230 Grace: Breakfast with Bun

    230 Grace: Breakfast with Bun

    My belly twists at the idea of food, and I shake my head. “No, thanks. I’m not hungry.” Thanks to my headache, my stomach’s also rebelling. Skipping breakfast isn’t unusual for me, anyway. “What is Caine doing today?”

    Keeping the question casual is practically godlike acting skills, and I give myself a mental pat on the back. Good job, Grace.

    “You should eat,” the Lycan opines. “There’s plenty of food. Make yourself a te.”

    I guess on Tuesdays eggs are poison. 2

    There’s already a literal aluminum pan filled with bacon, as if he’s feeding twenty of us and not four. (No idea when Ron left, but he was gone by the time I’d finally woken out of my fitful post–coital napping.)

    “Right, him.” I have no idea why I can’t keep his name straight.

    “Pa cay!” Bun cheers through a mouthful of mush, and half of it promptly drops out of her mouth and into herp.

    Dn turns a little to stare at me, flipping a pancake without looking. He’s got skills. “I’m sure he will stop by to see the children, ma’am. He does seem inordinately fond of the children. In fact, the High Alpha seems to ce the children as his highest priority these days.”

    “No, thanks. She hates pancakes.” Technically, she loves them, as long as they’re swimming in syrup. But since I have no interest in bathing a sticky mess of a child, I’m avoiding the pancake dilemma.

    Is it ssified, or is he just unable to read the room?

    “He’s on the way.”

    So I haven’t rified anything yet.

    I frown, handing her another piece without really thinking about it. “Rudolph?”

    “I know what she likes,” I mutter, but grab the banana anyway. The spotty, overripe fruit is one of the many offerings Dn brought over at dawn–along with eggs, milk, pancake mix, and basically the entire bacon section of whatever grocery store he

    18:21

    raided.

    230 Grace: Breakfast with Bun

    “He’s a devoted father,” I mutter, letting my eyes wander off as I pretend not to notice how he’s practically begging me to admit to the rtionship between me and his king. “Come on, sweetic, just one more bite.” I hold the spoon of scrambled eggs in front of Bun’s mouth, but she turns her head away, rabbit ears flopping dramatically as she

    does.

    She’s eaten about five bites of her breakfast, and four of them ended up dribbling out in dramatic fashion as she gagged over the very same eggs she’s gobbled up every morning the past few days.

    In fact, when I’d stumbled out of bed at seven, Dn was already in my kitchen cooking up a storm. I’m pretty sure the bacon’s what woke me in the first ce.

    On the daybed in the living room, Jer and Sara remain dead to the world, limbs tangled together in sleep despite their constant waking battles. The white cat–still nameless, still definitely not normal–is curled between them, while Sadie’s golden body stretches protectively along their feet. The dog raises her head briefly, watching Bun before settling back down.

    He keeps emphasizing the ichildren/i, and he keeps staring at me with a lot of meaning in his gaze.

    “Randolph?”

    1

    She’s not interested in Bun’s spit–up leftovers, which is also unusual. Sadie basically inhales food. I’m pretty sure Dn’s had some sort of heart–to–heart with the dog, Lycan style, to keep her out of the kitchen/dining area of the camper while he’s cooking.

    It’s obvious the whole ikeeping /iiour /iirtionship /iia /iisecret /ithing isn’t working, but I’m not about to say anything yet. I still haven’t spoken with Caine about it, and… well, with having two Lycans following me around, the danger from Ellie seems a little less

    worrisome,

    Right on cue, someone knocks on the door, and Dn waves me back when I move to get up. “You sit. Don’t open the door on your own.”

    “What kind of pack business?”

    18:22

    230 Grace: Breakfast with Bun

    As soon as I think I’m getting a handle on this parenting gig, she’s tossed a new curveball my way.

    Even with an old Lycan practically winking at me every time he “helps” me maintain

    our cover.

    I nce at my phone again. Still nothing. Goddammit, Lyre. I need more details, here.

    “Um–do you know if he’sing overter? To see the kids, I mean.”

    For a grumpy old man who didn’t seem to respect me very much, his tune has changed drastically…

    “How about pancakes?” Dn asks, starting a new tower of them.

    Sighing, I check my phone again. Nothing. I’ve sent Lyre three texts in thest hour, and her responses have dwindled from vague to nonexistent. Granted, the woman’s busy with a bunch of victims she’s pulled out from the literal underground, but I’m a little antsy knowing she has kids she wants to send my way.

    “Lycan business.”

    “Here, Bunny Bun. Banana?” I offer a mushy piece, andpliant Bun opens her mouth, deciding the overripe fruit’s better than chicken babies.

    In my short career as a mother, I’ve learned motherhood is not very morous.

    “Randy, ma’am?”

    He shakes his head, leaving his precious pancakes to cook unattended as he opens the door. His somewhat genial grandpa–like demeanor disappears into the cold and brusque manner of yesterday as soon as it opens. “The hell you want?”

    Uh–huh. Helpful.

    “Doesn’t seem like she likes eggs,” the old Lycan, Dn, says from the stove, flipping another perfect pancake onto an already towering stack. “Try the banana again.”

    “Where’s Randolph?” I ask hastily, changing the subject without any finesse whatsoever.

    “Pa cay” Bun says again, trying to interrupt us even as she grabs for the rest of the banana in my hand.

    18:22

    250 Grace Breakfast with Bun

    He answers without hesitation… or detail. “The High Alpha is handling pack business.”

    My mouth opens to protest automatically, but I close it almost immediately. If the man wants to open the door, I have no reason toin. “It’s just Randy, isn’t it?”

    I rub my temples, where another headache threatens to bloom. I’ve had so many of themtely, enough to make me wonder if it isn’t just stress and annoyance. I’ve never been particrly prone to headaches before.

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    Shouldn’t be hard to guess who’s at the door.

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