Page 31 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

"Hey." I put my hand on his arm, firm enough to anchor him. "Light on or off?"

He signs so fast his fingers blur. O-F-F.

"Okay."

I reach past him, and the brush of my arm against his chest makes him flinch. I flip the switch and the bathroom plunges into darkness. The only light left is a thin stripe leaking under the door from the loft, and there isn't much in there, so… that's saying something.

"Better?" I ask.

I can't really see him in the dark, but I can vaguely make out his shadow nodding.

I move closer, letting the towel drop from my body to the floor. I feel for him and my hands find his chest, the cotton of his shirt damp from the rain, heart thundering beneath the fabric under my palms.

"Can I?" I ask, curling my fingers into the hem and giving it an experimental tug.

A low growl, affirmative but anxious, rumbles through his chest.

I pull his shirt up, and he has to duck to help me get it over his head. Even standing on my tiptoes and with him bent forward, I can barely reach. The absurdity of our size difference would make me laugh if this moment wasn't so fragile.

He tenses up as my fingers follow the web of scars spreading across his collarbones and pecs. Some of it is smooth and taut. Some is textured and raised. All of it, warm and silky, almost like pearl.

"You're so strong," I murmur appreciatively. "All this muscle. It's like you're carved from stone."

He makes a doubtful rumbling sound, but there's no way he can disagree with that.

His hands brush my waist, his scarred palms hesitating even as I encourage him by leaning into his touch. He's so careful. So gentle with his hands that could crush me without even trying.

"Come on," I say, taking his hands and pulling him toward the shower. "Let's get the rain and camp dirt off us. I feel grody."

More wary rumbling.

The water is piping hot when I turn it on, and I adjust it until it's just above lukewarm. If his scars are anything like mine, they're sensitive to temperature changes, and what's comfortable on unscarred skin can hurt like a bitch in other places.

He has to duck slightly to fit under the showerhead, and most of the water hits his upper chest instead of the top of his head. His arm brushes mine and I feel the tremor that runs through his whole body. The panic trying to claw its way back in.

Not on my watch.

I reach for the shampoo and work it between my palms, then slide my fingers into his dark, choppy hair. It's gritty with dirt from the forest, and I work through the strands methodically. It's just long enough to tangle, and I work through the knots, scrubbing gently at his scalp, running my nails lightly against the base of his skull.

His massive shoulders sag slightly and his head tilts forward until the top of his head presses against my shoulder as he practically folds himself over to get closer to me. A sound escapes him that I feel more than hear. Half broken purr, half deep subwoofer growl, but he cuts it off almost as soon as it starts.

Like he's embarrassed.

"That's a good sound," I tell him, smiling. "You like that?"

His hands are braced against the shower wall, and I realize with a rush of fierce tenderness that he's practically melting. This massive, terrifying, feral alpha is leaning into my fingers like a giant dog getting scratched behind the ears.

I work the shampoo through the rest of his hair, scratching gently, letting him have this moment where someone touches him and it's safe. He flinches when I move too quickly, and I'm just an omega. It's clear he's been treated terribly, and he associates whatever happened with not having his face covered.

The thought of what he's been through makes my stomach churn.

I just really fucking wish he'd take his mask off. At least around me, when it's dark like this. The soaked fabric must be clinging to his face because he sounds like he's struggling to find a way to breathe comfortably through it.

"Wraith." My hands pause in his hair. "Your mask is drenched. You're basically waterboarding yourself."

He responds with a dismissive grunt.

Of course he'd rather suffocate.