Page 305 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

Thane fills the doorframe, shaggy hair messy, dark circles under his dark eyes, still in the same henley from yesterday.

A massive shadow looms behind him just out of sight, watching Ivy from the darkness of the pack house. He won't step outside without his mask, even at this hour, with no one else around.

Thane’s eyes move slowly over the visible damage. The scratches. The mud caked in Ivy's hair. Blood and dirt under her nails. The scrapes on her palms from grabbing at rough bark. The bruises on her wrists from being gripped by my hand, which his eyes linger on for a few extra seconds.

And then there's me, looking like I fought a feral omega in the woods.

"What happened?"

"Valek chased me through the woods," Ivy says cheerfully.

Thane stares at her.

"And then we fell in a river."

He transfers the stare to me.

"It was a very nice river," I offer.

Wraith suddenly pushes past Thane before either of us can say anything else, surprising me. I didn't think he would leave the house bare-faced. But he pulls the hood of his black sweatshirt up as he steps into the porch light.

His huge scarred hands find her face first, tilting it left, then right, checking over every scratch. His blue eyes are blazing but not feral. He’s just worried, like he always is when she's been out of his sight for more than five minutes and comes back with so much as a paper cut.

"I'm fine," she tells him, catching his wrists. "I promise. Look at me. All limbs accounted for."

He doesn't look convinced. His hands come up anyway, bringing hers with them because an omega has the strength of a mosquito compared to an alpha like him, and his thumbs brush lightly over the light scrapes on her face.

His eyes flick to the edge of the fresh mark peeking out of the collar of her shirt, and his gaze sticks there for a moment as his hands drift down to her wrists.

To the bruises my grip left.

A growl starts low in his chest.

"Those are the good kind," she says quickly.

The growl stutters.

I clear my throat. "She won, for the record."

Wraith's blue eyes flick over her shoulder to me, then back to her. His brow furrows.

She grins up at him. "I really did."

He huffs through his nose, the crease between his brows softening. His scarred hand cups the back of her skull and he pulls her against his chest, stooping to tuck her head under his chin.

"Come on," she says, muffled against his shirt. "Loft. All of us. I'm freezing and exhausted and I want my nest."

Wraith scoops her into his arms and bridal-carries her through the door. She twists just in time to grab my wrist. I hesitate, but I'm fairly certain she would dislocate her entire arm rather than let go of me right now.

I follow.

Thane locks the door behind us.

Whiskey is already waiting in the living room. Shirtless, of course, both massive arms crossed over his broad chest, chin dipped, honey-brown eyes tracking every inch of her as Wraith carries her through the doorway.

Plague is seated on the arm of the couch with his book still open, but his eyes are locked on her. He looks cool and composed and deeply unimpressed with everything, which means he's been worried out of his mind for the last few hours.

Wraith barely makes it into the living room before Whiskey moves.