Page 390 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

And Ivy stopped leaving too.

I watch her pad into the kitchen to get a glass of water, chatting with Whiskey about the scary movie nobody is going to see, one of my hoodies hanging off her, and my heart twists.

She's shrinking her whole world to fit inside my walls.

And I'm letting her.

I reach out and tap her shoulder to get her attention. She turns, blinking up at me, always sweet, always hopeful.

Let's go, I sign.

She tilts her head. "Go where?"

To the movies. Tonight.

She hesitates, but I can already see her fighting back a huge smile. The usual kind. "Wait… are you sure? That wouldn't be too much for you?"

I shake my head.

It will be, but I don't say it.

I would die for her.

What's a movie?

Chapter 80

Ivy

Istill can't believe Wraith wants to go to the movies.

Sure, we're going at nine o'clock at night, the latest showing Plague could find, but we're going. We're doing something fun as a pack, out and about, and Wraith isn't wearing his mask, looming behind me as my shadow with his hood up.

It's dark in here, at least. Whoever designed this place staunchly believed theaters should feel like caves, with dark carpet with red and purple retro shapes, and only neon strips lighting the walls. Wraith stays center-back of our group, hood shadowing his face, and in this light, at a glance, he's just an enormous alpha in a hoodie.

Whiskey tried to come up with another solution. He went through endless prototypes. Hoods, wraps, masks that wouldn't brush against the scars. Plague even found him a UV hat with a mesh face covering that was loose enough to technically fit. Wraith panicked and snarled the second it covered his eyes, and tore it off, and that was the end of it.

So Whiskey's solving the problem by being Whiskey.

"HO-LYYYY SHIT, they have the collector cups!"

Every head in the lobby swings toward him.

He's at the concession display, holding up a giant plastic cup shaped like a zombie head with a straw sticking out of its brain, and he's already surrounded by fans.

He signs one fan's phone case. Then somebody's ticket stub, and a napkin, and a second napkin for the first napkin kid's brother, and the crowd that forms around him is a wall of backs facing away from the rest of us.

He's so loud and so much, nobody looks past him.

Or so I think, at first.

A woman at the condiment station glances over her shoulder toward the noise, and her eyes go right past Whiskey's crowd and land on Wraith. Her hand freezes on the pump for the nacho cheese and overflows the cup. She stares openly at him, blanching, and then turns away from us with one last shocked glance over her shoulder.

"Sh-shit," she mutters, trying to clean up the nacho cheese and apologizing profusely to the theater employee who comes up to try to help.

I hope she gets fucking banned.

Same as the group that just walked past us, doing an obvious double-take at Wraith.