Page 417 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

I can't fucking move.

I'm boneless. Wrung out. He might as well have drugged me, I'm so zoned out. My chest heaves and shudders, and I honestly cannot recall the last time my body felt this empty of everything.

Valek turns his head and presses a kiss to my hipbone.

"Moy mikrobik," he murmurs against my skin.

It takes a full three seconds to penetrate the fog.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" I croak.

He lifts his head.

The bastard is radiant.

"Nothing," he says pleasantly.

"You called me your little germ?"

"Ah." He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then licks his lip of what's left, absolutely delighted. "So you did understand that."

"You know I speak fucking Russian, I threatened to kill you a minute ago, you smug fucking⁠—"

He barks out a laugh, head thrown back, and the sound is so unguarded and stupidly warm, I can't bring myself to be as irritated as I should be.

Little germ.

This fucking alpha.

"It's affectionate. You're small for an alpha. Persistent." He drops his chin onto my hip again. "Bad for one's health."

I stare at the ceiling and consider whether it's worth the energy to kill him. Mostly because I loathe germs, and I know that's the real reason he called me that. To mess with me.

It is not worth it.

My body isn't working.

I close my eyes instead. The room is spinning slowly, pleasantly, and my limbs feel like they're full of wet sand. Sleep is coming for me whether I want it to or not.

I fight it long enough to remember my manners.

"Do you want me to…" I trail off, gesturing vaguely at him because I don't want to say it out loud.

Valek blinks at me, tilting his head again. "What a strange question."

"What's strange about that?" I bite out. "It's reciprocal."

"Mm. No." He pushes himself up off the bed, and when the mattress rebounds, I get rolled partially onto my side. "You'll lie there and rest."

"I can⁠—"

"You can barely form a sentence." He drags the duvet up over me, and I'm too far gone to protest that it's the wrong duvet, the one from the chair, and I have no idea when it was last laundered. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" I mutter.

He doesn't answer.

I hear him pull his sweatpants back into place, hear the doorknob turn, catch a glimpse of light flooding the room from the hall, and the room goes dark and quiet again.