Page 13 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

That's all I got.

THANE

Are you on your way back from seeing Claire?

IVY

Yeah, but to be totally honest, I may have taken a wrong turn.

THANE

FUCK

I'll find you. Keep your phone on. It's going to be cold tonight. There’s emergency camping shit in the back of the SUV. Maybe even a flare gun. Grab the green duffel.

IVY

Thanks.

I jog back to the SUV, grabbing the green bag from the back. Thank fuck, when I unzip it to check the contents, it has a tent and some basic camping supplies. I don't see a flare gun, but I don't have time to keep searching, and I'm actually pretty damn sure a flare gun would set Wraith off in this state anyway.

I don't believe for a second he would hurt me, no matter what omega critter brain thinks.

But he might hurt himself.

While I’m at it, I grab the snacks and drinks from our road trip and stuff them in the bag, too. If we're doing an impromptu wilderness adventure, at least we won't starve.

By the time I catch up to Wraith, we're deep enough into the woods that I can barely see the road. The trees are thick here, blocking out most of the late afternoon sun, which is already disappearing behind the gathering storm clouds.

My omega instincts are having a fucking field day.

Apparently, going into the woods with a dissociating feral alpha who is objectively... spooky is a trigger for omega hindbrain.

Every crack of a twig has me jumping and ready to claw and bite.

Every shadow could be a threat.

And Wraith just keeps walking, pulled by some internal compass toward a destination only he knows. He lets me take his hand, at least, even though he’s too out of it to hold mine in return.

Finally, maybe thirty minutes in, he stops in a small clearing and just... stands there.

“Are we stopping here?” I ask him, adjusting the bag strap on my shoulder.

No answer.

Not sure what I was expecting. I know for a fact he's far gone or he'd be insisting on carrying the bag for me.

I set the bag down and unzip it.

Setting up a tent when you've never actually done it before, in the middle of nowhere, while a massive dissociating feral alpha watches you from the shadows?

Not exactly covered in the "How to Survive Your Psycho Ex" handbook I've been mentally writing all this time.

The tent instructions might as well be in ancient Sumerian for all the sense they make. Every pole goes in the wrong place, only for me to realize I had it right the first damn time.

But after twenty minutes of cursing and fumbling, I manage to get something vaguely tent-shaped erected, and throw the wool camp blanket inside.

Thunder rumbles overhead.