209 Grace: Commando
209 Grace: Commando
“Hey! Give it back!”
Then I see Ron rolling his eyes.
So I just reply faintly, “Oh.”
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.
Damn.
A plaintive whine from the bathroom interrupts my search.
But my mind keeps circling back to a different, safer question, and I try to change the subject without much subtlety, pointing emphatically at the unconscious body we’re all ignoring. “More importantly, why was your guy trying to break down our door? He was threatening us!”
Well, let’s be honest.
I drop my eyes to the grass between us, suddenly fascinated by the remnants of a dandelion, puff–free. Heat crawls up my neck, and I desperately wish I had a pair of panties. Somehow, this situation would feel easier to deal with if I was.wearing underwear.
Ah, shit. I’m not ready for this conversation.
“That dog has issues,” Ron mutters, dropping his hand from his head.
I’d regretted keeping our relationship a secret when Ellie was chasing me down, but it isn’t like we’ve had a conversation about going public yet.
Caine’s eyes don’t even flicker toward his unconscious subordinate. Instead, his gaze locks onto mine with laser focus, his expression hardening. “Why was Raphael here?”
But still, he shouldn’t be outside-
Lyre and I might have bonded over supernatural disasters and hair dye, but we are absolutely not panty–sharing close. There are boundaries, and that’s definitely one of them.
15:20
209 Grace: Commando
Okay, it’s not really rocket science–the frown on his face gives it away more than his
tense shoulders.
Things are getting complicated.
Clearing my throat, I point at the unconscious Lycan several feet away and bring up the most pressing issue at hand. “Can you take that away?”
But instead of giving him a confident amount of sass, I mumble, “It’s really nothing. He showed up, spouted a bunch of nonsense, and I handled it.”
I have to go commando.
Belatedly, I realize he’s asking for a high–five, and I give it to him with a faintly puzzled feeling. Was this a high–five worthy moment?
Caine’s voice deepens, sending an awkward quiver through me. “Grace. Why aren’t you telling me the truth?”
One tiny jar of applesauce can make an enormous mess.
If it doesn’t feel any different, kudos to you, but me? I feel naked.
Ron says, “I had the same reaction,” and lifts his hand in my
direction.
All I find in the drawers is an assortment of lace, silk, and what appears to be something made entirely of straps, and none of it is mine. I close that drawer quickly.
“Sorry…”
Peering around the edge of the door, I find Ron scowling at me, one hand rubbing the back of his head where the door must have connected. His dark eyes narrow with teenage affront, and I smile weakly.
I scoff.
Sadie, completely oblivious to the chaos she’s caused, bounds down the camper steps and side–steps Caine warily before bounding into the grass to to
quat.
“Come on, guys. Watch her. Just–don’t let her choke, okay? Two minutes.”
“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
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209 Grace: Commando
bitten by radioactive spiders and acquiring superhuman prowess.
Shut
- up.
It makes sense in my head.
And I did handle it. Sort of. I slapped him and then kneed his balls and he fell down the stairs, and I’m pretty sure that counts as handling it.
How many awards can I accrue in a day? I’m probably going to end up in the Guinness book of records.
Apparently it was, because he shoots me a lopsided grin, apparently harboring no ill will for smashing the back of his head in with the door. Then again, that was technically Sadie’s fault.
Seems like it.
My puzzled smile freezes and I shoot him a wary look. “What do you mean, ‘talked‘ to
them?”
“Just a little longer, girl,” I call through the door. “As soon as I find some clothes.”
Pulling on a pair of Lyre’s clean jeans, which are a size too small and give me serious muffin top syndrome, tug at the crotch area a few times, wishing the spandex percentage was at least doubled.
“I know, I know. It’s not my fault Bun decided to use applesauce as a projectile weapon. Give me a bit and I’ll take you outside to dry off.”
Man, life is weird these days.
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.
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?
The golden retriever’s been locked in the shower stall since I rinsed the applesauce off her tail. The bathroom now reeks of wet dog and artificial apples, which is not a pleasant combination.
That would make things awkward.
209 Grace: Commando
The laundry situation has reached crisis levels, and I had no idea.
I whip around to see Bun happily shredding what appears to be tissues, as evidenced by the bright green Kleenex box beside her.
Caine sighs again. “I’ve talked to my men, and it won’t happen again.”
“He’s talking to Caine,” Sara continues, snatching the remote from Jer.
Mom of the Year. Again.
Like, seriously embarrassing. Who wants to tell their mate their ex came by and tried to make it seem like being their mistress was some great honor? Seriously, it makes me feel dirty and gross and I still haven’t really wrapped my brain around the stupidity of
the situation yet.
It’s amazing how much confidence a pair of panties can bring your way. Try walking around in public without them.
Another whine, this one distinctly accusatory. I can sense it. I may not be a professional dog trainer, but this whine definitely says something like Can you urry up? I’m dying in here.
Not because I’m hiding anything–I’m not, I swear–but because it’s…
“Don’t worry,” he assures me. “I made sure to explain we are still not mates.”
I can’t meet his eyes, so I stare at Sadie instead. She stares back as she squeezes her feet as close as they can get and desecrates the lawn further.
It’s the closest thing to resignation I think I’ve ever seen on his face.
Caine’s expression shifts from possessively jealous boyfriend interrogation to exasperation. The hard lines soften as he pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, exhaling a long, controlled breath.
“I apologize,” he says finally, dropping his hand. “He was sent to protect you.”
“We’re busy!” Jer protests, still wrestling with Sara over the remote.
I stare at him with mild exasperation, not sure if I’m happy or irritated. Or just relieved. No, wait; not exactly relieved. If he sends a guardian spy to follow my every move, what am I going to do when Caeriel calls me over again…?
209 Grace: Commando
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.
I dash into Lyre’s bedroom, shutting the door behind me, desperate to find my last bit of undergarment armor.
“No way.”
“Fiiiine,” they chorus with identical groans.
Damn. I’m going to have to pick that up later, aren’t I?
It’s embarrassing.
Her tail droops.
“She’s eating paper,” Sara adds casually, not even looking at the toddler.
Just before I leave, I crack open the bathroom door. Sadie looks up at me with betrayed eyes, her golden fur still damp thanks to the wrestling match her mini–showe” had turned into, but she’s still perky and her tail wags with excitement.
“Shit,” I mutter. Sadie. I’d completely forgotten about her.
Seriously, 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 saying Doris and her husband aren’t dead, but still…
“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.
“Jer, Sara, keep an eye on Bun for a second,” I call over my shoulder, not waiting for their response.
Sadie launches herself through the doorway like a golden torpedo, slamming the door wide enough to crack against the unlucky someone on the others ide.
“Where’s Ron?”
I slam the final drawer shut with a groan. The few drawers I’ve stolen as my own are nearing levels of apocalyptic–in other words, empty, empty, empty.
“She’s not my dog,” I mumble, though the argument feels increasingly thin. Sadie
209 Grace: Commando
+5
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 us.
“Come on. Let’s go outside and confront a wolf king.”
I’m about to confront an alpha werewolf while wearing zero underwear. There’s probably a metaphor for my life somewhere in that. And it’s unlikely to be
complimentary.
Caine watches our exchange. His face gives nothing away, but I know him well enough now to read the tension in his shoulders. He’s unhappy.
“Nothing important,” I mumble, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.
Excuse me. That is the truth. It was very much not important.
Then an air conditioning–propulsed breeze hits my legs, and I remember my current predicament. No underwear, which is not exactly prime intervention attire.
One awkward water–conserving shower later is when I realize no one’s kept the laundry.
I tear through the dresser drawers, looking for underwear. My last clean pair is apparently victim of applesauce carnage.
***
ith
“Ouch!”
I wonder if he can smell the absence of panties. I sure as hell hope not.
210 Caine: You’ve Chosen Well
