by Amanda Milo
“She…” I glance at him, hesitating.
His gaze is trained on my shoulder, and jumps to maybe my ear. “She usually does?”
“Yeah. I mean, she’s like one of my kids and eats in the kitchen or the living room. But don’t feel bad. It isn’t you, you know?”
A muscle in Deek’s jaw jumps. “It’s not right that she’s afraid.”
I shake my head sadly. “No. It isn’t right. But there’s nothing we can do about that.”
A jolt travels up my spine when Deek meets my eyes and makes every word distinct as he says, “We’ll see about that.”
CHAPTER 10
LUCAN
“Be good for Deek today, please?” Susan implores her daughter. In a more hushed voice that probably couldn’t carry to a man who was not also a werewolf, she adds, “And remember: he’s not a dog. Okay? He’s a man.”
“I know,” Maggie says. “And I’ll be good.”
Susan tugs her into her arms and gives the top of her head a loud kiss. Then she stands, her keys jangling, her purse dragging down one of her shoulders, her hair put up and artfully arranged so a few strands fall prettily around her face—
But somehow, her messy bed-flattened hair was just as pretty this morning. So was her makeup-less face.
She’s even more striking with makeup on though. I thought I knew why Finn is so bent on claiming her; she has a big heart, along with a great sense of humor and three (two biological) wonderfully sweet, well-raised kids. He says he noticed her and admired her for the fact that she can handle anything, doesn’t buckle under his steam-roller personality, and she makes him smile. I should have expected that she’d be beautiful too. I risk a glance up to her eyes and find them lined with black, painted softly on the lids with something shimmery and alluring. I drop my gaze and end up at the level of her chest, where a heavy necklace swings above the scoop neck of her lace-trimmed blouse.
The Pack’s pub where she works doesn’t have a uniform for their employees, and Susan is in jeans and white sneakers with bright yellow laces that will probably serve her as comfortably as she can be during a long day shift on her feet.
When my eyes dart up to hers again, she’s smiling warmly, but the lines between her brows also speak to the slight level of stress she’s feeling. “Don’t hesitate to call or text me. For anything. Even if you think it’s a stupid question or situation, don’t feel bad. I won’t get in trouble at work for answering. Your Pack is the best about that,” she says with genuine appreciation. “Any last questions?”
“Not that I can think of,” I tell her. “Have a good day at work.”
“Thanks,” she breaths. “You too.” She checks her phone. “Takeoff time.” She waves to me and Maggie and jogs out the door and down the front steps.
Ginny and Charlotte already left so it’s just me and Maggie now. I turn to her. “What would you like to do first today?”
Her eyes light up and her smile is like sunshine. “The park!”
We lock up, and I slip the key into my track pants and hold out my hand. “Lead the way.”
She gazes up at me in surprise. “You don’t know where it is?”
“No,” I tell her. “I’ve never been to a park.”
She stares up at me like I’ve just told her I turn into… well, something more shocking than a werewolf. Because that never fazed her. This though, this is unconscionable.
“Your parents should be ashamed of themselves,” she declares, outraged on my behalf. “They should have let you out to go to the park.”
I snort, and when she starts tugging on my hand, I follow. “My parents turned me loose to play with the rest of the Pack, just like every other werewolf. Someday, maybe I’ll show you the dens. I think you’d like them.”
Maggie traverses our path with confidence, aware of all the road rules with stoplights and looking both directions before crossing. She leads us down the wrong street at one point but doesn’t get flustered. I tell her bad jokes (which she laughs at—every one of them) while we backtrack and in two more blocks, we’re at the park.
“Ben and Vicky are here!” she announces happily. Then she glances up at me, and starts to look worried. “Are you okay, Deek?”
“Yeah,” I lie. I make her hand slip from mine. “You go play with Ben and Vicky. Have fun.”
“Okay,” she says, but she’s eyeing me with concern. “Are you scared?”
I think about lying again, but I can tell she’s too aware to believe me, so there’s no point. “Nervous would be more applicable.”
“What does applicable mean?” she asks.
“Maggie!” a young voice calls. The Vicky who Maggie was so excited about, I assume. “Are you coming to play with us?”
“Just a minute!” she calls back. “I’m helping Deek. He’s scared to be here.”
I feel my eyes widen. “Nervous,” I correct. “And applicable means it applies here.”
“I’ll race you to the slides!” a young boy calls. “If you lose, you’re a boogerface!” he announces with glee and starts running.
Maggie rolls her eyes and sighs. “That’s Ben. He’s immature.”
“BEN!” hollers a woman with all the force and volume of a drill sergeant. “Don’t call the girls boogerfaces, you boogerface!”
And against my will, my eyes are drawn to the group of adults on the far side of the playground. There are five women here; two are watching their children play, one is standing with a baby stroller, and two are walking laps around the park with strollers.
All of them are looking at me.
I drop to the ground.
“Oh no! Deek, are you hurt?” Maggie asks too loudly, concerned.
“Fine! I’m good. Fine,” I assure her, shifting so that it looks like I’m kneeling in front of her instead of lying prone on the ground. “Go have fun. I’ll be fine here.”
I will not be fine here, and I do not want her to leave me. But she’s six. For the Lord’s sake, how appropriate is it to use her as my crutch?
I need to call Finn.
And then it hits me: I forgot the cell phone. The cell phone he gave me with instructions to call him when I feel like I’m losing control. Day one, hour one, and I forgot the phone and I am losing control.
“Maggggie!” Vicky calls imploringly from a tower with a ladder and two slides coming off of it. “Hurrrrry or the sharks will get you!”
Maggie waves to her, and when she faces me again, she’s clearly torn. “Are you sure you’re—”
“You’re very sweet, Maggie. Go play.”
“Okaaay…” watching me, she backs away. But then she’s running for her friends, and the kids squeal and shout and run and climb and she waves to me and I wave back and I pretend not to notice the attention of the adults present. I pretend not to notice them moving closer. Closing in on me.
Against my will, I shiver with anxiety. I clench my jaw to stop my teeth from clicking together. Nerves and stress. Dangerous to a werewolf, especially a submissive one. My control will never be at the same level as an alpha’s, and under these conditions, if werewolves weren’t public yet, I’d be a danger to the Pack’s secrecy.
Thankfully though, the world is aware of werewolf existence, and while some are still a little wary, most people are excited by our novelty.
Just keep it together, Lucan, my inner self chants. I’d resent the fact that my inner voice sounds like Finn, but right now, just pretending that he's saying the words to me is a massively needed comfort.
I don’t look up when the stroller walkers pass me. I do murmur polite hellos back to them, even if I never turn my head from where my eyes are pinned to Maggie.
I stay that way, hunched as I stay kneeled, staring. Willing myself to calm down and stay human. This is fine. I’m fine. Stop that whining noise, Deek—you’re FINE. And stay human!
“You look so worried about her,” a woman laughs, her voice drifting down to me. It takes me a beat to confirm she’s really speaking to me. It woul
d be easier to verify this if I looked up to catch the visual cues, but I can’t make myself look at these people I don’t know. I’m so uncomfortable, my skin starts to itch.
Don’t Change. Do NOT Change!
“I’m not worried about her,” I think to say after a moment of silence feels extra uncomfortable, and I realize I should respond. “She’s playing.”
“You’re Maggie’s new babysitter?” the woman asks, her sneakers—lime green with magenta laces—taking a step forward, bringing her even closer to me. Her perfume drifts to my nose. It’s nice. But not as nice as Susan’s scent was this morning when she got out of bed. When she tripped on me, I inhaled, and my lungs filled with this warm, comforting, pretty smell.
I really liked it.
“I’m her nanny,” I manage.
“Whoa,” she says so quietly under her breath, I couldn’t have heard her if I wasn’t a werewolf. “A live-in or a live-out?”
“What?” I pant, clawing at the collar of my shirt. The backs of my fingers brush fear-stiff hairs on my chest. Longer, more numerous than normal hairs. I’m shifting.
“Do you, um, live with Maggie’s mom, or…”
“Yes.” From our other side, the pair of strollers are in view again. Both are in leggings. One grey set, one black. The black set is in blue shoes with purple and pink laces. The grey leggings are in white sneakers with pink accents on the sides. They’re slowing.
They stop. “Is that Maggie’s new babysitter?”
“He’s a live-in nanny,” the woman next to me says with extra weight on the words.
“Susan is a lucky bitch,” one whispers nearly inaudibly.
Another breathes, “I want one of those.”
I try to concentrate on my surroundings, not on the people. It helps to touch trees, dirt, wild. Here though, there are no trees. There’s no dirt or wild, either. Beneath me is some sort of spongey rubber mat with a pungent, unpleasant smell. Nauseatingly strong. I’m not sure how anyone can stand it—but maybe I’m the only one hyperaware of it.
My heartbeat is drumming in my ears. I watch the back of my hand, keeping it pressed to the rubber material, and as my knuckles disappear under an excess of sprouting hairs, I’m filled with climbing dismay.
The third stroller appears. “Did I hear you right? You’re a nanny?”
"I swallow once. Twice. “Uh-huh.” Uncomfortable, I sit up and strip off my shirt.
A hushed whisper. “I would have bet money on him being a model. Can you imagine having that in your house all day? I need the number of his agency.”
Someone murmurs, “If the other nannies look half as hot as him, your husband is going to say no.”
An infant squalls—and I jerk in reaction. A baby’s cry makes a submissive wolf like me instinctively want to investigate and drives me to soothe it. It’s coming from a baby in one of the nearby strollers. The baby sounds upset.
Take care of the baby.
TAKE CARE OF THE BABY.
My nerves stretch like piano wires.
THE BABY. DON’T CHANGE: CHECK ON THE BABY.
I start to move but catch myself, flinching. No! YOU STAY. WATCH MAGGIE!
The boy on the playground, Ben, throws sand at Vicky. His mother, standing beside me, bellows, “BENJAMIN! Get your tail over here THIS! INSTANT!”
I appreciate that she immediately corrected him.
Her shout though has the effect of a cattle prod. I burst into a wolf.
CHAPTER 11
LUCAN
The startled screams of women and the continuous cry of the baby don’t do anything to bring me back to a calm state. I kick free of my track pants and boxers, snarling when the house key goes flying from my pocket.
The only easy thing about my Change is my sneakers; they’re not a problem since they don’t hold onto rear paws.
The women, understandably, are scared. So I rush for the playground equipment to get Maggie.
The women start screaming.
Maggie and Vicky look around in alarm. When Maggie sees me coming for her though, her face clears and she points to me and says, “I told you he was a werewolf.”
Vicky’s eyes are huge. “That is the coolest babysitter ever!”
“I know,” Maggie declares with admirable humbleness. “Maybe your mom will let you have one. He gets to stay in our house. He slept in my mom’s room.”
I nose Maggie and back away a step. When she doesn’t immediately follow me, I bow, resting my weight on my elbows, staying bent, staring at her. Follow me!
Laughing, she takes a step in my direction. So does a giggling Vicky and an amazed Ben.
I can’t really bark, but I make a noise that’s a close cousin to a woof as I tear off for where the key lies on the ground.
The women have converged on us though, and although they let me run past them, they catch Vicky and Ben and detain Maggie, cell phones out, some of them filming me, some of them talking excitedly on them.
“—a real werewolf!”
“I know, right?! I’ve never seen one before today! He’s HUGE!”
“He hasn’t bitten anybody and I know they say they’re kid-friendly, but honest to God, I heard him growl before he ran for the kids. It was the scariest moment of my life—”
I rush at the one blocking Maggie.
She shrieks, drops her phone, and jumps out of the way.
Maggie, looking nonplussed at the commotion, tries to advise, “Stay calm—he’s just a werewolf.”
But either nobody is listening to her, or that doesn’t soothe their concerns. Either way, I bound up to her until I have her attention again, and then I race over to the key and my clothes.
She’s not barred from following me this time, and she sees the problem immediately. “This is the key to our house! Oh, Deek, you can’t Change if you’re going to carry our key. If we get locked out, my mom will have to call my dad.” She shakes her head. “Then he’ll yell at her and call her names.”
Growling, I trot a circle around my things. I snatch my track pants and boxers in my teeth, but from experience, I know that carrying a cotton shirt in your mouth makes you feel like you’re going to die of thirst. I’m already panting from stress and the climbing heat of the day.
“I’ll get it,” Maggie offers helpfully—and I drop my pants in favor of reaching out and nuzzling her cheek in thanks.
But I take them back. I appreciate her help immensely—but no six-year-old is carrying my underwear and pants around. Just no.
She giggles, squirming until she can drag her cheek on her shoulder, wiping my nose-smear away, and as she easily gathers my shirt and moves for my shoes, I realize that having such a sensible person follow you around after you Change is really handy.
We turn—and immediately, we’re met with the Mom Brigade.
“I’m going to take Deek home,” Maggie informs them. She waves to Vicky. “Bye!” She waves to Ben, who’s in the middle of begging his mom to let her pet me. “Bye, Ben!”
And with that, Maggie tosses my shirt over her shoulder, lets my sneakers dangle from her fingers, clutches the key in her other hand, and throws her arm around my neck. “Come on, Deek. I’ll take you home.”
CHAPTER 12
LUCAN
I hid for hours in Maggie’s room under her activity table as she played with blocks, colored in her coloring books, and read to me.
She reads good. I can now recite Steven Kellogg’s Is Your Mama A Llama by heart.
Maggie apologized to me that there was no wolf featured in the lineup of animal characters in the book. To make up for this gross injustice, she drew two pictures, both depicting me in my wolf form, and placed one in the book and set the other one on the floor by my paw.
Then she asked if she could brush my hair.
I wurfed a despondent yes.
I don’t know how her mom will feel about the fact that her daughter’s boar-bristle brush is full of werewolf hair, but this little girl brushes me until my coat gleams.
She also uses every one of her barrette hairbows on me. She had a pack of fifty. She declared the pink polka dot ones go best with my coloring.
There’s a knock at the front door.
Maggie goes very still.
I stand up, upending the activity table she’d been crouched under with me. I storm for the entryway, hair raising.
“We’re not supposed to open the door for strangers,” Maggie whispers to me, following quickly after me and trying to catch at my withers, only dislodging some of the bigger bows she fitted me with.
The knock comes again, louder. Then again, more insistent.
By the way Maggie’s hands clench in my neck ruff, I’d know she was getting scared. But because I’m a wolf, I can also smell it.
A ferocious snarl rips from my chest.
The knocking stops immediately. A surprised, “Is that feckin’ you, Lucan?” voiced by none other than Finn is barked through the door, followed by his loud laugh.
I wurf in agreement. Although, he has to know it’s me. It’s not like Susan ran out and bought a full-grown Alsatian.
“You don’t sound like the Lucan I know. Sounds like a bleedin’ Harley Davidson is about to come through this door!”
I snort.
“Is everything all right?” he asks, sounding more serious. “I know you’re awful dryshite, but when you didn’t answer your feckin’ phone, I didn’t know what to think.”
I jump up on the door, my only way of communicating. I can Change, but I need to grab my pants and go to another room, and hope Maggie doesn’t follow me. But now that she’s scared, she’ll probably grow more scared if she’s left alone. If I grow agitated because she’s scared, I might not be able to Change.
“Is… that good or bad?” Finn asks warily. “Jaysus, man, how about one woof for yes, two for no, all right? And it’d better only be one woof, ya pox bottle.”
I woof once.
“Little Miss Maggie is all right?”
I woof once more.
Finn heaves out a breath. “Good. Jays, this is harder than I thought it’d be, leaving you here. But all right. When you can, get to your phone and let me know why the hell you can’t Change—”