Page 239 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

"This is the only picture I have left," Plague says.

I look up at him.

His expression is perfectly controlled. Blank as a mask. But his eyes are a different story, and I'm learning to read the difference.

"They look happy," I say softly.

"They were." He pauses, then clears his throat and chuckles hoarsely. "Our mother would have loved you, Ivy."

My chest aches in the best and worst way simultaneously.

Plague carefully slides the photo back into his wallet. He tucks it into his coat and his hands settle on the table, and I notice the faintest tremor in his fingers before he laces them together.

"Thank you," I say. "For telling me."

He nods once.

"Does Whiskey know?"

"Whiskey knows about the scar. He's seen it. He doesn't know how I got it."

"Will you ever tell him?"

"Probably not. I can tell from the way he looks at it, he wants to punish whoever did it. And there is no one specific person to punish. So he would go insane, or try to take over the world in revenge," he says dryly. "Whiskey with no outlet is apocalyptic, Ivy. I've seen it. It's the kind of thing you hope to forget."

A startled laugh chokes out of me before I can stop it. It might not even be appropriate to laugh at all right now.

But he's laughing, too, now.

Not much, but a little. His shoulders come down a few inches as he breathes again for what might be the first time in ten minutes.

"So," he says, lifting his water glass. "I've told you mine."

"Hmm?"

"Tell me about you." He takes a sip. "I know what happened to you. But where did you come from before you became ours?"

His words give me the butterflies.

I pick at the last piece of flatbread, tearing it into smaller pieces I don't eat.

"Well… my dad died when I was seven."

Plague sets his glass down.

"Car accident not long after they got divorced." I shrug the shoulder with the scar. "It was winter. Black ice. He was on his way home from work. Nothing dramatic or newsworthy, just… gone."

The candle flickers between us.

"Welcome to the dead dads club," I say, lifting my glass of water.

Plague snorts. It's one of the most unreserved sounds I've ever heard from him, and I grin even though my chest is tight.

"Exclusive membership," he says flatly. "Terrible benefits."

"Zero stars. Would not recommend." I clink my glass against his. "But hey, at least the company's good."

His eyes soften.