Page 310 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

Valek opens one silver eye, watching me. Guess he wasn't asleep after all.

I roll my eyes and pull my stall door open, stripping off my warmup jacket. "Just got off the phone with my dad. League's ruling stands. Instinct defense holds for all of us. We keep playing."

Whiskey's fist pumps straight into the air. "FUCK yeah!"

"There's a condition."

His fist stays up. "Oh no."

I yank my base layer over my head and reach for my chest protector. "The pack bond has to be verified as complete. All five marks on Ivy, confirmed by medical exam. If Wraith hasn't marked her by end of month, the instinct defense is in jeopardy."

The fist comes down.

Plague sets his skate on the floor, both feet flat, spine straight. "That's in two weeks."

"Yup."

"What about Wraith's nerve damage?" Plague asks carefully.

"I have no fucking idea. He won't talk to me about it." I step into my leg pads and start strapping them. "He's going to the doctor tomorrow."

Valek hasn't moved. Both eyes are open now, though. The silver in them is flat and cold. I'm starting to think that's how he looks when he's worried.

Whiskey scrubs both hands down his face. "Well, shit."

"Yeah."

I pull my chest protector on and start cinching the straps, focusing on the familiar motions to keep myself from going insane. Tighten, adjust, tighten. The routine helps.

"Can you text Ivy and Wraith while I finish getting ready?" I ask Whiskey, dragging a hand through my hair. "I don't want them hearing this secondhand."

Whiskey already has his phone out. "Yeah, sure." He scratches the back of his neck with the phone. "You know we're fucked, right?"

I yank my jersey over my head.

The Wasps are on a five-game winning streak. Their goalie is a beast. Wraith, the most formidable alpha in our pack and our team, is off the ice.

"Yes, Whiskey." I grab my helmet off the shelf. "I know we're fucked."

Chapter 65

Wraith

WHISKEY

Yooooo bro you can play again but you gotta mark our omega by the end of the month.

League says all five marks or the instinct defense is toast.

Two weeks bro

You got this

Ido not got this.

My thumb hovers over the screen.

Ivy shifts in my lap, devouring a bucket of popcorn. She's wrapped in a Ghosts team blanket like a burrito, her hair spilling over one shoulder, nestled happily against my body.