Page 115 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

Whiskey mutters something about needing a drink or five and disappears toward the kitchen.

Plague hesitates, eyes tracking between the kitchen and the stairs, before sighing and following Whiskey.

That leaves me standing in the doorway.

Thane's exhausted dark eyes meet mine. He doesn't need to say a word. I understand the meaning.

I can't believe this, but there's nothing I can do about it tonight so oh fucking well.

I step through the door.

Wraith is already sprawled on the couch, still in his bloodied jersey, Ivy still attached to him and whispering something to him as she applies an ice pack to the side of his bandaged face.

He growls softly at her touch, but it's a pained growl. Not aggression. His eyes are darker and duller than usual as he lets her tend to him with detached, miserable resignation.

I slink for the stairs.

"We need to talk," Ivy says.

I turn, blinking in surprise to see she's standing right behind me, Wraith's tired eyes flicking warily between us both.

"Me?" I ask, stupidly, not understanding.

Wraith lets out another growl. This one's low and dangerous. Even as exhausted as he is, the growl is bone-rattling with obvious threat.

To me, not Ivy, of course.

I don't move.

Whiskey reappears in the kitchen doorway, a beer bottle in his hand. Somehow, he's already in his boxers and utterly naked otherwise. He scratches at his chest. A bearlike gesture if I've ever seen one.

"Uh, wildcat? You sure that's a good idea?"

"I'll be fine," Ivy says. "Five minutes."

Wraith signs something else to her, too fast and sharp for me to catch.

Ivy turns to him. She cups his bandaged face with both hands, gentle, careful, and presses a kiss on his scabbed eyebrow.

"I'll be right back," she murmurs. "I promise. He won't hurt me."

The growl doesn't stop, but it fades to a discontented rumble. His bloodshot blue eyes, still flashing with ferality, fix on me over her shoulder.

If you touch her, I'll fucking kill you.

He doesn't sign a word.

Like Thane, the unspoken message is clear.

I incline my head. Fair enough.

"Walls are pretty thin in this place," Whiskey calls out, his attempt at levity falling flatter than usual. "Just sayin'. We'll hear if she makes a peep."

No one laughs.

I don't wait for more discussion. I turn and walk toward my room, hyperaware of her quiet footsteps behind me.

The hallway feels longer than usual. The door to my room appears too soon. I push it open and step inside, not bothering to turn on the light. The darkness is comfortable. I never have the light on if I can help it.