Chapter 49 – IVY
Chapter
Forty-Nine
IVY
My nest is a wreck.
The hotel sheets are twisted into knots, blankets thrown haphazardly across the bed, and I'm pretty sure one of the pillows has a bite mark in it. Not mine. Definitely Whiskey's. The alpha apparently gets bitey when he comes.
And that's about all the three of us have done since coming back from the diner earlier this morning.
I stretch languidly, feeling that bone-deep satisfaction that only comes after being thoroughly fucked through the tail end of heat. My body aches in all the best ways, and the honeysuckle scent that's been driving everyone crazy for days has finally mellowed to something manageable.
"Stop looking so smug," Plague mutters from where he's attempting to put his turtleneck back on without actually removing the blanket covering his lower half. Like I haven't already seen everything. Multiple times.
"I'm not smug. I'm satisfied." I burrow deeper into what remains of my nest, watching him struggle with the fabric. "There's a difference."
Whiskey snorts from the loveseat where he's sprawled naked as the day he was born, not giving a single fuck about modesty. "She should be smug. She got two alphas to blow—"
"We agreed never to speak of it," Plague cuts him off, finally managing to yank his turtleneck down. His normally perfect hair is a disaster.
"That was before round three," Whiskey points out, grinning. "Or was it four? I lost count after you started begging."
"I did not beg."
"'Please, Whiskey, just like that, don't stop'—"
Plague fires a pillow at his head with deadly accuracy. Whiskey catches it, laughing. Somehow, between all the heat-fueled fucking, something shifted. They're still bickering, but there's less venom in it. More like foreplay they haven't admitted to yet.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, interrupting what was about to become another round of their weird mating dance.
THANE
Hey. Change of plans, if you're okay with moving again, Ivy.
The warmth in my chest immediately cools. Of course. Just when I was starting to feel settled, even in this shitty hotel room.
IVY
Valek?
THANE
Yeah. I'm thinking you, Wraith, and me should go away for a couple of days. Wraith has errands up in Cedarbrook. Normal trip for him, won't raise suspicions, and it's five hours away from Valek.
Cedarbrook? The name means nothing to me, but the way Whiskey's face scrunches up when he reads the message over my shoulder says plenty.
"What's Cedarbrook?" I ask.
"A weird fucking town full of crazy people.
Wraith just disappears up there sometimes and nobody knows why," Whiskey says, flopping backward onto the bed beside me.
The mattress springs back, nearly sending me flying off the bed.
I grab what's left of my nest for purchase, scrambling before he catches me by the back of my shirt like I'm a feral kitten and he’s a gorilla.
He hauls me into his arms with a grin. "Gotcha. "
"Yeah, thanks," I mutter.
"Wraith certainly has his secrets," Plague says, watching us in the nest like he wants to join but doesn't want to get yoinked by Whiskey like I just did.
I shrug, pulling one of the salvageable blankets around my shoulders. "I've got secrets too. We all do."
"True," Whiskey says. "Plague's got more than the CIA."
Plague rolls his eyes. "Very creative."
I leave them to their bickering while I text the group chat back.
IVY
When?
THANE
Whenever you come back, I guess. It's going to storm tonight, so maybe by noon?
I glance at the clock. That's barely enough time to shower and start rehearsing how to pretend I haven't been fucked within an inch of my life.
"Guess the party's over," I say, texting back a quick "sure" as I climb out of bed and head for the bathroom, wincing with every step. I've never been so deliciously sore in my life.
"Wait, you're seriously going?" Whiskey sits up, brow furrowing in concern. "To middle-of-nowhere Cedarbrook?"
"Is it really that bad?" I ask doubtfully.
Whiskey winces. "I went up there once with Thane because Wraith disappeared and we wanted to make sure he was okay. It's kind of a freaky town." He drags his hands through his hair. "Shit. Now that song's stuck in my head again."
Plague pauses, then turns to him. "What song?"
"Freakytown," Whiskey says like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"Do you mean Funkytown?" Plague asks incredulously.
"Nah. Pretty sure it's Freakytown," Whiskey says, yawning and stretching his muscled arms like a giant jacked cat.
I steal an appreciative glance at his biceps as I slip into the bathroom, leaving them to a debate that could be settled with a simple Google search if they weren't such stubborn alphas.
The shower is quick and unsatisfying, but at least I don't smell like I've been in a three-way alpha sandwich in a musty hotel bed anymore.
When I emerge, Whiskey and Plague have managed to make themselves presentable, though Plague has a bite mark on his neck that his turtleneck doesn't quite cover.
Oops.
The ride back to the pack house is tense. We take Plague's car again, and I'm hidden in the backseat like contraband. Every red light feels like an eternity, every passing car a potential threat. The paranoia never really goes away. It just gets manageable sometimes.
The underground parking garage is dimly lit, all concrete shadows and fluorescent flickers that make everything look like a crime scene waiting to happen.
A black SUV idles next to a pillar, and my heart does that stupid stuttering thing when I spot the massive figure in a black coat standing beside it, his arms crossed tight over his chest and his choppy dark hair obscuring his worried blue eyes.
Wraith.
Even from here, I can see the tension radiating from his seven-foot-plus frame, the way he shifts his massive weight from foot to foot like he's been counting every second since I left.
The black face gaiter covering his lower face can't hide the intensity of his gaze that locks onto me the instant he sees us.
"This is where we leave you," Plague says, ever formal even after everything we've done together.
The second I'm out of the car, Wraith's there, closing the distance between us in three massive strides that eat up the space like it's nothing. His scarred hands hover near me, not quite touching, like he needs permission even after everything.
"Hi," I whisper, and that's all it takes.
His arms engulf me completely, tight and claiming but gentle. Like I'm precious. He smells like midnight forests and safety, and I let myself melt into him for just a moment. His broad chest rumbles with his version of a purr.
Thane shuts the trunk and comes around to our side of the SUV, looking every inch the protective pack leader even in the shitty lighting. "Hey," he says, his dark eyes lightening when they meet mine. Some of the tension bleeds out of his broad shoulders.
"Hey," I say back to him, managing a smile as I reluctantly pull away from Wraith.
Thane opens his mouth, then closes it, like he wants to say something to me but doesn't know where to start.
He settles for raking a hand through his dark hair instead.
"Valek's been on the phone almost all afternoon," he says finally, letting out a long exhale.
"Not sure why, but he's been busy. So he didn't notice us leaving.
But like I said, it's normal for Wraith to go to Cedarbrook, so it won't be suspicious. "
"Is it normal for you to go?" I ask.
"No," Thane admits. "But I don't think anyone else would know that."
Wraith's eyes flick between us warily. He's back to his guarded posture again, arms folded, his energy withdrawn.
"I think it's a good plan," Whiskey interjects, lumbering up to us. "Just… be careful. Everyone up there is fucking weird."
Wraith's head snaps up to glare at Whiskey.
"I'm sure I'll be fine," I say dryly.
"For fuck's sake, Whiskey, it's just a small town," Plague remarks. "It's probably safer than here."
"It isn't. I've been," Whiskey insists, but he's already backing toward Plague's car under the weight of Wraith's murderous stare.
Smart man. Even with the mask covering most of his face, Wraith's ability to convey rage through body language and growling alone is fucking impressive. "Text us if anything gets weird, yeah?"
"Everything's already weird," I sigh.
"Weirder, then."
Wraith signs to Whiskey. Even without knowing all his shorthand, the message is clear. I'll protect her. Always.
Whiskey's expression softens slightly. "Yeah, okay. I know you will."
Wraith nods once, curtly, then taps his chest twice with his fist before pointing at Whiskey and Plague. The gesture is oddly formal, almost military. A promise between packmates.
Thane clears his throat. "We should get moving. Long drive ahead."
Thane loads my bag into the back of the SUV while Wraith opens the front passenger door for me, those blue eyes crinkling above his mask in his version of a smile. The jagged scar through his right eye pulls slightly with the expression, but it doesn't diminish the warmth there.
"I can drive," Thane says, already heading for the driver's side.
Wraith's growl is immediate and forceful. His free hand moves sharply with signs in the space between them, choppy dark hair falling into his eyes with the aggressive movement.
"I'm not a shitty driver," Thane mutters, but there's fondness in his exasperation. "You hate being a passenger, fine. But if you crash because you're too busy staring at her—"
Wraith's middle finger is eloquent in any language.
Thane sighs before climbing into the backseat. "Just remember there are other cars on the road."
He gives a short grunt in response.
I lower the window as Whiskey and Plague approach the passenger side. The underground garage's stale air mingles with their familiar scents. Cinnamon and winter, comfort and complicated at the same time.