Page 8 of A Pack of Pumpkins
My alpha chuffs. He doesn’t give a shit what I believe in.
I clench my fists and force myself to look away. My alpha roars at me, and I physically flinch.
Dag punches me in the arm. I glance at him. He gestures, deliberately subtle, toward the omega so she won’t notice. Then he signs the word that I've been forcing myself not to even think.
I shake my head.Absolutely not.We're not going there.He signs it again. I get up and stomp to the other side of the room.This draws the fuzz's attention.
"Stay where you are 'til we get this sorted out," the Deputy snaps.
"Yeah, bud, I'm just grabbing a smoke," I say, lifting the matches off the big ornate fireplace.
"Can you please not smoke in here?" the omega asks.Her big green eyes lock on me, and her gaze punches the air from my lungs. Her heart-shaped face and button nose make me want to stare forever.
I take out a cigarette, strike the match, and inhale, lighting it. Slow and deliberate.
She pins me with a look that could spook the dead. And somehow, that glare sends an electric tug straight to my cock.
I can’t believe how wrecked her scent’s made me since we walked through the door. She's apples and apple pie, and it's Goddamn delicious, even though it's got a burnt edge too.
Bram ignores me, as usual. He's used to my antics. Might have to step them up soon. That man needs to loosen the hell up. Right now, though, he’s calmly showing the Sheriff, an older alpha with a scar across the right side of his face and greying hair, our paperwork. Bram's the fixer whenever issues arise in our lives. Usually they're my messes. But not this time.
If it's anyone's fault, it's Jack's and Bram's. They were the ones who arranged for this rental.
“This is all in order,” the Sheriff says, sending a highly apologetic look to the omega.
"What does that mean?" she asks.
"Means we're staying, spooky girl," I say. She glares daggers.
Good.
"Icannot room with four alphas. That's absurd. I was assured that anyone living here would be a beta or an omega."
"Did you get it in writing?" Bram asks.
She sputters a little before admitting, "Well, no, but it's just common sense. You don't room alphas with an omega."
It's true, it's usually common courtesy, but there aren't any actual laws against it. That's why most people get it in writing. This girl? Doesn’t seem like she read the fine print. Not judging. I don’t either. That’s why our pack has Bram.
"I'm afraid there really isn't anything we can do," The Sheriff says, clearly remorseful. "They have a right to be here. You'll have to call the rental agency in the morning."
The omega just stares.Then sighs. “Fine. I’m locking my door.”
The Deputy glares at us all.
She turns, and he takes her hand in his.
We erupt in growls. All but Dag, who's shot to his feet, fists clenched, looking more feral than the rest of us combined.
The omega's eyes widen. The Deputy steps in front of her like some damn knight in blue polyester.
"It's fine, Henry," she says quickly. "This is just some misunderstanding with the rental company. I'll get a couple more hours of sleep, then call them when they open. I'm sure these guys aren't stupid enough to try anything after the Sheriff just took down all their information."
She sizes each of us up, sharp and calculating. Then her eyes settle on me. Not scared.
I smile. I know exactly what I look like when I smile, and it’s never been described as pleasant.
“Of course. We’d never harm anyone,” Bram says, all warmth and hometown charm. He's a milky boy with blonde hair and glasses. Muscular, but somehow still soft. Even if the town’s not his own, he looks like he belongs.
