Page 433 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

His forehead presses against my temple.

R-E-A-D-Y? he writes into my palm with the tip of his finger.

"Yes," I whisper. "I'm yours."

He turns his head, and his teeth touch my shoulder.

For one heartbeat, he just holds them there. I feel his breath, hot and shaking. I feel his jaw tremble with everything he's holding back, everything he's terrified of, the side of his lashes flickering against my ear.

He lets out a long, slow breath, emptying his lungs.

And he bites.

His teeth slide through all four marks at once and the scar tissue and I scream, my back arching, my nails scrabbling and tearing at his shoulders. Blood wells hot and spills down my back, down my chest, soaking into the collar of my sweater beneath his coat.

It hurts.

It fucking hurts.

But then, beneath the pain, something else floods in.

And it silences the scream, flooding me with warmth.

His love. His loyalty. Every ounce of devotion this enormous, broken, beautiful alpha has been holding behind his walls, pouring straight into me through the bond.

I feel how he sees me. I feel what I am to him. I feel the exact moment his terror lets go and transforms into wonder and awe.

Tears stream down my face, and I don't know if they're from the pain or from this, from finally feeling his soul wrap itself around mine and swear, without a single word, to never, ever let me go.

And then I feel the rest of them.

Far away, faint with distance, but they're here. Thane's steady protectiveness thrumming in my very veins ever since the first mark. Whiskey's wildfire joy, bursting at the seams, all wrapped up in Plague's fierce, quiet heat. Valek's dark, patient devotion, a hunting wolf shadowing my every step.

Four threads that have been humming inside me suddenly snapping taut, and Wraith's thread, the one I've been reaching for since he held me in the tunnels that first night, finally blazes to life between us.

Wraith's teeth release.

He lifts his head, and the blue in his eyes flares with pure terror.

His scarred hand presses hard against my shoulder, trembling as he stares at the blood welling between his fingers.

And I stare at it, too, breathless and blissed out.

Did I… The one hand he's signing with falters, keeping the other pressed to the wound. He tries again, fingerspelling half of it one-handedly. Too deep. I went too deep. It's not closing. Ivy, it's not closing⁠—

He's right. The other marks closed and silvered into shining scars while I watched. This one is still bleeding, sluggish and steady.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I…

"Hey. Hey, look at me." I catch his face in both hands, holding him still. "Look at me."

His eyes drag to mine, wild and glassy.

"It's okay," I promise him. "My body's been marked four times. It's tired. It's going to take a minute. That's all."

His jaw works under my palms. He doesn't believe me.

"You didn't go too deep. I felt it. It was perfect. Do you trust me?"