Page 233 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

"Thank you."

Nervous?

"No."

He tilts his head, the kitchen light shining on his teeth.

"I'm not nervous," I sigh, pulling out a chair and sitting at the table. "I need to talk to you about something."

He sets the knife down and wipes his hands on a towel. He isn't wearing gloves, either, I realize, the webbed scars iridescent in the same light that shines on his sharp teeth. He turns to face me fully, leaning his hip against the counter and crossing his arms, which on Wraith looks like two tree trunks folding across a cliff face.

That slight wariness bleeds into his blue eyes as I meet his gaze. He still isn't comfortable being looked at, even now.

"So… Cedarbrook."

His jaw tightens enough that the exposed tendons pull, and his eyes go flat in a way that means the conversation is already unwelcome.

"When are you going back?"

He shakes his head. No.

That… isn't exactly an answer to the question I asked, but okay. "The nerve damage is getting worse," I say gently. "You're compensating. You hold your head at an angle, and I can tell you don't go around the house unmasked because you want to⁠—"

I said no.

"Wraith…"

He shoves off the counter and turns his back to me, bracing both hands on the edge of the sink. His massive shoulders bunch under his dark shirt.

I wait.

He doesn't move.

"What are you afraid they'll tell you?" I ask quietly.

His fingers grip the sink hard enough the metal creaks.

Then his hands come up.

That I can't wear anything on my face anymore.

I don't react. I keep my breathing even, my posture still.

The pressure, he continues slowly. The masks. The scarf. Even the fabric makes it worse. It's driving me fucking insane. I'm scared I'll…

His hands drop for a moment and he sighs, steadying himself.

If they tell me I can't cover my face anymore, I can't leave this house.

He turns around. His blue eyes are burning, but not with anger. He looks terrified. Miserable and terrified.

If I can't leave, I might go feral. Fully this time. Permanently.

I let my eyes drop to my hands, taking a deep breath as I consider my next words carefully.

I've read the literature on feral degeneration in alphas and omegas. Betas are less affected. Progressive neurological deterioration is triggered by isolation and sensory deprivation. The brain rewires itself for survival instead of connection, and past a certain threshold, the process becomes irreversible.

He knows this.