Page 361 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

Twenty minutes later, after cuddling so fucking hard I almost fall asleep again, I'm looming over a camp stove that's the size of my fist, trying not to fuck this up.

Already failed with the eggs.

They survived the night in the cooler—the ice packs are mostly slush and Plague would kill all three of us for not throwing them out—but they didn't survive me.

Still don't know how, but when I cracked them into the bowl, they exploded in my hands.

I barely fucking touched them.

Ivy thought it was cute, for some reason, and assured me the bits of shell I couldn't fish out are just extra calcium and kissed my scars.

Secretly, I'm blaming her for the eggs.

I'm distracted as fuck.

She's digging through the cooler humming to herself in the sweater she pulled out of Valek's bag, which hangs off her but it rides up when she bends over.

I force myself to look back at the frying pan.

The bread is smoking now.

Growling in frustration, I grab the spatula and flip it. The underside is dark brown but not black. It's the best piece of French toast I’ve ever made.

Valek appears beside me, examining the pan with narrowed eyes.

“Is it supposed to smell like that?”

I shove him away with my elbow.

He barely moves.

Ivy straightens from the cooler with the syrup bottle held triumphantly above her head. “Found it!”

I get lost staring at her and scorch the toast after all.

Fuck.

I throw it out and start from scratch while she chases Valek, who got syrup on her somehow and now she's furious that she's sticky.

This one is actually coming out okay.

The edges are crisp. The middle is cooked and golden. Cinnamon covers the surface evenly instead of sitting in a thick pile on one side because I finally figured out I was supposed to mix it into the egg first.

Ivy comes up beside me and leans over my shoulder to look, her long hair brushing against my skin.

“Holy shit, that looks good.”

I glance up at her.

She looks genuinely impressed.

My chest expands before I can stop it.

She kisses my bare shoulder and goes back to the cooler. I watch her go, almost ruining this one too, but my attention snaps back to the toast when Valek reaches for a piece.

I swing the spatula at his hand. He darts back just in time.

That one is perfect, so it's Ivy’s.