Page 89 of Justice for Puck Bunnies

“She’s dead,” Trick spits. “You can’t be jealous of a dead girl.”

Shows how much you know.

That bitch had my alpha for far too long.

Not that I know for how long.

But Patrick Wyatt is mine and . . .

Fuck.

Maybe he’s right. I hate that he could be. I need to force my instincts to yield.

Shaking my head to throw the spiraling thoughts out, I ask a question I know will douse the flames building in my belly.

“Tell me about her,” I force out.

“Izzy, you don’t—” he replies.

“I want to know. It’ll help. I need a reality check.”

He chews on his bottom lip and begs Vin for help with unsaid words in glances.

Vin’s shoulders tense, but he doesn’t offer any advice.

“Virginia. Her name was Virginia.”

Deep breaths.

She had a name. It’s fine. Everyone has a name.

“Okay.”

“Virginia and I were close friends growing up. My alpha was my best friend in high school. They loved each other, and I loved them, so the pack was a natural conclusion.”

A pack? Did he just say pack?

Hmmm, pack. With them. Good mates.

So fucking hot. Finish what we started in the gym.

Fucking against the mirrors . . .

No. Nope, nope, nope.

Convert that burning ember from desire into anger.

“We never formalized the bonds. We were kids barely into our 20s. We thought we knew everything but didn’t understand a damn thing.”

“I’m choosing not to be offended by that,” Vin remarks.

“You don’t count,” Trick replies. “You’re an old soul and you’re more mature at your worst than Mase is at his best.”

“Hey!” Mason interjects, and his mock offense kicks off some of the weight pressing on my spine.

“And they died,” I comment. “You said it so matter-of-fact.”

“It was a long time ago. They went to a show for a group I didn’t like. They begged me to go with them, but I was angry they wouldn’t choose something I wanted to do. They were...”

---