Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 212

Chapter 212: Grace: The Great Laundry Dilemma

Somehow, "You’ll start following me tomorrow" turned into Ron asking to follow Caine today, leaving me alone with three younger children and a bleeding new-mama heart, with a side hustle of arousal thanks to Caine’s wicked little whispers in my ear, which we are not going into, thank you very much.

I’d dodged the question with all the alacrity of a gazelle under hunt (if said gazelle had four broken legs) and I don’t think my blush faded for at least fifteen minutes, but that is not the issue here, okay? Not. The. Issue.

Seriously, my own (kind of) son-slash-younger-brother just ditched me to follow his dad (???) to bring-your-son-to-work day.

The whiplash is real and my thoughts are getting seriously parenthetical. I haven’t been a mom long and now it feels like I need to worry about my child’s rent and college tuition, before I’ve even figured out my own...

Note to self: Don’t adopt older children, they grow too fast.

Bun grabs my leg, her tiny fingers latching onto my jeans as she babbles something that sounds vaguely like "Go-go-da-ma-ba" with a whole slew of other sounds and strange inflections mixed in. I have no fucking clue what she’s saying, and little rabbit ears have popped out from her dark curls, twitching frantically.

My heart melts into my freaking socks (also in low supply, now that I’m thinking about it) and I scoop her up, savoring the warm weight against my chest. At least someone still needs me and doesn’t dash off to do boring alpha things with boring alpha men. She immediately jams her face into the crook of my neck, her soft baby breath reeking of applesauce and peanut butter.

Over Bun’s head, I survey the remaining chaos—Sara and Jer are sprawled on opposite ends of the couch, their shirts decorated with a modern art masterpiece of juice, applesauce, and what I think might be chocolate.

Please let it be chocolate.

"Do either of you have any other clothes to change into?" I ask, already knowing the answer in my heart.

I know, okay? Grace Harper is not good mom material. Grace Harper did not do laundry. Laundry is like, tier one mothering instincts. Clothes are important. Grace Harper does not remember to do things like laundry when she’s on the run from weird supernatural bullshit.

All the fun stuff in this camper, and Lyre skimped on a freaking washing machine...

Would be nice about now.

Sara shakes her head as she picks at a crusty stain on her sleeve.

"Nope," Jer says, not even bothering to look at his own clothing as he grabs a cup of juice from the cupholder at the end of the couch.

Damn.

I take a deep breath, trying to assure myself everything’s fine and the world isn’t on fire. I lived here for six years. I know this pack’s territory like the back of my hand—well, at least the parts of it with roads.

But that was before Ellie and her urge to bury me six feet under.

Taking three kids to the laundromat sounds like a great way to get in massive trouble, but also being naked isn’t really a great option.

My phone dings, and I shift Bun to my hip to check it.

[ASSIGNED MISSION: Investigate the compromised artifact located at ’Wash-N-Were’, 3047 N. Moonlight Ave.]

I stare at it, unblinking.

Does the App read minds?

It has to read minds.

Obviously, Wash-N-Were is the laundromat. Fantastic naming sense aside, it’s clean and reasonably priced and definitely where I was going to go.

Then there’s another notification beep.

[CAERIEL: Don’t worry. My eyes are on you.]

Hmm. Yes. Perfect. A creepy guy watching me is exactly what I want in life.

Sure, he’s probably powerful enough to keep me safe, but it doesn’t mean he will keep me safe. Lyre seemed to think he would step up when it comes down to it, but...

I type back quickly:

[GRACE HARPER: Will you help me if Ellie’s goons come after me again?]

No reply comes, leaving me with a 50/50 chance of reliable protection.

Lovely.

Sadie, who’s been curled beneath the table, raises her head and lets out a sharp bark, and I swear I can understand exactly what she’s saying: Terrible idea, absolutely not.

My head throbs. I should have held Ron back. Should have asked him to stay, explained I needed him to stick around while I got the laundry done. But I’d kind of forgotten about it all, focusing instead on how awkward it felt to go commando without thinking about the reason I’m commando.

"Why? I’m gonna be walking around naked anyway." Jer kicks off his shorts, then points suddenly across the room. "Wait, what’s under there...?"

Sara follows his gaze. "Under where?"

"Hah! You said underwear!"

Jer bends over with a maniacal grin, now pointing directly at his sister’s face.

Her expression goes from confusion to rage so fast I almost miss it. "You’re underwear! Your whole family’s underwear!" She grabs a throw pillow and hurls it at Jer with surprising force. "No one wants to see your stupid Spider-Man underwear! Get out!"

"It’s Venom, you idiot!" he retorts, like that helps literally anything about this situation.

I’m about to separate them when there’s a knock at the door. A polite, unfamiliar voice calls out: "Miss Harper? I was sent by the High Alpha to watch over the children."

The tension drains from my shoulders so fast I nearly stagger. A babysitter. Caine sent a babysitter.

I love him so much in this moment, I’d tell him yes in a heartbeat if he asked to go public. Or become his Luna. Or do anything. Have twenty kids? Sure, no problem. Jump on his dick in public? Absolutely.

Wait—no. Not sure how babysitting turned into dirty thoughts, but that’s a big no, and the memory of his whisper against my ear needs to be locked away until the children are in bed and I have the wherewithal to be Grace-with-needs and not Grace-who-needs-to-do-laundry-and-doesn’t-have-panties.

Seriously, the desperation of a single mother knows no bounds, apparently. No idea how they do it, because I’m already lost.

Ignoring the fight happening in real time in my living room, Sadie’s sudden surge of barking, the cat jumping from counter to couch to the dinette table to swat at the dog beneath it, and literally everything to do with decorum or manners, I dash to the door and yank it open, my hopeful gaze landing on the younger, vaguely familiar-looking Lycan standing in front of me.

He was definitely here before, but I don’t remember his name or anything about him. Bun, still on my hip, waves at him.

"Ha-yo," she chirps, with the cutest little voice and oh my Goddess, why is she so adorable?

For a second, I want to just nom on her cute little toddler cheeks and bask in the joy and glory of a sweet, freshly bathed baby, but there are important issues at hand, a naked child in my living room, and a full-on brawl starting.

So I blurt out the most important question: "Please tell me you have experience with babies."