Page 52 of Scarred Savages
“Welcome to civilization,” Ethan says with a smile. “First stop, grocery store.”
The parking lot is half-full as Ethan pulls into a space near the entrance. I hop out, stretching my legs after the long drive. The air here smells different—less pine and earth, more exhaust and concrete.
After hours in the truck, the fluorescent lights inside make me blink. Oli grabs a cart and immediately starts racing down the first aisle, throwing items in with childlike enthusiasm.
“Is he always like this?” I ask Ethan, watching Oli examine cereal boxes as if they contain the universe’s secrets.
“Shopping days are his favorite,” Ethan explains, pulling out a list from his pocket.
“Can I get these?” Oli holds up a box of sugary cereal shaped like tiny animals. “Please?”
“Put them back,” Ethan says automatically. “Hudson said no more sugar after what happened last time.”
“What happened last time?” I ask.
Ethan and Oli exchange a look.
“He ate three boxes in one sitting,” Ethan explains, “then shifted and did zoomies around the house for six hours straight.”
I burst out laughing, picturing the scene.
“Just one box?” Oli pleads, his nose twitching rapidly—a sure sign of excitement.
I glance at Ethan, who’s trying to maintain his stern expression but failing miserably. “One box?” I suggest. “I’ll help him eat it so he doesn’t go overboard.”
Oli’s face lights up like I’ve just offered him the moon. “Deal!”
Ethan shakes his head, but places the cereal in the cart. “You’re going to regret enabling him,” he warns me.
We continue through the store, filling the cart with essentials. I’m amazed at the quantity—enough food to feed a small army, or in this case, five hungry male shifters and me.
We move through the aisles methodically, Oli tossing items into the cart with childlike enthusiasm while Ethan checks things off his list. I trail behind them, reveling in the simple normalcy of grocery shopping.
Once the groceries are loaded in the truck and stored in coolers, we head to Target. Oli practically vibrates with excitement as we enter.
“Okay, Luna,” Ethan says, “Get whatever you need—clothes, toiletries, anything. Don’t worry about the price.”
“I can’t—”
But Ethan cuts me firmly. “It’s not charity, Luna. It’s pack taking care of pack.”
Those words again. Pack. Like I belong with them.
“Fine,” I relent. “But I’m getting the basics, nothing fancy.”
Two hours later, I’ve completely abandoned that resolution. My cart is filled with jeans, leggings, sweaters, T-shirts, pajamas, and underwear—lots of underwear.
We spend another hour wandering through the store, adding random items to our haul—a sketchbook and colored pencils that Ethan insists I need when I linger too long in the art section, fuzzy socks that Oli declares “essential,” and a small potted succulent that I can’t resist.
By the time we’re done, the truck is packed to capacity.
The drive back is quieter. Oli dozes against my shoulder, his breath coming in soft snores. I find myself leaning against Ethan as the day’s excitement catches up.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “For today. For everything.”
Ethan glances at me, the fading sunlight catching in his dark eyes. “You don’t have to thank me, Luna.”
“I do, though. You’ve all been…” I struggle to find the right words. “Kinder than I expected.”
