Special Delivery: Autumn: An Mpreg Romance Collection

by Leyla Hunt

  The hardest thing I ever did was leave class quickly, knowing I had to take my time and plan out how to do this. I couldn’t risk scaring him off. I realized with glee that he supplied the perfect excuse to get him alone: an essay due the morning after the full moon. I dedicated every spare moment, of which I had plenty, to writing the essay.

  I was done with a few days to spare and went one afternoon to his office during his office hours, using handing in the essay as my excuse to sit and talk.

  And then, at last, I was face to face in a private setting with my true mate.

  Thirty-Four

  Victor Morgan

  I was sitting in my office when one of my students came in. Names and faces all sort of blurred together to me now in the chaos of teaching as many classes as I possibly could, because there was nothing else for me to do. But this one had stuck out to me, thanks largely to his disruption on the first day of classes.

  It was funny that he chose now to show up in my office, as it happened he was the one student that I wanted to see. Just the night before, while once again to organize my massive boxes of articles and ethnographies, I stumbled upon an old photograph from a magazine from an archaeology magazine. The attached article was about the discovery of an ancient village and Oden Silvanus was centered somewhat prominently in the photo. Oden bore such a striking resemblance to my student that at first I found myself wondering if it was my student. It was a ridiculous notion, but I couldn't quite shake it.

  “Can I help you?” I asked him.

  He smiled. “Yes, Professor. I came to turn my essay.”

  I arched an eyebrow at him. “Essays aren't due until next Tuesday.”

  “I know,” he said, “but it’s a… well, I'm not going to be in class.”

  “Oh.” It was a large enough class, but I felt a sudden disappointment that he wouldn't be there.

  I accepted the essay and glanced reflexively at the name and class information at the top. It was a very familiar name.

  “Is there a reason,” I began, realizing with another strange surge of disappointment that I didn't know this student's name yet. “Is there a reason you put Oden Silvanus where your name should go?”

  He looked slightly sheepish and smiled, before saying softly, “That's my name.”

  “Your…” I glanced at the essay header and looked back up at him, thinking somewhat uneasily of the magazine clipping on my desk. “Your name is Oden Silvanus?” I echoed.

  Obviously it must have been his father or his grandfather in the photograph. Why was I even considering a different, much more impossible, option?

  “Yes,” he said. He smiled another cute, sheepish smile. “That's why I embarrassed myself in your class on the first day. I thought you were taking attendance when I heard my name.” He shrugged again. “I honestly didn't pay much attention to the book list. I didn't see it was one of…”

  One of what? Perhaps he had been about to say “one of my father's books.” I considered him, no, he was young, easily young enough to be my son. After that thought struck me, I clung to it for a moment because the idea of this student being young enough to be my son made me feel uncomfortable for all the wrong reasons.

  I was struck again by his cute smile. I noticed he seemed unwilling to leave. I thought desperately of something to say, all the while chiding myself inwardly I was not thinking of this young man, as cute. He was a student! I had never, not once in my entire career, even considered such a ridiculous notion. And it was absurd that should be happening now. And with a male student no less! It must have been some strange transference of admiration; I loved the work of the famed anthropologist Oden Silvanus. Surely that was why I was feeling strange, wholly unwelcome, feelings toward someone who shared his name and uncanny resemblance.

  I glanced at the magazine clipping as Oden stood awkwardly, looking like he desperately wanted to say something else. He was eyeing me in a strange, intense sort of way. My eyes drifted to the magazine clipping again and I decided, why not?

  “I found something interesting in a box last evening,” I said. He looked surprised by the comment. So, I grabbed the clipping and handed it to him. “Perhaps you might be able to explain the resemblance?”

  He looked at it and broke into a smile. “Oh, wow,” he said. “Look at that.”

  “Do you know who the man in the photograph is?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said. He smiled at me again, this one was less shy and almost snarky. “It's me.”

  I was forced to laugh. “I did notice the resemblance,” I said. “However, that is Oden Silvanus, the author of our textbook. A bit older than you,” I said with a chuckle. I didn't add that Oden Silvanus was quite a bit older than me. “He's also deceased for a few decades.”

  Longer, I thought privately, than this young pup has even been alive.

  My student smiled. “Thirty-three,” he said.

  “What?”

  “It’s been thirty-three years. There was a freak accident. Oden’s car flipped and he was trapped beneath it. Then it caught fire and he was burned beyond recognition. Not even his bones were in good enough shape to identify. They had to leave it as an open case for a couple of weeks until they determined that no one could find him.”

  “Ah,” I said, surprised the freshman already knew the details. I didn’t doubt he was interested in anthropology, but was surprised he had already been reading up.

  “Of course,” he continued. “If you have access to a large collection of human skeletons, including burned ones, and the ability to figure out which of those skeletons most closely matches your own, it shouldn't be too difficult to fake your own death.” He set the clipping back down on my desk with another smile.

  “Are you implying,” I said, unable to believe I was even entertaining the idea. “That you are Oden Silvanus and that you faked your own death thirty-three years ago?”

  His smile merely widened.

  “And why would you do that?” I asked, humoring him.

  “I was getting too popular,” he said. “Nobody would be quite stupid enough to do that in these times, with the way technology has advanced, but there were enough photographs being taken back then that I started to get a little uncomfortable. When you're like me, you can't afford too many permanent records of your appearance in the public eye.”

  Like him? Somehow, the comment made me uneasy. “You do realize,” I said softly, “that if you were Silvanus, you would be in your seventies by now.”

  “Actually,” he said with a chuckle. “I'm ninety-four.”

  He said it so calmly I almost wanted to accept it. I tried to think of what to say to that.

  He inclined his head in the direction of the photo. “I've been lying about my age for a long time.”

  This really wasn't the way I had expected this conversation to go. I picked up the magazine photo again and looked at it. I was familiar enough with it and wondered if there was anything in it I could use to test him, to prove he was making up this absurd story. I studied, not for the first time, a small girl in the photo playing. I always wondered why there was a small child there. Her presence wasn't mentioned in the accompanying article and while I had briefly entertained the idea that the student in front of me was indeed the offspring of Oden Silvanus. I knew that according to his biography Silvanus did not have any children.

  “In that case,” I said, “Please, humor me and tell me who this girl is.” I handed him the magazine clipping again, pointing to the child.

  He looked curiously at it and almost immediately his eyes widened in recognition. “Oh my gods,” he gasped, letting out a genuine sounding laugh of disbelief. “That’s my little sister, Piper,” he said, voice heavy with emotion. He smiled at it for a moment and to my surprise, I spotted tears in the corners of a his eyes. What a strange reaction; it seems so genuine. He cleared his throat and wiped at his eyes. “I'm sorry,” he said quickly. “It's just that…”

  “What happened to her?” I asked carefully, assuming
the girl had passed away.

  “Oh no, she's fine,” he said with a smile. “Still tagging along with me and being obnoxious as ever. It's just that…” He was quiet for a moment. “Our father was a uh… in law enforcement. He was killed while on duty… Piper was with me because our dad didn’t take the loss of his mate very well… I brought her along to give her a change of scene.” He looked at it with a sad sort of fondness. “I had forgotten she came with me…”

  This wasn't at all the reaction I had expected. He seemed as if he genuinely believed he was the man in the photo and that he was ninety-four years old!

  I studied him for a moment as he looked at the photo. “So…” I said slowly, unable to believe I was actually starting to seriously entertain this ludicrous idea. “If that really is you, are you expecting me to believe that you are currently in your nineties, yet look exactly like you did thirty years ago, when you were in your sixties, but still look twenty-five?!”

  He chuckled, but said nothing.

  “Why would you fake your death?” I asked.

  “As I said, I was getting too much publicity. I knew that if there were too many photographs like this one-” He pointed to the picture, “then I would risk having conversations just like the one we're having. Uncomfortable conversations with questions that I can't answer.”

  “Then why are you answering mine?”

  Oden, if that was his name, was quiet for a moment. Then he squared his shoulders and nodded, as if he had made up his mind about something.

  “Because you can ask me anything. And I’ll answer you honestly.”

  Fair enough. What was this? Was he delusional or was this some sort of a strange prank? “Why don't you appear any older?” I started with. “If this really is you in the picture.”

  He smirked a little. “I'm immortal.”

  I snorted. “Are you a vampire or something?”

  “No. No, I'm shifter,” he said with a laugh. Another unexpected answer. “Sort of like a werewolf,” he clarified. Before I could respond, he continued, “I'm not a wolf, though. I shift into a snow leopard.”

  “You can turn into a snow leopard,” I echoed skeptically.

  “That's why I did so much of my work in the Himalayas,” he said. “I wanted to pay a visit to my natural habitat and see what it was like.”

  Oddly enough, there had been a great deal about the mountains and the nature surrounding the people he is that Oden Silvanus had stayed with while in the Himalayas.

  “And what was it like?” I asked carefully.

  “Quite a bit of fun. More wild snow leopards than I expected to encounter but they kept clear of me. They can tell there's something…” He grinned and shrugged one shoulder. “Different about us.”

  “There are more of you?”

  “Oh, there are a few of us scattered around.”

  My eyes flicked toward the picture.

  “Yeah,” he said. “My sister. And our dad is a snow leopard as well.”

  I realized abruptly that if he really was in his nineties, like he claimed, then his father would have been much older, yet he spoke of him as if he were alive.

  “How old is he?” I asked carefully.

  “One-hundred-something,” he said dismissively. “But he has a new alpha mate.”

  “A… what?”

  “Mate. Specifically an alpha.” He smiled. “Now I have a new half-sister.”

  “How old is this uh… alpha?”

  “He’s a bit older than my omega dad, I think.”

  “He?” I asked with a frown. “They adopted?”

  “Male omega shifters birth to children. And as we’re immortal, our ages don’t matter so much. The only limit is we are only permitted to have up to four alpha children. Now,” he said. He invited himself to take a seat in my chair and gestured for me to sit across the desk. “If you'll indulge me until sunset, I'd be happy to tell you everything.”

  I sat carefully, watching him with a mix of wariness and curiosity. He crossed one leg up over the other and stretched a little; I was struck by the notion that he moved in a remarkably feline way. Then I was distracted by a sliver of skin as his shirt hitched up, mid-stretch. My breath caught and my penis gave a little twitch.

  Maybe this was a bad idea, I wanted to say. Instead, I found myself asking, “What happens at sunset?”

  “I'll be able to shift,” he said with a smile. “Then you'll know that everything I'm about to tell you is true. If you’re ready?”

  I shrugged, not sure if I had another choice. Oden proceeded to regale me with a quite unbelievable, although incredibly complex and thorough, story about shifters. There were alphas, the traditional leaders of the packs and the only shifter with the ability to turn a regular human into a shifter. Something, with one exception he claimed, they were forbidden from doing Then, there were omegas: humans changed into shifters by alphas. Omegas, male or female, could all conceive and give birth.

  He paused partway through the explanation and said, “Shifters do have a bit of a long and complex social history, if you're ever interested. I've written a few papers about it, which as you can imagine, I'm unable to publish. However, I would love a fellow anthropologist to look them over.”

  “Of course,” I said, feeling somewhat awkward.

  He returned to his fantastic tale, telling me all about shifters, and their immortality, and the laws they followed to prevent themselves from being discovered by humans. Then what he claimed was the most important part: the concept of a true mate – a soulmate – a person that some shifters were fortunate enough to find, who perfectly complimented them, forming a bonded pair who would never fall out of love with each other or grow tired of one another; a partnership that would endure literally for eternity.

  While alphas were allowed to turn one human of their choosing, it was an exception, most saved in hopes of someday finding their true mate.

  “And now,” he said, when he finished, standing and stretching once more. “It's sunset.”

  I looked around my office in surprise; the curtains were drawn, the lights were on, and there was no visible sign the sun was setting. It must have been a lucky guess.

  “Are you ready?” he asked me.

  “I just have one question,” I said. “Well…” I forced back a laugh. “I actually have quite a number of questions. But the most pressing one is, why me? You've emphasized how important secrecy is. So, why are you telling me all of this? You talked about erasing memories from people who find out. Are you telling me everything, just to erase my memories? What purpose does that serve?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. I'm telling you because…” He returned to his chair, then reached across the desk and took one of my hands in his. His grip was warm and firm and his touch sent a pleasurable shiver up my spine. “I'm telling you,” he said softly, “because you, Professor Morgan…” He paused and licked his lips, tongue moving mesmerizingly across them. He lowered his voice and practically purred, “Victor… you are my true mate.”

  “What?” I gasped. “How can you—” I stopped.

  I knew how he could tell. He had explained the signs to me. And yet through it all, it never occurred to me that he was telling me all of this because he thought I was his true mate.

  “Now then,” he said standing. My hand felt cold, empty, now that he had released it. “Please don't be afraid.”

  “I'm not.” It was half-true. I certainly wasn't afraid that he was about to turn into a snow leopard. But I was a little unnerved by this strange fantasy of his and my inclusion in it.

  Without another word he pulled off his shirt. Then his eyes met mine, and he flushed slightly. “Sorry,” he said. “I should have said something first; I don’t want to get tangled in my clothes when I shift.”

  “Of course not,” I said.

  I rolled my chair a little farther away from him, wondering if he intended to get completely naked in my office. He was younger than me and I admittedly was not in the best of
shape; now that I could see his chest and upper arms, it was clear that he was in extremely good shape. I hardly noticed though, as he bent to remove his pants. Instead, I was distracted by the way his muscles seemed to ripple beneath his skin. It was only when his underwear was off, I realized that a student had just stripped completely naked in my office.

  I jumped up and headed for the door.

  “Please,” he said, sounding almost desperate. “I know this looks bad. Just give me thirty seconds, and I'll shift and I—”

  “I'm just locking the door,” I heard myself say. In truth I honestly hadn't known until I reached the door whether or not I was about to fling it open and run or make sure that it was firmly shut and lock it. Against all odds, I wanted to believe him. Maybe it was because in all of my research and studies, I occasionally came across things that just didn't seem right. Inexplicable artifacts in places where they shouldn't have been and the occasional indigenous people with tales that sounded very much like shifters. Not to mention a strange desire to see this through to the end.

  On the other hand, being caught in my office with a student who was naked would pretty much end my career. I locked the door and turned back to face him, one hand hovering near the doorknob just in case I was making a huge mistake.

  Oden smiled in relief then closed his eyes. “Don't be afraid,” he said softly.

  “I'm not,” I repeated.

  For a moment nothing happened. Then I realized that a pattern was appearing on his skin! It started off looking almost like a rash, then darkening. Abruptly I realized that it was the pattern of a snow leopard coat. His ears turned black and so did his hands and fingers. Unless I was mistaken, his nose was starting to change shape. A long tail shot from his back, knocking a mug of pencils off my desk as he dropped lower and shrank. The pattern on his skin seemed to pulse, then burst, and fur sprouted over his skin, covering him head to foot. And there, before my very eyes, my student was gone and in his place, sitting on the floor of my office, looking up at me with piercing blue eyes, was a real live snow leopard.