The Werewolf Nanny

by Amanda Milo

My pulse is racing. I can feel it everywhere—my thumbs, my wrists, my heart.

  Also? I’m throbbing between my legs, and all we did was kiss.

  He doesn’t want to leave me. That’s what he said. And when he met my eyes like that, said the words like they were being dragged from him, I believed him.

  I glance over.

  Lucan is breathing like he’s run a marathon, and he’s staring off to the side, at the wall on the opposite side of the kitchen. He hasn’t moved a muscle since I drew back.

  Maggie still hasn’t come around the corner. The fact that she hasn’t made another sound confirms my suspicion: Ginny or Charlotte intercepted her so that she wouldn’t interrupt us.

  Clearing my throat twice, I call, “What is it, honey?”

  There’s no answer.

  Not chancing another look at Lucan, I step around him on legs about as steady as rubbery celery sticks. When I round the hallway, I find all three girls, and Maggie is being gagged by Charlotte’s hand.

  Charlotte and Ginny look vaguely guilty. Maggie looks confused.

  Without me having to tell her, Charlotte lets her sister loose.

  Ginny hugs herself and Charlotte is biting her lip.

  Maggie is appalled at her treatment. “What did you grab me for? I didn’t do anything wrong!” She huffs and stomps away from them. “Mom, now I’m upset. Can I have a cookie?”

  Nonplussed, thrown, I laugh. “Wait. If you’re upset, you think you get a cookie?”

  Maggie nods. “Yes. Cookies make me feel better. And ice cream,” she adds.

  “Sheesh, Snow Pea,” Charlotte mutters from behind her.

  “You think so?” I ask Maggie, smiling despite myself.

  “Yes, and there’s chocolate cherry ice cream for you,” Maggie coaxes, trying to win me over.

  “Nice try,” I tell her. “I finished that the other day. Sadly.”

  Maggie moves past me for the kitchen. “Deek got you more.”

  I feel a bolt of pleasure slam through me. “He did?”

  I follow her into the kitchen and to my surprise, Deek is still there. I honestly expected him to escape the crackling tension by scurrying to the basement.

  Instead, he’s standing tall, hands at his sides—and he’s looking at me.

  “You got me ice cream?” I find myself asking.

  He dips his chin, dropping his eyes from mine, lowering his gaze to my throat. “Maggie and I walked to the gas station.”

  I’m touched. Not only was this thoughtful—this was a nice gift because the gas station price-gouges like crazy. He spent a small fortune getting me a treat. Plus, he braved shopping for me. New sights, sounds, smells, people, stares. For Lucan, this is like…

  A gesture. From Lucan, this is a huge gesture.

  Somewhat absently, I skim my fingers over my collarbones—a self-soothing behavior that stops being absent in any way when Lucan’s eyes zero in on where I’m touching myself.

  His gaze slowly raises to mine, and our eyes lock. My heartbeat speeds up in excitement only for him to swing his eyes to the other side of the kitchen. To the vicinity of the basement door, where he may retreat. Where’s he’s sure to retreat if I don’t give him some sort of signal or declaration.

  And I know with a clarity so perfect I can almost hear my thoughts being spoken aloud: he’s shown that he wants you. Now it’s your turn.

  I’m suddenly hit with the memory of listening to Lucan covering the history of Ruth, and Deborah, and that tough-as-nails tent-peg lady. If their stories have proved nothing else, it’s that sometimes a woman has to take the reins. With Lucan’s natural inclination to be submissive, I feel it in my bones that if I want him, I need to make the next move.

  He’s amazing with the girls.

  He helps out around the house without ever being asked.

  He’s respectful, he’s sweet, and he cares about us.

  He cares about me. He wants me.

  And he’s never so much as looked at another woman.

  That last thought is only a little whisper, but I hear it matter-of-factly and acknowledge it all the same. Because for me, this last little truth is a really big deal.

  Epiphany strikes me like a lightning bolt: I trust Lucan. I mean, I deeply, deeply firmly believe that he’s an earnest, honest man. A man who desperately just wants to do the right thing. He may screw up by shifting in a school parking lot and eating a couple of cute rodents in front of all the grade schoolers, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have integrity. His intentions are always good. The memory of him getting upset at seeing Ginny’s bruises on the day he met her, of how he sent word to Finn asking for help even though he expected that I’d be angry at him for it—he still did it. Because it was the right thing to do.

  Doing the right thing is so hard sometimes. For a subordinate personality who desires to follow orders, that he was driven to do something he perceived to be against my wishes in order to save a girl shows that he’s submissive yet strong.

  I may have to take the next step here, but he did make the first move. That took guts. So yeah, he may be submissive, but it doesn’t mean that we as a couple would be unbalanced. Don’t be afraid of him—of a relationship with him.

  I don’t realize that all three girls are being unnaturally still and silent until Lucan takes a step back and the set of his shoulders—rigid with tension—stays proud even while he turns to retreat to the basement.

  “Wait,” I tell him.

  He freezes.

  The white of his eye is very stark as he watches me without changing the angle of his head. He’s stopped breathing, waiting for me to speak.

  “I don’t want you to leave either,” I tell him.

  Lucan’s muscles all jump like he’s been hit with electricity.

  Maggie gasps and looks between us in horror. “Deek’s leaving?”

  Ginny’s hand seals over Maggie’s mouth and Charlotte’s arms drop around Maggie to capture her from behind in a move that’s a little disturbing and not entirely unlike a praying mantis.

  Lucan spares them all a glance, and then his eyes are on me. His body turns towards me, face so blank I can’t read him, except that his brows are pinched a little worriedly, or from stress, more likely. But I do watch as his Adam’s apple moves slowly in a strong swallow.

  I cast around for what I should say next. You know, movies and TV never prepare you for real life dialogue when you’re asking the werewolf who babysits your children to remain living with you because you want to explore the feelings the two of you have developed for each other.

  “Lucan,” I lick my lips, and his gaze lowers to watch me do it, “can I talk to you in private?”

  “We’ll go outside!” Charlotte volunteers, her and Ginny beginning to steer Maggie towards the backyard.

  “First,” Deek announces quietly, “I need to make a call.”

  CHAPTER 42

  SUSAN

  To say Lucan is agitated when he emerges from the basement not two minutes after heading down, is an understatement.

  “No reception?” I ask. I’m standing at the kitchen island, cleaning the junk drawers. This isn’t a usual occurrence for me—evidenced by the fact that we have more than one drawer dedicated to miscellaneous crap—but I have to say that it’s helping to keep a lid on my nerves.

  It was better than trying to listen in at the basement door.

  An impulse that not only made me roll my eyes at myself in disgust, but caused me to seek the junk drawers as punishment.

  “Reception’s fine,” Lucan replies, his voice oddly tight. “It’s the recipient who’s the problem.”

  I glance over at him and find he’s watching me warily.

  “What? And who?” I ask.

  Lucan’s head whips to the front door, and his ears sprout fur and shift from a man’s to a wolf’s.

  There’s a knock, followed by Lucan going full werewolf and launching forward.

  He hits the door before I can even round the island.
“Hang on!” I tell him, giving him a look that plainly says he’s being crazy. My feet swiftly carry me to him, quickly helping to free him of his clothes before I’m nudging him aside with my hip and peeking out through the peephole.

  Somehow, I’m not surprised to find a grinning Finn waiting on the other side.

  Pulling back the lock and twisting the handle, I eye him and Lucan as I drag the door open wide. “Hiiii,” I say slowly.

  “Howeyeh, Sue!” Finn calls heartily—and then he leans forward, snatches up a bristling Lucan, and begins hauling our wolf bodily to his car.

  “What are you doing?!”

  Finn’s voice is barely strained even with the way Lucan is fighting to get free. “I happened to be in the area—lucky thing for this scabby mutt—”

  Clearly this is a shifter insult. Lucan’s coat is plush and glossy because Maggie loves to brush his coat until it shines with health.

  “—when I got an inadvertent bat signal that had me hustling to you to lend my special brand of help.” He’s reached his car and without too much effort, manages to squeeze Lucan’s grunting, twisting, kicking frame tight against his chest so that he has the hand free he needs in order to pop open his car door.

  He shoves Lucan inside.

  Slamming the car door shut just in time to keep a rebounding Lucan in it, Finn points to the rocking car and orders, “Do not hurt Esmerelda.”

  Lucan freezes, strong clawed paw raised to scrape the window. He lowers it, along with his gaze—but he still bares his teeth.

  “You named this Esmerelda?” I ask, trying not to stare too hard at the paint job. The color literally hurts my eyes. The purple is that intense.

  “A beautiful name for a beautiful lady,” Finn declares, and he turns to me.

  Behind him, subsonic vibrations are beginning to make the windows quake. Lucan is growling.

  Unworried, Finn gives me a smile that any other time would probably feel reassuring. “Let’s have a chat.”

  A man's muffled scream erupts from the back half of… Esmerelda. “Help me!”

  My eyes shoot to Lucan, but the scream sure didn’t come from him. He’s cocked his head, his ears pricked, and he’s staring at the back seat, giving the impression that the sound originated... From the trunk? Then he’s back to growling, gaze snapping to Finn.

  “Finn?” I ask.

  Sending a lazy two-fingered salute to Lucan, he shrugs, unworried. “Boot's full of business at the moment, yeah. I told you I was in the area; I helped a garl with a wee problem she was havin’. Serious cunt—him, not her. Let’s carry on.”

  I don’t even—whatever.

  He doesn’t move to go inside and I don’t either. Faintly, I can hear the squeak of trampoline springs and the occasional laugh from one of the girls as the sounds of their play drifts in our direction. Whimpered pleas from a human throat and the growl-induced shuddering of Esmerelda’s windows above her glaringly painted door panel is concerning, but by Finn’s placid expression, I might be the only one worried about these things.

  “Our Lucan rang me up for permission to tell you something,” Finn explains. “I was afraid he’d muck it up, so here I am.”

  I stare at him. “You showed up to have the discussion Lucan and I were going to have in private?”

  “I showed up to help handle a very delicate situation,” he claims. My gaze sharpens on him, and I finally notice him—he’s in well-loved blue jeans and his typical steel-toed boots, which I’ve always thought must be murder to stand on all day, but he does it and never complains, and he’s sporting a black leather jacket with open lapels, silver snaps, and a zipper above his breast pocket that has a piece of folded paper sticking out of it. There’s writing scrawled on it: ‘Thank you, Finn,’ it starts.

  Under the black leather is a white shirt bearing The Gargled Werewolf’s logo.

  (Only a little bitterly, I mentally glare that he’s not stuck in a teeny tiny tank top for work. However, I bet his gratuity tabs at the end of the day aren’t as nice as the female staff have been seeing. Not anymore. Tits make tips, we’ve found out.)

  Finn smooths a hand through his wiry hair. “Sue, a stór, I’m about to arrange the impossible and give you two some much-needed privacy.”

  I cross my arms. “You showed up unannounced to give us privacy? How do you figure?”

  Finn shrugs and turns to wave at a Dodge truck that’s pulling up to the curb. “I wouldn’t call my arrival unannounced. The moment I hung up on Deek, he knew I was coming.”

  Out of the truck steps Rooker, alpha werewolf and fellow employee at the pub. He reaches to the passenger seat and extricates a stack of what has to be a dozen insulated The Gargled Werewolf Pub carry-out boxes. By their shape and dimensions, they can only be pizza boxes.

  Rooker looks to Finn. “You rang?” He sends me a chin jerk. “Hullo, Sue.”

  “Hi.” I swing my stare up to Finn. “You got us pizzas? Why? And how did you get them here so fast...”

  “I told you! I’m here to help.” He motions for Rooker to head into our house. “That way to the Taylor residence.”

  Rooker shifts his gaze to Lucan, who hasn’t stopped his lower-than-thunder growling. “We gonna let Deek out?”

  “Not yet,” Finn replies, unworried.

  I throw up my hands and shake my head at him. “I’m so confused! I’m not sure if I should thank you for bringing pizza or lecture you about permission…”

  “Lectures don’t work on me,” Finn shares. He takes my hand, prompting Lucan’s growl to intensify. “Let’s get the lads out.”

  He doesn’t walk me to his car to release Lucan. He moves me to Rooker’s truck, opens the door, and reveals Liam in a car seat, his brother Rory beside him, and Harper, Gail’s daughter, on the far side.

  Finn leaves me with Liam and moves into the street to get Harper’s door and assist her and Rory out from the side of the vehicle that does not have a car seat blocking the way.

  As he herds the kids to where I’m helping Liam to clamber down from the truck’s running board, he explains, “Rooker was headed to the dens with the pizza and kids. Since he was pulling pupsitting duty, figured I’d have him reroute and watch these three with your three. Should be enough food to feed everybody.”

  “But why?” I ask. “Not that I’m not grateful for pizza and playmates for the kids but, Finn…”

  “Because you and Lucan can now head to the dens for some alone time. Rooker and I will watch both broods.”

  Holding Liam’s tiny hand in mine, I squint at Finn. “Are you crazy? There is no such thing as alone time at the Pack headquarters.”

  “Not true,” Finn argues, jerking a thumb at Eyesore Esmerelda. “Lucan will show you the perfect place. Harper, ya wee sweet, you’re handling yourself well. Good garl,” he praises soothingly, and I realize that Harper is not boldly gazing around like Rory and even Liam are. She’s hunching her shoulders and looking ready to drop on the sidewalk in overwhelmed terror.

  “Harper, you’re a submissive?” I reach out and gently brush back her hair—and encounter wolf’s ears. She’s in danger of Changing from stress. “You’re always so self-assured,” and active, like a livewire, “you poor baby. I never noticed. Is this your first time away from the dens?”

  She latches onto my legs, nodding with her head smashed to my thigh, looking pitiful. I never realized until this moment when she’s so out of her comfort zone that I’ve never seen her eyes. She’s always smiling big and bouncing around and zooming by; there’s never been a chance to know she’s not a baby alpha.

  “Aww, honey,” I croon, squeezing her to my leg in a hug. “You’re going to be fine. In a second, you’ll be playing with Maggie and Ginny and Charlotte. You’ll do great.”

  Finn steps back, moving quickly to his car and catching the handle, finally giving the permission Lucan needs to leave.

  Lucan makes a grumbling chuff of sound and hops out. He trots up to me and slides around Harper, dragging his fur agains
t her back and legs. She reaches out for him, leaving me in order to cling to him, burying her hands in his ruff. Her wolf ears relax, shifting to an upright position and losing some of their triangular shape.

  “There’s a garl,” Finn murmurs, patting her shoulders. To all of us, he orders, “Let’s get you mutts inside.”

  “Finn,” I whisper—although I don’t know why I bother. Everyone here has werewolf hearing but me. “I’ve been on my feet all day. If we show up at the dens, we’ll be there half the night visiting which will leave me driving us home exhausted. I—”

  “Pfft, we can all bed down at your house as wolves and watch your brood. That way, you can stay the night at the dens and drive home when you’re fresh tomorrow. Or if you want, load the garls up in my car and you can all spend the weekend with us. It’ll be deadly,” he declares, and he ushers the kids, Lucan, and me into my own house.

  (Deadly, I learned when I first started working at the pub, is Irish for ‘awesome.’ Basically the exact opposite of what the word means just about everywhere else except maybe Australia.)

  Rooker has set up the pizzeria on the island, the boxes slid out of their heat-saving bags, plates from our cupboard in a stack, and the cranberry juice (the only drink besides milk that we stock in our fridge) is out and ready to be poured into glasses. He’s even gone ahead and made a small stack of paper towels.

  “Let’s call the rest of the pups in from playing so we can eat. And Susan, you should know this is a fully balanced meal, depending on which pizza they grab. You’ve got your cheese topping—there’s your dairy. And every one of them has a good half pound of chicken or hamburger. Great protein. Some of them have broccoli and pineapple. That’s fruit and vegetable servings on imitation Italian cuisine—you can’t beat that kind of healthy.”

  “Wow,” I say, feeling really maneuvered, but strangely not annoyed by it. “Does that last option even taste good?”

  All three men—Lucan in creature form included—make exaggerated groans that manage to be strong wordless affirmatives, and move for the food like they’re starving. Liam has wandered to the back door where he can probably hear the girls, and when he opens the door, he doesn’t have to call them in. Maggie cries, “LIAM!” and there are happy yips coming from my kids even though they’re human (with Ginny in human form, that is).