Page 70 of Pumpkin Patch Pack
Miraculously, she seems to understand, bleating loudly before darting through the maze. Marcus recovers quickly.
“You little bitch,” he snarls, the cultured veneer completely gone now. “You’ll regret that.”
I crash through the narrow passages of the maze, heart hammering against my ribs. Behind me, I hear Marcus gaining ground, his longer legs eating up the distance between us. I try to take a sharp left and head back towards the farm, away from the forest’s edge, but he tackles me from behind, sending me sprawling. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs as Marcus’s weight pins me to the ground. We’re still behind the maze, behind the tall stalks of corn.
“Get off me!” I scream, thrashing wildly, but he’s too strong, too heavy.
“Enough!” he barks, flipping me onto my back and straddling my hips. His face is twisted with rage, all pretense of civility gone. “I’m done playing games with you. You’re mine. Always have been. Emma, I selected you. Researched your bloodline, your family’s financial situation, and your education. I made an investment based on careful analysis, and investments don’t get to walk away.”
I claw at his face, managing to rake my nails down his cheek before he captures both my wrists in one hand, pinning them above my head. With his free hand, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something that glints in the moonlight.
A syringe.
Terror floods me. “What is that? What are you doing?”
“Insurance,” he says, his smile returning as he uncaps the needle with his teeth. “A little something to make you more… compliant. No omega walks away from me. Ever.”
I renew my struggles, bucking and twisting beneath him, but his weight holds me firmly in place. “Help!” I scream, my voice carrying across the empty field. “Somebody help me!”
“No one’s coming,” Marcus says, pressing the needle against my neck. “By the time your little ‘pack’ figures out you’re gone, we’ll be miles away. And you’ll be begging me to claim you.”
The needle pierces my skin, a sharp sting followed by spreading warmth as he depresses the plunger. I cry out, more in despair than pain.
“What did you give me?” I gasp as he withdraws the needle, tossing it aside.
His smile widens, cruel and satisfied. “Just a little heat inducer. Highly concentrated.” He leans down, his lips brushing my ear. “In about fifteen minutes, you’ll be in full heat. Desperate. Willing to do anything for relief.” His hand strokes my cheek with mock tenderness. “And I’ll be the only alpha around to help you.”
Horror washes through me as I feel the first flush of unnatural warmth spreading from the injection site. Already, my skin feels too tight, too sensitive, where his body presses against mine.
He pulls me to my feet, keeping a bruising grip on my arm as he drags me deeper into the forest. My legs feel increasingly unsteady, and my thoughts blur at the edges. The heat is coming on too fast, too strong—.
“You’ll see,” Marcus continues, his voice taking on an almost dream-like quality. “Once I’ve claimed and bonded you, you’ll forget about those farmers. You’ll be where you belong—by my side, in my bed, carrying my mark.”
“Please,” I whisper, seeing the car waiting just a little farther down.
“You’ll be begging for something else soon enough,” Marcus says, his nostrils flaring as he catches the first hints of induced heat in my scent. “You’ll be all over me in minutes, Emma. And then you’ll be mine. Forever.”
A distant sound reaches me through the growing haze of heat—a familiar bleating, followed by deeper voices calling my name.
Maple found help.
My mates are coming.
But as another wave of heat washes through me, more intense than the last, I wonder with growing despair if they’ll be in time—or if the drug will turn me into exactly what Marcus wants before they can reach me.
30
Rowan
I’ve never seen the farm look better.
Jack-o’-lanterns everywhere, the haunted hayride had a forty-minute wait time earlier today, and the maze was packed with shrieking teenagers all day. Even with the extra security I insisted on hiring, we’re still turning a solid profit.
“Preliminary numbers are in,” I tell one of the staff, checking my clipboard. “We’ve broken last year’s attendance record by thirty percent.”
The young woman grins, adjusting her zombie outfit. “Should I tell the concession stand to start closing?”
I check my watch—9:45 PM. “Give them fifteen more minutes. Let’s milk every last dollar out of this night.”
