Page 335 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

I twist, slam my forearm across his upper chest, and drive him backward.

Wraith hits the wall, snarling ferociously in my face, drowning out Ivy's shouting.

One of his hands grips my throat. The other comes up to hit me again, but I trap the wrist against the wall and pin it beside his head. I brace my forearm beneath his scarred collarbones, using my full weight and leverage to keep him there without pressing against his damaged throat.

He surges forward.

I hold.

The wall groans behind him. His sharp teeth snap shut inches from my cheek, exposed jaw muscles flexing as the sound in his throat drops into something deep enough to vibrate through my bones.

His blue eyes blaze into mine.

I lean closer, close enough that my mouth is beside his ear.

“Poidyom, Mikhail,” I say quietly, choking the words as his fingers dig tighter into my throat.

Let’s go.

For one ugly second, I expect him to tear my face off.

Then his eyes flicker. The blue fire in his eyes gutters down. His pupils widen from feral pinpricks, recognition crawling back into them as his body gives one enormous shudder beneath my arm.

His grip loosens around my throat, his chest heaving against my forearm. His gaze drops from mine to the swelling cheekbone, the blood running from my split lip, and every inch of damage he takes in makes his shoulders sag with shame.

His hand falls away from my neck and his other wrist goes slack in my grip.

I release it carefully. He circles his fist against his chest.

I'm sorry.

He can’t even look at me.

I ease my forearm away from his collarbones and take one deliberate step back, watching him. He remains against the wall, shoulders curled forward, hands hanging open at his sides. The knuckles on his right hand are split and bloody.

Mostly with my blood, I suspect.

“It’s fine.”

He circles his fist again.

Sorry…

“I saw you the first time.”

Ivy rushes between us the second there’s actual space, twisting left and right like she can’t decide which battered alpha requires attention first.

"Calm him down, I'm fine," I tell her.

She makes an exasperated sound and turns to Wraith, her hands hovering near his exposed face before landing on his chest instead. "Look at me. Hey."

He does, barely.

“You’re okay.” She presses her palm over his sternum. “Val’s okay too. Everyone’s okay.”

Well. Technically.

I touch my lower lip with two fingers. They come away red. The cut isn’t deep, but my mouth tastes like iron and it's already beginning to swell.