Page 21 of A Pack of Pumpkins
At least, I hope that’s what I said. My hands are shaking, nerves tumbling through me. What if I accidentally asked him about his poop or something?
But Dagan just grins, broad and bright, and pulls me into a slow spin, like I’ve given him the best gift in the world.
Then he raises his hands and, thank God, signs back two slow, clear words.“For me?”
I nod and add aloud, “For both of us. I want to be able to talk to you. Really talk. Not through translations or other people or paper.”
His answer is a kiss.
It’s gentle at first, lips soft against mine, but it sparks hot fire in my blood. When he pulls away, my omega surges forward. I rise on my toes and kiss him again, deeper. Hungrier.
Dagan doesn’t hesitate. He presses into me, full-body contact, every hard line and heated inch of him saying he feels it too. His cock flexes against my belly, and my breath catches. My fingers tighten on his shirt.
When we finally break apart, I’m breathless. Across the room, Jack is stirring something at the stove, pretending not to notice. Bram’s got a book open but he’s not turning the pages.
I press a hand to my chest.
“You okay, Ghost?” Bram asks, his voice unusually soft.
I nod. “I think I’m just tired. It was an early day.”
“Go rest,” he says gently. “We’ll come get you for dinner.”
I nod again and head for the stairs in a daze. I still feel oddly warm but happy. And very, very hopeful
Clara
I'venevertakenheatsuppressants. Ever. I'm more into herbal supplements and natural cycles. I'm paying for that choice now.
I stumble down the stairs from my suite after the nap the guys encouraged me to take. I’m in a T-shirt and underwear and nothing else. Cramps twist through my abdomen, making every step a torturous ordeal.
This is too much. Too fast. I only met the pack two days ago.
Heat spikes can happen, but without mates, they’re more like period cramps. Light, manageable, easily soothed with vibrators or knot toys. My twice-yearly heats were always handled with non-serious boyfriends, or at heat clinics a couple of times.
But with scent matches, or worse, scent-sensitive alphas, heat spikes can become far more frequent. And far more intense.
My luck is on a consistent losing streak, because as I reach the stairs to the main level, Victor lunges out of his room and nearly knocks me over.
“Jesus fuck! What are you—?” His curse cuts off mid-sentence. His pupils blow wide, and he stumbles back, spine hitting the wall as he takes a full step away from me.
My omega doesn’t like that. A needy whine claws its way up my throat before I can stop it. Victor surges forward, then freezes, still not touching me.
Does he hate me so much he won’t even help me through a heat spike? Alphas are supposed to be driven to help their omega through one. With scentsensitivity, that need should be primal. Judging by his visceral reaction, he feels it as keenly as Dagan.
So it must be me. Not the bond.
Me.
That’s ridiculous. We’ve only just met. He doesn’t even know me!
“Can you walk?” he grits out through clenched teeth.
I shake my head. Another wave of pain brings me to my knees, still clutching the stair banister.
“Guys! Get up here!” he shouts downstairs.
A commotion, then three sets of heavy alpha footsteps thunder up the stairs. For a moment, I think Victor’s finally given in and scooped me up, but then I catch the similar-but-different scent of pumpkin and nutmeg.
