Page 154 of Psycho Pack

Twenty-Seven

IVY

I've been acutely aware of the attendants' reactions to Wraith ever since he and I came back into the room.

Acutely aware because I know Wraith is, too.

The servants' eyes are wide above their veils as they watch him with clear wariness, and that's only grown since the wine glass incident. Every low growl from him makes them jump.

Whiskey's little distraction helped, though.

Not that it's stopped a few of the servants stationed around the room from glancing nervously at Wraith every few moments. I have to bite back a snarl of my own at their reactions.

How dare they judge him?

But as I watch them from where I sit beside my alpha, my hand on his under the table, I catch the way their eyes linger when they think no one's looking. The quick glances, the slight tilt of their heads. It reminds me of children seeing something new for the first time.

And to be fair, they're reacting the same way to all the Ghosts, stealing fascinated and nervous peeks at each of my alphas in turn. Actually, I'm the only stranger they don't seem to be afraid of.

Maybe that would change if they knew I'm the only stranger who has a reputation for biting fingers off. Or if they knew I'm thinking about adding a prince's fingers to the collection if he keeps staring at Wraith. Revi may be Plague's brother, but that doesn't keep me from giving him a lethal glare that finally gets him to look back at his damn plate.

The queen isn't reacting, which seems to help. The one time she glances briefly at Wraith, she looks away as if she can tell he doesn't like being looked at. And I guess it's pretty obvious from his body language. Despite his sheer size, he's clearly trying to make himself appear smaller. Shoulders hunched, posture guarded, his choppy dark hair falling over his face.

I just hope he's okay.

And Ireallyhope he actually eats.

"You know, this is a nice place," Whiskey says, breaking the silent tension in the room. "But I gotta say, there's one thing Reinmich's got you beat on."

Plague looks up sharply and then starts carving into the meat on his plate in what I can only take as a warning.

"Oh?" the queen asks, her head cocked slightly to one side. "And what might that be?"

"Rats," Whiskey says in a deadpan tone. "In a building this size, there would've been at least three or four scurrying around by now. The lack of rats has got me feelin' a little homesick."

Revi is the first to bark out a laugh. "Well, I'm sure we could import some."

"Idiot," Plague mutters into his wine. But there's a hint of affection there.

Just like that, the tension in the room dissipates. Conversations slowly resume around the table, and I feel Wraith's shoulders relax beside me.

Crisis averted.

For now, at least.

I turn my attention to the plate in front of me, piled high with food that looks and smells incredible. I pick up my fork, acutely aware of the weight of the silver in my hand. It would make a decent weapon in a pinch.

Old habits die hard, I guess.

I spear a piece of perfectly seared meat, glistening with some kind of herb-infused buttery sauce, and bring it to my lips. The moment it hits my tongue, I have to bite back a moan. It's the most delicious thing I've ever tasted.

"Fucking good, isn't it?" Whiskey asks, flashing a grin at me. "Feels like we've died and gone to heaven."

"I certainly hope we haven't died," Valek says dryly.

"We haven't," Thane mutters stiffly.

I nod enthusiastically to Whiskey as I take another bite, not trusting myself to speak without making embarrassing noises. Beside me, Wraith still hasn't touched his food. Carefully, making sure my movements are slow and deliberate, I reach under the table and place my hand on his thigh. He flinches slightly at the contact, but doesn't pull away.