Page 364 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

"Satan's?" she asks flatly.

"Oh, no. The Ghosts," Valek says happily.

Claire makes a thin horrified sound.

I elbow Valek in the ribs.

He doesn’t react beyond a slight tensing of his eyes, because he’s an asshole built like a marble statue and now my elbow is going to bruise.

A scratched-up marble statue, to be specific.

We stopped for clothes before coming here, but there’s only so much a clean outfit can do after… well. Last night's activities. I’m wearing a soft blue sweater, dark jeans, and boots that don’t have mud caked all over them. Concealer covers most of the scrapes on my face, although the one near my hairline is still pretty obvious.

Valek bought black trousers and a charcoal button-down. His platinum hair is combed back, his split lip is mostly healed because he's an alpha I swear is somehow part vampire, and the bruising across his cheekbone is a deeper yellow beneath the concealer I convinced him to let me try in the car while Wraith huffed tired laughter.

It… kind of just made the bruise look yellower, but I tried.

"They're not real ghosts. That's the name of the hockey team," I tell Claire, settling into the seat across from her chair. "This is Valek."

Claire's face softens slightly. "Valek? Where are you from, Valek?"

"My favorite question," he says pleasantly. "Canada."

Claire doesn't blink. "My husband was Russian."

"Oh?"

Her eyes are roaming up and down him openly now, appreciatively, and I suddenly remember Wraith's father was Russian and Valek needs to be rescued before Claire says something completely traumatizing.

She licks her teeth.

Valek's eyebrows shoot up into his hair.

"Valek is my mate," I tell her, leaning forward to get her attention off him. "The Ghosts pack—the core of the hockey team—are my scent matches."

"Like Wraith?" Claire asks disdainfully, going right back to her usual self, although her eyes keep flicking to Valek for a few seconds too long every time.

"Yes," I say, trying to make my face brighten. "Like Wraith."

She cranes her neck to look at her door, shuddering, and all I can think about is how the last time I was here, my sweet mate took off through the same door after she tore his mask off and screamed at him.

"Where is it?"

I blink at her. "He is in the car," I say carefully. "He didn't think you want to see him."

"I don't." Claire twists her hands in the blanket over her lap. “That… thing shouldn’t come here. I don't even know what it wants."

"To check on you," Valek says. "Make sure you're safe."

"I'm not safe if it's anywhere near me. That's why I kept it in the basement. You would, too, if you know what's best for you."

My teeth press together inside my mouth.

She isn't confused about what she did. She was sick, but even now, she's proud of it. She locked a disfigured child in the dark and starved him because she believed he was a monster, and she still believes it, sitting right here in this chair with her blanket on her lap and her imperfectly purple flowers.

She'd do it again.

And Wraith still drives hours to bring her flowers in her favorite color.