Page 458 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

"You're a feral omega, aren't you? Tell 'em if they get on you. You just couldn't ignore your instincts to run to your mates."

She pats my cheek.

I love my bonus mom.

I rush down the steps and through the tunnel by the bench, passing the security guy Olivia mentioned. He glances up at me, then down at the toddler squealing in my arms, and looks away as if he saw nothing.

I step out onto the ice toward where the photographers are already gathering, confetti and slush crunching under my boots. Before, I could barely skate ten feet without clinging to my feral mate. Now, thanks to endless lessons under the stars, I'm walking steadily across Cup Final ice with my daughter on my hip.

"Look, baby girl!" I shift her higher and point. "There they are!"

"DADDIES!" she cries.

The pack has already extracted themselves from the pile.

Whiskey spots us first, the Cup high over his head.

"IVYYYY!"

He almost drops the fucking Cup.

The giant alpha shoves it into Thane's arms as he launches at us full speed, arms spread wide, and I have exactly one second of oh no before he wraps himself around us and effortlessly spins us both around.

"LOUD DADDY!" Minnie squeals, delirious from the spinning.

He sets us down and scoops her up when I push her into his arms, holding her up high over his head and turning in a circle, confetti swirling around them both.

"THAT'S RIGHT! LOUD DADDY FUCKIN' WON!"

Plague skates up to supervise. "Whiskey. Whiskey. Language. And support her neck."

"She's TWO, bro. Trust me, her neck is fine. And she heard worse from you last night when Shadow pulled your fancy-ass tea out of the cabinet."

She solves the argument by grabbing a fistful of Plague's hair and yanking, which she does every single time he gets within range. He lets out a wounded croaking sound and tries to free himself carefully.

"She has a grip," he says, wincing, prying her fingers open one at a time. The moment he's free, he steps up to me and removes one of his gloves to thumb a wet fleck of confetti off my cheek. He tucks my hair behind my ears and presses his lips to mine.

When he's left me breathless, he pulls back.

"Does she get the feral streak from you, or…?"

"Probably," I say, grinning. "We'll see how she holds a fire extinguisher."

"Minicat gets everything from you, wildcat," Whiskey says, finally setting her on the ice.

That's how she came to be called Minnie. He's been calling her Minicat since she was the size of a raspberry.

It stuck.

She immediately plops down on her butt and starts grabbing handfuls of confetti, screeching in maniacal glee.

Whiskey points. "That too."

"You dropped her," Plague grumbles, stooping down to check her unnecessarily.

"No Daddy!" she says, giggling, shoving dirty ice confetti in his mouth.

"Minnie! No!" he splutters, horrified, swiping at his lips.