The Werewolf Nanny

by Amanda Milo

Werewolves are really interesting. “It’s okay,” I tell him, snickering. “She doesn’t need ice cream. We reminded her what Finn said about new places and told her you probably wouldn’t be up for it.”

  “Only if it’s my treat,” Deek declares.

  Surprised, I glance over and—

  Deek’s staring right at me. “I pay.”

  “Are you sure—”

  “Yes.”

  “YAY!” Maggie cries.

  Charlotte groans. “Maggs, turn it down, okay? My ear is like two feet from your car seat, and you’re going to make me deaf.” She sits forward and pats my shoulder. “Mom?”

  It’s me who looks away from Deek this time. “Hmm?”

  “Can we pick up Ginny? She’s at the park.”

  My heart lurches for her, wondering what—or more like who—drove her out of her home this time. “Sure.”

  “Can she spend the night?” Charlotte asks.

  “Susan!” calls a familiar voice from outside of the vehicle.

  Her mom might cause trouble, but whenever possible, we try to offer Ginny safe harbor, especially at night. “Of course she can, tell her she knows she is always welcome,” I answer, craning around Deek who is facing forward, eyes pointed to the dashboard.

  It’s Finn, jogging up to our idling car. “Howeyeh, Deek’s keepers! Fancy seeing all of you here!” He’s grinning as he bends down to fit himself at the window. “Howeyeh again, Deek.”

  Deek jerks his chin, the only indication that he heard his friend.

  Finn waves to me, Maggie, and Charlotte. “Where are you headed to next?”

  “We’re going to pick up Charlotte’s friend—” I start.

  “Ice cream!” Maggie bursts out.

  Charlotte reaches across the backseat and covers her sister’s mouth. “That was still too loud.”

  “Smrry,” Maggie says against her palm. Then she must lick her, because Charlotte squeaks and jerks back saying, “Gross!”

  Finn’s glowing smile broadens. “How about I take you all out for ice cream?”

  “Yes, please!” Maggie chirps—at an auditory level we can all stand this time.

  “I’m taking them,” Deek says. And something about the way he says it makes everyone fall quiet.

  He turns his head, and I can’t tell if he’s meeting Finn’s eyes, but Finn is sure staring down at him. At work, he’s got a vibe of authority that few people would push against. Here, now, with Deek, he’s wearing an even more commanding vibe than even I’m used to seeing.

  If influence can be physically felt, I’d swear our vehicle is feeling Finn’s will pushing into Deek’s. But shockingly, Deek doesn’t back down. “Susan made me supper last night. I’m repaying the treat.”

  “Ah,” Finn’s whole manner relaxes. He inclines his head. “And it’ll be good for you to practice being out and about. Fair play to ya, lad.” He claps him on the shoulder and steps back from the car—then his eyes pin mine. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Sue.”

  I give him a smile. “Yep. I’ll be in at eight.”

  “O’ course. Well, you have a good time. Enjoy ice cream,” he says with an especially indulgent wink for Maggie.

  “We will,” she assures him.

  “If you’re not satisfied after this, we’re going to bury you in a carton of ice cream,” Charlotte warns her.

  “I would like that,” Maggie says.

  “Bye, Finn,” I call.

  He blows me a cheeky kiss that’s somehow not dorky in the slightest—just attractive—and we wave as I pull out and follow the other churchgoers’ cars down the picturesque road.

  ***

  Ginny is a watchful-eyed fourteen-year-old with a face and curves so pretty, her biggest problem in life should be having to beat modeling agencies away from her door with a stick.

  In reality, it’s child-preying monsters she needs the stick for.

  Deek’s eyes are narrowed as he stares down at the table… Or at the bruises on her wrists.

  Despite the heat outside, she’s dressed in a baggy, stained hoodie. This in itself could be taken as a strange sign for anyone, but for Ginny, it’s especially concerning. She’s got the warmest blood out of all my girls—not that she’s mine-mine, but she practically grew up at our house and even has a bed of her own in Charlotte’s room. She must be sweating like crazy under her layers, and the fact that she’s keeping the hoodie on regardless of her discomfort means she’s deliberately using it in order to hide.

  By the way Deek’s scowl has darkened as he stares at her wrists (which Ginny keeps trying to hide with the ragged cuffs of her sleeves), maybe he can guess that her visible bruises probably aren’t the worst of her problems.

  Ginny isn’t unaware of where his attention is; she’s exceptionally good at ignoring people’s concern. Apparently, even a werewolf’s concern. Deek tried to gently inquire if she needed help, but she shut him down hard, and he dropped his line of questioning.

  If I had to guess, I’d say she’s suffering from the devil you know versus the devil you don’t syndrome: if people report the abuse, she’ll be completely uprooted. Plus, it will make her mother feel betrayed (and therefore, make her angry at Ginny), and there’s the big possibility that Ginny will end up in worse circumstances than she’s in now.

  It’s scary when you can’t trust that you’ve got a safety net to catch you.

  So Ginny sits sandwiched beside me and Charlotte, and across from her is an oblivious Maggie and a quietly incensed werewolf.

  The only upside to the circumstances? Having something to focus his attention on is keeping Deek from freaking out. He admitted that public places push too much stimuli; all the sounds, smells, and eyes of too many people.

  It must be a submissive thing. I know lots of werewolves from the pub, and they love people. Socializing is like a need. I think they’d shrivel up and die if they couldn’t mingle with the public. See: Finn Cauley.

  But for Deek, it’s a different thing, and that’s okay. And although the distraction is good for him, the reason he’s distracted is just… sad. Gah, my heart aches for Ginny. And it’s obvious that her circumstances aren’t sitting well with Deek either.

  His righteous anger over the state of her bruised wrists and wary posture is understandable. It’s appreciated that he’s also keeping his opinion on her welfare to himself though. Because if Ginny feels cornered, she’ll run. Right now, she’s working on a triple stack burger like she hasn’t eaten in two days. She didn’t even bother with dessert—and only the desperate souls skip the fun stuff.

  “I can’t eat any more,” Maggie declares, sitting with her nose almost planted in her bowl. “But I can’t waste it!”

  Deek jerks his chin at her melting mountain of vanilla dairy coated in caramel and chocolate. “Pass it over. I’ll finish it.”

  She slides it over to him. “Thanks.”

  A dimple appears on the side of his mouth.

  I’m so distracted by the sight of it, I tip my cone. The top scoop of ice cream plops to the table.

  “Oh NO,” Maggie declares, like this is the absolute worst tragedy she can imagine.

  “Napkins,” Charlotte says.

  Ginny is already passing them over. “I can smell the cherries in yours, Sue. They smell really good. What a waste.”

  “I know,” I lament. “And dang, girl. You can smell the cherries? You’ve always had a good nose.” I snatch up the napkins. “Thanks, guys,” I start to say.

  Deek catches Ginny by her fingertips, startling everyone.

  “Sorry,” he says—but he pulls her hand closer instead of letting her go. Indignantly, she stands up, trying to free herself as he dips his nose down over her wrist.

  He’s already releasing her when she manages to gather herself enough to snarl, “Let me go!”

  “I’m sorry,” he says again, head down, appearing to mean it.

  “What the hell!?” she demands.

  Maggie gasps.

  Charlotte winces.


  Ginny does too, and she tosses me an apologetic glance. “Sorry, Sue.”

  I hold up a finger. “I’ll let that one go.” I throw a look to our werewolf, but he’s still hunkered low in his seat, unaware of the slight commotion he’s caused around us. Because other diners are glancing over, wondering what the fuss is about.

  Or maybe Deek is aware of it, and that’s also why he’s looking so ashamed.

  “I won’t do that again,” Deek promises. “You can finish your food. Why couldn’t the green pepper practice archery?”

  His question is delivered to the table’s surface so flatly and so on the heels of a topic in a whole other field that nobody says anything. We do stare at him though.

  He mumbles, “Because it didn't habenero. What do mermaids use to wash their tails?”

  “I love mermaids!” Maggie chirps.

  “Tide,” Deek murmurs uncomfortably, finishing his anxiously delivered joke.

  “Okaaay…” Giving him serious side-eye, Ginny eases back down into her seat and picks up her burger. “What’s wrong with you?” she asks him.

  “He’s nervous,” Charlotte replies just as Maggie gasps, “There’s nothing wrong with Deek!”

  I wipe up the mess I’ve made and finish my cone, staring hard enough at Deek he should be able to feel it. Why did you grab Ginny like that?

  Proving he might indeed be sensitive to my pointed attention, he darts one imploring look at me before starting in on Maggie’s ice cream like the faster he inhales it, the quicker we’ll all move on from this moment.

  And along his jaw, the stubble is growing, turning tufted. Like the most serious mutton chops ever. Or fur.

  “Do you need anything from town?” I ask Ginny in an effort to break the tension and redirect everyone’s attention.

  Her cheeks color a little, and she adopts the same posture Deek has over his food. “Um, No. Charlotte’s bathroom should have everything I need.”

  I mentally call up the supplies stocked in Charlotte’s bathroom: pads to bandages, she should be covered. “Okay.”

  It’s a quiet ride home. When we all file inside with our insulated grocery bags, the girls split up to go to their rooms—and Ginny asks me if it’s okay if Charlotte locks her door tonight.

  Deek hunches. “I won’t hurt you,” he announces.

  This, to a girl whose eyes say she’s heard the line before, does nothing to thaw her. She doesn’t scoff, but the beat of silence stretches uncomfortably before she turns and marches for Charlotte’s room.

  Charlotte throws a disbelieving look at Deek that he doesn’t see because he’s crouched on the floor now.

  “If I didn’t believe you, I’d be on the phone with Finn right now,” I sigh, and pull the milk out of the bag and set it on the top shelf in the fridge. “But I do trust you.” To Charlotte, I motion for her to be with Ginny.

  She’s nodding, already on her way, following her friend.

  I begin pulling items from bags and setting them on the island for sorting. “Oh my goodness—we need to watch the bagger next time. They put canned goods in with avocados.” I grimace, examining the fruit and seeing deep divots in the dark skins, exposing green flesh. “Who does that?”

  “Heathens,” Deek says so seriously from the floor that I burst out laughing.

  His powerful frame relaxes, and after a moment of me going back and forth between the cupboards, he slinks over to help me without ever gaining his feet.

  It’s too weird for me.

  “Deek,” I start.

  There’s a knock at the door.

  Deek stays low and somehow crosses the distance from the grocery bags at my feet all the way to our entryway in the space of a blink—where he promptly stands tall to answer the door.

  He drags it open like the house is on fire and there’s salvation on the other side.

  “Who is it?” I ask.

  He’s slumping with relief as he reveals another man I know very well. “It’s Finn.”

  CHAPTER 7

  SUSAN

  Finn’s eyes are strange. “Sue,” he says, flashing teeth that look a little too sharp to be mistaken for human. He hands me a bouquet of flowers in a glass vase, colorful raffia ribbon artfully arranged around the lower half of it.

  “Oh, wow! Thank you.” I accept them, four million thoughts running through my head, starting with these are pretty, invariably leading to my ex-husband he’d always apologize with flowers, like a couple of lilies and sunflowers were a proper trespass offering after he defiled our marriage bond and this was nice of Finn. But why is he REALLY here?

  I set the vase on the counter. The spray of color instantly brightens up the kitchen.

  Charlotte peeks her head out of the hallway—and visibly relaxes. “It’s just Finn!” she calls.

  Ginny pops her head around the corner too. “Who’s Fi—”

  She gapes.

  Finn’s gaze is pinned on her. So is his smile—which, if possible, turns on even more charm. “Well, who is this lovely crayture?”

  His accent is suddenly so thick, you could frost cupcakes with it. Green ones with shamrock-shaped sprinkles.

  Ginny’s jaw drops.

  It’s so the accent.

  “It’s dangerous to females of all ages,” Deek murmurs to me, prompting me to realize I shared my thought out loud.

  Finn tosses me a naughty grin but turns a much more wholesome smile back on Ginny. He takes a step forward and holds out his hand, adding a slight bow as his brows go up in inquiry. “So nice to meet you…?”

  Straight out of a playbook from a long-ago era, Ginny floats to him and sets her hand in his.

  He drops his face over the back of her hand, and when he turns her limb over to expose her palm—and her bruised wrist—I shoot a look at Deek.

  He ducks and turns into a wolf.

  “HOLY SHIT!” Ginny shrieks, jerking completely out of Finn’s hold.

  It’s one thing to be told that your friend’s family’s borrowed nanny is a werewolf. It’s a whole different thing to see him Change.

  “I’ve got the basement door,” Maggie announces, stepping around the grocery bags to give Deek an escape route.

  “Wait,” I sigh. “Let me get your clothes before you ruin them.”

  The wolf is the picture of shame as he hugs the floor, submissively flattens his ears, and manages to be both limp and tense as I begin to maneuver his limbs out of his church coat, tie, and dress shirt. It’s a process.

  With her hand over her heart, Ginny turns a horrified expression on me. “I didn’t mean to swear.”

  Fighting the jean’s snap that’s pinched at Deek’s wolven waistline, I pretend to grumble. “You get another pass. But, Ginny, I’m starting to think werewolves have a not-so-good effect on your vocabulary.”

  Finn winks at her, making her—and Charlotte’s—eyes widen. Ginny blushes to the roots of her hair. Finn bites his lip and whispers, “Ya need to start deliverin’ all your curses in an Irish accent, m’dear. If you say it Irish, you can practically get away with murder.”

  “I bet,” Ginny says dazedly.

  Charlotte sighs almost dreamily in agreement.

  “So, Finn,” I say slowly. “What brings you here?”

  He gives me a very innocent look.

  The wolf under my hands whines in apology.

  “Hmm.” I pat Deek’s dark, furry head. “Can you roll over?”

  This gets him to make eye contact. For a wolf prostrating himself on my floor, it’s awful haughty. He rolls over.

  Maggie claps her hands. “Our werewolf can do tricks!” Her delight is ear-splitting.

  “Maggs, inside voice,” Ginny calls to her, and Charlotte is nodding. “Yeah.”

  I manage to work Deek’s belt and zipper much easier this way and it’s not long before I’m shucking him out of his pants, releasing the puffed length of his tail, which had been crammed pretty uncomfortably-looking at the seat of his clothing.

  “Better?�
� I ask him, chuckling despite myself. Because man, that had to be painful.

  His ears flick up and down once, like assent.

  “Ginny,” Finn says conversationally. “Do you look like your mam?”

  Ginny’s voice sobers. “Yeah.”

  “Do I know her? What’s her last name?”

  I send Finn a sharp glance.

  “Connolly,” Ginny says dully. “Brooke Connolly.”

  Finn brightens—from the looks and sound of it, completely genuinely. “Connolly!” He places his hand on his chest. “You must have Irish roots.”

  Ginny shrugs. “I guess so.”

  Finn gives her a smile that could charm the most terrified cat out of a tree and straight into his arms. “All the best of us do.”

  Affected by his attention, the laugh Ginny makes can only be described as a giggle—and by the way she jerks back, she’s appalled at herself.

  Deek’s cell phone falls out of the tangle of his jeans. I raise it up, intending to set it over my head on the island. But I give in to the urge to flip it up to activate the screen. I don’t try to unlock it; I don’t have to. I see the last incoming text displayed: “Be right over. We best pray Sue won’t eat the head off of us but look at you going out to dine, meeting new people, being assertive. You are suckin’ diesel. Good on ya.”

  I squint, trying to translate. I’ve heard all three of these phrases once or twice in the pub but sometimes Irish vernacular just feels like some form of alien.

  “We best pray Sue won’t eat the head off of us…” Translation? Gosh, I hope Sue won’t ream our ass.

  “You are suckin’ diesel.” You are making great progress.

  “Good on ya.” Good job.

  My gaze transfers to the werewolf whose hocks and rear paws are still bound by his boxers and the ankles of his jeans. I feel above me with the cell phone, sliding it onto the island when I make contact with the top of it.

  Deek braves one look up at my face—and then he begins kicking wildly and flipping over.

  “Just wait…” I chide, but he’s kicked free of his clothes and is gone, the sound of claws clicking across the kitchen then down the steps like multiple impact bullets are being discharged all the way to the basement.

  Finn’s jean-clad leg appears in my peripheral. I look up to find him offering his hand.