Page 57 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

Plague stares at him. "What are you fucking doing?"

"Opening your door. Being a gentleman."

The look Plague gives him could melt steel. He slams the door shut and circles around to the back. "I'm sitting in the back."

"You didn't have to shut the door," Whiskey says to him, popping the trunk. "Val needs to get in if you don't wanna sit up front. By the way, if knife psycho here decides to hijack the car, I'd rather have him in the back. So you've probably just fucked us all in the collective ass."

"I'm right here," I say dryly, loading my luggage into the trunk. "By the way, from the back, I could just strangle you. And I'm very good at strangling."

"That's not reassuring, dude," Whiskey grumbles, settling into the driver's seat. I slide into the front alongside him and we pull out of the garage into weak afternoon sunlight, crisp rain pattering down.

The drive starts quietly. Too quietly. Whiskey keeps glancing at me like he's building up to something. His hands grip the steering wheel tighter than necessary, knuckles white.

Here it comes.

"Look," he says finally, his tone dropping to something more serious. "I'm gonna make this real simple for you."

"Please do," I drawl. "I appreciate simplicity."

"Stay away from the loft. Stay away from the omega we're protecting. You so much as think about going near her, and I'll fold you in half and shove your own head up your ass."

"Oh? Is that what you were trying to do before?" I ask conversationally. "When I nearly killed the two of you on that mountain road?"

His jaw clenches. "I'm serious."

"So am I." I turn to look at him directly. "You stalked me to another country. You followed me to my mother's hospital room. You crashed your vehicle trying to chase me down like dogs. And now you want me to be afraid of you?"

"You should be," Plague says quietly from the back.

I shift to look at him in the rearview mirror. Those pale eyes are cold as winter, and there's steel underneath that refined exterior. "Should I? Because from where I'm sitting, you two can barely protect yourselves, let alone an omega on the run."

Whiskey's hands tighten on the wheel. "We're doing fine."

"Are you? You left her alone with a feral alpha and his brother while you flew off to Canada to play Sherlock Holmes and John Watson."

"Wraith's unhinged, but he's got a good heart," Whiskey grits out. "Yeah, so he's scary as fuck, and I'm a little worried, but I also know he'd never hurt an omega. Alphas, on the other hand? Fair fucking game." He glances pointedly at me. "And Thane's a stuffy asshole who takes himself too seriously, like Plague here, but he's a psycho son of a bitch himself. If anyone came anywhere near the omega we're protecting, the brothers would rip him apart with their bare hands."

"Excuse me?" Plague says from behind us.

"You are a stuffy asshole," I say to him with a slight grin, turning back to Whiskey. "That may all be true. I don't know your pack. Yet. But I'm not your enemy, and I'm not going to pretend you have this situation under control when you clearly don't. Your pack is falling apart at the seams. You're a bigger threat to each other than anything else is."

Whiskey and Plague exchange a glance in the rearview mirror. Something passes between them, unspoken but heavy with meaning.

"You done with the life coach bullshit?" Whiskey asks, but there's less hostility in his voice than before.

"For now."

We drive in silence for a while. I watch the familiar landmarks appear as we get closer to the pack house. The arena rising in the distance, the pack house on the hill overlooking it, both structures looking almost peaceful in the rain and fog.

"For what it's worth," Whiskey says as we pull into the underground garage, "I don't think you're gonna hurt her."

I glance at him, arching an eyebrow in surprise. "No?"

"Nah. I don't get that vibe from you. And I follow my gut." He parks and cuts the engine. "You're still a psychotic, half-feral asshole with anger management issues, though."

It's possibly the nicest thing he'll ever say to me.

"High praise," I say dryly, climbing out of the car.