Page 51 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

The camera loves him.

The crowd loves him.

They have no idea what he is.

"The Demons' Wade Kelly has struggled since his fiancée's disappearance," the female anchor continues, her expression appropriately concerned. "But sources say he's channeling that pain into his game. He's playing some of the best hockey of his career."

"Bullshit," Thane mutters.

The broadcast shifts to footage of the Ghosts. I see Thane making a save, Wraith demolishing someone against the boards, Plague and Whiskey executing a perfect play and Whiskey giving Plague a high-five that's clearly unwanted.

Then footage of Valek from his previous team, scoring a goal with a wolfish grin. He stares into the camera as the news segment ends.

Some commercial for a cooking show comes on, and I reach for the remote to mute it.

"We need to talk about the game," I say quietly.

Behind me, Wraith goes rigid. Thane's expression shutters.

"I know what you're both thinking. And I know you want to…" I trail off, searching for the right word. "I know you want to handle Wade. Make him pay for what he did."

"Of course we do," Thane says flatly.

Wraith growls in agreement behind me.

"I know." I sigh. "But you can't do anything to him during the game. Either of you."

"Ivy—"

"No." My voice comes out sharper than I intend it to. "Listen to me. Wade is looking for a reason to make you the bad guys. To paint himself as the victim. If you go after him on the ice, if you hurt him, it gives him exactly what he wants. You could end up in prison. I'm serious."

Thane sets his jaw, but he's listening.

"The best way to protect me right now is to not give Wade ammunition," I continue. "If Valek is being honest, he doesn't know I'm here. We need to be safe. And you guys need to stay out of jail. Okay?"

Thane opens his mouth, then closes it, looking away.

Wraith is completely silent. Not even growling.

I fix Thane with my firmest look and reach back to put my hand on Wraith's arm since I can't exactly see him around the pillow wall. "Promise me. Both of you."

Thane's jaw works. "Fine. I promise."

I turn my head slightly toward where Wraith sits, waiting. I feel his shoulders slump in defeat and he holds his hand up to sign to me.

P-R-O-M-I-S-E.

"Good." I sink back against him. "Because I'm having this same conversation with Plague and Whiskey when they get here."

"Oh, that should be fun," Thane mutters. "Whiskey's going to love being told he can't punch Wade in the face."

"He'll deal." I grab my phone, already composing a message to the group chat. "I'll tell him right now."

The reply is almost immediate.

WHISKEY

WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CAN'T PUNCH HIM