Page 33 of A Pack of Pumpkins
I take two steadying breaths—which is the wrong thing to do. His scent floods me. It’s like stepping into the warm embrace of a long-lost, beloved friend. I want to live in it. My omega wants to run to him and kiss him until he gets over all his issues.
Usually I follow my instincts. But not this time.
I walk into the kitchen, determined to play it cool. Do I deserve an apology for the way he’s treated me? Definitely. But I won’t stoop to asking for it. I want the pack in sync, and demanding things from its most hostile member isn’t the way to get there.
I don’t want to look at him. Don’t want him to see how much his rejection hurts. But I’ve always, always wanted to find my scent-sensitive mates. It’s the fairytale I was convinced would happen for me. Victor is supposed to be part of that happily ever after.
When I finally glance up, he’s already staring. His expression is far from pleasant. His whole body rigid, the tattoos around his neck flexing, brows drawn tight.
Victor snatches up a notepad and pencil without a word and storms upstairs. His thundering steps scream that I shouldn’t follow.
It takes everything I have to swallow back the omega whine clawing up my throat. Too much effort to hold it in leaves nothing to stop the tears that slip down my cheeks before I swipe them away.
If he were anyone else, I wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t waste a thought on why he doesn’t like me. But he’s not anyone else. He’s my mate.
And he’s rejecting me.
Maybe I could bear it if he weren’t part of the same pack as my other alphas. Twins with one. He means something to them—and I don’t want to be the wedge.
So I wipe my tears away, shove down the disappointment, and replace it with determination. There has to be a reason. I’ll find it. I’ll fix it.
Until then, I’ll focus on the alphas who want me. The ones who don’t flinch away.
Dagan
ClaraandBramaregoing to the library today to dig into the history of this ghost they saw. Jack went out to check out a local home goods store. Victor stomped off to bed.
Footsteps creak down the stairs, pulling my attention from the shipwreck footage Victor and I have been editing for the series. I expect Bram, ready for his outing with Clara.
But no one’s there.
From the couch, I can see the whole stairwell. Empty.
Then it hits me. Baked bread. Thick and warm. An alpha.
I rise, bracing for the challenge. But the room is empty. A soft breeze stirs from nowhere. Times like this, I wish I could hear better. There’s a faint voice, too quiet for my ruined ears.
Something taps my shoulder. I whirl, baring teeth.
Nothing.
When I turn back, I catch a glimpse in the mirror over the fireplace—and freeze.
My heart slams into my throat. An alpha, pale with sharp eyes and a newsboy cap, stands to my left. My head whips to the side. No one. The scar on my throat tightens, itches.
Back in the mirror, he grins at me. Wicked. Too real. I raise my hand and wave. Like a dumbass. Because what the fuck else do you do?
Hewaves back. And then he signs.
“Fuck your brother.”
I snort. Yeah, that’s probably fair. But I sober quick, lifting my hands. “Don’t touch my brother.”
The ghost shrugs and then fades away, slow as smoke.
Well. Fuck me if I ever thought I’d sign with a ghost.
Clara
