Page 38 of Pumpkin Patch Pack
“Barely. In and out.”
“Keep her alert. Talk to her. I’m on my way.”
I hang up and immediately send a group text to Rowan and Theo:
“Emma, seriously ill. Suppressant overdose + possible reaction. Dr. Mitchell coming. Meet at her cottage.”
I return to Emma, who’s shivering violently despite the sweat beading on her skin. I grab a washcloth from her bathroom, soak it in cool water, and gently place it on her forehead. She whimpers at the contact, turning her face toward me.
“Help is coming,” I murmur, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You’re going to be okay.”
Maple has somehow made her way onto the bed, curling protectively against Emma’s side. I should shoo her away, but her presence seems to calm Emma, so I let her stay.
Even the goat knows this is our mate.
“Stay with me. Just stay with me, Emma.”
Her eyes flutter open again. “Please,” she whispers, her eyes still unfocused. “Alpha…”
My heart hammers against my ribs as she pulls me closer. Every protective instinct I possess roars to life, drowning out the voice of reason.
When I hesitate, she whimpers, a sound of distress so potent it nearly undoes me.
My mate is hurting.
I carefully lie beside her on the bed, and she immediately closes the gap, pressing herself against my chest with a feverish sigh. Her body is burning up, radiating heat through her sweat-soaked clothes.
My instincts take over, and a deep rumble begins in my chest. The sound emerges as a soft, soothing purr, something I haven’t done since I was a young alpha comforting my little sister after nightmares.
Emma responds almost instantly. Her rigid muscles begin to relax, and her breathing slows slightly as the vibrations of my purr travel through both our bodies. I hold her, continuing the steady, rhythmic sound that seems to reach her even through the fever.
“Shh,” I murmur against her hair as the purr grows louder. “I’ve got you.”
She nuzzles closer, her face pressing into the crook of my neck.
“That’s it,” I whisper, continuing to purr as I stroke her damp hair. “You’re safe now.”
17
Emma
Warmth.
That’s the first sensation that filters through the darkness. Not the burning heat from before, but a gentle, comforting warmth—the weight of blankets, that wonderful smell.
I force my heavy eyelids open, blinking. The world slowly comes into focus. I’m in my cottage, but something’s different.
The room is tidier with fresh sunflowers on the nightstand and a glass of water nearby.
An older beta sits in a chair beside my bed, his silver hair neatly combed. A stethoscope hangs around his neck.
Even though I realize this beta must be a doctor, the panic still surges through me, and I try to sit up, only to fall back as dizziness overwhelms me.
“Easy now,” he says, his voice gentle. “You’re still recovering.”
“Who are you?” My voice comes out as a rasp, my throat painfully dry.
“Dr. Mitchell. I’m the physician forHarvest Home Farmand the surrounding area.” He offers me the glass of water, supporting my head as I drink. “You’ve had a rough few days, young lady.”
