Page 43 of A Pack of Pumpkins
“He offered—” Sunny starts.
“I don’t care. Be polite or leave.”
Sunny sighs, stepping forward to hug me. “Fine. No blood oaths.”
Cole says nothing, but doesn’t break Bram’s gaze until Bram kisses me lightly. “You’re the boss, Ghost,” he says, with absolute sincerity.
I turn to Cole. He nods once. “I apologize if I overstepped.”
The tension cracks, and we head to the backyard, though Bram lingers at my side.
“What were you thinking? A blood oath?” I hiss.
“I would take one without hesitation to swear to your safety,” he says steadily. “Because if harm ever came to you, I’d rather die.”
The words lodge in my chest.
***
The yard is decked out for fall. Glass-top table, swivel chairs, a full outdoor kitchen courtesy of Jack, gear from Dagan to make the space perfect. I’d splurged on Halloween decor like hay bales, specialty pumpkins, black plates with vintage ghosts, orange and purple twinkle lights.
At each place setting is a pumpkin and carving tools. Some guests light up—Cali, Seth, Hunt, Winnie. Others look puzzled. A few—Jess, Dagan, Rose, and Cole—look outright horrified. I bite back a wicked grin. Let Cole feel the hot seat for once—with crafts.
As everyone moves to their seats, Cole intercepts me behind a hedge, away from prying eyes.
“Yes?” My bravado is running thin.
“I’m sorry if I upset you.”
“It’s fine. I know you’re looking out for me.” What he said about me being close to pack actually really meant a lot. Doesn’t mean I’m going to let him get away with being a dominant ass.
“I’m still concerned,” he says, eyes sharp.
“Why? Living together before courtship isn’t typical, but neither was you camping on Sunny’s lawn when you met her.”
“That’s not it. I’m concerned about when our alphas clashed.”
“What about it? You were more dominant than Bram. So what?”
“No,” Cole says flatly. “I wasn’t.”
I blink. “I felt him yield.”
“Because he chose to. He tried to hide it, but I could sense it. That alpha is one of the most dominant I’ve ever met.”
My gaze drifts to Bram, standing alone at the edge of the bluff, watching the sunset.
“So the question is,” Cole says quietly, “why would he hide it?”
Jack
There’ssomethingaboutcookingfor people that feeds my soul. Maybe I should have been a chef. Maybe I am, in some alternate life. I blame my old man—cooking was "omega’s work” according to him. He wasn’t a bad dad, but he had some very old-school ideas about alpha roles.
Connor’s beside me, sliding chunks of marinated chicken onto skewers while Hunt stirs a bowl fragrant with garlic and herbs. Not an omega in sight—and that’s exactly how I like it. My omega should be rested, fed, and happy, not doing something I can handle myself.
From where I’m standing at the grill, I can see Clara laughing with her friends on the patio. Winnie sits closest to her, cheeks warming every time one of my pack so much as makes eye contact. Sunny lounges at the other end of the table, tossing out sharp, teasing comments to anyone within range. One of her alphas calls her “Sunshine”, but if she’s a ray of light, it’s the kind that burns if you’re not careful.
Rose, a beta with big, cloudlike hair and generous curves, scrolls through her phone between sly little observations that land like darts. Cali, the town librarian, has that calm sweetness omegas often do.
