Page 40 of Pumpkin Patch Pack
My suppressants didn’t fail—they never stood a chance.
18
Theo
Inever thought I’d be jealous of a goat.
The little white menace had been sleeping beside Emma for two days until this morning, when Dr. Mitchell shooed her away.
Yet, there she is stubbornly planting herself outside Emma’s cottage door, refusing to budge.
That silly goat knew before any of us, not only that Emma was our mate, but she was in danger.
And now we’re all falling apart.
I’ve never seen Liam pace before. In all the years I’ve known him, he’s always been calm and contained. But for the past twodays, he’s worn a path in our kitchen floor, moving back and forth like a caged animal.
Rowan isn’t much better.
He’s sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the same page of inventory he’s been “reviewing” for the last hour. The burnt sugar notes in his scent have intensified, turning sharper with worry.
And me? I’m a wreck, too, just hiding it better.
Someone has to keep it together.
“Dr. Mitchell’s been in there a long time,” Liam mutters, checking his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes.
“Good sign,” I say, sliding a plate of untouched muffins closer to him. “Means she’s conscious enough to talk. Eat something, for God’s sake. You’re making me nervous.”
He ignores the food but stops pacing.
“She was asking for suppressants again,” Rowan says quietly, " before she fully woke up. Begging for them.”
The memory of finding Emma feverish and delirious sits heavily in my chest. She’d repeatedly clutched Liam’s hand, whispering, “Don’t let him find me” over and over again.
Someone hurt our mate.
Someone scared her so badly that she’d rather poison herself than risk being found.
The protective surge that rises in me is startling in its intensity. Betas are supposed to be the reasonable ones, the calm in the storm between alpha aggression and omega vulnerability. But there’s nothing calm about what I’m feeling right now.
The farmhouse door opens, and Dr. Mitchell enters, medical bag in hand. All three of us rush to him.
“She’s awake,” he announces, and the collective exhale is audible. “Fever’s broken, vitals are stable. She’ll be weak for a few days but recover fully.”
“Did she say anything?” Rowan asks. “About why she was taking so many suppressants?”
Dr. Mitchell’s eyes are kind but professional as he looks between us. “You know I can’t discuss that without her permission. Patient confidentiality.”
“She’s our—” Liam begins, then stops himself. “We’re responsible for her. She works for us.”
“I understand your concern. WhatI cantell you is that she needs rest, fluids, and absolutely no more than one suppressant a day, and no more patches. Her system needs to detox.”
He looks directly at each of us in turn. “But I will say this. That young woman has been through something traumatic. She’s terrified. Whatever you boys are feeling right now, you must put her well-being first.”
“We would never hurt her,” Liam says, his voice rough with emotion.
“I know that,” Dr. Mitchell replies gently. “But she doesn’t. Give her time. Let her come to you when she’s ready.”
