Page 151 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

Bastard.

Eliza steps to the podium first, flanked by Ray and Daphne. She delivers the opening remarks quickly and professionally. Context. Timeline. The league's position. The facts of the altercation as verified by footage.

She yields the floor to Plague.

He stands, adjusts the microphone with gloved fingers, and reads his statement without inflection. He recounts the game, the escalation, Wade attacking Wraith. Timelines to the second because that's who Plague is.

Then, near the end, his voice changes. Just enough that I notice and the journalists lean forward.

"Wraith Belmont is my packmate. The force he used was proportional to the threat posed to our beloved mate. He acted in love. I have treated his injuries personally, and I can confirm the damage Wade Kelly inflicted on his face was severe enough to split existing scar tissue to the bone."

His eyes flick to Valek.

"Valek was merely protecting the pack."

He sits down, hands folded in his lap.

Pens start scratching. Otherwise, the room is silent.

Okay, so we're all making changes to our statements. Plague's is slightly different. I'm already side-eyeing Whiskey, who's next.

Whiskey stands like he's approaching a podium at a comedy club, not a press conference, in spite of the suit he's wearing. He looks damn good in a suit, his shoulders straining at the dark fabric, but his body language is still loose and casual as if he were up there in one of his usual flannels.

His statement was edited within an inch of its life by Plague, but I know the opening line survived every draft.

"Yo, it's your boy Whiskey."

Oh. It's worse now.

A few journalists actually laugh, though.

"Wade Kelly attacked my packmate on the ice and verbally threatened my mate-mate. Our omega. So we kicked his fuckin' ass. We'd do it again. Any questions?" He grins then catches himself. "Oh wait, questions are after. My bad."

Thane puts his face in his hands.

Valek goes next.

He doesn't adjust the microphone. Just leans forward slightly, silver eyes sweeping the press corps.

"Ivy Byrne is my scent match and my mate. Wade Kelly had already attacked another member of the Ghosts' pack, and he was escalating aggression and threats toward our omega. I acted in her defense."

He leans back.

The silence that follows is different from the silence after Plague's statement. The journalists glance at each other, then at me, and then at Valek, clearly wanting to ask a thousand questions but trained enough to wait.

One of them isn't trained enough. "Mr. Carter, can you confirm the nature of your relationship with⁠—"

"I just did," Valek says. "She is my mate."

The journalist's mouth closes.

My turn.

I stand on legs that feel like overcooked noodles and grip the edge of the table hard enough to whiten my knuckles. The tablet screen glows up at me, my words waiting in their neat little paragraphs.

I glance back at the pack.

Valek gives me a faint but unmistakable nod. Whiskey gives me a thumbs up, and next to him, Plague a tight, strained smile. Thane's smile is just as tired. Wraith's eyes soften, and crinkle slightly for the first time since coming here.