Page 73 of Pumpkin Patch Pack
His gaze darts between me and Emma, who’s being supported by Theo and Liam, her body trembling with the forced heat.
“She’s not worth this much trouble,” he mutters, stumbling back toward his car, struggling to regain his dignity. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
We watch as the car speeds away, gravel spraying from its tires. Only when it disappears do I turn back to Emma, my heart clenching at the sight of her.
She’s trembling violently in Theo’s arms, her skin flushed, her pupils so dilated her eyes look black. The scent of her artificial heat is overwhelming now, sweet and desperate and wrong.
“R-Rowan,” she gasps, reaching for me with shaking hands. “It hurts. Everything hurts.”
I gather her against my chest, alarmed by the heat radiating from her skin. “We need to get her home. Now.”
“I’ll tell the staff to shut down and the security to clear everyone out. It’s past ten anyway,” Theo says.
I lift Emma into my arms. She curls against me, burying her face in my neck and inhaling deeply. A small, needy sound escapes her.
“Alpha,” she whispers, the word sending a jolt of possessive pleasure through me despite the circumstances. “Need you.”
“I’ve got you,” I promise, already striding toward the farmhouse. “I’ve got you, and I’m not letting go.”
31
Emma
Fire burns beneath my skin. Every nerve ending screams for relief, for touch, for something to ease the inferno raging through me. I’m vaguely aware of being carried by strong arms cradling me against a solid chest, of Rowan’s deep voice murmuring reassurances that don’t penetrate the haze of need clouding my mind.
“Almost there, Sweetheart. Just hold on.”
My body arches involuntarily, seeking contact, friction, anything to soothe the ache building between my thighs. Slick gathers at my pussy, dampening my panties, seeping into my costume, the scent of my forced heat filling the air around us.
“Alpha,” I whimper, burying my face against Rowan’s neck and inhaling his burnt sugar scent that now seems to be the only thing anchoring me to reality. “It hurts.”
“I know, little omega. I know.”
I’m barely aware of doors opening, climbing stairs, and hushed, urgent voices exchanging words I can’t quite grasp. Then, I’m being lowered onto something impossibly soft. I blink, trying to focus through the heat-haze, but the scents of my mates swirl around me and fill my mind.
The bed beneath me is enormous, piled high with pillows and blankets in various textures—silks, velvets, and fleeces in soft blues, greens, and purples; they must have scent marked every object in this room just for me. The walls are a soothing pastel, and the lighting is dim and intimate.
“Where am I?” I manage, my voice a rasp. Staying focused right now is a major chore, but knowing I am safe and with my mates helps me stay alert.
“Your suite,” Rowan answers, pressing a cool cloth to my forehead. “We prepared it just in case.”
A nest.
Just in case. My omega keens with pleasure at the thought of my mates preparing a space just for me for this very moment.
I struggle to sit up, fighting through waves of heat that threaten to drag me under. “How long have I been out?”
“Not long. Twenty minutes, maybe.” Rowan’s face swims into focus, his expression tight with concern. “The drug Marcus gave you—it’s hitting your system hard.”
Another wave of heat cramps crash through me, lighting my skin on fire, drawing a whine from my lips that I can’t suppress. Every nerve ending feels raw, exposed, desperate for touch. Slick pools between my thighs, soaking the bedding beneath me.
“It hurts,” I gasp, clutching at his arm. “Rowan, it hurts so much.”
His nostrils flare as he catches my scent, and his pupils dilate until his eyes are nearly black. His burnt sugar scent intensifies, taking on smoky notes of desire that make my mouth water. “Emma, we can’t—”
“No,” I interrupt, gripping his wrist. Despite the drug-induced heat, my mind remains clear. The heat is overwhelming, but it hasn’t stolen my ability to think and choose. “I’m lucid, Rowan. I know what I want.”
He studies my face, doubt evident in his expression. “Emma, you’re not in your right headspace. The drug—”
