Page 155 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

Thane stares at me. "Aren't you?"

"Nope. I'm an Italian stallion," I say to him.

He frowns.

I look back toward the kitchen. "Hey. Valek," I call to the platinum-haired alpha filling his thermos at the sink. "Valek. VAL."

"What?" he asks finally, glancing back at me over his shoulder.

"You and Wraith could be bros too."

"I never told you where I was born," Valek says, rolling the ice around in his thermos and taking a long swig from it.

I narrow my eyes at him. He's fucking with me for sport again.

"BRO."

His lips curve at me. "What?"

But for once, he doesn’t sound like a total dick.

Fuck. I'm starting to like the guy for some reason, and not just because he's part of the fucking pack now, which I'm still reeling from. Then again, since my reality's been completely turned upside-down on its head, why the fuck not add in a little extra chaos?

He screws the lid back onto his thermos and walks past me without another word, brushing close enough that he pushes me aside a few inches.

Never mind.

Dickhead.

I scratch my chest and flop onto the couch next to Plague.

Thane walks into the hallway with his phone pressed to his ear, one finger up to signal he needs quiet. He's already changed out of his press-conference clothes into sweats and a t-shirt, and his shaggy hair is damp from splashing cold water on his face. The dark circles under his eyes have gotten intense.

He mouths Eliza at us.

I salute him.

He goes back to his call.

The silence that settles after feels like we pulled all our organs out, laid them on a table for the world to look at, and sewed ourselves back up without checking if everything got put back the right way.

I pull out my phone so I have something to do with my hands. Open a fan thread. Close it. Open the food delivery app. Scroll through options I don't actually see. My stomach is making demands, but my brain hasn't caught up yet.

"We need food," I announce to the room. "No one's really eaten since breakfast. We're gonna starve to death. And then what's Eliza gonna think?"

Nobody responds to my food declaration.

Rude.

Ivy's fingers are moving through Wraith's hair in those slow, repetitive passes that seem to put him into some kind of trance. His breathing has gone deep and even, but I don't think he's actually asleep. The eye that doesn't fully close all the way is watching me.

Normally, I'd be a little menaced by that. But it's starting to sink in lately that his aggression is only ever aimed at people who deserve it.

Or provoke the shit out of him.

To be fair, I've, uh. Done some provoking.

"I'm ordering Thai," I announce, louder this time.