Page 113 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

Why would she do that?

The question won't stop rattling around my skull. Ivy Byrne—omega on the run, fire extinguisher enthusiast, claimed mate of four territorial alphas—just told a room full of cops and league officials that I belong to her.

She can't be my fucking scent match.

That line of thinking leads nowhere good.

Feelings are dangerous. They're nothing more than chemical reactions, evolutionary holdovers, biological manipulations designed to propagate the species. Feelings are the reason people make catastrophically stupid decisions and then act surprised when those decisions explode in their faces.

Feelings are why I destroyed Wade Kelly's knee on national television.

I stop pacing.

That's not entirely accurate. I broke Wade Kelly's knee because he was going to die if I didn't intervene, and Wraith was going to be the one who killed him, and Ivy was going to lose everything she'd been building with her new pack because her feral mate would be dragged away in chains for murder, if he wasn't shot on sight.

I did it because it was the logical solution to an immediate problem.

The fact that I enjoyed it is irrelevant.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, startling in the absolute silence of the halls. I'd almost forgotten I had the damn thing.

I pull it out, squinting against the sudden brightness of the screen in the pitch dark.

Unknown number.

UNKNOWN

Where are you?

I stare at the message for a long moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

VALEK

Who is this?

UNKNOWN

Ivy

I have your number now, remember?

You texted me earlier

Right.

I didn't add her to my contacts. Seemed weird.

I'm really off my fucking game tonight.

VALEK

Perfect. You can add me to the pack's little group chat, then.

I'm sure they'll be thrilled I'm part of the family now.

She types, then stops, then types again.

UNKNOWN