to me and I wave back and I pretend not to notice the attention of the adults present. I pretend not to notice them moving closer. Closing in on me.
Against my will, I shiver with anxiety. I clench my jaw to stop my teeth from clicking together. Nerves and stress. Dangerous to a werewolf, especially a submissive one. My control will never be at the same level as an alpha’s, and under these conditions, if werewolves weren’t public yet, I’d be a danger to the Pack’s secrecy.
Thankfully though, the world is aware of werewolf existence, and while some are still a little wary, most people are excited by our novelty.
Just keep it together, Lucan, my inner self chants. I’d resent the fact that my inner voice sounds like Finn, but right now, just pretending that he's saying the words to me is a massively needed comfort.
I don’t look up when the stroller walkers pass me. I do murmur polite hellos back to them, even if I never turn my head from where my eyes are pinned to Maggie.
I stay that way, hunched as I stay kneeled, staring. Willing myself to calm down and stay human. This is fine. I’m fine. Stop that whining noise, Deek—you’re FINE. And stay human!
“You look so worried about her,” a woman laughs, her voice drifting down to me. It takes me a beat to confirm she’s really speaking to me. It would be easier to verify this if I looked up to catch the visual cues, but I can’t make myself look at these people I don’t know. I’m so uncomfortable, my skin starts to itch.
Don’t Change. Do NOT Change!
“I’m not worried about her,” I think to say after a moment of silence feels extra uncomfortable, and I realize I should respond. “She’s playing.”
“You’re Maggie’s new babysitter?” the woman asks, her sneakers—lime green with magenta laces—taking a step forward, bringing her even closer to me. Her perfume drifts to my nose. It’s nice. But not as nice as Susan’s scent was this morning when she got out of bed. When she tripped on me, I inhaled, and my lungs filled with this warm, comforting, pretty smell.
I really liked it.
“I’m her nanny,” I manage.
“Whoa,” she says so quietly under her breath, I couldn’t have heard her if I wasn’t a werewolf. “A live-in or a live-out?”
“What?” I pant, clawing at the collar of my shirt. The backs of my fingers brush fear-stiff hairs on my chest. Longer, more numerous than normal hairs. I’m shifting.
“Do you, um, live with Maggie’s mom, or…”
“Yes.” From our other side, the pair of strollers are in view again. Both are in leggings. One grey set, one black. The black set is in blue shoes with purple and pink laces. The grey leggings are in white sneakers with pink accents on the sides. They’re slowing.
They stop. “Is that Maggie’s new babysitter?”
“He’s a live-in nanny,” the woman next to me says with extra weight on the words.
“Susan is a lucky bitch,” one whispers nearly inaudibly.
Another breathes, “I want one of those.”
I try to concentrate on my surroundings, not on the people. It helps to touch trees, dirt, wild. Here though, there are no trees. There’s no dirt or wild, either. Beneath me is some sort of spongey rubber mat with a pungent, unpleasant smell. Nauseatingly strong. I’m not sure how anyone can stand it—but maybe I’m the only one hyperaware of it.
My heartbeat is drumming in my ears. I watch the back of my hand, keeping it pressed to the rubber material, and as my knuckles disappear under an excess of sprouting hairs, I’m filled with climbing dismay.
The third stroller appears. “Did I hear you right? You’re a nanny?”
"I swallow once. Twice. “Uh-huh.” Uncomfortable, I sit up and strip off my shirt.
A hushed whisper. “I would have bet money on him being a model. Can you imagine having that in your house all day? I need the number of his agency.”
Someone murmurs, “If the other nannies look half as hot as him, your husband is going to say no.”
An infant squalls—and I jerk in reaction. A baby’s cry makes a submissive wolf like me instinctively want to investigate and drives me to soothe it. It’s coming from a baby in one of the nearby strollers. The baby sounds upset.
Take care of the baby.
TAKE CARE OF THE BABY.
My nerves stretch like piano wires.
THE BABY. DON’T CHANGE: CHECK ON THE BABY.
I start to move but catch myself, flinching. No! YOU STAY. WATCH MAGGIE!