Grace of a Wolf-Chapter 123: Grace: Comfort

Something shifts in Bun’s eyes. The wildness retreats like a tide going out, leaving behind the little girl I know.

Her features shrink back to normal, pointed ears rounding, claws retracting, even her teeth shortening until they’re just tiny baby teeth again. Her heaving chest slows until soft, hitching whimpers.

Tears drip.

"It’s okay," I whisper, reaching out again. "Bun, honey, it’s me. It’s Grace."

This time, she doesn’t snap. She doesn’t even hesitate.

Her little arms shoot out and wrap around my neck with desperate strength. She buries her face against my collarbone and sobs—not the tantrum cries of a toddler, but something deeper and horrible. The kind of crying you do when you’re so full of fear you can’t even understand what you’re feeling.

I hold her tight, rocking back and forth without even thinking about it. "Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you, baby."

Fenris stands over us like a living shadow, his blue glow pulsing faintly through his midnight fur, but much lighter now. His storm-gray eyes track every movement in the room as Bun’s sobs gradually soften to hiccups.

Jer closes the front door, shutting us out from the roar of rain and wind and thunder. My ears pop when he does.

Only when the toddler is quiet does Fenris sit. But his ears keep swiveling.

The other three children stand together, and my heart hurts to see the blood all over two of them.

"Has this ever happened before?" My voice sounds strange in my own ears. Too calm for the trembling in my chest. I vaguely recall my mom sounding like this sometimes, usually when I was worried about something. Now, I get it.

This is how moms sound when they’re trying to pretend they aren’t scared, too.

Ron’s face is pale beneath his olive complexion, his eyes a little too wide. Blood smears his chest and arms in thin, drying lines. But he’s calm as he says, "No. Nothing like this. Not for any of us."

"But something similar?" I adjust Bun in my arms, feeling her tiny fingers clutch at my shirt as she snuffles against my neck.

"Sometimes we slip a little during a shift. But nothing like this. Might run after a bunny without thinking or go for a run, but..."

Sara shudders and leans into his side, and Ron wraps his arm around her without even looking. His big hand pats at her head. "My skin feels weird and crawly," she mutters. "Like the lightning’s gotten under it."

"Mine, too," Jer pipes up, still holding his hand to his cheek. He winces as he talks.

"How’s your face?" I ask softly.

He shrugs. "Still stings. It’ll heal, though."

I move toward him, carefully shifting Bun to my grip so I have an arm free. "Let me see."

He hesitates before dropping his hand. I reach out and gently pull his chin up to examine the claw marks. They’re already closing—supernaturally fast healing, as expected. Still, they must hurt.

Sara darts to the sink and returns with a damp towel. I reach for it, but Ron intercepts, taking it from her with a quiet, "I got it. You take care of Bun."

I’m not sure what I would have ever done without Ron here. Everything from basic childcare to even the emergent situation of just moments ago, he’s stepped forward and taken over without being asked.

He kneels in front of Jer, gently dabbing the cuts with careful hands.

Jer winces, then straightens his spine. "It doesn’t hurt as much as it did," he says again, sounding proud. "I didn’t cry, neither."

"Good," the older boy says quietly. "It’s already healing."

I look at the blood staining Ron’s chest, the deeper cuts along his forearm where Bun had bitten him. "You’re hurt worse than any of us."

He shakes his head. "It’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it."

"We should have you checked out."

His head moves more vigorously this time. "No. We can’t go to hospitals."

The matter-of-factness in his voice catches me off guard. "Why not?"

"They’re not safe for people like us," he says simply.

My arm tightens around Bun, who seems to have fallen asleep. Or maybe she’s just quiet. It’s hard to tell with her face buried against me. "What do you do if you get sick?"

Jer’s the one to answer this time, piping up, "We don’t. Not really. And we heal when we’re hurt."

I don’t press. But the ache in my chest grows, spreading outward until my ribs feel too tight.

Bun’s body is heavy, and I try to shift her to my other arm—but she whines and wraps her arms tightly around my neck. Not asleep, then. At least, not yet.

"You should take her for a nap," Ron says, wiping down his own wounds. Sara snatches the towel from him.

"I’ll do it."

"’Kay."

Leaving them to their own devices seems strange and wrong after so much trauma, but Bun’s clearly exhausted. I hesitate, but Jer scowls at me and says, "Go!"

Fenris sneezes, and the kid jumps.

"I mean... Bun’s tired. You should put her to sleep."

"That sounds like you’re telling her to—"

Ron smacks his hand over Sara’s mouth. "Hush."

"What? I’m just saying, it sounded like it. He should be more careful with his words."

"I am careful with my words!" fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

Their return to bickering somewhat lightens the heavy load pressing against my heart. "I’ll be back once I get her to sleep, guys."

"Okay," Sara and Jer chorus, before sticking their tongues out at each other.

Ron rolls his eyes and grabs the towel back from the distracted Sara and heads for the bathroom in the back.

Fenris follows as I carry Bun to Lyre’s bedroom. The wolf’s nails click quietly against the floor, and it’s strangely comforting. Good to know I’m not alone, even if I can’t converse with him like I can with Caine.

Lyre’s bedroom is dim, the shades already pulled. There’s a box fan by the bed, and I switch it on, trying to chase away some of the humid heat, though it really just pushes the same warm air around in the room.

With the A/C off in here, it’s going to remain warm.

Better not to use a blanket.

Crawling onto the bed with a determined baby clinging to my neck is harder than I expect, and I end up flopping onto my side. Bun grunts a little when her body hits the mattress and she curls up even tighter against me, burying her face even closer. She sniffles.

I’m exhausted.

Not just tired, but my entire body feels heavy and my skin’s too tight, like I’m retaining a hundred pounds of water.

I drop a kiss on Bun’s soft curls. At least she’s not crying anymore.

Fenris’s presence is steady and soothing as he climbs onto the bed. Lyre’s probably going to kill him for leaving fur on her comforter, but we’ll just clean it before she comes back, I guess.

The storm’s voice becomes a distant rumble, and I hope it’s passing through. No more storms. No more strange, feral Bun shifts. I just want everything to go back to normal...

Even if I’m not sure what normal looks like.

Very little time has passed, and yet so many things have changed.

My eyes drift closed, but the voices from the main room carry through the thin walls.

"Do you think she’s gonna leave?" Sara whispers.

"Maybe." Jer’s cocky attitude is gone. He sounds strangely subdued. "We’re scary now. Wouldn’t blame her for wanting to go."

"She won’t," Ron’s voice is low and calm. I thought he was going to wash himself off, but I guess not. "She’s not like that."

There’s a pause, then Sara again: "But what if she does?"

Ron doesn’t answer.

I want to sit up, to yell down the hall: No. Never. I’m not going anywhere.

But I can’t. I can’t even open my mouth. Can’t lift my head from the pillow.

Everything feels soft. Drained. Floaty.

Bun breathes against my neck. Fenris guards the door. The storm still howls outside. And I... drift.