Page 20 of A Pack of Pumpkins
I crouch down and lift the lid. It groans open and the clicking stops.
I brace myself for something to scurry out. A rat or a chipmunk, maybe a cursed raccoon. Nothing moves.
Inside is a gray wool suit, a newsboy cap and a pair of vintage shoes. I can’t imagine why they’re here.
The hanging bulb overhead flickers. One slow pulse like a dying heartbeat. I close the trunk. The lid thuds shut, loud in the stillness.
The light flickers again. And again. Slower now. Like it’s thinking. Watching.
I wait. No way I’m tripping in the dark like an idiot. But instead of fixing itself, the bulb starts blinking faster in an erratic, frantic dance. Like a warning.
Then it changes again. Longer pauses. Longer dark. And in one of those dark gaps, something doesn’t disappear. A shape lingers. Too still. Too large.
When the light flares again, it’s still there. A hulking mass of darkness, fed by the absence of light. Broad shoulders. No reflection in the eyes. Just watching. The shape doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t breathe.
I stand taller, my alpha rising hard and fast. The scent of baked bread twists sharp and wrong in my nose. Cold. Angry. Dead.
A low growl rises in my chest. My stance shifts. I brace to defend. But the shadow just tilts its head.
“Who—” I begin, stepping forward. But the light goes out.
Darkness swallows everything. My breath comes sharp. My fists are clenched.
Then, right beside my ear, a whisper.
“Alpha to alpha… don’t test me.”
The light clicks back on, and the basement door creaks open upstairs.
Clara
BramlookspalewhenI get back to the house after my shift at the café. Good thing I still have some royalties coming in from my books, because business has definitely slowed with the colder weather rolling in. Peak season’s passed.
Jack comes in not long after, his car packed with goodies that Bram helps him unload. The softest blankets, a pumpkin essential oil diffuser. He adds fairy twinkle lights across the fireplace, fuzzy pillows to the stiff couches, rustic baskets filled with warm shawls near the door, and a few new teapots with an assortment of fall-themed teas in the kitchen.
It’s… perfect. Soothing in a way I didn’t know I needed.
“Did you—” I start, but cut myself off before I can sound too hopeful. But Jack just smiles and bends down to scent-mark along my neck. His dreads fall around his face, tickling my cheeks.
My heart soars. I clutch the front of his shirt with both hands, running my nose along his chin and scent-marking him back.
“Omegas need soft things,” he says. “But besides that, I couldn’t stand how sterile this place was. It felt like a walk-through museum.”
The light above us flickers. We both look up. Bram growls behind us, low and sharp, and we turn toward him.
“Problem?” Jack asks, voice still easy.
Bram clears his throat. “No, I—no.”
I tilt my head at him, instincts rising. But before I can ask, the front door swings open and Dagan and Victor walk in.
Victor doesn’t even look at me. He heads straight upstairs like I’m not there at all. I try to ignore the sharp sting in my chest.
Instead, I turn to Dagan—and for one heart-wrenching moment, his expression is so sour it twists my gut. What if Victor’s convinced him I’m an unworthy omega?
But Dagan strides toward me and lifts me right into his arms. Relief crashes through me so fast my scent probably soured for a second. But he doesn’t pull away. Just smiles and scent-marks the other side of my neck, nuzzling against my pulse like he’s claiming me.
When he sets me down and I step back, I take a breath and sign, "Did you have a good day?"
