Page 23 of Pumpkin Patch Pack

I swallow one, then check the scent patches on my neck. They’re still in place, but when I peel one back, I can smell myself, warmer and sweeter than usual.

I’m perfuming, the way an omega’s scent intensifies when they’re…

No.

I refuse to finish that thought.

I press the patch back into place. I’ll need to double the dose and renew my prescription, but that means a trip to the pharmacy in town and questions about my designation that I don’t want to answer.

I sink onto the edge of the bathtub, head in my hands.

I can’t leave—not yet. I don’t have enough money saved, and I don’t have another job lined up. And some traitorous part of me doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to run again.

These males have been nothing but pleasant and welcoming.

I have nothing to fear, right?

“You’ll figure it out,” I whisper to myself. “You always do.”

But as I raise my head and catch my reflection in the mirror, cheeks flushed, eyes too bright, I’m not sure I believe it this time. Because the truth is, for the first time since I fled the city, it’s not just my past catching up with me that I am afraid of.

I’m afraid of what might happen if I stay.

9

Rowan

Ican’t get her scent out of my head.

Watching Emma hurry to her cottage, I stand rooted in place, my body humming with an energy I’ve never felt before. Her scent lingers in the air: apple pie, taunting me even as she disappears behind her door.

Fuck.

The urge to follow her and make sure she is okay tears through me. I drag a hand down my face, trying to compose myself. Her scent has been getting stronger, breaking through whatever suppressants she’s taking. Today it hit me—sweet and ripe and undeniably omega.

My omega.

The thought rises unbidden, and I push it down immediately.

She’s not mine.

Yet.

She’s an employee who clearly doesn’t want anyone to know her designation.

I force myself to turn away from her cottage, striding toward the barn, but her scent clings to my memory, refusing to fade.

She looked ill and pale, with shadows under her eyes.

Is she sick?

The protective instinct that rises in me is almost overwhelming.I should go back and check on her to make sure she has everything she needs.

But that’s not my place. She very clearly doesn’t want my help. Doesn’t want me to know what she is.

The barn door creaks as I pull it open with force. Inside, the familiar smells of the farm ground me somewhat. I find Liam in the back, brushing down one of the ponies with methodical strokes.

“Something’s wrong,” he says without looking up. Always direct, our Liam.