Page 39 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

She starts toweling him off. I hear his soft sounds of reluctant contentment as she works, nearly purring, then laughing and pushing playfully at her when she aggressively dries off his shaggy wet hair.

They're bonding.

My scent match and my brother.

This is right.

This is how it should be.

Even if I still can't believe it's real.

"Okay," Ivy announces, wrapping her hair up in the towel. "Now, um, can we please get out of this tiny bathroom before I develop claustrophobia? I love a good den, but… yeah."

"Good idea," Thane agrees immediately. "I can see fuck-all in here."

He fumbles for the door, and I move to help him. Dim light from the loft spills in when I open the door and I turn my face away automatically even though Ivy's already seen too much. Even though the mask that's supposed to cover me is soaking wet and useless around my neck.

They move out first. Ivy, then Thane. I follow, keeping my head down, one hand hovering near my face like maybe I can hide some of it behind my palm. My mask is too soaked to pull it off.

"Wraith," Ivy says, and I glance up despite myself.

She's sitting on the edge of my bed, swinging her feet, gloriously naked, hair dripping onto her shoulders. Those ocean eyes find mine, and there's no fear there.

"Come here," she says, patting the mattress beside her.

My feet move before my brain can catch up. Autopilot. Following her voice like it's the only thing that matters.

The bed dips under my weight as I sit and she tumbles toward me. She immediately climbs into my lap, straddling my thighs, looking up at me through her wet hair.

"Hi," she whispers.

I manage a small, wary wave.

She waves back, grinning, and then presses both our palms together, threading her slender fingers through mine.

She can see me.

The thought slams into my chest again. The loft is mostly dark, but it's lit enough I know she can make out every freakish detail of my face.

My entire body locks up and I start pulling back.

"Hey," she says softly, and her hands come up to frame my face. I flinch and screw my eyes shut as her thumbs stroke along what's left of my face, following the ridges of exposed muscle and scarred flesh.

She leans closer.

Fuck, no, don't⁠—

Her lips press against my teeth.

Not my mouth.

I don't have one anymore, not really. Not a fucking normal mouth. Just this permanent ravaged grin of sharp points and exposed gums.

But she kisses me anyway.

The world stops.

Can't process this.