Page 447 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

Whiskey's stomach.

I keep my eyes shut, staying exactly where I am, because he's soft and warm and comfortable, and he's the one who's been petting my hair.

Because I "rested my eyes" for a second.

And I must have dreamed about fucking roasted chicken because Whiskey smells like cinnamon, too.

Great. He's infiltrating my dreams now.

"—third goal, bro, the Soldier was literally climbing him. Climbing him. And Wraith just… BAM!" The hand in my hair stills while his other arm flails violently in the air. "Shed him! I almost felt bad."

From the direction of the armchair comes Wraith's gravelly huff laugh.

"How many times is he gonna tell this story?" Thane asks from wherever he's holding up a wall.

"Until somebody stops me," Whiskey says. "And nobody's gonna stop me, because my boy got a fuckin' hat trick."

Ivy makes an excited, happy little sound.

The fingers in my hair keep stroking, the same rhythm from my dream, and everything in me goes loose and stupid all over.

Nobody was missing in my dream. And nobody's missing here, either.

My eyes open.

Whiskey's face is above mine, turned toward the armchair where Wraith and Ivy must be, Shadow's latest scratch still healing pink on his cheek. My arms are wrapped loosely around his torso, my body turned toward the back of the couch and toward him.

He isn't paying attention to me at all.

"I love you."

It comes out on my exhale.

It's barely a sound at all.

I don't even know I've said it until his hand stops.

Then it starts moving over my hair again, and his voice keeps rolling without a hitch, too loud, too steady.

Shit.

He heard me.

He absolutely fucking heard me.

Is Whiskey sparing me? Pretending not to hear so I can pretend I didn't say it? That's worse. That's so much fucking worse.

The last thing I want from Whiskey is mercy.

Across the room, over Whiskey's shoulder, Valek is leaning in the entrance to the kitchen. His eyes come up from his phone to watch Whiskey for a moment. Then they slide to me, and his lips curve slightly.

"Come and look," Valek announces suddenly, glancing back over his shoulder toward the kitchen table. "Shadow is asleep in Whiskey's motorcycle helmet. You can only see her ears. She looks like a bowl of black soup."

"OH MY GODS." The armchair creaks hard. I hear Ivy scrambling off Wraith's lap, fast footsteps, then slower, heavier ones behind her as seven feet of feral alpha unfolds to go fawn over our cat in a helmet with everyone else.

Including Thane, who pretends he's being forced to go even though he's become the cat's most doting servant.

I listen to every single one of them abandon me, and I briefly consider grabbing Ivy's ankle for help as she passes.