Page 47 of Psycho Pack

"Standard my ass. You just like hurting me."

"If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't waste my time with your nose."

"And what the fuck does that mean, Doc?"

Their bickering washes over me, strangely soothing in its infuriating familiarity. Thane's chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm against my shoulder. Valek has finally stopped muttering, his breathing evening out. Wraith nuzzles closer, his sharp teeth carefully turned away from my skin.

For the first time since this nightmare began, I feel... completely safe.

The realization should terrify me. These are alphas. Alphas I just chose for reasons that are beyond my understanding right now, but they're still alphas.

But as I sit here, surrounded by their warmth and strength, all I feel is peace. The most peace I've ever felt in my life.

A low, deep rumble builds in Wraith's chest as I scratch lightly at his hair. Not quite a purr because of his damaged throat, but close. His massive hand finds mine, engulfing it completely. Such deadly strength, held carefully in check.

For me.

"Rest," Thane murmurs in my ear. "We'll keep watch."

I want to argue that I'm not tired, but exhaustion crashes over me like a wave. My eyes grow heavy as Whiskey and Plague's gentle bitching fades into background noise.

My alphas.

My pack.

My home.

Chapter

Nine

WHISKEY

My ass is falling asleep.

Not that I'm complaining about having our omega pressed up against me, but between her tiny frame and Wraith's massive bulk, I'm pinned in an awkward position. Plus, I need to check what's happening outside. Someone should keep watch now that the storm seems to be winding down.

I carefully extract myself from the cuddle pile, making sure not to jostle Ivy as I ease her weight onto Plague. She makes a soft sound but doesn't wake. Plague's hands automatically steady her, his pretty face more peaceful than usual.

I'm used to him looking like a smug asshole. Not sure I've ever seen him asleep.

The cold hits my bare chest as I duck through the cave entrance, but it doesn't bother me much. Being built like a brick shithouse has its advantages. The snow's still coming down hard, big fat flakes that catch the moonlight like falling stars. But it's not the snowpocalypse it was a few hours ago.

Then something moves in the darkness.

I freeze, every muscle tensing. Then I see him.

The Knight.

He's standing perfectly still about twenty yards from the cave entrance. In the moonlight, I can see him more clearly than before. The iron mask gleams dully, those blue eye-slits casting an eerie glow across the snow. His mechanical arm hangs motionless at his side, no longer sparking or twitching. The iron rods I didn't rip out of him are still jutting from his back, catching the moonlight, and the chains trailing behind him snake through the snow like metal serpents.

Plague's handiwork is holding up. The black blood has stopped flowing, and I can see fresh scars where the wounds were. Fucking impressive healing factor.

What’s he doing?

Staring at the moon?

I step back toward the cave and he turns to stare at me instead with a soft, low growl.

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