Page 392 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

"Privacy," Valek says with an easy smile.

Thanks, Wraith signs quickly.

Thane just nods and hands his brother a lemonade with a straw already in it.

The theater itself is even darker, and it's empty toward the back. There's a scattering of people down front, teenagers mostly, a couple on a date. Nobody turns around when we file in, even with Whiskey making a shitload of noise.

Wraith takes the corner seat of the back row.

And I take Wraith, climbing into his lap before he's even fully settled, and his whole body exhales beneath me as his arms come up to wrap around me and his chin rests on the top of my head.

"Comfortable?" Valek asks, amused.

"Extremely."

"I know you are. I meant him."

Wraith gives a thumbs-up over my shoulder.

Thane takes the seat to my right, then Whiskey with a popcorn bucket the size of a bass drum and Plague with a tiny water bottle he somehow brought in his coat. Valek takes the end of the row, closest to the aisle, but I'm not sure if it's because he's acting as security or if he just wants to sit with Plague.

Maybe a bit of both.

The lights drop and Whiskey immediately produces snack after snack from the inside of his leather jacket like contraband. None of these are things they have at the theater. He was clearly waiting for this.

"Got the premium shit," he whispers conspiratorially, passing them down the aisle.

"Thanks," I whisper back when he hands me a pack of sour gummies.

Plague actually lights up when Whiskey flashes him his favorite protein bar, already in the middle of sanitizing his armrests with a wipe. Valek is helping him.

"Factory sealed, baby," Whiskey says.

Thane pretends not to see any of this, staring down into the audience like someone might see this and snitch.

The opening ads start playing. They're terrible, all outdated 3D with tinny voices and loud music. The theater's mascot is an unnecessarily feminine female T-rex that eats all the cartoony audience members who break the rules.

"See?" Whiskey whispers loudly to Thane. "You don't gotta enforce the rules here. Lexi Rexi will."

Thane rolls his eyes.

The previews are even campier.

But the movie is perfect.

Yes, it's a fucking mess. All the zombies have guns for arms, not just the main character, so there must have been a change along the way after they made the standee and the posters. She's the only one with Gatling guns, though. The movie never once explains it. A scientist in dark academia clothes, complete with a pocketwatch, who immediately reminds me of Plague is to blame for all of it. I hear Whiskey chuckling and whispering something to Valek that has Plague hissing in rage.

Wraith even huffs a little at the absurdity and Whiskey's running commentary, which Plague keeps trying in vain to silence even though more than half the people in the theater left when they realized it was a gorefest.

Thane's hand ends up on the armrest between us, open, palm up.

I take it.

His fingers close around mine immediately, and I feel his knuckles are slightly swollen. Still healing from whatever wall he must have punched recently. Even just holding his hand, I can feel how tense he is.

"Hey," I whisper. "You're off duty."

He looks at me sideways. "I'm never off duty."