Page 301 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

From being pepper sprayed.

The server, a middle-aged beta woman with her hair up in the tightest bun I've ever seen, stands frozen behind the host stand, a laminated menu clamped against her chest.

"Two, please," Valek says pleasantly.

She blinks, her eyes flicking between Valek's bloodshot eyes and the bite wound I left on his shoulder, the crescent edge of it visible where the scooped collar of his shirt doesn't fully cover it.

"Booth, if you have one," he adds with his best attempt at a normal smile. It does absolutely nothing to offset the blood crusted in his hairline.

I have to chomp on my lower lip hard to keep from losing it at the utterly horrified look on the server's face.

"I… sure," she squeaks, grabbing a second menu. "Follow me."

The diner is nearly empty at 4 AM, other than a trucker leaning on his forearms at the counter, chattering away to a bored server. A college-aged kid with headphones falling off his head is dead asleep in a window booth.

Neither looks up.

The waitress leads us to the darkest corner booth, which is exactly what I would have picked, and I'm sure Valek would too. She sets the menus down and clasps her hands together, gulping.

"Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Hot chocolate, please," I say, smiling. "And a sundae."

She writes it down without making eye contact, her pen moving so fast it tears through the pad.

"Tea, if you have it," Valek says. "Black."

"We have, um. BetaBlend?"

His expression doesn't change, but I feel the pain radiate off him through the bond. "That will be fine. Thank you."

She practically sprints away.

I slide into the booth and sink against the cracked vinyl, pulling my legs up onto the seat. Everything hurts. Even my palms hurt.

Worth it.

So fucking worth it.

Valek settles deeper into the booth, his long legs stretching under the table until his boot nudges mine.

"She thinks we're feral," I whisper.

"We are feral."

I laugh a little too loudly for the almost-empty diner. The trucker glances over with a bushy eyebrow arched all the way up into his receding hairline and I clamp my hand over my mouth.

Valek watches me with that faint curl at the corner of his lips.

I nudge his boot back. "Are you going to explain why you had a survival cache in the woods? With a burner phone?"

"One should always be prepared."

"For what? Nuclear war?"

"For anything." He folds his scratched-up hands on the table. "I have three others, by the way."

"Three?"