Page 388 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

Whiskey watched.

A lot.

Don't really care. I have to get used to being watched. I can't just never leave the fucking pack house again, not that I'm planning on it anytime soon.

Although Ivy hasn't left the house either.

She says she doesn’t mind.

Whiskey wipes his boots on the grass to try to get the tuna juice off. "Hey, uh, I was thinking…"

I look at him.

It's never good when he's thinking.

"We should go see that new horror movie tonight. Everyone. The whole pack. We can get the back row, even. It's got zombies with guns for arms. Sounds sick, huh? It's supposed to be a nod to horror movies before they tried to make you feel like shit inside."

My hands move before I can stop them.

You live in a fucking horror movie.

Whiskey blinks. "Huh?"

I gesture at my face with both hands. Same reason I'd be a horrible dad no matter what he wants to think. A kid deserves good parents. Not a feral freak.

You live with THIS every day now.

"Ohhh." He tilts his head, processing. "Night of the Feral Alpha?"

I roll my eyes.

"Revenge of the Feral Alpha? That one sucked ass."

Stop.

"The best one in that series is Return of the⁠—"

I shove him over.

He falls backward onto his ass, laughing. "Alright, alright. I deserved that," he says, the laughter fading and his face going soft behind the skull balaclava that covers most of it. "But you know that's not how I see you, right?"

I don't answer.

"Wraith."

I know.

His honey-brown eyes hold mine longer than I'd like, and even dressed like it's both Halloween and the end of the world at the same time, he looks more serious than I've ever seen him.

Don't like that.

"You're my brother," he says, thumping his chest with the side of his fist. "My bro of the heart. You could have tentacles and I'd just ask if you wanted me to braid 'em."

I snort. The fuck?

"Hell, I'd probably want some of my own. Ivy's freaky. I bet she'd love it."

You need help.