Page 194 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

Because past his elbow…

"Whiskey." I grab his forearm. "Why does Plague have a fucking knife?"

Because Plague, who irons his pajamas, is padding to the front door barefoot with a butcher knife from the kitchen held flat against the back of his thigh. He’s creeping toward the door like this isn’t the first time he’s resorted to lethal measures. Not by a long shot.

"Huh." Whiskey squints through the gap. "That's new."

"Considering you've known each other in every way imaginable, Plague acting like he’s straight out of a spy movie being new to you isn't exactly comforting."

"Not in every way," he protests. "It ain't like I let him shove his cock up my⁠—"

Plague whirls around and holds a finger to his lips, eyes blazing with panic.

Valek peels off the armchair without a sound and drifts to the hinge side of the door, silver eyes flat, positioned where the door will hide him when it opens.

Three polite knocks, and my entire pack reorganized itself into a kill box.

Wow. I really have found my people. These alphas really fucking hate unexpected guests.

Same, boys.

Plague checks the peephole. His shoulders drop with a whoosh of an exhale and he rolls his eyes, opening the door.

From this angle, I can't see anything except the back of Plague's dark hair and a wash of porch light. He stares. Valek leans, looks, and stares too.

Nobody says a word.

Plague closes the door and turns around. "Ivy," he says carefully, clearing his throat. "You need to get the door."

"Me?" I shove a parka off my face and push the closet door open just enough to talk through the crack. "Why me? Who is it?"

Plague doesn't answer. He crosses to the kitchen, slides the knife into the block between the bread knife and the empty slot where the kitchen scissors were, stares at the space for a second with his eyes narrowed fiercely, and mutters something about fucking Whiskey under his breath before stomping off.

"It wasn't me this time," Whiskey protests, squeezing behind me so I can get out of the closet.

I untangle myself from the coats and cross to the front door, smoothing my dress down. Wraith shifts aside just enough to let me pass, hovering.

I take a deep breath and open it.

It's…

Thane?

The towering alpha is in a charcoal suit, holding a gigantic bouquet of red roses. He's freshly shaved, but his glorious hair is fortunately untouched, styled neater than it usually is and partially swept back from his forehead, the strands brushing his broad shoulders. His dark eyes go a little glassy when he takes in the dress.

"You knocked," I say dryly. "At your own house. You traumatized the pack."

"I saw the knife," he admits. "But it's a date. You're supposed to pick the lady up at the door."

His ears look slightly pink.

Oh, this man.

I grab his lapel and pull him down into a kiss. He makes a soft, surprised sound against my mouth and his free hand finds my waist.

"You errand-ed a whole suit," I murmur against his lips.

"The roses were the errand. I already had the suit," he admits with a low chuckle.