Page 140 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

So much for not waking anyone.

I turn to Valek.

He's leaning against the wall by the door, arms crossed, silver eyes fixed on a point somewhere past my left shoulder. His jaw is set. His posture is casual in that deliberate way that means it's anything but.

Shifty.

He's being shifty.

"What happened?" I ask him.

"Nothing of consequence."

"Valek."

"We went for a walk."

"At four in the morning. And Whiskey came back covered in dirt."

"He's clumsy." Valek gestures in Whiskey's general direction. "You know that."

I cross my arms, mirroring his stance. "Tell me the truth."

His silver eyes finally meet mine. The flat emptiness he wears like armor flickers, just for a second, and underneath it I catch something almost sheepish.

On anyone else, I'd call it guilt.

On Valek, it looks more like mild inconvenience at being caught.

But I'll take it.

"We had a chat with Wade," he says finally.

My stomach drops.

"You what?"

"A chat." He holds up both hands. "Words only. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"No one was physically harmed." A beat. "Further."

I press my palms against my eyes. "Valek. He's in the hospital. There are cops. We literally just had a PR meeting about not making things worse and⁠—"

"Which is precisely why we went." His voice is calm. Infuriatingly reasonable. "Wade needed to understand the new parameters of his existence. We provided clarity."

"You threatened him."

"We communicated expectations."

I drop my hands and stare at him. He stares back, unblinking, silver eyes catching the faint light from the kitchen.

"He'll leave you alone," Valek says quietly. The smooth edges of his usual detachment soften just enough. "Trust me. He was terrified."

"If this comes back on the pack—" I start.

"It won't."