Page 51 of A Pack of Pumpkins
His scowl deepens. This isn’t the Henry I know from the café—this Henry feels sharp, unfamiliar, almost like a stranger wearing his face.
“You’re wrong,” he says flatly. “What we had was more than a scent match. You have to know that. I’ll prove it.” His voice rises, loud enough that nearby shoppers glance our way.
A low growl vibrates just behind me. “Back off, Officer Fuckface.”
Victor.
“What did you just—?” Henry starts, but Victor cuts him off.
“I said, back off. My omega made her feelings clear. She’s not interested. Boo hoo. Now go bother some other omega. God help that one.”
Henry’s expression turns murderous. Victor’s answering smile saysTry me.
“What’s going on here?”
The crowd parts as Sheriff Corbin strides up, gaze flicking between Victor, me, and his deputy.
Henry’s jaw tightens. “I was just getting a signed copy of my book,” he says when the Sheriff arrives, stressingmylike it’s a claim. “But I don’t think I wantit anymore. Keep it.” He slams it down on the table and stalks off, his back radiating fury. Victor growls low in his throat.
“I apologize for the Deputy,” Sheriff Corbin says. “I’ll speak to him later.”
I nod, and he turns to leave.
“Clara.” Victor is still beside me, the book Henry abandoned in his hand. He holds it out, open to the dedication page, a crease between his brows. A line is scrawled on the page.
I'll always be yours, and you'll always be mine.
***
"I'm sorry that asshole disrupted your event," Bram says on the way back from the bookstore.
My arms are wrapped around his bicep as he drives and my head leans against his shoulder. "It didn't! That was amazing Bram. Thank you so much. I don't think I ever would have had the courage to do that without you but I'm so glad I did it."
He kisses the top of my head and then scent marks me.
"There's one more thing I wanted to discuss with you," he says, and I tense. I don't feel like that's ever the start of a particularly good conversation, but he chuckles and rubs his cheek into my hair, nuzzling me.
"I sent a copy of your books to my agent. He's really impressed. He doesn't usually represent Romance, but he sent it to an agent friend of his that does."
I feel like my lungs can't get enough air. I'd started like many writers, trying to do the traditional publishing route, and found the doors closed to me. I'm grateful for all of the support I've had as an indie author, but it would be fun to experience traditional publishing even once.
"Is that okay, Ghost?” he asks.
I nod, completely unable to speak. I clutch the copies of my books I'd taken from the signing to my chest. A real agent. I look to Bram. A real alpha who believes in me.
Clara
WindwhipsaroundWinnie’slittle cottage deep in the woods just outside of town. Leaves in orange, yellow, and red swirl and tumble past the window. Dusk is falling, stretching the shadows outside and making the cozy lighting inside even warmer.
It’s finally cool enough to justify a fire in the hearth. The logs crackle and snap, sending sparks and dancing shadows up the walls.
Tonight’s meeting of The Omega Book Clubis pajama-themed, and we’ve gone all in—bundled in our softest flannel and fuzzy socks, tucked beneath chunky knit blankets. A pumpkin candle flickers on the coffee table. Each of us holds a steaming mug of spiked apple cider, the rim dusted with sugar and cloves, warm enough to chase away the chill seeping through the windowpanes.
We’ve drifted far from the topic of the book.
“What do you mean your house is haunted?” Sunny asks, leveling me with her most practical look. She’s the skeptic of the group. Rose is a close second, and right now she’s staring at me like I’ve grown a pumpkin for a head.
“I mean the spirit of an alpha, who died over a hundred years ago, is… well, notlivingexactly, but existing in my house.”
