Page 41 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

My family has claimed the large corner booth, and somehow—somehow—Tweedledee and Tweedledum have already arrived and integrated themselves into the Carter family ecosystem like invasive species.

Whiskey's massive frame takes up half the booth, gesturing wildly with his hands as he tells some story that has Finn laughing so hard he's crying. Plague sits ramrod straight beside him, looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else but managing polite conversation with the Chaos Dumbass and my family.

And there's my mother.

My sweet, meddling, utterly oblivious mother, her cast propped on a decorative pillow someone got from gods know where, beaming at these two alphas who clearly can't tell if they love or hate each other and are pretending to be a couple.

And for what fucking reason?

To maintain their cover while they stalk me?

The absurdity of this situation would almost be funny if it wasn't so fucking irritating.

"Val!" my mother shouts the moment she spots me, waving with her cast like I'm the prodigal son returning instead of the dangerous thing she invited into her home and tried to rehabilitate. Key word being tried. "Over here, sweetheart!"

Every head in the restaurant turns.

My favorite.

I paste on what I hope passes for a pleasant expression and make my way through the tables, hyperaware of all the eyes on me and the whispers that follow.

Is that Valek?

Yup. Guy sticks out like a sore thumb.

It’s scary he’s still running loose. Guess they don’t lock people up for murder where he’s from.

That last one makes my jaw tighten.

"I'm late. My apologies," I say, sliding into the booth next to Caleb, who immediately shifts to give me space. My brother knows better than most that I need room to breathe. "How are you feeling after your surgery?"

I attempt an actual smile for her, but it makes Whiskey's eyes widen slightly. Guess it wasn't a good one.

Perhaps I should wear a surgical mask like his boyfriend does to make myself look more approachable.

But Plague isn't wearing one at all tonight, much to my surprise. Then again, he can't eat while wearing a mask, can he?

At least I know he's suffering as much as I am, even for a different reason.

Fork and Barrel isn't exactly the cleanest establishment. The gigantic wooden beaver statue outside, the one posed as if it's gnawing into the corner of the restaurant, is sticky enough to attract flies.

I'm certain he saw them.

Wish I could have seen what his face did.

"Oh, it was fine!" My mother waves dismissively, though I can see the exhaustion around her eyes. "Quick as can be. I'll be back to baking in no time." She gestures to Whiskey and Plague with her cast. "I was just getting to know your teammates better. Did you know Whiskey here was a Marine? And Plague studied medicine before hockey!"

"Fascinating," I say flatly.

Whiskey's grin doesn't falter. He opens his mouth to say something that's surely stupid, but Plague shifts slightly and glances sideways at him, and Whiskey grunts like something painful happened to him beneath the table.

Good. Plague can tell I'm in a piss-poor mood and will keep Whiskey leashed, if we're all lucky tonight.

"Your mom's been telling us stories," Whiskey says cheerfully to me, as if we're all friends now. "Apparently you were quite the troublemaker as a kid."

"I wasn't," I say shortly.

"He was," Caleb interjects, earning a sharp look from me that he ignores. "Remember when you convinced Finn that eating snow would give him superpowers?"