Page 64 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

I don't have to know what's under the mask to know it's bad, really fuckin' bad. But I also know Ivy's brave. Even from across the room where she's talking to Plague, I'm sure about chess and how he would have won if he hadn't chugged a handful of immunity shots before boarding the plane, Ivy keeps glancing at Wraith's back with sweet little smiles.

There's no way Ivy saw Wraith's face and reacted…

Well, like everyone else does.

But Wraith seems to have already convinced himself it went bad. He hates himself. Makes Plague at his absolute maximum level of emo look like a happy-go-lucky bucket of sunshine in comparison.

"Okay, well, she keeps lookin' over at you all cute," I whisper to him, still trying to sign along with what I'm saying out loud like Thane does. "She's obviously still into you, bro."

There's no way the sign for "into" is the same crude sign I'd use to demonstrate a dick fucking into a hole, but whatever.

Wraith hesitates, then twists around enough to look back at Ivy.

Ivy's smile brightens the whole damn room and she gives him an adorable little wave. Wraith manages a stiff wave back. When Ivy goes back to talking to Plague, Wraith turns back to me with a long, burdened sigh.

M-A-Y-B-E, he signs.

He's fingerspelling even though I'm doing my best to show off all the signs I've learned. Shit, I must suck at this more than I thought.

"Definitely. That's a lady in love," I reassure him, making a heart with my hands before remembering the sign's like rocker devil horns with the thumb sticking out and throwing that one instead. The fingerspelled letters for I, L, and Y all together. "Shit, man, I'm jealous as fuck. What you have is special."

Wraith stares at me like I've grown a second head. But those intense blue eyes soften, and for a moment, he just looks like a normal dude who’s struggling and not the untouchable, aggressive feral alpha I know out on the rink.

The one who murdered Hogzilla in cold blood.

Guess I can forgive him.

Thank you, he signs, actually using the sign this time, touching his chin through the mask. The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly like he’s actually smiling at me beneath the mask.

Hell, maybe he is. Maybe he’s just hiding a killer smile under there.

I don't know what to say to that. So I do the only thing I can think of. I reach out and move to clap his shoulder, the way Marines do when words aren't enough. A bro version of a hug.

Wraith's massive arms suddenly wrap around me before my hand even makes contact, pulling me into what might be the most awkward and painful hug in the history of hugs. His chest slams into mine and suddenly I'm being squeezed by seven-plus feet of solid muscle.

Holy fucking shit.

This is what it feels like to be hugged by a fucking tiger.

My ribs creak in protest. My shoulder screams. The extra padding on my gut crushes my lungs. A sound rumbles through his chest against mine. Part growl, part purr, vibrating through my entire body.

The pack's resident feral alpha is purring like an overgrown house cat.

I pat his back a few times, that solid thump-thump-thump that says "we're good, brother" without words because I don't know what the fuck else to do.

Wraith pulls back, then stares awkwardly at me before his eyes flick back to Ivy and Plague.

They're staring, too, dead silent.

"Bro talk," I say to them, grinning.

Plague looks slightly… jealous?

Heh. Good. Now he knows how the fuck I felt when he abandoned me to waste away alone in our row on the damn plane so he could play ponies and princesses with Valek.

That's a way better name than chess.

When we settle back on the couch—me squished between Plague and the armrest, Wraith taking up position near Ivy like a guardian statue who's definitely less stressed out than he was before—the atmosphere feels different. Lighter, somehow, despite everything.