Page 185 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

I feel okay.

For the first time, I actually feel okay.

Chapter 38

Ivy

Iwake up cozy as fuck, sandwiched between two enormous alphas who run hot enough to heat a small village.

Thane's chest rises and falls slow and steady beneath my cheek. His arm is draped across my back, heavy and slack. On my other side, Wraith is curled around us both, his face tucked into the space between my shoulder and the pillow.

The scarf is gone.

It must have slipped off in the night, abandoned somewhere in the tangle of sheets. Other than the bandages covering part of one side, his face is completely bare in the morning light bleeding through Thane's curtains.

I prop myself up on one elbow to look at him.

He's still asleep. Genuinely asleep, which I've learned doesn't happen often for him. His breathing is deep and even, his thick lashes resting against his cheekbones, his choppy dark hair tousled.

The points of his exposed teeth shine in the light, the scar tissue along his jaw pearly and pale.

He's beautiful.

Both of them are. Gods in repose, really. Thane with his granite features finally relaxed, his shaggy hair fanned across the pillow, and Wraith curled around me, my giant scarred shadow.

I'm a very lucky omega.

As if he can feel me watching, Wraith stirs. His brow furrows. His blue eyes crack open, bleary and unfocused, and then he blinks at me like he's not sure I'm real.

He props himself up on one arm.

His hand drifts toward his face on instinct.

I watch the realization hit him that the scarf is gone. His face is bare. And I'm right here, looking right at him, and it's okay.

"Morning, Misha," I whisper.

His whole body goes still. Then those eyes warm, the corners crinkling, and he ducks his head a little, shy even now, even after everything.

Morning, he signs.

"You sleep okay?"

He nods slowly, like he's surprised by the answer. His eyes flick to Thane, still dead to the world beneath me, then back to me. His hand rises.

You're staring.

"I'm allowed. You're beautiful."

He huffs a silent laugh and shakes his head, but he doesn't reach for the scarf immediately.

I reach up and trace my thumb along the unbandaged side of his jaw, over the exposed muscle and the smooth ridges of his teeth. He holds perfectly still, his breath catching, his pupils blown wide in the dim light.

Then he leans into my hand.

My heart goes stupid and gooey in my chest.

"This is nice," I murmur. "This is really nice. We should⁠—"