Page 384 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

I just stare, blinking.

"There are side-by-side comparisons of the scar on your neck with the approximate bite radius of every alpha in this pack," Arthur continues. "Someone made a spreadsheet."

"A spreadsheet," Plague repeats in a completely flat voice.

"Yes. Cross-referencing jaw width, canine spacing, and estimated bite force." Arthur takes a sip of water. "Wraith was eliminated first. Too sharp, would have caused more damage. Thane was ruled unlikely due to… well. Insufficient romantic tension in available footage."

Thane groans. "You were considering it was me?"

Arthur shrugs. "Hey. You never know."

More loud groaning from Thane.

I'm trying not to laugh at him.

"That leaves Plague and Valek." Arthur's eyes move between them.

But Plague and Whiskey are the ones to exchange a look. Whiskey just shrugs pointedly at him. Plague opens his mouth and turns back to Arthur, then to me.

I urge him with my eyes to tell the truth.

For a moment, Plague is completely frozen. Then he tears his eyes away from mine and picks at his napkin before looking back to Arthur.

"It was me," Plague says finally. "I marked Whiskey. Well. As much as an alpha can," he adds in a mutter.

Plague reaches up to the collar of his turtleneck sweater and tugs it down, baring his own scar from Whiskey's teeth.

"And he did the same."

Maureen blushes.

Arthur just stares at the mark, then nods thoughtfully, chewing.

"For what it's worth," Arthur says, returning to his meal, "the public response has been overwhelmingly positive, and it's helping turn the tide. Apparently your pack's… how do they put it… your pack's vibes are very popular."

"Our vibes," Thane says.

Valek leans back in his chair, arms crossed, grinning like Christmas came early. "It's always been clear they're a couple of lovebirds," he remarks. "This is a surprise to absolutely no one."

I catch Plague stomping on Valek's shoe under the table.

Valek doesn't even flinch.

Arthur clears his throat.

"Well. You don't need to hide anything here. You come whenever you like," Maureen says, beaming in delight. "All of you. You all share the same scent match, so that makes you⁠—"

She stops, just for a second. Her eyes flick toward Wraith, and her lips thin and pull.

Because they gave him back.

He took their name anyway, because Thane was his brother even though Maureen and Arthur were never his parents. They were his last long-term placement before a flurry of short-term stays and he aged out of the system.

Wraith was too broken, too feral, for the Belmonts. Too many hospitals and locked doors and nightmares. And it wasn’t long after Maureen saw his face.

He still loves them.

He says he understands.