Page 142 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

I somehow stifle my giggle.

Chapter 29

Ivy

The kitchen table looks like a fucking war room.

Laptops and phones everywhere, and a half-empty pot of coffee that's already been refilled three times. A stack of lined paper because Wraith prefers writing on that to typing. Plague's gigantic dispenser of medical-grade hand sanitizer standing guard beside the sugar bowl.

Thane's jaw hasn't unclenched, and he hasn't said a word about why Whiskey and Valek were off in the middle of the night and tracked mulch and dirt in when they came back.

But he's shelving it because Eliza needs statements by five, and this pack isn't going to implode over paperwork.

Not on the Captain's watch.

"Sit down," he says to the room.

Whiskey drops into a chair so fast he almost falls out of it. Plague is already seated, laptop open, fingers poised and ready over the keyboard. Wraith and I are in the same chair again because he won't let me out of his sight, and he's been even more my shadow than usual since Valek and Whiskey came in last night. He pulled me into his lap the second he sat down and his arms locked around my waist.

I don't mind one bit.

I lean back against his chest, phone in hand, and settle in. His chin rests on my head, his heartbeat slow and steady against my upper back.

We've got a system now.

Valek is leaning against the counter, tea in hand, not sitting.

"Valek," Thane says through his teeth, pointedly looking at the seats.

Valek ignores him.

Wraith shifts behind me, his free hand drifting to his face. The bandages are bothering him again. He's been pulling at the edges all morning. Tugging the tape, adjusting the gauze where it presses against the stitches.

I'm still not sure if it hurts or if he's just anxious about it. When I ask him, he just signs fine. Which isn't really an answer.

He can't wear his mask. The wounds are too fresh. Plague said twenty-four more hours minimum before anything presses directly against the tissue. The only reason he doesn't need surgery is because he's an alpha, and alphas heal fast.

Plague, who is for once not wearing one of his disposable surgical masks, watches Wraith for a moment before pushing his chair back without a word. He disappears down the hallway and comes back with one of his folded scarves. He puts it in front of Wraith and returns to his laptop.

"This is perfect," I say, picking it up with a grateful glance at Plague, who gives me a short nod in return. I twist around on Wraith's lap to drape it around his neck, then loop it so it's loose around his lower face. His blue eyes watch me the entire time. "See? Even better than the gaiter."

I kiss his nose before turning back to the laptop, and he nuzzles into my neck, his arms tightening around me.

"Alright," Thane says, giving up on Valek and pulling his laptop closer. "I'll go first."

He types hard and fast while he speaks out loud. Every word is direct, doing exactly what it needs to do and nothing more. Captain-speak honed by years of press conferences and post-game interviews.

Plague reads over his shoulder—literally, he moves his chair beside Thane's—and edits in real time.

Well. Nitpicks.

Thane is pissed and growling by the end of it, but it sounds good.

"Next," Thane says. He reads Plague's over his shoulder the same way Plague read his. "Plague. You can't use the word exsanguination in a PR statement."

"Why not?"

"Because normal people don't know what it means."