Page 87 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

"I know," I murmur. "Hold on." I raise my voice to call out to Whiskey without looking away from Wraith. "Can you give us a few minutes?"

"Yeah." Whiskey's voice is rough. "Yeah, okay. I'll be right outside."

The door shuts.

We're alone.

"Wraith." I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. "You need my scent. Can you pull down your mask?"

He shakes his head frantically.

Not here. Bad light.

He's not wrong. Even the hockey sticks leaning against the wall have a hellish look to them.

"I won't look," I promise him. "I'll close my eyes. But you can't smell me properly through the mask."

His breathing stutters.

I pull off my face gaiter and gather my hair, pulling it away from my neck, exposing the area where my scent glands are beneath my skin. "Come here," I whisper, closing my eyes, as promised. "Just for a second. Just enough to breathe me in."

I hear the soft rasp of fabric against skin, and feel him shifting closer. His uneven breath ghosts across my exposed throat.

Then he inhales, deep and slow.

He exhales, then breathes, again and again, and the feral edge recedes.

My alpha comes back to me.

Chapter 15

Wraith

Honeysuckle and summer rain thread through the chemical burn of neutralizers, wrapping around me in the dark pit I've been drowning in.

Each breath of Ivy's scent pulls me further from the nightmare playing on loop in my skull. Her hands clutch my back, holding on like she's afraid I'll disappear.

Like I'm the one who might run.

The neutralizers are fading enough that I can catch traces of her scent beneath them, and my chest starts to unknot.

A low, rumbling vibration starts in hers.

Soft at first, barely there, but building steadily until I feel it through the blanket. My whole body goes slack as she purrs, my racing thoughts slowing to a crawl, then emptying.

She pulls back slightly, and panic spikes through me again—no, don't look, don't leave, please—but her hands come up to cup my face instead.

I freeze, then quickly bury my face in her palms, trying to hide again. But her eyes stay closed, keeping her promise.

"I love you," she whispers with a soft smile, smoothing her thumbs over my scarred cheekbones. "Nothing changes that."

Then she leans in and presses her lips to my teeth.

The kiss only lasts a few seconds, but those seconds stretch into infinity. Her lips are so warm, all the cold seems to leave the room. I feel the slight catch of her lips on the points, the way she adjusts the angle to fit us together despite the impossibility of kissing me.

My hands shake where they hover near her shoulders.

I'm afraid to pull her closer.