Page 83 of A Pack of Pumpkins
Animbecilestandsatthe back door of the house, picking the lock while my pack cares for our omega’s heat upstairs. It’s the third day. I’m proud of the young alphas. They’ve taken care of Clara in ways I can’t in my state—feeding her, bathing her, and making sure she has everything. I may not be able to care for her in the traditional ways, but I can take care of her in this way.
So I let him come in, unlocking the door for him. He freezes for a moment, then smirks at his assumed lock-picking prowess. He tries to hide his appearance but I recognize his aura as that of the Deputy. The one who'd been swooning over Clara that first night. I watch, unseen in the shadows, as he creeps into my house. He’s holding something. I lean forward, my form stretching closer, and I see it.
Rage, white-hot, floods my senses. The man is holding chloroform and rope. A black bag. His intentions are quite clear. A growl climbs up my throat. As a spirit, what used to be simple responses manifest in the physical world as something else. The room grows darker, as if the moon itself had been swallowed by my anger, and the small light in his hands goes out.
He curses and smacks it around a bit, but technology tends to be nothing to me—so easily manipulated. Still, he makes his way to the stairs, gunning for my mate’s nest. The red-hot anger turns to power in my hands. He will never even reach the first step. I shift, finding myself at the top of the stairs.
Hestops dead. In the blackness, I must look like a shadow pulled into the shape of a man. Just a trick of the light… until I start moving toward him. He stumbles back.
“Wha—what the hell?”
I’m not in my alpha form. That takes too much willpower to create. I’d only exert that much energy for my Darlin' and my pack. For this absolute piece of refuse, I only bother with my shadow form. He takes another step back. I use all of my focus to rip his phone from his hand. It clatters to the floor, shattering the screen. The alpha puts up his fists to fight me.
I laugh. The sound is wrong, hollow, echoing, as if it comes from somewhere behind him. The sound makes his eyes go wide in fear, and he trips over his own feet as he goes for the door. I shut it, wanting to make absolutely sure this man never thinks to come back here. He fumbles with the knob, but it doesn’t move. A horrible, high-pitched whine scrapes its way out of his throat. Pathetic.
The switchblade I carried in life slides into my hand as if it’s been waiting. His gaze darts to it. He lunges straight through me. Nothing can touch me but my Darlin'.
I turn to where he lies sprawled on the floor and strike. My blade runs through his flesh over and over. It cannot break flesh, but it can ignite the nerves just below the surface, accomplishing the same pain. The anguished cries fill my soul with satisfaction. For what he planned to do, he more than deserves it. I’ve made sure the sound waves from this pathetic worm will never reach beyond this floor.
I allow the door to unlock with an audible click. The deputy bolts, flinging it open. I follow, stabbing at him with every step. He runs wild, with no thought for where he’s going—just as I intended. The night is moonless, the bluff treacherous in the dark. He stumbles near the edge, and for a moment I almostbelieve he’ll tumble over. At the last second, he catches himself, panic sparking in his eyes before he spins and bolts up the road.
A car waits in the brush. A door slams, an engine roars to life, and I watch his taillights vanish into the distance.
I go out to the desk where Clara’s pen and paper lay. Since we’ve bonded, I no longer have to resort to using her hands to write. Interacting in the physical world has become easier, especially at night.
Epilogue- Clara
Icomehomereadyfor a cozy night in with my pack, but the moment I walk through the door, I’m presented with the Halloween costume I planned to wear last week and told to go upstairs and change immediately.
It’s a flurry of half-baked alpha explanations before I find myself in my omega suite, costume in hand, with a strict one-hour deadline to get ready. Those scheming alphas. What on earth could I need a costume for in November?
Still, I put it on, style my hair in the updo I’d planned for Halloween night, and carefully apply my makeup. When I step back to look in my full-length mirror, I can’t help but smile.
I’m dressed as a woodland faerie in green tulle and lace, with sparkly overlays that shimmer in the light. Silk flowers climb spindly branches along my bodice, and my curled hair is threaded with more tiny blooms. I love the way I feel in it. In the few minutes I have left, I check on all my plant babies before the guys say I can come back downstairs.
When the time is right, I descend the stairs from my omega suite and then down from the second floor. The downstairs is dark. I halt halfway, my mind flashing back to the note Finian left me a few nights ago.
You’re safe. He’s gone.
It had clearly referred to the Deputy who, sure enough, had been rumored to have taken a transfer to a station somewhere in Texas. I still have no idea how Finian could have pulled that off. But now, in the darkness of the house, unease coils in my stomach. A phantom hand brushes the back of my neck, and I stiffen, breath catching, ready to scream, before the scent of bread surrounds me.
I lean back into the solid body I know isn’t really there, feeling the ghostly weight of him wrap around me.
“Boo, Darlin',” Finian whispers in my ear just before the lights blaze on and a crowd in my living room yells,
“Surprise!”
I squeak and clutch my chest. They nearly give me a heart attack. The entire downstairs is still decorated for Halloween. I hadn’t had the heart to take it down. But now a banner has been added, “Happy Halloween” in big purple letters. The room is filled with the girls from my book club, their packs, friends from the Café. Even Stella is here, looking as grumpy as ever.
Music kicks up—the “Monster Mash”—and in the middle of it all is my pack, all looking at me like I’m the brightest star in the sky.
Bram is dracula, fitting his horror background. Victor is frankenstein, after his namesake. Jack is a skeleton. The white paint practically glows in the light from the chandelier. And Dagan is a dragon with metal scales.
I make my way down the stairs, but Bram and the others meet me at the bottom.
“What is this?” I ask, unable to keep the grin off my face.
Bram smiles right back. “We know how disappointed you were to miss Halloween.”
