Page 365 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

If I open my mouth right now, nothing kind is coming out. And he wouldn't want that. Not for her. Not even after everything. He made it clear in the SUV before Val and I came in.

Please be gentle with her, he'd signed.

So I swallow it all.

Valek doesn’t smile this time.

He straightens the lilacs in their vase, turning the darker petals toward the wall so the brighter side faces Claire. Then he adjusts the vase two inches to the left, where it won’t block the framed photograph on her dresser.

“He didn’t come inside because his doctor told him he can no longer cover his face,” Valek says, coming up to the table with his hands in his pockets. “He knew the sight of him would upset you.”

Claire’s hands tighten in the blanket. “Because it knows what it is.”

My chair legs scrape against the floor.

Valek’s hand lands on my shoulder before I can stand. He moves to Claire’s side, lowering himself into a crouch so he isn’t looming over her. Even like this, he’s as tall as she is in the chair.

“He knows what he looks like,” Valek says.

Claire leans away from him.

“He has no lips or cheeks. His jaw muscles and teeth are exposed. He was burned with acid when he was a child, and the surgeries could not repair all the damage. Doctors sharpened his teeth.”

Claire’s eyes dart around the room, suddenly frightened. “No.”

"Your son has bright blue eyes," Valek continues. "Dark hair. He’s seven feet three inches tall. He plays professional hockey. He likes animals, burns French toast, and is deeply in love with this omega who came to see you. She's our mate."

I blink at him.

Claire does too.

“He doesn’t burn all the French toast,” I mumble.

Claire looks between us, her face pinched with confusion. For a second, the hostility twisting her features loosens.

Valek takes his phone from his pocket.

“I would like to show you something.”

“I don’t want to see its face.”

“You won’t.” He taps through his phone, finds a clip, and turns the screen toward her.

Wraith is on the ice in his black gaiter, massive body cutting through the defense. An opposing player tries to check him and bounces off hard enough to spin into the boards. Wraith keeps the puck, crosses the blue line, and fires a wrist shot over the goalie’s shoulder.

The crowd erupts.

Claire flinches at the noise.

Valek immediately lowers the volume.

“There,” he says softly. “That’s your son.”

Claire stares at the screen.

Wraith loops behind the net while Whiskey launches himself at his back, hanging from his shoulders in celebration. Despite Whiskey weighing more than he does, Wraith keeps skating.

My mouth twitches.