Page 71 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

I stare at him, blinking as his offer sets in.

Yeah, okay.

He's fucking nuts.

"No. No way. No one's going to prison because of me."

Valek's eyebrow arches. "Why would you care? I'm not part of your pack."

The question catches me off guard.

Why do I care?

I barely know this alpha. And he's definitely not someone I should feel protective of. The idea is almost comical.

But what I do know is the sadness surrounding Valek is suffocating. Like he wasn't just damaged, he was born grieving. Like there was never any hope for him at all.

This isn't an alpha I need to fear.

"Why would you care about some random omega enough to even consider something like that?" I counter.

Valek blinks at me, his eyes widening slightly. So he is capable of expressions other than menace and sarcasm, after all.

"Fair point," he mutters.

"So?"

Those silver eyes flick up to me again.

"I don't know, Ivy."

For some reason, I don't believe him.

"So what, you have a thing for omegas who give you traumatic brain injuries?" I press, appealing to his dark sense of humor instead. I happen to share it.

He blows a puff of air through his nose. "Admiration, perhaps."

"So you respect violence."

"I respect survival." He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "Evolution."

I study him for a long moment. The bone-white hair that falls across his forehead, the strands obscuring the old scar notching his eyebrow. The sharp angles of his face that are beautiful in the way a fallen angel's face is beautiful. The way he holds himself like a coiled cobra ready to strike.

He's not lying about personal experience with trauma. I can see it in every line of this alpha's body. Ferocity bordering on feral, but the controlled type that comes from years of having to plan out every move to stay alive.

I would know.

"Valek," I say carefully, "I need you to promise me something."

"That depends entirely on what you're asking," he says without missing a beat.

"Don't murder Wade."

The silence that follows stretches too long.

Click. Spin. Catch. Click.

The rhythm of his knife spinning in his fingers is almost meditative. I actually don't know if he even means to be menacing with it. It's more like a fucked up fidget spinner for him, I think.