Page 89 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

Ivy emerges behind me, and Whiskey's attention snaps to her immediately. His whole demeanor changes. Full golden retriever mode, instantly.

"Keep an eye on him for me, yeah?" Ivy asks Whiskey.

Whiskey nods, uncharacteristically serious. "I got him."

The look Whiskey gives me is too soft.

I've been taking care of myself since before you even knew what a hockey stick was, I sign to Whiskey with a frustrated growl. I'm FINE.

"Sure you are, big guy. You don't need anybody but Ivy. You're the scary lone wolf. I know." Whiskey's grin widens, completely unfazed. "But you're stuck with me anyway. Package deal. Non-refundable. Bros for life."

I'm about to argue with him again when Ivy laughs softly behind me, and the musical sound of it makes every last shred of irritation evaporate.

The bickering helps anyway. This familiar back-and-forth, the way Whiskey refuses to treat me like I'm different… the static in my head fades a little more with each exchange.

Guess this is what pack is supposed to feel like.

"Don't worry about a thing, wildcat," Whiskey says to Ivy, throwing an arm around my shoulders like I didn't just growl at him. "We're gonna warm up, stretch, do some alpha bonding shit, and then go out there and absolutely fuck the Demons in the ass. Impale 'em with hockey sticks like Vlad Dracula. Crazy style."

I roll my eyes.

Ivy's smile is tired but real. "I'm counting on it."

She moves toward me, rising up on her tiptoes, and I lean down to meet her in the middle as she presses another kiss against my mask. The contact is barely a brush of warmth through the fabric, but I feel it everywhere.

My hand comes up automatically to cup the back of her head, holding her there for just a moment longer.

Be safe, I sign when she pulls back, my fingers trailing down her hair.

"Always," she promises.

She understood that, even without fingerspelling.

She really has been learning.

Then she turns to Whiskey. "Hey. C'mere."

Whiskey blinks. "Yeah, wildcat?"

Before he can say anything else, Ivy grabs him by the head—both hands fisting in his damp hair to haul him down forcefully since he still hasn't realized what the fuck is going on—and stretches up on her tiptoes to kiss him too.

It's not a long kiss. But when she lets go, Whiskey looks like he's the one whose head she caved in with a fire extinguisher, eyes huge.

"I—" He clears his throat. "Uh—that was—you just⁠—"

"Thanks for texting me," Ivy says simply, like she didn't just short out his entire brain. "I mean it. You did the right thing."

Whiskey manages a strangled sound that might be words in some alternate dimension.

Ivy grins at both of us before pulling her own mask back up. "Please text me if anything else happens, okay? I'll find you. I'm a little bit feral too, remember?"

Then she's walking away, her borrowed hoodie swallowing her small frame, her freshly darkened hair disappearing around the corner at the end of the hall.

Whiskey and I watch her go.

Mesmerized.

Neither of us moves until she's completely out of sight. Even then, it takes another few seconds before either of us manages to function enough to walk.