Page 245 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

I'm already laughing as I kick off my boots and shrug out of Plague's coat, hanging it up on the rack by the door.

These are my alphas.

These absolute disasters are mine.

Plague closes the door and locks it, muttering as he removes his driving gloves finger by finger and places them beside the keys on the desk.

"How was the star thing?" Whiskey asks me.

"Amazing," I say, grinning at him. "Plague watched me instead of the show."

"Called it."

"I watched some of it," Plague mutters, removing his turtleneck slowly. He's stalling.

Whiskey catches my eye and mouths no he didn't.

I snort.

The energy in the room shifts as Plague hangs his turtleneck in the closet and turns back slowly to face us. In the lamplight, the scar over his heart shines like mother of pearl, and I try not to look twice at it, knowing what happened to put it there. He stands there in just his dark trousers, his waves loose past his shoulders, and meets my eyes.

"So," he says.

"So," I echo.

Whiskey drops onto the bed, making the entire fortress of pillows bounce. "We doin' this?"

"Eloquent as always," Plague says.

"I'm setting the mood, bro."

"By crashing into the bed like a wrecking ball?"

Whiskey shoots him a shit-eating grin. "It worked on you last time."

Plague's ears go red again. Seems they've been doing that a lot tonight.

I climb onto the mattress and crawl toward the center of Whiskey's ridiculous nest, settling back against the pillow fortress. The duvet canopy billows above us.

Whiskey's already climbing toward me. "Who's gonna be first to mark you, wildcat? You still want that tonight, right?"

I nod, grinning again. "You can always fight for it if you want."

Whiskey barks out a booming, gleeful laugh and Plague rolls his eyes, kneeling at the edge of the bed. He's being aloof again.

That's okay. I'm good at handling aloof alphas.

"Come here," I tell him.

He shifts on the bed and moves closer, settling beside me, his body close but not touching. His light eyes search mine, asking permission even now.

I pull my sweater over my head and watch his pupils blow in real time, taking in the sight.

"Kiss me first," I whisper.

One hand cups my jaw, gentle and careful, as he leans in and brushes his lips against mine. He tastes like tea, minty and warm, and I sink into it, pulling him closer by the back of his neck.

Whiskey settles behind me. His massive chest presses against my bare back, and the difference in size between the three of us hits me all over again. Plague is lean and elegant against my front. Whiskey is a fucking wall behind me, a warm, padded wall I sink into as his arms surround me.