Asher's acting weird. Too polite, too friendly, too... everything not-Asher. He's smiling—not smirking, actually smiling—at the middle children as they dance around the campfire.
The elderly couple, Walter and Mabel (we finally introduced each other by na), poke at the massive fire they've built in their stone-ringed pit. A smoker sits off to the side, ribs already going inside. Apparently they've been going all day.
The sll of them makes my stomach growl, but sothing about this whole setup just feels… strange.
"This is my brat-dance!" Finn announces, performing so chaotic bounce and wiggle; it looks like he's being electrocuted. Or having a seizure. Or both.
Lily rolls her eyes. "It's called the floss, dummy. And you're doing it wrong." She demonstrates with quick, precise arm movents, though her cheeks flush with embarrassnt. "See? Arms straight."
"I'm not a dummy. I just made it better!"
Walter chuckles and shuffles over to join them. "Let try," he says, swinging his arms with creaky enthusiasm.
As terrible as it sounds, he makes the dance look like so painful physiotherapy exercise.
It would be charming—sweet, even—if not for how unsettled I feel. I can't pinpoint what's wrong exactly, and there's absolutely no reason to suspect these two sweet old neighbors.
Which ans it must be Asher and his bizarre level of friendliness.
"Pip, no!" The man in question bolts after the toddler, who's wandered dangerously close to the fire for the third ti in five minutes. He moves with calculated speed, scooping her up and redirecting her away from the flas.
"No!" Pip shrieks, squirming in his arms.
"No." His voice is firm, but gentle.
He sets her down several feet from the fire pit, and like a heat-seeking missile, she imdiately pivots and toddles back toward danger. Asher follows, shadows her movents, redirects again. It's a dance they've been performing since we arrived, and despite his obvious frustration, he hasn't snapped once.
Pip breaks free from his watchful eye for just a second—long enough to hurl her sippy cup directly into the fire pit.
The plastic imdiately starts to lt and smoke. Pip's face crumples, and she stands in the dirt and wails, face to the sky, like the world's just ended.
Because she threw her own cup into the fire.
Toddler logic. I've vaguely heard of it, but seeing it in action is an entirely different experience.
I lunge forward, but Asher is faster. He crouches by the fire, sohow extracts the half-lted remnant with a stick, and grunts, "It's fine." As if retrieving lting plastic from open flas is sothing he does every day.
Pip sobs louder, her tiny body heaving with the dubious injustice of losing her cup. Bailey ambles over and sniffs curiously at Pip's bare toes; her shoes have disappeared sowhere, too.
The toddler's sobs transform into hiccupping giggles.
"See? All better," Asher murmurs, rubbing her head.
Who is this man, and what has he done with the Lycan King? My heart can't take it. It's going to explode if he calls dear again, like we've been married forever or sothing.
"Hey, Asher!" Finn yells, waving his arms frantically. "Co on, just try it!"
He seems to have developed an appreciation for the scary man.
Lily, on the other hand, goes absolutely pale, her arms freezing mid-floss as she stares at Finn like he's just committed suicide. Maddox frowns at her, giving the faintest shake of his head.
Yes. We're supposed to be pretending to be a happy family, but Lily keeps acting like Asher's about to eat her.
Walter claps Asher on the shoulder—actually touches him without permission!—and announces, "It's more fun than I expected," even if he's wheezing a little as he says it.
Asher's face goes statue-still, and I recognize the look. It's how he looked when he was listening to Alpha Keller babble, right before he lost his temper. This must be the outer limit of his hospitality.
But slowly, with obvious reluctance, Asher lets Walter push him over to the dance group. Finn's delighted as he chatters instructions, demonstrating the move again with exaggerated motions.
I watch, wide-eyed, as the Lycan King—ruler of all wolf shifters, nightmare of his enemies—attempts to floss. His powerful arms move stiffly, his timing completely off. It's the most awkward, endearing, terrifying thing I've ever seen.
Maddox snickers behind his hand, quickly masking it with a cough when Asher glances his way.
Lily looks absolutely horrified, her hands to her mouth, but she can't look away, either.
A sharp yip draws my attention to the camper. Fenris has cornered Bailey underneath it, his massive form blocking her escape. Pip yanks on his ear, but even so his stance radiates smug wolf superiority as Bailey yelps again and scrambles belly-first into the dirt.
She's clearly outclassed by the supernatural wolf, though I doubt she understands exactly why.
Or maybe she does. Though, if she did, you'd think she'd be miles away by now.
My list of things that don't make sense is getting longer by the minute.
Mabel erges from their camper with a large tray of raw burger patties and bratwursts. The at glistens in the firelight, and I squint. It looks like there are diced onions in the patty.
"The cheese is already mixed in," she tells , smiling wide. "Have you ever cooked over open fire? It's my favorite."
Ah. Cheese, not onions. Even better.
But I stare at the blazing inferno Walter's built. "Er… I've cooked hot dogs on sticks?"
How are we supposed to cook anything over this, though? It's absolutely roaring. We'll have charcoal on the outside and raw at inside.
Mabel laughs creakily. "Oh no, dear. We have to wait for it to burn down to embers. That's when the real magic happens."
A cold pit forms in my stomach as I realize what she ans. We're going to be here a while. Hours, maybe.
With a temperantal Lycan King and a toddler who now lacks a sippy cup and has a mild obsession with fire.
Pip toddles toward the tray of raw at, reaching for it with gleeful fingers.
"No—no, no—don't touch that." I grab her tiny wrist, pulling her hand back.
Her bottom lip protrudes in a dramatic pout. Her mouth opens, and I catch a glimpse of sharp, pointed teeth—definitely not the normal teeth of a toddler. My heart lurches as I glance at Mabel, who isn't even looking. Thank goodness.
"We have to cook it first, sweetie," I explain, trying to keep my voice steady. Calm. Reasonable.
Is it possible to reason with a toddler?
We're about to find out.
"It's not safe to eat raw at, baby."
As if understanding, the sharpness recedes, returning to her normal baby teeth. Pip gives a disappointed "Hmph," but stops reaching for the at.
Once Mabel places the tray on the aluminum table she's placed near the fire, she does sothing unexpected. She clasps her hands over it and bows her head.
"We ask divine blessing now, before fla shapes flesh," she intones, her voice suddenly deeper and more resonant. Less… old.
I hold Pip against my hip, deeply unsettled. People say Violet before eating, not before cooking. And those words don't sound like any blessing I've ever heard.
Then again, I haven't lived with humans for years. Maybe I just don't know—
I look at Asher, who's stopped dancing mid-move and is staring at so intensely, my breath catches. His jaw is tight, eyes narrowed.
Pip claps once, loudly, mimicking Mabel's gesture.
"Ah." Mabel chuckles. "Children always know where to find joy."
Asher storms over, snatching Pip out of my arms. "Darling, you shouldn't be holding her."
I blink. He's smiling again. And he called darling.
Not dear, but darling.
I don't know who this man is, but he's definitely not mine. Or he's infected.
"What a devoted daddy you are!" the old lady says, beaming. "You're so lucky, Violet."
Finn dashes toward us, screeching to a stop in front of as he announces, "I need to go pee."
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