Page 173 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

VALEK

Pack bonding.

And a photo.

I tap it open and…

Oh my gods.

It's a shot taken from above, Valek's arm long enough to get a clear angle. Plague is on his back, dark hair fanned across a pillow, Valek's cock stuffed in his mouth, his eyes dazed but flinty with fresh irritation.

And Whiskey is between Plague's thighs, face buried in his lap, one big hand pinning Plague's hip to the mattress.

And Valek—the photographer, naturally—is looking up at the camera with that wolfish smirk, platinum hair falling across one silver eye, his free hand tangled in Plague's dark hair.

Heat rockets through my entire body.

I stare at the photo.

Stare some more.

My thumb saves it before my brain catches up to my fingers. Behind me, Wraith lets out another questioning rumble and tilts his head, craning to see my screen.

He blinks and tilts his head the other way.

His eyes lift to mine with an expression I can only describe as bewildered acceptance, like a meteorite just landed in his loft but he's already decided it's fine.

I'm already typing.

IVY

tell him he looks pretty

VALEK

Done. He's furious.

I snort so hard it hurts my sinuses, dissolving into giggles against Wraith's chest. He pats my head like I'm a small, unhinged creature he has no fucking idea what to do with, which honestly isn't far off right now.

"They're so good," I tell him, grinning even more. My face hurts. "Very good. Very… bonded."

His brow furrows. Then smooths. He signs something too fast for me to catch.

"Slower?"

Plague will pretend this didn't happen.

"Oh, absolutely."

Whiskey will never shut up about it.

"Also absolutely."

He pauses. Then he rubs the back of his head and signs, Valek is… strange.

"Very strange. He's perfect."

I grab my phone one more time and set the selfie as my lockscreen—three of my alphas, all mine—because why the fuck not? It isn't like I let anyone outside the pack see my phone. Then I open Valek's thread.