Page 330 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

"Easy," I murmur.

Wraith's face doesn't surprise me anymore, not even at night. What does is that he's in full daylight like this, the sun lighting up his teeth and everything else he's usually so terrified of letting anyone see, too mentally fucked to do anything but lumber in my general direction as if his brain and spirit have completely left his body.

"Just the SUV," I say, tugging on his hand again. "Ten seconds of walking. I promise."

We make it to the corner and the parking lot opens ahead of us. There aren't many cars, and there are maybe six people scattered between us and the black SUV.

Not many, but too many all the same.

"Eyes on me," I whisper, leading him. He steps off the curb and onto the asphalt of the parking lot with a low rumble. His breathing is ragged, but he's moving.

"That's it. You're doing great."

His boot crosses the faded line marking the edge of the service lane.

A woman beside a blue sedan looks up. She's talking and smiling, her phone propped between her ear and her shoulder as she digs in her purse for her keys.

Her eyes land on Wraith's body first, traveling up his impossible height, and then she sees his face.

Her mouth drops open with a cry.

The phone falls out of her hand and smacks the asphalt.

Wraith freezes, eyes locked on the shattered phone and the tinny voice shouting from it.

"HellooOOoo? Mandy? You still there?"

And now other people are staring, too. A kid is screaming bloody murder, his mom pulling him away frantically, like they're in a freaking zombie movie and my mate is the zombie.

Wraith is going to have to live like this.

Sick with sudden terror, I turn to try to get him to go in the other direction, but he's already gone.

I whip back around to glare at the woman.

"Seriously?" I shout at her.

I don't stick around to hear what she has to say for herself. I race after Wraith, my shoes pounding the concrete, and round the corner hard enough I trip and almost faceplant. I catch myself, arms windmilling, and skid to a stop.

Wraith is beside the dumpster, sitting with his back pressed to the wall, knees up, both hands clamped over his face. The growl rolling out of him is low and continuous.

It doesn't sound like his normal growl.

My pulse jumps into my throat, but I slow down before approaching. Fast movement is a bad idea. Touch might be worse.

I sit down on the cold, filthy concrete across from him. Close enough that he can see me and smell me, but just far enough that I'm not cornering him.

I rest my forearms over my knees and start purring again, batting my eyelashes up at him over my arms, trying to look cute and appealing because that usually works when he's having a feral episode.

His breaths scrape in and out behind his hands, the muscles in his back straining against his hoodie.

I match my breathing to the pace I want from him, focusing on evening out and strengthening my purr. The rumble from Wraith's chest gets louder, rough and warning, but he doesn't move away.

We sit like that for a while. Could even be half an hour. I don't dare move, even though my phone goes off in my pocket. Checking it means moving and possibly scaring him again.

If it's Valek, he'll find us.

And if it's anyone else, they can wait.