The Werewolf Nanny

by Amanda Milo

  I clasp it, accepting his help to get to my feet.

  “Take that puss off your face,” he says under his breath, which is Irish for ‘get that look off your face.’ He infuses his own mug with brightness when he raises his brows at Maggie. “Did you murder an ice cream?”

  Maggie doesn’t even pause. “I did. Deek helped too.”

  Finn’s smile relaxes into something more genuine. “He’s a good lad.”

  Oddly, hearing him speak approvingly of our hiding werewolf makes something inside me ease.

  “Speaking of that mutt, we better go check on him,” Finn says, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. He looks back to Ginny and Charlotte, who are pretending not to watch us as they stand at the mouth of the hallway with a clear view into the kitchen, clearly keeping Finn in their sights. And who can blame them? If I’d had Finn to look at when I was fourteen, I probably wouldn’t have papered my walls with so many N*SYNC posters. “Will you ladies be all right up here while your mam and me head to the basement?”

  At three chimes of assent, Finn tugs on our linked hands to lead me down.

  CHAPTER 8

  SUSAN

  “Owh, it’s nice down here,” Finn comments.

  I take this to mean he appreciates the decorating until his shoulders lower with his exhale and he says, “Nice and cool down here.” He tosses a look at me over his shoulder. “We run a little hotter than you.”

  I scan below us. “Uh-huh. Where is our hot werewolf?” I ask.

  Finn misses a step.

  “You okay?”

  He chuckles at himself. “Jus’ grand. And he’s under the bed.”

  I stare at the back of his head hard enough he has to feel it. He reaches the bottom step, glances up, and laughs at the look on my face. “It’s not magic or anything. I can hear his claws scrabbling.”

  He turns, ambles to the bed, reaches under it, and hauls out a werewolf.

  He drags the long, leggy creature to the middle of the duvet and drops down next to him, falling back. When Deek tries to bolt for the deep recesses of the bed again, Finn hauls him next to him again and reclines on him.

  To my surprise, this makes Deek go still.

  Sending me an expectant look, Finn pats the spot on the other side of Deek’s shoulder. “Come on, Sue. Get over here. He needs reassurance.”

  Easing down beside Deek’s shivering form, I tentatively brush my fingers in the deep fur starting between and just behind his ears.

  Deek exhales through a parted muzzle and burrows hard against my thigh.

  Finn taps the back of my hand. “Why the clenched fist?”

  I release the grip I had in Deek’s fur—but he only shoves himself against me harder, as if trying to get me to touch him again. I do, hoping to reassure him.

  And to my relief, it works. He nuzzles his nose under my knee until he can tuck it there, and sighs.

  Swallowing, I risk a glance up at Finn. “What do they do to them in the Pack den?”

  Finn’s smile turns puzzled. Then he’s all-out frowning. “What do you mean?”

  I indicate the mess of a werewolf squishing himself into me. “Look at him.”

  “I am,” says Finn, who’s not in fact looking at Deek. He’s looking at me—a direct stare. A very direct one. “And I see a submissive wolf.” He reaches over Deek to lay his hand on the top of my knee. “He’s not been abused, Sue. This is just how submissives are.”

  I must look too skeptical, because he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh, jays, Lucan.”

  I’m momentarily confused until I remember that Deek’s name is actually Lucan.

  Finn mutters something that I think is unflattering in regards to Deek. “Buck eejit,” “banjaxed wulf! Stop the lights!” and also the incomprehensible statement, “Any more of this and there’ll be less of it!”

  During the banjaxed wulf, something interesting happens: Deek wags his tail.

  Immediately, the knot of concern that I’ve been feeling for him eases. I go back to petting him. “He just seems afraid a lot.”

  “Well, he is,” Finn agrees. “You’re scaring him.”

  More in disbelief than outrage, I squeak, “Me?”

  Finn’s eyes widen and he leans back, surprised. “Well, yeah.” At my skeptical look, he adds, “I’m not codding you!” He shakes his head. Then he plants a finger on the wide swath of space between Deek’s low-pinned ears. “For now, you are this wolf’s alpha. Deek knew you’d be miffed if he tattled about Ginny’s situation, but he couldn’t not do something about that so he got anxious.” He gestures to the wolf between us. “When you back a submissive wolf into a corner, this is what happens. Plus, he went out today. That was a big deal.”

  I’d really like to discuss the part about Ginny’s situation, but I take the unnaturally still werewolf in, considering Finn’s words.

  Finn takes one of my hands and implores me with his gaze. “Sue, a stór, I’m bleedin’ serious—no one’s been hurting ‘im. He’s just like this. All submissives are like—are like this. That’s why you only ever see alphas out and about with the rest of you.”

  He releases my hand and grabs up Deek’s ruff, lifting this loose-skinned, thickly furred part of his pelt, dragging it back and forth like he’s shaking it for emphasis. Deek’s fur gleams and ripples with health, almost fluid as it’s being manipulated this way.

  “Imagine being born with a personality that makes you inclined to bend to a leader figure’s higher authority. Imagine the desire to submit is mad strong. Now imagine yourself out in a world of people who operate as their own independent authorities most of the time. You’d be bombarded trying to please everyone. And no one can do that, you have to think for yourself.” He releases Deek’s ruff in favor of patting him between the shoulder blades. “This one can think for himself, but we protect our submissives in quiet places. Places away from human whims and human confusion. You think he’s abused, but what he is is shell-shocked. He’s never been out with you people before, and it’s a lot for him to take in.”

  The Internet made some mentions of Packs having their own little general stores and general doctors and basically being hidden-away towns so that werewolves who don’t want to leave never have to.

  I guess Deek’s behavior makes sense.

  “Okay,” I say finally. Then I pin Finn with my gaze. “What does Deek think you’re going to do for Ginny?”

  “Hmm?” Finn asks, brows raised politely.

  My eyes narrow. Deek shivers between us and burrows harder. “Deek sees Ginny’s bruises and he sends an SOS text. You show up in minutes. On a Sunday. What’s going on?”

  Finn gives me perhaps his most shining, charismatic smile yet. It’s a thing of beauty, true, and it’s dangerously good at stunning me. Me with my unprepared ovaries.

  “Susan,” Finn purrs, leaning over Deek to get into my space. “I’ve got you in a bed on a Sunday afternoon and there’s no children in the room. Let me enjoy this, please.”

  He leans in, slides his hand around the nape of my neck, and kisses me softly on the mouth.

  His lips are firm, and I know in the span of a breath that he should stop now and register himself as a deadly weapon. The looks, the lilting words, the lips.

  Finn Cauley is pretty, pretty danger.

  But the kiss is over so quick, I barely taste him; I get the barest exhale of his mint-scented breath and the unforgettable sensation of lips meeting mine and then he’s gone.

  I’m so totally unprepared that it throws me off to the point that he’s able to pull away, pat the werewolf between us, and call over his shoulder, “See ya tomorrow, Sue.”

  And then he’s heading up the stairs at an athletic clip, i.e., he’s gone before I can do more than admire his fine form (his butt, okay?) as he escapes my question.

  The quiet click of the front door lets me know that I won’t be getting an answer from him today about him and Deek’s reaction toward Ginny.

  CHAPTER 9

  SUSAN />
  The peal of my alarm heralds the beginning of Monday. Groaning, I roll out of bed and trip over a werewolf.

  I do catch myself before I crack my knees on the hardwood floor of my bedroom. But… “Deek? What are you doing?” I ask, voice scratchy and hoarse with sleep.

  Deek is properly apologetic that he was not only in my room but also that he blended in with the flooring.

  Slapping at the alarm until it cuts the noise, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I distractedly reach down to Deek, who’s prostrate on his front, his typical pose it seems. I run an absent pat on his back and then down to his sleek-coated ribs, making him shiver.

  I step around him and head for the bathroom, shutting the door so I don’t have to see the strange, oversize creature who is really a man taking up my bedroom floorspace.

  Done with the morning needs, I pad out to the kitchen in my t-shirt and shorts, and knock back eight ounces of water while the coffee brews.

  “Do you want coffee?” I ask Deek, who trailed me to the kitchen, his shoulder almost attached to my hip. He’s laying over my feet now as I fill my coffee mug, warming me nicely.

  At my question, he raises his head and his eyes tap mine before he jerks his head down in a very unnatural-looking nod.

  “Do you want it in a bowl or are you going to…”

  He transforms into a man. A really naked man.

  And oh my gosh, Deek’s body is… nice. It’s really, really nice.

  But I do not live in a house where naked men, no matter how well-proportioned and muscular their backs and backsides appear, can crawl around at will. I clear my throat. “As much as I think you were wonderfully created and all that, there are three underage girls in this house—”

  Deek reaches past my leg, opens the cupboard on the island, and pulls out a pair of sweatpants.

  “Ah,” I pip.

  He stands, and back to me, he steps into them.

  I set my gaze on the coffee pot with a firmness that takes effort. Major effort. But I persevere, helped along by the fact that even though I looked away, the image of Deek’s sculpted butt cheeks will be burned in my brain forever.

  “I’ll be careful,” he says.

  I nod and move to pull down a mug for him. It has a colorful fox printed on it with the words ‘Oh for’ over its head and ‘sake!’ under it. “Here.”

  He takes it with an amused smirk and a murmured thanks, and pours himself some liquid life.

  “Did you… did you go around last night stuffing emergency pants around the house?” I question.

  “Yes.”

  “All riiighty.” Because what else can I say? “When you’re sufficiently caffeinated, let me know. We’ll talk schedules.”

  He nods. His body is facing slightly away from me, giving me his profile and plenty of his back. I feel a little pressed to fill the silence, but I settle for sipping from my mug and enjoying the scenery since he’s not watching me watch him. And this doesn’t feel as wrong as ogling his butt; appreciating the strong lines of his back is just—

  I’m merely admiring art. The pursuit of the aesthetic is a perfectly acceptable pastime. Some people pay for season tickets to the Met; this is like that, but with a man’s live back muscles.

  I’m saved from having to justify my actions to myself further when Maggie staggers out of the hall and into the kitchen, sleepy but greeting the day anyway, no alarm clock or caffeine needed. Frankly, it’s unnatural, and she doesn’t get this from me. Not from her dad either. Was there some freak early riser in one of our families somewhere? We don’t know.

  “Morning, Maggs,” I greet her.

  “Good morning,” she says back. Then, seeing Deek, she brightens. “Hi!”

  Deek turns, spoiling the last of my ogling free-for-all, and sends a soft smile in Maggie’s direction. “Hi, Maggie. Morning.”

  “Can we go to the park today?” Maggie asks him, stepping right up until she’s nearly toe-to-toe with him.

  “Umm,” he says, and glances at my collarbones. “What does your mom say?”

  I finish my coffee and turn around to pour myself a second cup. “How comfortable are you with the idea?” Mug in hand, I lean back against the counter, facing them. “Maggie always asks her babysitters if they’ll take her to the park—”

  “And they never do!” Maggie exclaims.

  I smile into my coffee. “They’ll go maybe once.” I give Deek a sympathetic look. “It’s a lot of kids and a lot of nothing for you to do but pace while she plays with whoever else shows up.”

  “What if no one shows up?” Deek asks, looking back and forth between my throat and Maggie’s toes.

  “Sometimes I’m all by myself,” Maggie sighs.

  “Adults aren’t allowed on the equipment,” I explain. “And it’s probably going to be pretty quiet today. Mondays usually are.”

  After a moment, Deek raises a shoulder in a tentative fashion. His words are cautious. “The park sounds okay.”

  Maggie throws her hands in the air like she’s won something. “Yaaaay!”

  “Shhhh,” I hush her. “It’s too early to be this excited.”

  Matter-of-factly, she responds, “I can’t help it.”

  Deek smiles full-out at her.

  It’s such a surprise to see him doing it that I wobble my mug on its way up to my lips.

  He transfers his attention from Maggie’s happy face to me. “What’s the plan for the day?”

  “The park,” Maggie supplies. As if he could forget.

  “The park,” he says dutifully, eyebrows hopping up once, his gaze staying lowered. It makes him seem really serious, to always be looking down. “And besides the park?”

  I check the clock on the microwave. “I’m going to hit the shower in an hour. Then I’m off to work.” I gesture in the direction of Charlotte’s room. “Charlotte gets picked up by a bus in a bit, and she gets back around three. Ginny might need us to drive her to her house for her school stuff, but she runs on the same advanced summer school schedule.” I look at Maggie. “Want a quick breakfast?”

  “Scrambled eggs, please.”

  I motion to Deek. “Want eggs and bacon for breakfast?”

  Gripping his coffee, he nods. “Please.”

  “Okay.” I move for the skillets and haul out the milk, cheese, spinach, and eggs. “Tomatoes, anyone?”

  “Gross.”

  “Yes, please,” says Deek. There’s a pause. Then, “You don’t like tomatoes?”

  I’m smiling as the skillet heats and the butter begins to melt and slide across the pan. (Our floor tilts ever so slightly. You have to watch what you put on the counter, like an apple or loose eggs, for example, because they can roll right off.)

  “Not unless they’re the yellow ones,” Maggie tells him.

  “The Sunspot cherry variety,” I share. I crack two eggs into a bowl and add cottage cheese, then beat it into a mix. I get the bacon going in a second skillet. “But she likes ketchup. You know, the typical red kind.”

  “I love ketchup,” Maggie agrees emphatically.

  Deek’s chuckle is a surprise. A nice one. It’s a sound I haven’t heard in the mornings since… since the girls’ dad was around.

  “We make our own,” Maggie informs him. “You can make it with us next time if you want to.”

  “I’ll be sure to help if I have hands,” Deek promises.

  I turn back to them, holding the spatula aloft, and watch Maggie’s expression transform to a confused curiosity. “You have hands.”

  His smile is gentle. “Sometimes, they’re paws.”

  Realization makes her grin up at him. “Oh.” Then she confides, “I like having you as a pet.”

  “Maggie!” I exclaim. “He’s not a pet!”

  Deek meets my horrified gaze, and smiles. “It’s okay, Susan.” To Maggie, he says gently, “But I’m not really a pet. Keep that in mind if you meet many werewolves.”

  Maggie shrugs. “Okay.”

  “Scrambled eggs are do
ne,” I announce, and plate up Maggie’s bacon and eggs, sans anything interesting, like tomato. I wave my spatula in Deek’s direction. “How do you want your eggs?” I step away from the stove to help Maggie get up on a barstool—but Deek’s right there, and he takes her plate and lifts her up on one.

  To me, he murmurs, “Over easy, please.”

  “Coming right up.”

  To Maggie, he asks, “Do you normally sit in the living room?”

  She must nod. The next thing she says is, “I wanted to be with you guys.”

  “Deek, take this.” I pass him a plate of bacon. “If it looks weird to you it’s because it’s turkey.”

  “I like turkey,” he says.

  “Great! Speaking of, there’s deli meat in the fridge—including turkey—along with all the other fixings for sandwiches. Bread’s in the bread box. I figured sandwiches would be easy lunch options for you and Maggs.”

  “I can handle sandwiches,” he says with very little confidence.

  Even the six-year-old picks up on it. “I’ll show you how, Deek!” She sounds unbelievably excited at the prospect.

  “It doesn’t have to be anything fancy,” I assure him. “Just listen to her when she says she doesn’t want something, and you’re good to go.”

  “I’ve been told I’m a good listener. And I’m a submissive: I follow orders very well,” he promises.

  Maggie heaves a relieved breath. “Good. I hate onions, and everyone tries to hide them. But I know,” she says sagely. “I always find them.”

  “I won’t hide any onions in your food,” he vows.

  “Okay,” she says archly, like Deek is on probation.

  “Eggs are done,” I say, flipping them to a plate. “Deek? Want toast, juice, anything interesting?”

  “I’ll be good with this,” he says.

  I make myself a spinach omelet, and make another for Ginny, who is an early riser and surely up by now. I leave Deek with the spatula to tap on Charlotte’s door and let Ginny know there’s food for her. She zips out for it, says thanks, and closes herself in Charlotte’s room again.

  “She doesn’t eat with the family?” Deek asks.