Page 130 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

Plague performed a minor miracle. The blankets are gone, the pillows are gone, and there's even a candle burning on the coffee table.

That's… probably over the top, but okay.

Plague stands by the bookshelf, adjusting volumes so their spines align perfectly. He's changed into a charcoal turtleneck and dark slacks. His hair is pulled back in a low ponytail and one of his black surgical masks is firmly in place.

He looks like he's about to attend a gallery opening, not a PR ambush.

"You cleaned," I say.

"Someone had to." His eyes flick to me for a second, then he swallows like he likes what he sees even though I'm just in a t-shirt.

"I helped," Whiskey protests.

Plague turns briskly to Whiskey, who is now wearing an actual dress shirt that clings to his solid frame, his muscles bulging the sleeves. It doesn't go with his pants. Although pants is a stretch for red flannels.

"You stuffed the sharks behind the couch," Plague tells him. "Then you ate the rest of the French toast."

Oh. That explains why there's a shark fin sticking out.

Thane appears from the hallway, freshly shaved, his dark eyes sweeping the room. He spots Wraith hovering behind me in the doorway and gives him a subtle nod.

You good?

Wraith shrugs.

"Where's Valek?" Thane asks.

"Present."

Valek materializes from the stairwell in a dark henley, like he was waiting to be asked about before making himself known.

He smiles at me.

It's actually not the usual vaguely menacing grin. This one's kind of stiff and awkward, curving up a little too much on one side, and he lets out a hoarse chuckle that he turns into clearing his throat and straightening his back.

I look down and realize it's because my white t-shirt is soaking wet from when I hugged Wraith, fresh out of the shower.

OH.

The doorbell rings.

I grab the closest thing, which is Whiskey's flannel, draped over the back of a kitchen chair, and yank it on over my wet shirt.

Whiskey stares. "Hey, wait, I need that so I match⁠—"

"Mine now. Omega rules."

Thane squares his shoulders, drags a hand through his damp hair, and goes to answer it.

Three people step inside. Two women and a man, all in business casual, all carrying tablets and expressions that say we've been briefed and we are NOT fucking happy about it. The woman in front, a beta in her mid-forties with a gray bob, extends a hand to Thane.

"Eliza Roach, Head of Public Relations. This is Ray and Daphne."

She doesn't wait for him to introduce himself. She knows who he is. Her eyes have already landed on Wraith.

To her credit, Eliza doesn't act weird with him. Her gaze holds steady on the bandages covering his lower face, the visible edge of the scar bisecting his eyebrow, the sheer size of the feral alpha looming in the doorway behind me.

Her eyes move to me next, and she nods slightly, like she recognized me right away and now she's sure. Then to Valek, where they linger longer than on anyone else.