Page 258 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

"Yeah," I say, pulling his forehead down to mine. "Of course I'll come."

His chest expands with a shuddering breath and his arms tighten around me, pulling me flush against him.

"BREAKFAST IS SERVED, MOTHERFUCKERS!"

Whiskey's bellow shakes the light fixture above us. Wraith's arms tighten reflexively and I nearly bite my own tongue from being squeezed.

Valek shuts his book loudly.

"COME AND GET IT BEFORE PLAGUE MAKES ME PLATE IT ALL FANCY AND SHIT!"

Wraith is already rising to his full height, carrying me with him effortlessly, and he sets me gently on my feet. He may be in terrible pain, but he's still ridiculously fucking strong.

"My hero," I tease him, kissing his jaw before padding into the kitchen.

The first thing I see is that Whiskey is wearing a cape.

Well, technically, it's a Ghosts team blanket safety-pinned at his throat and billowing behind him as he moves between the counter and the table with a spatula in one hand and a carton of orange juice in the other.

"Why are you wearing a cape?" I ask him, raising my eyebrows.

He looks down at himself, then back up at me, as if the answer is self-evident. "Because I'm marked now." He taps the bite on his neck proudly, grinning so wide I can see his molars. "Marked alphas have to wear capes. It's a thing. Plague's is on his way."

"It is absolutely not a thing," Plague says from the stove without turning around. His own fresh mark peeks above his collar. Their marks have healed, but they're pink rather than silver like mine. Maybe it's because they're alphas. "Whiskey just likes to dress as a superhero when we go to the hospital. And he's desperate to come up with a reason for me to do the same."

"You could be a supervillain if being a hero isn't cool enough for you," Whiskey offers.

"No thank you."

Thane appears behind me in the doorway, takes one look at Whiskey, and turns around.

"Nope," he says, walking away.

"BRO!" Whiskey shouts after him. "GET BACK HERE! I MADE YOU EGGS!"

Wraith makes a huffing sound as he ducks under the doorframe to join us. I already know he won't eat with the rest of the pack, but he crosses to the table and pulls out his usual seat at the far end.

I settle into my usual seat, too.

His lap.

His arms close around me automatically, muscle memory pulling me against his chest. I lean back, rest my head against his collarbone, and wait.

Nothing.

I press closer, shifting my weight, settling deeper into him and nuzzling into his collarbone and his scarred throat. The way that always kicks the purr on, like turning a key.

Still nothing.

Wraith's purr is completely gone.

I keep my breathing steady, lacing my fingers through his where they rest against my stomach, and hold on.

Thane announces halfway through breakfast that we need to leave in an hour. Whiskey takes off in a flash, yelling about getting ready, nearly flattening Valek just as the silver-haired alpha finally comes into the kitchen.

Wraith's hands leave mine.

I feel him reach up and hear the soft drag of fabric. I don't have to look to know he's pulling the gaiter up over his lower face and smoothing it across the bridge of his nose with fingers that know exactly where every edge needs to sit.