and four of them ended up dribbling out in dramatic fashion as she gagged over the very same eggs she’s gobbled up every morning the past few days.
I guess on Tuesdays eggs are poison.
As soon as I think I’m getting a handle on this parenting gig, she’s tossed a new curveball my way.
Sighing, I check my phone again. Nothing. I’ve sent Lyre three texts in the last hour, and her responses have dwindled from vague to nonexistent. Granted, the woman’s busy with a bunch of victims she’s pulled out from the literal underground, but I’m a little antsy knowing she has kids she wants to send my way.
“Doesn’t seem like she likes eggs,” the old Lycan, Dylan, says from the stove, flipping another perfect pancake onto an already towering stack. “Try the banana again p>
“I know what she likes,” I mutter, but grab the banana anyway. The spotty, overripe fruit is one of the many offerings Dylan brought over at dawn—along with eggs, milk, pancake mix, and basically the entire bacon section of whatever grocery store he raided.
There’s already a literal aluminum pan filled with bacon, as if he’s feeding twenty of us and not four. (No idea when Ron left, but he was gone by the time I’d finally woken out of my fitful post-coital napping p>
In fact, when I’d stumbled out of bed at seven, Dylan was already in my kitchen cooking up a storm. I’m pretty sure the bacon’s what woke me in the first place.
I glance at my phone again. Still nothing. Goddammit, Lyre. I need more details, here.
On the daybed in the living room, Jer and Sara remain dead to the world, limbs tangled together in sleep despite their constant waking battles. The white cat—still nameless, still definitely not normal—is curled between them, while Sadie’s golden body stretches protectively along their feet. The dog raises her head briefly, watching Bun before settling back down.
She’s not interested in Bun’s spit-up leftovers, which is also unusual. Sadie basically inhales food. I’m pretty sure Dylan’s had some sort of heart-to-heart with the dog, Lycan style, to keep her out of the kitchen/dining area of the camper while he’s cooking.
“Here, Bunny Bun. Banana?” I offer a mushy piece, and compliant Bun opens her mouth, deciding the overripe fruit’s better than chicken babies.
“How about pancakes?” Dylan asks, starting a new tower of them.
“No, thanks. She hates pancakes.” Technically, she loves them, as long as they’re swimming in syrup. But since I have no interest in bathing a sticky mess of a child, I’m avoiding the pancake dilemma.
“Pa cay!” Bun cheers through a mouthful of mush, and half of it promptly drops out of her mouth and into her lap.
In my short career as a mother, I’ve learned motherhood is not very glamorous.
I rub my temples, where another headache threatens to bloom. I’ve had so many of them lately, enough to make me wonder if it isn’t just stress and annoyance. I’ve never been particularly prone to headaches before.
“You should eat,” the Lycan opines. “There’s plenty of food. Make yourself a plate p>
My belly twists at the idea of food, and I shake my head. “No, thanks. I’m not hungry.” Thanks to my headache, my stomach’s also rebelling. Skipping breakfast isn’t unusual for me, anyway. “What is Caine doing today p>
Keeping the question casual is practically godlike acting skills, and I give myself a mental pat on the back. Good job, Grace.
He answers without hesitation… or detail. “The High Alpha is handling pack business p>
Uh-huh. Helpful.
“What kind of pack business p>
“Lycan business p>
Is it classified, or is he just unable to read the room?
“Um—do you know if he’s coming over later? To see the kids, I mean p>
Dylan turns a little to stare at me, flipping a pancake without looking. He’s got skills. “I’m sure he will stop by to see the children, ma’am. He does seem inordinately fond of the children. In fact, the High Alpha seems to place the children as his highest priority these days p>
He keeps emphasizing the children, and he keeps staring at me with a lot of meaning in his gaze.
“He’s a devoted father,” I mutter, letting my eyes wander off as I pretend not to notice how he’s practically begging me to admit to the relationship between me and his king.
It’s obvious the whole keeping our relationship a secret thing isn’t working, but I’m not about to say anything yet. I still haven’t spoken with Caine about it, and… well, with having two Lycans following me around, the danger from Ellie seems a little less worrisome.
So I haven’t clarified anything yet.
Even with an old Lycan practically winking at me every time he “helps” me maintain our cover.
For a grumpy old man who didn’t seem to respect me very much, his tune has changed drastically…
“Where’s Randolph?” I ask hastily, changing the subject without any finesse whatsoever.
“Randolph p>
“Pa cay,” Bun says again, trying to interrupt us even as she grabs for the rest of the banana in my hand.
I frown, handing her another piece without really thinking about it. “Rudolph p>
“Randy, ma’am p>
“Right, him.” I have no idea why I can’t keep his name straight.
“He’s on the way p>
Right on cue, someone knocks on the door, and Dylan waves me back when I move to get up. “You sit. Don’t open the door on your own p>
My mouth opens to protest automatically, but I close it almost immediately. If the man wants to open the door, I have no reason to complain. “It’s just Randy, isn’t it p>
He shakes his head, leaving his precious pancakes to cook unattended as he opens the door. His somewhat genial grandpa-like demeanor disappears into the cold and brusque manner of yesterday as soon as it opens. “The hell you want p>