Page 95 of Grace of a Wolf 2
"Enough, kids." Caine slides the plates in front of each kid, and Jer returns with a butter knife and a giant tub of margarine. "Eat first. You can finish her hair when she's done."
"Yes, sir." Ron tosses the brush to the side as he takes his place on the floor, grabbing the knife from Jer as he butters a piece of toast.
Unsurprisingly, he hands it to Sara when he's done. She takes it like she was expecting it, and he does another.
That one goes to Jer.
Then another. He comes to me, and Bun stares at the toast in his hand, still drooling.
"Here you go, Bun. Butter toast. Your favorite!"
She shakes her head, and he frowns. "Aren't you hungry? I can see you drooling."
Bun shakes her head again and dives back into my neck. Not sure what to do, I hold out my hand. "Here. I'll feed her when she's ready to eat. You should focus on your own food."
Ron frowns, his face a mask of teenage disappointment. Something sharp twists in my chest at his expression.
"Sit." Caine's order causes him to jerk up straight, and he shuffles back to his spot on the floor. He keeps his eyes fixed on his plate, stabbing at his eggs with more force than necessary.
Bun shifts in my arms, reaching for the toast in my hand with eager fingers. Her tiny face lights up as she takes a giant bite, crumbs cascading down the front of her pajamas and onto my lap. Happy little humming noises come out of her with each chew, and the teenager glances at us again.
Another frown crosses his face as he watches Bun's delight. He quickly looks away, but not before I catch the hurt in his eyes.
Chapter forty-four
Grace: Pack
Bun continues to scarf at her piece of buttered toast with all the hunger of someone who hasn't eaten in a month, even if her chubby little rolls bely her actions.
Her death grip on my shirt has loosened significantly as her focus shifts entirely to the food.
"I see how it is," I murmur against her hair. "Food trumps fear every time."
Her eyes, wide and shining, meet mine as she chews. For the tiniest moment, I swear they change from brown to blue, then back again. Another piece of toast disappears into her mouth.
Ron peels a banana and leans over, holding it out in his hand like he's trying to coax a wild animal. "Want some banana? Your favorite."
Bun turns at the sound of his voice, her entire body going rigid. The halfhearted smile on Ron's face falters as her mouth opens and an ear-splitting shriek fills the cave.
No words. Just pure, agonizing, shrill shrieking as she throws herself back against my chest with enough force for me to tip over. I catch myself with one hand on the floor, and Caine jerks toward me like he's going to catch me. Thankfully, one of the toddler's flailing fists whacks his hand away before our skin can touch.
"Sorry," Ron mutters, backing away with the rejected banana. The defeat in his eyes makes my chest ache.
"She's adjusting," Caine tells him, pulling Bun out of my arms with practiced efficiency. Even with her wild, maniacal movements, he swoops her into his embrace without a blink.
She screams louder, and he walks away, heading into the kitchen. "Pups who scream don't eat," he warns her with a steady, stern voice.
The decibels continue to climb.
Sara scoots a little closer to Ron and snags the toast from his plate.
"Hey!" He scowls, but doesn't make a move to grab it back.
Without missing a beat, she rolls her eyes. "Oh please, you weren't even going to eat it. And it's going cold."
"It was already cold," Ron grumbles, but there's no heat behind it.
Bun's screaming stops abruptly; she's angrily chewing on a piece of apple, staring at me over Caine's shoulder. My ability totranslate baby facial expressions is still new, but I'm pretty sure she's giving me theyou've-betrayed-melook.
