Page 22 of Pucking Feral: Part Two
Valek.
That's fucking Valek's voice.
Whiskey's hand drops from my mouth, but we both press against the wall, hidden from view.
Well. I am. I don't know about Whiskey.
"She's always been stubborn," another voice responds. Male, warm, and fond. "Remember when she insisted on climbing that tree to hang a birdhouse even though she's terrified of heights?"
"She made it exactly three feet before yelling for help," Valek muses with a weary sigh. There's a softness in his tone that doesn't fit with the alpha predator who threatened to gut us less than two hours ago.
"And Dad did help. Immediately." A woman's voice now, amused. "Never could say no to her."
"None of us can," Valek mutters.
Any lingering doubt it's a real family emergency evaporates instantly.
"I feel fucking bad, dude," Whiskey breathes in my ear.
"Yes," I mumble, still processing.
We wait another minute to make sure they're gone before stepping out from behind the wall. The hallway stretches empty in both directions.
"Bro, we should—"
Valek rounds the corner.
His silver eyes lock onto us immediately, and I watch his entire body language shift. The softened edges from talking to his family vanish, replaced by the far more familiar menacing stillness that makes every hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"You are fucking kidding me," Valek says, voice deadly quiet and flat.
Whiskey steps forward, hands raised in what's probably meant to be a placating gesture but comes across more like he's squaring up for round two. "Look. We can explain—"
"I warned you." Valek's already coming toward us, his long-legged stride eating the distance fast enough Whiskey hesitates for once in his life. "I fucking told you precisely what would happen if you showed your faces again. Do you have a death wish?"
"We weren't following you," I say smoothly, stepping slightly to the side to put myself between them. Not that I could reliably stop Valek if he decided to make good on his threat, but perhaps it'll stop Whiskey from lunging at him. "We came here after the accident."
Valek lets out a barking laugh. "How convenient."
"Val? Everything okay out here?"
All three of us turn to see a beta woman approaching. Short and round and beautifully cute, her forearm and hand in a bright pink cast that matches the cats embroidered on her cardigan.
"Everything's fine, Mother," Valek says, his tone gentling. "Just ran into some... colleagues."
This is his mother?
I hope the shock isn't clear on my face.
Perhaps he's adopted.
"Teammates," Whiskey adds cheerfully, like Valek wasn't just threatening us with death again thirty seconds ago. "I'm Whiskey, this is Plague. We're from the Ghosts."
He holds out his hand.
"Oh, how wonderful! I'm Olivia." Her face lights up as she shakes his hand with the one that isn't in a cast. Her hands are tiny enough compared to Whiskey's, she has to grip his finger instead of his palm. "Val never brings friends around. Were you just in the area, or…?"
I clear my throat. "We actually just—"
