Page 235 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

Footsteps thunder down the hall.

The kitchen door bangs open and Whiskey fills the frame, still in his flannel from earlier, hair standing in six directions, grinning so wide his face barely contains it.

Speak of the devil.

"YO!" He makes finger guns at me. "Tonight's the night, baby! You ready? You pumped? I'm fuckin' pumped!"

"Whiskey."

He stops mid-shooting-me-with-his-hands. "What?"

I look pointedly at Wraith, who's gone back to cutting fruit. Whiskey just looks at me like a clueless gigantic puppy.

Wait. I can sign while Wraith isn't watching.

We're talking about something serious, I sign to Whiskey, eyeing Wraith the entire time to drop my hands the moment he turns around.

Whiskey slowly blinks those big brown eyes. "Uhh… what's serious?"

Wraith spins to stare at us, his eyes sharp and narrow.

Oh, for the love of fuck…

"Nothing," I croak. "We were just finishing up."

Wraith gives me a long, unreadable look. Then he turns back to the fruit.

Whiskey bounces on the balls of his feet, clearly too wired to register the shift in atmosphere. "Cool. Cool cool cool. So what time are we doing tonight's mark? I was thinking we could⁠—"

"Ten," I say. "We're going to a hotel."

"And when's your date?"

I check the vintage Cartier on my wrist. "Leaving in two hours."

"Bro, you're dressed like it's in ten minutes."

"I can't wear a flannel and jeans where we're going," I say dryly. "And neither can you, by the way. We're spending the night at a five-star hotel. Showing up looking like a werewolf will draw attention."

"Oh, I've been to five-star hotels," he says.

"I don't mean five stars on Yelp, Whiskey."

He doesn't say anything. He's… staring at me. Looking me up and down.

By the time his grin softens into a warm, almost sweet smile, I'm already pushing my chair back and standing because I don't like the cutesy bonding turn the conversation's about to take.

Gods only know how much we might bond tonight.

So much for this is never happening again, Whiskey.

"Well, you look good," he says, his lips curving slightly. "You'd look good in flannel, too, though. 'Specially mine."

"Thank you," I mutter.

Wraith huffs.

Whiskey barks a laugh and I leave the kitchen before either of them can see my ears go pink, because they're already doing it and the last thing I need is Whiskey pointing it out.

The hallway is dim and quiet. From somewhere above, I hear the soft murmur of Ivy's voice drifting down through the open loft hatch.

"…no, Eliza, I understand, but the wording on the third paragraph implies consent was ambiguous, and it wasn't. The mark was forced. Full stop. I'm not softening that to make it more palatable."

A pause. Then Thane's low voice, steady and measured.

"She's right. If anyone bitches, have them call me directly."

I stop at the base of the loft stairs without meaning to.

She's up there helping Thane with Eliza. Wade's team is putting out fires by starting new ones, and Ivy is stamping them out from her nest on Wraith's bed.

She's truly become the heart of our pack.

And I pray I can be half the alpha the heart deserves.