Page 27 of Pucking Feral: Part Two
My hands are shaking too badly. Can't form the letters. Can't coordinate the movements.
Everything's static, still.
Fuck.
Did I go completely feral?
I could have hurt her...
Thane appears beside us, emerging from the collapsed tent like some kind of disaster movie survivor. His hair's plastered to his head, shirt soaked through with rain and mud, but his dark eyes are laser-focused on me with the pack leader intensity that usually makes me bristle.
When I don't feel like I'm going to fucking puke or pass out, at least.
"Brother," he says quietly, signing as he speaks. “You with us?”
I manage a jerky nod.
“What do you need?”
My hands lift, drop, lift again.
My brain is sludge. Static and sludge.
All I can manage is fingerspelling.
H-O-M-E.
"The pack house?" Thane clarifies.
Another nod.
He breathes in relief. "Okay. We can do that. Valek's in Canada, remember? Whiskey and Plague are gone, too. House is empty."
Empty.
No Valek prowling.
No threat to Ivy.
Just our territory, our space, our pack house where I can—
Where I can hide again.
"Let's get you back to the SUV," Thane says, already moving to gather our scattered supplies and the tent.
Ivy's hands squeeze mine once more before releasing. "Can you stand?"
I can. My legs feel like they're made of water, but I force myself up. Tower over her even when everything in me wants to make myself smaller.
Less.
Nothing.
She reaches up to adjust the scarf around my face and I flinch automatically. But her touch is gentle, careful, as she wraps the damp silk back into place.
"There," she says softly. "Better?"
Not really.
