<h4>Chapter 122: Grace: Monster in Her Skin</h4>


    The sky goes dark so fast I think I’m imagining it. One second, the kids are shrieking over hide-and-seek. The next—it’s like the sun gets yanked right out of the sky. Clouds roll in thick and gray, swallowing up the blue like it never existed.


    Sara’s nose is pressed to the RV window, her breath fogging the ss. "What’s happening?"


    She hasn’t moved since the thunder started.


    Caine would probably be upset the blinds are open, but Fenris would know if someone’s out there watching us. It should be okay.


    Jer bounces between couch cushions. "Maybe aliens. Maybe the apocalypse. Maybe the dinosaurs are reincarnating—"


    "Maybe it’s just a storm, Jer," Ron cuts in. He definitely has less patience for the younger boy than he does Sara or Bun, probably because Jer never stops talking.


    Every time I touch something, I get shocked. Static electricity is strong in the air, but none of the kids mention it. Maybe it’s just me.


    Something about this storm feels... off, though. Wrong. Not like normal rain.


    The older girl turns toward me, eyes wide as she asks, "Is it gonna lightning? I want to see lightning."


    "Probably." I check the sr disy, already worried. With the sun in hiding, it means the panels aren’t getting anything in, right?


    The disy flickers. Numbers drop. Then they spike. The overhead lights flicker and the air conditioner stops abruptly.


    A secondter, the lights are back, and so is our air.


    "Oh, no. Is our power going to go out?" Jer asks, craning his neck to stare at the light above him like it’s going to give him answers.


    "It shouldn’t... We have batteries, too." But everything flicked out for a second when it shouldn’t, which doesn’t really make me confident in my answer. The microwave clock reads 12:00, blinking obnoxiously to let me know it reset.


    Rain hits the camper—not in drops, but in sheets, a solid wall of water mming against the fiberss encasing the camper.


    The entire trailer shudders, before settling into a new rhythm of noise.


    Sara squeals with delight, once again glued to the window. "I love rain! I love it so much. I hope it lightnings more!"


    "Maybe we shouldn’t stand near the windows during a—" My warning dies as lightning forks across the sky, illuminating Sara’s face.


    "Look!" she shrieks, bouncing on her toes on the couch even as her nose stays pressed against the ss. "It was a big one!"


    Thunder reverberates, as if to agree.


    Within seconds, we’re all crowded around the windows—even Ron, though he pretends it’s just to keep the little ones in check. Jer holds Bun reluctantly, her tiny fists gripping his shirt as she stares wide-eyed at the deluge.


    "You know," I say, forcing lightness into my voice, "this is perfect weather for a movie. I’ve got snacks all set out—"


    "Rabbit food," Jer mumbles.


    Yeah, healthy food doesn’t have the same appeal as chips and popcorn.


    And there’s the whole sr issue. If I run the TV and a movie, with the sun not out...


    Lightning and thundere with rming frequency. Sara flinches at one particrly loud boom. It shakes the entire camper.


    "Ho-lee!" Jer yells. "That was a big one!"


    Bun cries.


    "That wasn’t even that loud," the older girl announces, rearranging her face into nonchnce, like she wasn’t as scared as the younger kids.


    Another bolt of lightning, closer this time. The camper lights dimpletely before surging bright again.


    The pressure in my ears builds with each crash of thunder. Something about this storm feels... personal. Targeted. I shake my head at the ridiculous thought.


    Bun stiffens in Jer’s arms, her crying suddenly silent.


    Her little nose twitches once, twice. She sniffs the air hard, like she’s caught something none of us can smell.


    "Bun?" I step forward just as her body contorts.


    The growl she makes isn’t the yful rumble we hear sometimes when she’s being stubborn. It’s deep, guttural... adult.


    Her eyes dte until almost no iris remains, and something in my mind screams: <i>danger</i>.


    I reach for her, but I’m too slow.


    Sheunches herself at Jer’s face—tiny hands now sporting curved, vicious ws. Not the kind you’d see on a housecat. These are built for rending flesh, for hunting. They catch Jer across the cheek as he falls backward with a shocked yelp, blood spattering across the floor.


    Shit.


    Sara’s scream pierces through the thunder. Jer drops Bun as he falls, hand pressed to his bleeding face.


    Ron moves faster than any of us.


    His teenage body ripples, bones cracking as dark fur erupts across his skin. His gori form is massive in the confined space of the camper, hunched and powerful, yet his movements are controlled as he lunges for the toddler.


    But Bun isn’t Bun anymore.


    I’ve seen predators shift mid-fight. But this? This is a baby with a monster in her skin.


    Her tiny features have distorted—jaw elongated, teeth bared in a snarl that belongs on a mountain lion. Her body’s half-shifted, enough to leave bloody pawprints on the ground as she avoids his reach.


    She leaps toward Sara, who screams again. Ron’s massive gori hands catch Bun mid-air as the older girl scrambles out of the way, but the toddler twists and sinks her massive teeth into his forearm.


    "Stop! Bun, stop!" I rush forward, trying to wedge myself between them.


    Pain slices across my palm as Bun’s ws connect. I jerk back, blood welling from four perfect lines across my skin.


    This isn’t right. This isn’t Bun. Her eyes arepletely wrong—blown ck and feral, foam gathering at the corners of her mouth. She snarls.


    The teenager grunts in pain as she swipes a w across his furry chest. He’s trying to restrain her without hurting her, but she’s like liquid fury, twisting out of his grasp to cause new wounds.


    It’s only been seconds and already feels like a long ten minutes.


    I spin around, pushing Sara and Jer behind me. "Bedroom, now! Go, go!"


    The child they know isn’t in the room with us. There’s something else inside of her, somethingrge and angry, and it isn’t safe. For any of us.


    Which is crazy.


    This is Bun. Our sweet little baby girl, the one who goes nuts over tanghulu and crushes strawberries all over the floor. The same baby who woke up in the middle of the night to crawl into myp. The one who stole my heart even though it’s only been two days.


    "But—" Jer starts.


    "Now!" I shove them toward the front of the camper. "Lock the door!"


    They scramble away as I turn back to the chaos. "Bun!"


    My voice disappears under a crash of thunder so loud it feels like the sky is splitting open. The camper rocks, either from their wrestling or the wind. It’s hard to tell. The air conditioner dies with a pathetic whine, and the lights flicker outpletely, leaving the room dark.


    I can still see them locked inbat, and smell the blood dripping onto the floor. She’s going to kill Ron. A sweet little toddler is going to hurt the person she loves and cares for most in this world.


    I can’t let it happen.


    "We need to get out of here!" Jer shouts, his small feet thudding.


    Toward me. Not away. He and Sara should be locked in the rtive safety of Lyre’s bedroom.


    Instead, he’s bolting down the hall and yanking the door open. "Come on, Sara! Outside!"


    "No, Jer, don’t—!"


    The door flies open, yanked out of his hand by the strong wind. He falls to his knees.


    A massive ck shape barrels through the sudden opening, clearing Jer’s head in a graceful leap.


    Fenris fills the space, ethereal blue light pulsing beneath his midnight fur. Dominance rolls off him like a wall, I stagger back, my knees weakening for a moment, before it passes over me.


    The kids aren’t as lucky.


    Ron shifts back instantly, his human form copsing against the entertainment center, blood running from several wounds. Sara and Jer tten to the floor.


    Bun’s the only one still moving. Shrieking in defiance, still feral, and still wrong. She tries to dart away, then turns to fight—but Fenris pins her with nothing but a stare and a snarl.


    She shifts partially back—her limbs human again, but her face contorted, teeth still too sharp, eyes still wild. A continuous growl rumbles from her tiny chest.


    My heart lodges in my throat.


    Blood’s everywhere. Ron’s chest heaves with exertion, but his eyes are glued on Bun, his hands clenched tight. Worry’s written all over his face.


    Jer’s still bleeding from his cheek, too. Sara’s the only one unharmed, and she’s huddled against the floor in terror.


    And Bun—my sweet, chaotic Bun—curls in a defensive position beneath Fenris’s massive form, snarling like a cornered animal.


    The storm isn’t just battering the camper from outside. Somehow, it’s gotten into her.


    "Bun?" I step forward hesitantly.


    Fenris snaps at the air between us—a clear warning to stay back.


    I ignore it, dropping to my knees beside them. "Bun, honey, it’s me."


    She lunges, teeth snapping at my extended fingers. I jerk my hand back with a gasp, then steel myself and try again—this time cing my palm gently on her leg, far from her teeth.


    Her snarling quiets a fraction. Her eyes still sh with something foreign and feral, but there’s a flicker of recognition fighting through. Or maybe it’s my wishful thinking.


    "Bun? Can you hear me now?"