Ivy #3
The silence that follows stretches too long.
Click. Spin. Catch. Click.
The rhythm of his knife spinning in his fingers is almost meditative. I actually don't know if he even means to be menacing with it. It's more like a fucked up fidget spinner for him, I think.
"Is that all you want?" he asks pointedly.
"Yes."
"I promise," he says slowly, "that I will not murder Wade Kelly."
I'm so relieved, I sag slightly in my chair. "Thank you," I say in the split second before I pick up on the ever-so-slight emphasis on the word murder. "Wait, why did you say it like that?" I ask, sitting right back up again.
"Murder is deliberate by definition," Valek adds.
So much for relief. "What?"
"I promise not to murder Wade Kelly." The knife spins again. "But accidents do happen. It's hockey."
"Valek—"
"It's a violent sport, Ivy. Modern gladiatorial combat on ice. Bones break. Organs rupture. Blades slice." He flashes me a wolfish grin. "Even if someone dies, manslaughter is not murder."
I stare at him. "You're seriously trying to rules-lawyer a promise not to commit murder."
"I'm being realistic about the inherent dangers of professional hockey." The knife vanishes into his sleeve. "If Wade Kelly happens to suffer an unfortunate accident during tomorrow's game—a bad check, perhaps, or a skate to the throat—well, these things happen."
"Not to Wade, they don't." I shake my head. "He's too valuable. Too protected. The refs watch him like a hawk. Don't even fucking try it. They'll know. I'm serious."
That, and I don't think I want the mental image of Wade getting killed on the ice for the rest of my life. Wade rotting behind bars? Absolutely. Wade losing a few more fingers? I'd take that.
Wade filleted like a fish on the fucking ice because Valek is clearly out of his mind?
Nope.
I decide to change tactics. "There's one other thing."
His silver eyes flick up from where he's studying his hands. "You're certainly demanding today."
"No games. And no clever wordplay," I say instead of letting him deflect with that dry humor. "I need a straight answer. A yes or a no."
Something in my tone makes him go still. That predator stillness again, but different this time. More focused. Like I've finally said something that actually matters to him.
"Ask," he says simply.
I take a breath, steadying myself. "Don't tell Wade anything about me. Don't drop hints that you've seen me. Don't give him any information. Not where I am, not that I'm here, nothing. Even if he asks directly."
Valek's expression doesn't change, but I catch the slight tightening around his eyes. He's actually considering this carefully instead of dancing around it like he did with the murder question.
"Why would Wade ask me about you?" he asks finally.
"Because you used to play for the Demons, even if it was a long time ago.
Because he knows you're on the Ghosts now.
Because he's paranoid and controlling and desperate.
" The words pour out faster than I intend.
"He'll be looking for any connection, any lead.
And if he thinks there's even a chance you've seen me—"
"Yes," Valek interrupts, and there's nothing playful in his voice now. "I promise."
I search his face for any sign of deception. Any hint that he's still playing games.
I find nothing but cold certainty.
"You mean that," I say.
"Yes."
"Thank you," I mutter.
"Don't thank me yet." His mouth quirks slightly. "You haven't seen me play against the Demons."
"You promised not to murder him."
"I made no promises about his kneecaps."
I should probably be more concerned he's doubling down on his sneaky lawyering. Should probably dig out another promise, anything that guarantees he won't do something catastrophically violent on the ice tomorrow.
But honestly?
Fuck Wade's kneecaps.
Footsteps thunder suddenly on the fire escape outside, making the entire side of the pack house shake like there are bulls about to come through the door. The door blows open and the alpha that barrels in is about as close to a human bull as it gets.
"IVY!" Whiskey's voice booms through the house. "It's been ten minutes! Do we need to—oh."
He appears in the doorway, takes in the scene—me and Valek standing several feet apart in what could generously be called a civil conversation—and stops short.
Plague appears behind him, pale eyes immediately assessing the situation. "Everything alright?"
"Peachy," Valek says pleasantly, flashing him a grin.
"Fine," I say quickly. "We were just talking."
"Talking." Whiskey's gaze bounces between us. "That's all?"
"What else would we be doing?" Valek asks dryly.
"I don't know, man. You're unpredictable. You look and act like you have a fuckin' villain lair somewhere. Could've been plotting world domination for all I know."
Valek barks out a laugh as he passes me, close enough that I catch his scent. Sharp and cold. Winter pine and steel.
"I meant what I said," he whispers, low enough that only I can hear. "All of it."
Then he's gone, disappearing down the hallway.
What the fuck does that even mean?
Whiskey immediately rushes over, hands hovering like he wants to check me for injuries but isn't sure if he's allowed. "Did he threaten you just now? Should I kick his ass? I'll kick his ass."
"Nobody's kicking anyone's ass," I say, batting his hands away. "We just talked. It's fine. He likes to be vague and mysterious. It's kind of his thing."
"For ten whole minutes," Whiskey mutters, like I've committed some kind of cardinal sin. "We used a stopwatch."
Thane steps forward, his dark eyes searching my face. "Are you sure you're alright? You seem stressed."
I roll my eyes at Whiskey and turn to Thane. "I'm okay. Actually, it went better than I expected. I think we... understand each other now. Sort of."
"Understand each other how?" Plague asks carefully.
"Well… I don't know," I admit finally. "But he's not a threat."
"Not to you," Whiskey points out.
"Yeah."
Wraith lets out a low growl to get my attention and signs to me. I don't catch all of it, but I catch enough to put it together. I'm getting better at this. Did V-A-L-E-K say anything about W-A-D-E?
"Just that Wade's an asshole who deserves nothing." I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. "Which, you know. Accurate. And he implied he wants to kill him, so, no. They're not friends."
"And he wasn't just saying that?" Thane asks warily.
I shake my head. "I'm a firm believer in following my gut after all the shit I've been through. Valek didn't lie to me once today. Okay, so he did play lawyer when I made him promise not to kill Wade. But he didn't lie. He was… aggressively honest, if anything."
All four alphas perk up sharply at the word aggressively.
"Not aggressive like that," I clarify.
More silent alpha communication. Then Thane nods slowly. "Alright. If you trust he isn't a danger to you, we'll... try to lay off."
"Try being the operative word," Whiskey mutters. "I can lawyer, too, you know."
Plague snorts. "Please. You'd be useless in a courtroom."
"Speak for yourself, bro. I can argue circles around you, and you know it."
They're still arguing like an old married couple as we make our way back to the loft. I was worried I'd be stressed as fuck after outing myself to Valek, but the bickering is quickly becoming a form of ASMR for me.
It's tough to feel like things aren't normal with the four alphas who have become… well.
My new normal.
I immediately gravitate toward the nest. The mattresses on the floor are covered in blankets and pillows, all of them saturated with pack scent now. It's become my favorite place in the world. Better than any luxury apartment anyone ever tried to buy my compliance with.
I sink into the soft chaos of fabric and let out a long, tired groan. Wraith settles beside me without hesitation, his massive frame making the nest dip. He doesn't crowd me, just sits close enough that I can feel his body heat. His blue eyes track my face worriedly.
"I'm okay," I tell him softly. "Really."
He doesn't look convinced. His hand lifts, hesitates, then very carefully brushes a strand of freshly darkened hair behind my ear. The gesture is so gentle it makes my throat tight. I nuzzle into his scarred palm.
Thane drops into the nest next to me. "You sure about tomorrow?" he asks. "Sitting in the crowd, I mean. We could find another way—"
"I'm sure." I cut him off before he can start overthinking and planning alternatives. "I need to do this. I need to prove to myself that I can be in the same building as Wade without falling apart."
"You won't fall apart," Plague says from where he's settled near the foot of the nest.
"I won’t?" The question slips out before I can stop it. "Because most days I feel like I'm held together with duct tape. And spite."
"Spite's a powerful motivator," Whiskey says cheerfully, flopping down beside Plague with zero regard for personal space and partially crushing Plague's bent leg.
Plague lets out a string of curses under his breath and yanks his foot out from under Whiskey, but that's as far as he moves.
"Also, duct tape is surprisingly strong.
You ever try to tear that shit? It's like trying to rip adamantium. "
"Did you just make a Wolverine reference?" I ask with a dry laugh.
"Hell yeah I did. Wolverine's a badass. Speaking of which, the best movies ever made are on Alphlix. Might take your mind off everything. It's about a woman with guns for arms. There are zombies and cowboys, and Alphlix has them all."
"Sure. Why not?" I find myself saying, even though that sounds more like Whiskey's cup of tea and literally no one else's.
Plague lunges for the remote in sheer panic, but Whiskey beats him to it. I grin, watching them argue while Whiskey queues up the movie and Thane and Wraith surround me on both sides, solid and warm.
Tomorrow, I'll face my demons.
But tonight, I'm exactly where I need to be.