Breaking Point (BWWM)

10. Abrasion

Lucinda sighs sleepily, rolling onto her back and peeling open her eyes. The weight of drowsiness was gone, the warm lushness of their sheets cradle her body, and though they weren't close by proximity, she felt Braxton's body heat beside of her.

She turns her face towards the cot beside her, the sun's warm waves surely should have woken their son up by now. She expected him to be on his back, either wriggling about with his tail and paws flailing or with his fists at his sides, pouting sleepily up at her.

Though his cot was empty, Lucy blinks and scrubs her eyes, only to still find their son absent from it. His scent still lingered, but he was no where to be seen. She sits up frantically, wondering just where he could have gone. Hopefully he hadn't found a way to escape on his own, he'd certainly hurt himself. Not to mention she'd have heard it. Of course it was suspicious for her to have slept a full night....

Her husband stirs in bed beside her, furrowing his brows. "Lucy," his deep voice croaked beside of her. It was so low she felt it's reverb, she gets up from bed, frantically peeking under it. "What's wrong?" He muttered.

"I can't find him!" She whispered, feeling a deep sense of shame filter through her. She's notably paranoid about their son's wellbeing - she needed him in her line of sight at all times, and yet she'd somehow managed to lose sight of him. She shakes one of her horrible thoughts from her head, he was still in the house. He had to be. Nothing would be able to hurt him.

Braxton sits up, rubbing his eyes and staring at his wife beside the bed, pacing and trying not to hyperventilate. She shakes her wrists as if to fling water off her hands. Again, it's strange, but he's not awake enough yet to give it much more thought, "Calm down, Lucy," he tried, though he was ignored. Braxton gets up more fully, grabbing her wrist.

"H-He could be anywhere in the house...!" She frets, there were over fifty rooms. And anyone could have him, if any of Braxton's family were here, he could be with his aunt or grandparents, any of their servants. Had he been crying and she hadn't heard him? The guilt was festering more.

Before he could get another word out, she rushed out of their room, letting her senses guide her as she navigates down the hall. Relief floods her when she enters his nursery, gasping at the sight of him in his crib. He was naked and seems to have been crying for a while. He starts to wail when he sees her, needing someone to tend to his distress. Lucy coos, lifting him up to soothe him. He'd need a bath, and his bedding would definitely need to be changed. She notifies one of the servants.

"I'm sorry about this," she told her, to which she was politely dismissed. Lucinda soothes her baby as best she can, first rinsing off his plump legs and back in a bathtub before gently scrubbing him clean. He was under a lot of distress, not seeming to want to let her go. She was sure he was hungry, too.

He didn't seem to want to shift back into his wolf state, seeming much too exhausted. Though as she breastfed him once he'd been dressed, she noticed his pointy wolf ears. They were soft and chocolate brown, like his silky, curly hair. His tail curls between his legs, large hazel eyes peeking up at her. "You scared me, bubbie. I didn't know what happened to you." She whispered sweetly, hearing him coo gently around her breast. His little dimpled hands squeeze it as he grips her, he was ravenous.

Lucy sighs softly, wishing her nerves could ease up, though her heart hardly got the memo. She still has the image of the black wolf in mind, the one from her dream. She shakes her head at the memory of blood staining it's long fangs.

Aesir coos again, the four month old had grown quite the bit. She supposed she hasn't truly seen another werewolf from the very start of their infancy, as she definitely hadn't suspected he'd grow this quickly. Despite his age, he was the equivalent of a six month old human baby. And his development was much more advanced. Except for walking, standing, or talking, he could do it all. Not to mention his wolf form, he liked to run around, though he's not very coordinated and tends to trip over his own paws. And he can't run for very long at all.