The Werewolf Nanny

by Amanda Milo

  “Okay. Thanks,” I say. “Can you show me where the closest bathroom is…”

  “Oh, yeah.” He starts backing toward the door, but he jerks his chin at the closet. “Might as well pick out something to sleep in now and take it with you to change.”

  I do as he says, finding a variety of men’s and women’s clothes neatly folded on shelves and a ton of Deek-sized suits on hangers, and when I have a pair of appropriately sized green sweatpants and an autumn orange fisherman’s sweater that dwarfs me—gosh, werewolves keep their houses a tad bit chilly—Deek backs out of his room, beckoning me to join him. “Follow me.”

  I complete my nightly routine with an array of thoughtfully supplied borrowed items. I also check my phone, sending a text to Charlotte and Maggie to wish them a good night, smiling when I get one back. I’ve told them not to worry about texting me back when they’re with their dad. This is his time with them; I don’t want to be the mom who’s constantly interrupting. But nighttime ones are always nice for peace of mind.

  Something my mom wasn’t able to enjoy when I was a kid stuck in the visitation loop, because I was raised in the era before there were cell phones in every hand—and my dad didn’t let me call my mom on the landline save for special occasions. I sigh, thinking once again, divorce sucks. Particularly if you’re a kid caught in the middle. If I could go back in time, I almost would have done anything to spare my girls the pain of being ripped between two parents, like avoiding Julién completely, never to marry him in the first place… but then there wouldn’t be a Charlotte and Maggie.

  And my girls, I have to have them. Even in the hypothetical.

  When I exit the bathroom, there’s a wolf waiting for me—and I recognize him. It’s Deek.

  He leads me back to his room, his tail kept low but relaxed, not cringing or anything. I noticed today as we observed the soccer match that some werewolves carry their tails held at about half-mast—and they throw them up like flags when they charge at other wolves or make a stand against other wolves.

  Alphas.

  Deek is very firmly not of that category. And here, where he’s in his own environment, it’s clear he’s in his element. Three people pass us on our way back to his room, and he sways his low-kept tail as they do, acknowledging them.

  A mingled chorus of “Hey, Deek,” and “Night, Deek,” issue from the trio, along with genuinely cheery nods and smiles to me, and then we’re back in Deek’s room.

  I try not to feel nervous as I move over to his bed, and climb on it. One, because I’m telling myself I have nothing to feel strangely about. Two, because we’ve been sleeping in the same room for how many nights now—why should the location make this sleeping arrangement feel significant?

  He invited me to sleep in his bedroom. But it doesn’t mean anything to a werewolf.

  I reach for the bedside lamp, the source of electric-provided light in the room, and snap it to off.

  Moonlight spills in from the two windows. And the hall casts a brighter light than I expected.

  Deek noses the door closed, bathing himself in nothing but silvery moonlight.

  “Oh!” I tell him, chagrined. “I could have done that. Sorry.” If it’s possible, I’d swear his furry shoulders—or maybe just the fur on his shoulders?—rises a fraction, conveying a shrug. Then I frown slightly at the door.

  Deek wurfs at me.

  Taking the sound and his direct stare as a silent question, I share my thought out loud. “I was just thinking it’s terribly inconvenient for you if you have to change back into human form every time you want to leave—but then I saw that the door handle is the lever-style kind. That’s all.” I give him a smile and pull the covers over myself.

  Deek gives me a werewolf’s easy grin, tongue lolling, and walks to one of the puffy floor beds. Instead of circling before he lies down, as a dog would, he collapses flat out. Like a man drops on a comfy sofa.

  It makes me grin up at his ceiling. “Goodnight, Deek.”

  ***

  There’s the barest knock at the door. Since I wasn’t sleeping deeply, I’m tensing and instantly awake, only slightly disoriented.

  Deek’s head is raised, attention locked on the door. He wurfs.

  “Yes?” I call, softly enough it hopefully won’t wake anyone else in the house, but loudly enough whoever is on the other side of the door will hear me.

  The door’s lever lowers, the door cracking open. There’s no light in the hall now, and whoever is behind the door is blocked from the moonlight so I can’t see them.

  But I recognize the voice. “Sue?” Ginny whispers. “Can I sleep in here?”

  I sit up more. “Sure. Of course, come in. You okay?”

  “Yeah.” She closes the door and pads on quiet feet to join me. I slip to the inside by the wall so she doesn’t have to crawl over me, but I switch pillows so she gets a fresh one. “I just… I don’t know,” she says. “I just wanted to stay with you for tonight.”

  I pull her in for a hug, and over her shoulder, I see Deek watching us, his muzzle on his paws. “That’s fine,” I assure her. Reassure her. “Deek’s bed is super comfy and big enough for the both of us.”

  “No kidding,” Ginny says. “You should see the girls’ room. There’s four of this sized bed in there—and a whole lot of dog beds.”

  “Ha. Neat.” I yawn and fall back, dragging the covers up to my neck. “Well, good night again. Sleep good, kiddo.”

  “You too. Thanks.”

  My hand swims out from under the covers to brush her hair behind her ears. I lay my hand on her smooth cheek. “Hey. Anytime you need me. We may not have been able to legally adopt you all these years, but you’ve got to know you’re one of my girls.”

  I can’t see her smile in the dark, but I can hear it. “Thanks, Sue.”

  Her hand covers mine briefly, and then I snuggle up to my pillow, she gets comfy on her side, and we both fall asleep, Deek a silent, easy presence that’s also quietly soothing.

  CHAPTER 30

  SUSAN

  A male hand—huge, warm, strong fingers—closes over my shoulder. “Susan?”

  I crack my eyelids open. I’m lying on my back somewhat in the middle of the bed, and Deek is stretching himself to lean over me. Ginny is sleeping on her stomach beside me, and he’s standing beside her head, not touching her as he leans over, but she must sense him hovering near her face.

  She rears up, banging her head into his abdomen, snarling and slapping at him. She rears back her elbow to jab—

  But Deek is gone.

  I sit up, catching Ginny by the shoulders. “Shh, it’s okay! Ginny! Shhh. Deek was just waking me up. You’re okay.”

  Ginny is frozen under my hands.

  I lean around her and find Deek below us, a werewolf caught in his sweatpants. Clearly a state he’s used to by necessity. He doesn’t even try to slide out of them. He just stays flat on the floor beside the bed, head touching the floorboards, ears tight against his skull, gaze down.

  Ginny is looking down at him too. She blows out a shaky breath. “Sorry,” she croaks, her voice breaking on the word.

  And then she bursts into tears.

  Deek creeps clumsily to the door, but he can’t seem to make himself stand to nudge it open. So he presses himself against it, hugging the floor and keeping his face turned away from us.

  “I’m sorry!” Ginny cries. “I thought—”

  She stops, not saying more.

  She doesn’t really have to. She’s never talked to me about what her mom’s boyfriends have done to her. I think she’s shared with Charlotte. She may have even talked to the school counselor once or twice, and maybe those confidences are what led to her being pulled away from her mom and put into the custody of Child Protective Services.

  Sometimes people have the best intentions, but their intervention wasn’t the success story they were probably hoping for.

  It’s obvious from her reaction to Deek’s position over her that no matter what help sh
e’s received (or not received, as the case may be) she has been taught that she needs to protect herself.

  Feeling that she’s open to a hug, I pull her into my arms and rock her comfortingly. She quiets herself almost immediately, and soon, she’s pulling away, embarrassed.

  “I’m going to hit the bathroom,” she mumbles. She pushes the covers back, and without looking at me, she leaves the bed and moves for the door.

  Once she gets there, it’s with almost comical timing that both Ginny and Deek flinch away from the chance to connect stares, both of them turning their heads in the opposite directions at exactly the same time.

  Except that there’s not anything funny about this at all.

  With a whispered, “Sorry, Deek,” Ginny opens the door and leaves the room.

  CHAPTER 31

  LUCAN

  I stay flattened to the floor, facing the wall as Ginny leaves.

  I’m thinking a lot of things. Particularly that I need to talk to Finn. As in, real soon. Now, would be good.

  “Deek?” Susan says from behind me.

  I turn, and find her sweatpants-covered legs and bare feet.

  Her toenails are painted yellow. It’s a very cheery color.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  I turn back into my human form, only needing to tug up my track pants a little in order to be properly back in them, now that the bushiness of my tail isn’t dragging them down my ass.

  I chance a glance up at Sue, and sensing my attention, her eyes jump from my lower spine where she’d been looking, to my eyes. “Umm,” she squeaks oddly.

  I clear my throat. “I’m not the one to worry about,” I tell her in answer to her question. “Finn volunteers as a Victim Advocate. He can help Ginny. If she doesn’t want to talk to him, he can find someone else for her to talk to… if she wants.”

  Susan blinks, her eyes clearing. “Finn is a Victim Advocate?”

  I nod. Unofficially, the police force loves him. The Rape Crisis Center definitely does. It’s the damnedest thing, but the perpetrators of violent crimes have a way of disappearing if Finn is the one who gets the call.

  Our county law enforcement fills out a lot of missing persons paperwork.

  I don’t know if it’s less or more paperwork than, say, whatever documents they have to fill out for repeat offenders, but if it’s an unfairly disproportionate amount, they don’t complain.

  “Huh,” Susan says.

  “I, uh, woke you up to tell you that you should shower now. We’ve got three bathrooms on this floor, but they’re going to fill up fast.”

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  I make myself stand, fighting against the urge to stay crawling on the floor in a properly abject fashion, an instinct that’s strong in me after an aggressive outburst from an alpha.

  Even though Ginny was only trying to protect herself.

  I need to talk to Finn. Now.

  “I have to go,” I tell Susan. “Wear anything you want from the closet.”

  “Will you be back?” Susan asks.

  Hesitating, I slide a look to her and meet her eyes briefly, nodding. “I’ll need to change into my suit.”

  “Ah, Sunday. Church,” Susan says, relaxing a bit. Her fingers stop worrying the hem of the sweater she borrowed from me. It’s orange, and with her green sweats, she looks like she’s going for a cute pumpkin theme, although she was probably just taking whatever fit her. “I was planning on going home but…” She glances at the door. “Maybe I should stay. That is, if Ginny still wants to.”

  “She should,” I tell her, meeting her gaze again and forcing myself to hold it. “She should stay and try to Change. Her control has to be good since she hasn’t burst into a wolf before this, but it’s not healthy for a werewolf to never run as a wolf. We can help.”

  Before Susan can reply, the door opens and Ginny slides in, not looking at either of us. With her is her duffel bag. One of Charlotte’s, I can tell by the overall scent. Ginny has changed clothes, and they’re Charlotte’s too.

  This poor girl. She’s been living on the generosity of others, not fully belonging as a human. And her wolf, never having been let out… It must feel like she belongs nowhere at all.

  “Finn plans on working with you after church,” I tell Ginny.

  And just like I find it hard to meet gazes, she finds it hard not to. She looks at me, her eyes faintly tinged with shame. Haunted.

  Talk to Finn. NOW.

  “I’ve got to go,” I announce, swiftly striding for the door, which Ginny is still in front of.

  She jumps out of the way, and I can’t tell if I rushed her or if she’s nervous from being in her own head.

  I mutter an apology and leave the two of them to talk.

  I shift in the hall, expertly escape my track pants, gathering them in my mouth, and I race down the stairs, out of the house, and lope for Half Moon House to find Finn.

  CHAPTER 32

  SUSAN

  Charlotte sends me a good morning text, and I take her lead, warmed to return the greeting, but we keep our contact minimal.

  Ginny, despite having already changed clothes, decides she’ll take advantage of the still-quiet house to take a shower. She grabs her things and heads off. Before I can dig into Deek’s closet for daywear, there’s a knock at the bedroom door. I call, “Come in,” expecting Ginny back from the bathroom because she forgot something. Or Deek, back from wherever he went.

  Instead, the door opens, and lady werewolves spill in.

  They’re smiling and friendly and all of them in human form. They have garment bags slung over their arms, and someone hands me a plate of home fried hand-dipped sugar donuts as another woman pushes a mug of coffee into my hands, and I almost tell these strangers that I love them, my reaction to the treats and coffee is so strong.

  The reason they came to see me was to bring me dresses in case I’d like to join them for church.

  It’s incredibly thoughtful of them, and because Ginny is going to be attending and I don’t want to leave her feeling all alone no matter how nice these nice people are, I thank them and accept their offer to join their service.

  I end up in a borrowed outfit they call a ‘clergy dress’—except that it doesn’t look like it belongs to any member of the clergy that I’ve ever seen. It’s an inky black A-line dress with white decorative buttons down the front from the white-collared neckline all the way down to the mid-calf hem. The wrist cuffs are set off in white. The belt pops—it’s bright white too. The effect is striking.

  After showering and getting dressed in it, I’m stunned at how refined and… classically beautiful it makes me look. And feel, which is perhaps more of a surprise.

  I’m in borrowed black heels. Heels are footwear that I haven’t gone near in years, ever since I started waitressing. When you’re on your feet all day, you don’t do anything to screw up what you need to be standing and moving on for the rest of the week.

  But the gal who lent me her shoes swore these were the best pair of designer footwear in the world, and that I wouldn’t suffer while I was strapped into them.

  She might be right. So far, I’m not pinched or pained anywhere.

  And oh. My. Starships. Heels make my legs (and my butt, if I can trust myself to be objective) look sexy.

  Thus, I find myself ascending the stone steps up into the old Gothic church following a pack of werewolves in a startlingly stylish garment I actually like.

  I’m going to werewolf church.

  I blink, processing it, trying not to gawk at the stained glass windows and the aged wood interior of the place and the ancient-looking wooden pews with their carvings of wolves and lambs.

  And all the people. So many people. How many werewolves can fit in a church?

  Ginny holds my hand as we walk further in, feeling conspicuous.

  “What do we do?” Ginny asks under her breath. She’s clutching me like she wants to run out of here or she’s afraid I will.

  Biting my lip, I try t
o look around. There are people in front of us, people on both sides of us, people behind us. Pews are everywhere. Row after row after row. And they’re all occupied. “I have no idea.”

  “Howeyeh, you two,” a familiar voice says, and we turn to find Finn pushing through people to join us.

  His friendly familiar face is a relief to behold. And he knows it. “You both look more nervous than a scabby slag in church,” he teases.

  The man directly behind him cuffs him upside the head.

  It’s Deek.

  I’ve seen him decked out in his church suits on Sundays before, but maybe the part where we have to venture out into traffic and vroom around town by car in order to arrive here keys him up in the worst way, because he’s never this relaxed, standing tall, shoulders straight, brow unpinched. Never this… quietly confident. This meek yet debonaire.

  Because yes, he still has his eyes submissively lowered and all that, but he’s… here, among his Pack, in this place, he looks so different.

  Nice different.

  Humbly commanding. And something about the way he’s smiling as he shakes his head at Finn with something like brotherly disapproval has me feeling extra fond of him.

  I just like him. Deek’s good people.

  So is Finn, but I don’t feel the same way about him that I do for Deek. Some undefinable thing. And I may not be able to put my finger on what it is, but where I’m slightly resistant to getting to know Finn any better, I find myself drawn to Deek, and I’m up for learning everything about him.

  Finn is holding a bundle of white and gold satin fabric, and with a deeply provoking smile aimed at Deek, he shakes it out.

  “Is that—” Ginny starts.

  “No way,” I say.

  Finn laughs at us and shoves his arms and head into the vestment, letting its folds flutter down until he looks respectable and… holy. “That’s right, ladies! I’m a choir boy.”

  “Bullshit,” I accidentally exclaim.

  Ginny’s eyes go wide. I slap my hand over my mouth. Deek laughs.

  Finn adopts a devoutly religious expression and posture. “It’s the honest-to-God truth.”