Page 424 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

"Oh, fuck," I mutter, already starting to shrug out of it while he just stands there and blinks down at me. "Why didn't you tell me I still had your coat?"

It's cold, he signs simply. Keep it.

"I have my own coat on under it. I'm fine," I tell him, unrolling the sleeves so I can wriggle my way out of it. My own sleeves are tangled up in it. "I'm actually cooking in this. Seriously."

He hesitates, his eyes traveling over my clothes. Are you sure?

"Very." I hand it back to him. It's so heavy, my arm sags beneath its weight. "You're so fucking sweet. You were going to go in there without a hood because you thought I was cold."

I swear his ears turn slightly red. It's no big deal.

It's very much a big deal.

He pulls the coat back on and adjusts the hood. His shoulders only loosen up when he's as covered as he possibly can be without an actual mask.

Do I look okay? he signs, dryly.

"More than okay. You're beautiful."

I am not.

"I'm the omega. I make the rules, remember?" I tease, bumping my hip against him.

And I mean it with all my heart.

I don't tell him he isn't just hot as fuck in his canvas jacket, he's cute, because a giant shy alpha is catnip for me, apparently. It's way too easy to fluster him. He's already flustered right now, just from that.

We walk in together, me slightly in front so I'm the first thing anyone sees, and when he pushes the door open over my head, the fucking cowbell over the door announces us to everyone.

Everyone turns out to be just four people, at least. A grizzled old alpha at the counter with his back to us. A beta couple in a booth by the window, both of them looking up over laminated menus. And an omega server leaning against the coffee machine with a rag over one shoulder, mid-conversation with the cook through the pass-through window.

The server sees me first and starts a smile.

Then she looks behind me, and up.

Her face drains of color so fast I actually watch it happen. The smile freezes halfway up and just stays there, frozen like a glitched out animation, while her knuckles go white around the coffee pot handle.

"Hi," I say brightly, stepping forward, and she drags her eyes down to me with visible effort, her throat working. "Corner booth for two, please?"

"Y-yeah," she manages. "Yeah, of course. Anywhere you want. It's… anywhere."

She grabs two menus and walks us over without once turning fully around, moving kind of sideways, her eyes flicking back toward Wraith's general vicinity without looking directly at his face.

She's trying to be polite, but she's making it glaringly obvious he's scaring her, as if he might snap. Because my mate is the kind of alpha the news says should be muzzled. The kind you're supposed to call somebody about.

Even though he'd never be a threat to her.

The couple watches us pass. The female beta's menu lowers slowly. The male beta turns back to his coffee, clearly deciding this is none of his business.

Wraith slides into the corner of the booth, back to the wall, facing the door. He's always facing exits and entrances, keeping me safe, even if it means his sharp teeth are now immediately obvious to anyone who looks over here.

I sit across from him, hoping my head and hair at least block some of it. But he's so tall, even sitting down, I don't think so.

The omega server sets the menus down. Her hand shakes hard enough that the plastic laminate rattles against the tabletop.

"Can I… can I get you drinks?" she squeaks.

I glance up at Wraith.