Page 161 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

"Bullshit."

"Whiskey—"

"Do I sense some weird-ass sexual tension or something?" Whiskey gestures between me and Valek, then back to himself, making a triangle in the air. "Because it's getting fucking thick in here and I can't tell if I'm imagining it or if y'all are doing some freaky multilingual foreplay shit I'm not equipped to decode."

"No."

Valek shrugs, his silver eyes finally lifting from the book to meet mine. "It is one way for a new pack member to bond, isn't it?"

I stare at him.

He stares back with that infuriating calm, that complete absence of shame or hesitation, as if what he just said is the most reasonable thing in the world.

Whiskey's head swivels between us. I can practically see the puzzle pieces slotting together in that chaotic brain of his that operates on pure instinct and zero filter.

"Huh," he says slowly. "That's… actually a good point."

I growl at him. "It is not⁠—"

"No, no, hear me out." He holds up one hand, palm out, the universal gesture for let me cook. "Pack bonding. Physical intimacy. It's a thing. Scientific. Plague, you're basically a doctor, you know this shit. Being a smartass is your whole kink."

"I am not a doctor, Whiskey."

"Close enough. The point is…"

"There is no point. There is no bonding. I already told you, there is no…"

"You kissed me back."

Whiskey's jaw is set. His eyes haven't left mine. And for once—for fucking once—there's no trace of the class clown, the court jester, the himbo who makes everything into a joke because the alternative is feeling something too hard.

He means it.

He means every fucking word.

"I told you what it meant," I manage, dropping my voice to a low, frustrated whisper in hopes Valek can't hear me. I know he can. He's an alpha. "Our omega was in heat⁠—"

"That's horseshit and you know it. You're scared." Whiskey takes a step closer. Just one. But the distance between us shrinks enough that I can smell him now, that familiar cinnamon fucking apple pie warmth that goes straight to my traitorous fucking cock. "You're scared because you felt something and you don't know what to do with it."

My jaw is clenched so tight my teeth ache.

"Tell me I'm wrong, Hamsa."

Fuck, I hate when he calls me that.

I hate it because I like it.

The words won't come.

Because he's not wrong.

For once, he's infuriatingly right.

Valek shifts in the armchair. The movement draws my attention for just a second. He's watching us both, book forgotten.

And when I look back, Whiskey is closer.

Close enough that when he reaches up, his hand finds my jaw.