Dimitri transformed back into his beastman form, effortlessly making sure Fel, Luna, and Frost didn’t fall and holding them tightly in his embrace.
Dimitri’s massive hand came down, his long fingers carefully cupping the back of Frost’s small head, pressing the cub gently into Felicity’s arms. His other arm remained an unbreakable bracket around Felicity’s legs and back, pulling both her and the cubs into a single, fiercely guarded hug against his chest. His dark red eyes flicked up, scanning the courtyard, making sure the rest of the husbands understood that this family and the four new heartbeats pulsing inside her were now under his absolute, permanent jurisdiction.
—— Baby Sitting with Tommy ——
The first rule of babysitting cubs was apparently that there were no rules, and Tommy had been an absolute fool to think otherwise.
He stood in the doorway of the cubs’ shared room with his chest puffed out, and his clipboard held like a shield against the coming chaos. The clipboard. He’d actually made a clipboard. A goddamn clipboard with a checklist titled Child-Care Drill: Operational Readiness Assessment (OR-23) in his own terrible handwriting. He’d even laminated it with packing tape, which now curled at the edges like a dying leaf.
Frost sat cross-legged on his bed, his pair of ice blue eyes tracking Tommy with the flat, patient stare of a predator who had already calculated nineteen ways to win.
Luna was worse. She’d climbed onto the bookshelf, how Tommy didn’t know; the thing was eight feet tall and was dangling one leg over the edge, her fluffy silver tail swishing in a metronome rhythm that felt like a countdown to disaster.
"You two," Tommy said, tapping the clipboard with authority. "Listen up. Your mother asked me to run a child-care drill while she’s at the doctor’s appointment. That means I’m in charge. That means you follow instructions, that means-"
"That means you’re going to be locked in the toy box in about four minutes," Frost said.
Tommy’s jaw tightened. He’d been briefed. He’d been prepared. He’d spent forty-five minutes this morning studying a book called How to Babysit Toddlers before remembering that toddlers weren’t telekinetic magical cubs who could make shields and make ice. But the principle was the same. Structure. Authority. The firm but loving hand of...
Luna dropped from the bookshelf.
She didn’t fall. She descended, her body twisting mid-air like a cat, and landed on the carpet without a sound. Then she looked up at him with those enormous blue eyes and smiled, and Tommy felt something cold slide down his spine.
"Okay," Tommy said, lowering the clipboard. "First exercise. I’m going to demonstrate the proper way to brush fur. Frost, come here."
Frost didn’t move.
"Frost. That’s an order."
"Orders require authority and respect, which you don’t have because you’re Tommy, not a daddy."
Tommy set the clipboard on the dresser and strode forward with purpose. He was a grown man. A capable adult. He had survived the collapse of civilization, fought zombies in the ruins of Sydney, and once killed a three-headed lizard with nothing but a tyre iron and sheer spite. Two cubs were not going to break him.
He reached for the brush on the nightstand.
His hand closed on empty air.
Tommy looked down. The brush was gone. He looked up. Luna was sitting on the bed holding the brush, examining it with exaggerated curiosity, turning it over in her small hands.
"Luna. Give me the brush."
"It’s a nice brush," she said.
"Luna?"
"I think I’ll keep it."
Tommy exhaled through his nose. Fine. Fine. He could adapt. He reached for the brush again, and Luna held it out to him, actually held it out, her little arm extended, that sweet smile on her face, and Tommy felt a flicker of victory. See? Structure and authority!
His fingers touched the brush.
The brush spanned in a circle and turned to ice.
Tommy yelped and dropped it, and Luna was already across the room, sitting on the windowsill with her knees drawn to her chest, giggling.
"That’s not funny," Tommy said, his heart hammering against his ribs. "That’s a misuse of your telekinetic magic, and your mother will hear about it."
"Mummy already knows," Luna sang. "Mummy says I’m gifted."
Tommy picked up the brush, confirmed it was now frozen solid, and set it on the dresser with deliberate calm. His hands were shaking. He shoved them in his pockets.
"New exercise," he said. "Meal preparation. I’m going to demonstrate how to properly prepare a snack without burning the kitchen down. Both of you, follow me to..."
"The kitchen is upstairs," Frost said.
"I’m aware of where the kitchen is."
"So you’re going to leave us alone in this room."
Tommy paused. He looked at Frost.
"I’ll be right back," Tommy said. "You two stay put."
"We’ll stay put," Frost agreed.
Tommy backed toward the door. His hand found the knob. He opened it, stepped into the hallway, and pulled it shut behind him. Through the wood, he heard Luna’s voice, bright and clear:
"He’s gone."
"Phase one," said Frost.
Tommy pressed his ear to the door. Phase one. Phase one. That implied a phase two, possibly a phase three, and he was standing in a hallway listening to two children plot against him like he was the villain in a heist film.
He pulled the door open.
The room was empty.
Tommy’s blood went cold. "Frost? Luna?"
Silence. The beds were made. The bookshelf stood undisturbed. The window was closed. The toy box in the corner was a massive wooden chest big enough to hold a small adult, which was exactly what Tommy was realising with dawning horror, had its lid propped open at a slight angle.
Tommy crossed the room in three strides. "Okay, very funny. You’re in the toy box. Come out before I..."
He grabbed the lid.
Four small hands grabbed his wrists.
The pull was impossibly strong, not physically, magically, a yanking force that came from everywhere at once, and Tommy’s feet left the carpet. He had a half-second to register that he was airborne, his body curling forward like a ragdoll, and then the darkness of the toy box swallowed him whole.