I glance at the clock. That's barely enough time to shower and start rehearsing how to pretend I haven't been fucked within an inch of my life.
"Guess the party's over," I say, texting back a quick "sure" as I climb out of bed and head for the bathroom, wincing with every step. I've never been so deliciously sore in my life.
"Wait, you're seriously going?" Whiskey sits up, brow furrowing in concern. "To middle-of-nowhere Cedarbrook?"
"Is it really that bad?" I ask doubtfully.
Whiskey winces. "I went up there once with Thane because Wraith disappeared and we wanted to make sure he was okay. It's kind of a freaky town." He drags his hands through his hair. "Shit. Now that song's stuck in my head again."
Plague pauses, then turns to him. "What song?"
"Freakytown," Whiskey says like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"Do you meanFunkytown?" Plague asks incredulously.
"Nah. Pretty sure it's Freakytown," Whiskey says, yawning and stretching his muscled arms like a giant jacked cat. I steal an appreciative glance at his biceps as I slip into the bathroom,leaving them to a debate that could be settled with a simple Google search if they weren't such stubborn alphas.
The shower is quick and unsatisfying, but at least I don't smell like I've been in a three-way alpha sandwich in a musty hotel bed anymore. When I emerge, Whiskey and Plague have managed to make themselves presentable, though Plague has a bite mark on his neck that his turtleneck doesn't quite cover.
Oops.
The ride back to the pack house is tense. We take Plague's car again, and I'm hidden in the backseat like contraband. Every red light feels like an eternity, every passing car a potential threat. The paranoia never really goes away. It just gets manageable sometimes.
The underground parking garage is dimly lit, all concrete shadows and fluorescent flickers that make everything look like a crime scene waiting to happen. A black SUV idles next to a pillar, and my heart does that stupid stuttering thing when I spot the massive figure in a black coat standing beside it, his arms crossed tight over his chest and his choppy dark hair obscuring his worried blue eyes.
Wraith.
Even from here, I can see the tension radiating from his seven-foot-plus frame, the way he shifts his massive weight from foot to foot like he's been counting every second since I left. The black face gaiter covering his lower face can't hide the intensity of his gaze that locks onto me the instant he sees us.
"This is where we leave you," Plague says, ever formal even after everything we've done together.
The second I'm out of the car, Wraith's there, closing the distance between us in three massive strides that eat up the space like it's nothing. His scarred hands hover near me, not quite touching, like he needs permission even after everything.
"Hi," I whisper, and that's all it takes.
His arms engulf me completely, tight and claiming but gentle. Like I'm precious. He smells like midnight forests and safety, and I let myself melt into him for just a moment. His broad chest rumbles with his version of a purr.
Thane shuts the trunk and comes around to our side of the SUV, looking every inch the protective pack leader even in the shitty lighting. "Hey," he says, his dark eyes lightening when they meet mine. Some of the tension bleeds out of his broad shoulders.
"Hey," I say back to him, managing a smile as I reluctantly pull away from Wraith.
Thane opens his mouth, then closes it, like he wants to say something to me but doesn't know where to start. He settles for raking a hand through his dark hair instead. "Valek's been on the phone almost all afternoon," he says finally, letting out a long exhale. "Not surewhy,but he's been busy. So he didn't notice us leaving. But like I said, it's normal for Wraith to go to Cedarbrook, so it won't be suspicious."
"Is it normal for you to go?" I ask.
"No," Thane admits. "But I don't think anyone else would know that."
Wraith's eyes flick between us warily. He's back to his guarded posture again, arms folded, his energy withdrawn.
"I think it's a good plan," Whiskey interjects, lumbering up to us. "Just… be careful. Everyone up there is fucking weird."
Wraith's head snaps up to glare at Whiskey.
"I'm sure I'll be fine," I say dryly.
"For fuck's sake, Whiskey, it's just a small town," Plague remarks. "It's probably safer than here."
"It isn't. I've been," Whiskey insists, but he's already backing toward Plague's car under the weight of Wraith's murderous stare. Smart man. Even with the mask covering most of his face, Wraith's ability to convey rage through body language and growling alone is fucking impressive. "Text us if anything gets weird, yeah?"
