Page 156 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

Plague makes a soft humming sound. "Green curry, please. No shrimp."

"Fuck, I got a please from you?"

He raises an eyebrow at me. "You might even get a thank you if you play your cards right and stop being a jackass."

I flash him a grin. "What kind of thank you?"

Plague rolls his eyes.

Ivy smiles, bright and happy, like our weird fucking bonding is the best thing ever to her. "Pad thai with extra peanuts for me? And spring rolls?"

"Done, wildcat. Thane! THAAAAAAANE."

"I can hear you," Thane sighs from the hallway, still on his phone. I hear the sound of the mute button engaging. I'm very used to that sound. "Drunken noodles. Extra spicy."

"Valek?"

Valek is settled in the armchair by the window with his thermos and a book. This one's dark with no visible title. He doesn't look up.

"Tom kha gai," he says. "And sticky rice."

"You don't want a pad see ew or something? That soup's gonna take like thirty minutes⁠—"

"Tom kha gai. Sticky rice."

"Okay, Princess Thermos. Tom kha gai it is."

His silver eyes lift from the page long enough to give me a look that suggests he's going to skin me alive later, then return to his book.

I add Wraith's order without asking. He always gets the same thing. Vegetable fried rice, extra tofu, and a mango smoothie. I know this because I've ordered for him enough times, and because I'm not as fucking oblivious as everyone seems to think.

Also spring rolls. Wraith loves spring rolls. And if Ivy does, too, they're gonna have so many spring rolls they're not gonna know what to do with 'em.

I add a few other things and hit submit and settle back in the chair, phone balanced on my chest as I stretch all four limbs out with a loud yawn that has Thane cursing me out from the hall.

Hope to fuck he remembered to mute his phone.

I catch Plague eyeing me again and flash him my biggest grin yet, stretching out a little more so my shirt rides up on my stomach. I swear his ears turn red through his dark hair as he forces his eyes back to his phone.

My favorite part is that he shifts a little closer.

Every time we sit on the same piece of furniture, he migrates toward me inch by inch like some kind of pissed-off resentful glacier. Like it's my fault he wants to occupy the same space.

But sure. Displaced arousal.

Whatever you say, Doc.

When the food arrives, Valek gets the door because he's closest and because I think he likes scaring the shit out of delivery drivers with his whole silver-eyed murder prince aesthetic. The poor kid on the porch nearly drops the bags.

I set everything up on the coffee table instead of in the kitchen, because we deserve to be comfy after everything that happened.

The pack settles around like a pack of wolves around a kill, which isn't that far off, actually. I commandeer the floor beside the couch, using it as a backrest, because the armchair is too far from the action and I need to be in the middle of shit or I'll lose my mind.

I shove a forkful of noodles into my mouth.

"Вы действительно говорите по-русски?"

My head snaps up at the sound of Valek's voice.