Page 453 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

Plague’s bronze complexion burns scarlet from his throat to the tips of his ears. "We would not," he grits out. "She doesn't really mean…"

"Oh, she does," I warn him.

Laughter breaks across the table again, although "laughter" is a stretch for Thane's parents. Maureen is a nervous wreck and Arthur may as well be made from stone. Even Wraith manages to laugh, his deep huffs shaking Ivy in his lap.

Well. Plague isn't laughing. He covers his face with both hands and lets out the most dramatic, long-suffering groan I've ever heard from him.

Whiskey drags him sideways against him, trapping him under one enormous arm in a brutal bear hug. Plague thrashes against him for the half-second it takes for him to realize it's futile before giving up with a muttered threat.

Ivy beams from Wraith's lap. "I love your mom," she whispers to me across the table.

My mother hears that, naturally. "Oh, sweetheart, I can be yours, too."

Ivy blinks. "Wait, what?"

"Of course." My mother gives her a look. "I may not know everything about your situation, but I know when someone needs a bonus mom."

Ivy stares at her, mouth slightly agape, and then she's grinning and fighting back tears at the same time.

"Yeah," she says, nodding. "Yeah. I could use a bonus mom."

I nudge her foot under the table and she pushes mine back, eyes glistening as they meet mine.

Caleb starts asking Whiskey about his bike, and that rescues us from the emotional meltdown brewing. Finn joins in despite thinking they're discussing bicycles. Rae wants to see the video of Ivy learning to ride the bike Ivy has named Zillette, and Whiskey has his phone out before she finishes asking.

My father corners Plague over chess, and my mother gets his real name out of him in under a minute.

“Hamsa,” she repeats, smiling. “What a beautiful name.”

Plague visibly melts before schooling his features, adjusting his sleeve. “Thank you.”

Whiskey slings his arm tighter around him. “I call him Ham Sandwich.”

“I don't even eat ham.”

“Nah bro. You're the ham itself. The ham in the sandwich, between me and Val and Ivy."

"I'm going to fucking kill you in your sleep."

"While sandwiched, bro?"

My family loves them.

They love Plague’s dry answers and manners, and the blush he cannot control no matter how hard he tries.

They love Whiskey, his polar opposite, because he bulldozes every tense barrier and calls my mother Ma already. Rae's screeching, laughing children hang from his massive arms while he uses them as a living weight set and warns Ivy he's going to want one of his own now.

Ivy just laughs and says, "We'll see," in a singsong while Wraith looks more terrified than I've ever seen him, his blue eyes wide behind her.

Even Thane has relaxed, leaning back in his chair with his hand on Ivy's thigh, his thumb caressing her knee. His usually stern face is soft with contentment.

I didn't realize our dear leader could unclench.

And Ivy drifts between all of us, collecting affection wherever she goes. She kisses my cheek and nips my ear when she passes behind my chair, then leans across me to kiss Plague too. Whiskey complains loudly until she gives him a kiss too, and I watch with detached amusement as he tries to turn it into making out and gets shoved away by our giggling mate.

I don't need to go for it at the table.

I have plans for the nest this weekend. Several plans. All rampant, indecent, and unlikely to let Ivy walk properly when we're finished.