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Two doses of costly decongestant, expired antibiotics, filtered water, compresses, and finally… finally he’d slept. Which is why Caspian found her as he did, collapsed over the couch at Mikael’s side. Like her boy, she was fast asleep.
A featherlight stroke on her cheek tickled enough that she slapped at the cause, groaning and pushing her face into the cushions.
A firm grip on the shoulder gave a soft shake. “Wake up, little rat. The cat’s come to play.”
Startled awake, Wren sucked in a quick breath, and jumped to her feet. Tugging the wrinkles from her skirt, she shook out the fabric. Her braid was grabbed next, the elastic tugged free so she might finger comb fresh waves and try to look as presentable as possible.
They had an agreement, and she was going to keep it.
Heart tattooing a panicked beat against her breast, she stood straight, trying to prove she’d followed directions. Clean, dressed in something appealing.
The Alpha was not impressed. Cocking his head, he eyeballed her nicest dress. “Where did you find that monstrosity? Whoever sold that to you did a number on moth-eaten drapes.”
Looking down at the simple sundress, Wren frowned.
The sundress was made from old curtains… pretty ones she’d found in one of the abandoned homes sunk under the waterline. She’d rushed to grab them as water dumped in around her entry point, flooding the formerly sealed rooms. She’d chosen them over old tech she could have salvaged and sold, that was how much she liked them. She was proud of this dress, damnit!
For goodness sake, where did he think fabric for such things came from in the Warrens?
“Look at her cheeks getting pink. You hurt her feelings, boss.”
With a shriek, Wren jumped and grasped Caspian’s arm, clinging as she turned to find that two other males stood in the room. Hand to her heart, truly awake now, she looked around for the next surprise, narrowing her eyes on her sealed door, completely clueless to how the three of them had gotten in.
And then a long agitated growl escaped her when her eyes landed on the mud each of them had tracked in. Her clean floor was a wreck and an accusatory glare was leveled at the two strangers before landing upon a stone-faced Caspian.
A Caspian she immediately set free of her grip.
Disengaging, she spread the skirt he found so ugly, pointed at her chest, and mimed sewing it.
The Alpha couldn’t care less.
Before he might say anything else, Wren kneeled into a crouch and set her fingers to his boot laces. If he was going to traipse around, he was not going to bring more mud with him.
Behind her, one of the strangers chuckled. “I’ve seen plenty of women drop to their knees before you, sir, but never to take off your shoes.”
The taller stranger, the one dressed in khakis and sporting a rather larger firearm, he was the one who spoke. She’d seen him beside Caspian in the pipeworks, remembered the tawny hair and green eyes, but didn’t know who he was. Just as she didn’t know the other one with the shaved head and unhinged smirk.
When she peered up at her guest, Wren saw him wink before saying, “He means they kneel to suck my cock.”
It took her a moment to grasp his meaning. Once she had, she felt her cheeks heat, and went back to work unraveling his laces.
A hand fell to her crown, a hand that weighed heavy against her skull as it stroked. “Sweet and raw in her ugly dress and flowing white hair. You’re not a rat at all, are you, but a little mouse all sleek and silent.”
Already humiliated and growing more nervous with each breath, Wren kept her head down and worked a boot from a large foot. The sock was surprisingly dry underneath, but she rolled it down anyway out of habit, then went to the other shoe.
He let her do this.
Just as he let her lead him to her most comfortable chair. When she went to the other men, men who had failed to follow her shoe removal lead, Caspian grumbled out a firm, “No. All of your attention today belongs to me. They’re more than you can handle right now.”
Turning to face Caspian, she looked anywhere but at his frightening coat. Stubbled jaw marked with scars, a nose broken flat, bent and broken again. Lines by his lashes gave the impression the brute must laugh as he maimed. Mud brown eyes. Cropped brown hair. Rugged and craggy and not pretty in any way.
She mimed a cup of water, followed by tapping her lips in offering of food.
“You would share your food and drink with me?”
In answer, she stepped over the mud trail and padded barefoot to her cooking corner. Water was collected from all three dehumidifier units, poured into a purifier, and doled out into mismatched cups. Next was quick bread topped with sliced mushrooms harvested from the mud. Carried on a beloved tray she’d salvaged two years back, she marched to Caspian and let him choose which serving he might like.
