Winterstoke Wolves Collection : An MM Mpreg Shifter Romance Bundle

by Sasha Silsbury

  JAX

  pine needles and gauze

  Jax runs through a mental checklist as he strolls through the clinic turning off the lights.

  The cleaning crew have just left and the rooms are clean, still, and empty.

  It’s the calm before the storm, Jax thinks. Or at least the calm between the storms.

  Jax knows everything is in place, but this is a yearly ritual. He can’t help wanting to believe that if he does everything perfectly, nothing can go wrong.

  Bandages, antiseptic and sewing kits. Check.

  Extra antibiotics. Check.

  Beds set up. Check.

  Paperwork completed. Check.

  The bigger rooms separated into omega and alpha wards. Check.

  He knocks, then opens the doors to the bathrooms. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d found some poor omega hiding in the toilets after the mating run started.

  Not tonight. There’s no one in any of the spare rooms, nor the closets.

  This morning, the clinic was packed with a hundred or so horny alphas and nervous omegas eyeing each other up while they waited to be registered for the run.

  Now they’re all out on the mountain behaving like fools while Jax can do nothing but wait to stitch up the resulting bodily damage. He’d cancel the whole damn thing if he could.

  They’d tried it once. His brothers sent out cancellation notifications to everyone on the mailing list, and they’d closed the registration on the website with a big message plastered over it: The Aylewood Mating Run is cancelled until further notice.

  They’d all turned up anyway: alphas and omegas from all over the country hoping to find an Aylewood mate.

  There’d been even more injuries than usual that year.

  Jax glances at his watch. It’s just past seven. Just enough time to get back to the packhouse and get some rest before all hell breaks loose tomorrow.

  Most of the alphas out on the mountain now have never even left their comfy suburban homes. Now they’re out in the wild getting sunburned and stung by bees.

  If it weren’t for the omegas, Jax would feel sorry for them. The omegas got the sunburn and the bees too, but they also got the alphas.

  He grabs his backpack from where he left it behind the reception desk and is still muttering angrily to himself by the time he’s standing beside the main doors and pulling down the cover of the alarm pad to set it.

  Before he has a chance to key in the numbers, his phone starts buzzing in his pocket.

  It’s Gregor’s number. His brothers are meant to be out acting as chaperones, patrolling the run borders in case anyone starts causing trouble. The signal is terrible out on the mountain. He’s not going to even try to call unless it’s an emergency.

  Jax’s heart sinks as he swipes the screen, and holds the phone up to his ear. “Hi bro.”

  “Are you still at the clinic? “

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t move. We’ll be there in ten. “

  “Alpha or omega?”

  “Alpha and it’s bad. Luke’s already called an ambulance.”

  Jax turns the lights back on, his mind running through all the worst-case scenarios and what he can do with the resources he has.

  Moments later, headlights brighten the road and Gregor’s truck pulls to a halt outside.

  Jax moves fast. After years working the weekend shift in Button Oak emergency room, he’s perfected the art of moving quickly and purposefully.

  Gregor’s climbing out of the truck. Jax registers Luke getting out on the other side.

  Jax ignores both of them and heads to the back.

  Alpha scent hits him like a freight train.

  He freezes, shocked into stillness.

  The clinic already stinks of alphas after the registration. One more alpha scent should be nothing at all. This one hits him straight in the gut.

  He knows this feeling. It’s happened before, although never with this much intensity.

  It’s pure euphoria, incredible horniness and a giant dollop of utter dread.

  And really bad timing.

  The unconscious man lying in the back of the truck is naked and filthy. Bone juts from a break just above his elbow and his neck is a bloody mess.

  It’s that which jolts Jax out of his daft omega-brain and into his medical training.

  The man smells of heaven, blood, infection, and dirt. It’s only the last three that are important.

  Jax shoves his omega-self down hard, forcing his brain into triage mode.

  “Hey man, can you hear me?”

  No response.

  “I’m a doctor. I’m just going to check you over.”

  Still no answer. He pulls on a pair of gloves and climbs in the back.

  He checks the man’s neck first. The flesh is mangled, but the blood has dried and appears to have stopped flowing.

  The broken arm is swollen and hot to touch, but it doesn’t smell like infection has had time to settle and grab hold.

  The man doesn’t flinch when Jax leans over and gently takes the wrist on his uninjured arm. His pulse is a little fast but not dangerously so.

  Outside of the broken arm and neck injuries, the majority of wounds appear superficial, if nasty.

  “He’s good to move. Just watch the arm.”

  Gregor nods and Luke mirrors him.

  Jax darts into the clinic and grabs one of the examination cots, wheeling it outside.

  Gregor takes the man’s legs and Luke his armpits. They manhandle him carefully onto the cot. The man doesn’t so much as grunt. He’s out cold.

  “This way,” Jax says, not waiting to see if his brothers follow.

  They do. He can smell them. Or rather he can smell the stranger between them.

  The delicious, delicious stranger.

  Over the years, Jax has met alphas who smell incredible and set his pulse racing. He knows exactly what causes it.

  Pheromones.

  This is nothing but pheromones making his body betray him and turn his thoughts all gooey. He’s had plenty of practice ignoring them.

  Even so, every internal omega alarm Jax has is ringing with this one. And not just alarms.

  Alarms. Red flags. Great big bells making his head go ding.

  The man’s scent is more intense than anything Jax has ever encountered and it’s turning his head to mush.

  Even with the man filthy and unconscious, and with Jax with his brain in professional doctor mode, all he can think of is of how he wants nothing more than to lean over and lick the man’s beautiful sweaty face.

  Shame tinged with lust courses through him. This is why people say omegas shouldn’t be doctors.

  Jax mentally shoves away all inappropriate thoughts with a good deal of anger.

  Nope. He’s never going to give the naysayers the slightest reason to justify their prejudice.

  “Through here,” Jax says, pushing open the door to the closest consulting room, and flicking the light switch. The room blinks into brightness.

  His brothers wheel the man in and then stand aside awkwardly while Jax does his thing.

  Jax can’t help feeling a flush of satisfaction. Usually, it’s him as omega who has to stand aside while the big strong alphas deal with the problem at hand.

  Not here. This is his domain.

  “Find out where the ambulance is,” he says, turning his attention back to the man on the bed.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Luke pulling his phone out of his pocket and leave the room.

  Now that he has his patient under a proper light, Jax repeats the same visual check he did in the back of the truck.

  His first assessment was correct. The alpha isn’t in any immediate danger, even if he looks like he’s been dragged through a bush backwards.

  “What happened?” he asks, but he knows. It’s written on the man’s body. Jax has seen enough wolf bites to recognize them in an instant.

  This happens every year: too many fool alphas squabbling over ome
gas like they’re the last cupcake at the table.

  Gregor shakes his head. “No idea.” He leans back against the wall, rubbing the corners of his eyes. “Adam and the sheriff came across him while they were patrolling. They’re heading up to the wild wolves’ territory now to try talk Isaiah down before he kills someone.”

  Jax gives a slow blink. None of the last sentence makes sense.

  Adam is the oldest Winterstoke brother and leader of the pack. He was also injured in a fight the previous year and he has no good reason to be out on the mountain when he has deputies to do it for him.

  Isaiah is leader of the wild wolf pack, and he wouldn’t care about some injured city alpha...

  Realization dawns. Jax’s head was too focused on looking for injuries and making sure he wasn’t behaving a like a fool omega.

  Jax looks at the man in the bed, and this time he really looks.

  The wild wolf has long chestnut hair and a beard even longer than Gregor’s. Even then long doesn’t quite cover it.

  It’s not just long. It’s really long: his hair is plastered all the way down his back. His beard is the same.

  Jax hasn’t seen a beard this long outside of ancient sepia-tinted photos of ancient gold prospectors.

  The man smells like pine needles, and rabbits, of the rain and of sun-warmed rock. There’s a faint whiff of exhaust from the truck but that’s it: one solitary scent from civilisation.

  Then there’s his skin. Jax might have noticed it earlier too, if it were not smeared with blood and covered in scratches and gouges.

  Outside of the injuries, it’s perfect. There are no tiny wrinkles or tan marks cut off at the shirt sleeve.

  This is a man who has either spent his entire life away from the sun or not wearing a human skin at all.

  His skin is uniformly pale, giving him an almost eerie glow. He is mesmerizingly beautiful.

  The door opens suddenly, banging against the back of the wall.

  “Oh sorry. Ambulance is on its way. Should be here in ten minutes or so,” Luke says but Jax is only listening with half an ear.

  Do all the wild wolves look like this in their human form? Perhaps this is where the myths of faeries come from: beautiful creatures that enspell mankind.

  “I also spoke to Adam. He hasn’t found Isaiah yet.”

  Isaiah. Now that one is definitely not a faerie, Jax thinks. The wild leader’s human form takes that of a grizzled old man covered in hair and scars.

  The wild wolves have always taken encroachment on their territory seriously. It’s why the Winterstokes make everyone sign a disclaimer at registration for the run.

  Do not, under any circumstances, go north of the river.

  So much for making sure everything is perfect. Isaiah is going to lose it. They’re going to need every alpha they’ve got up there, making sure the wild wolves don’t try take everyone down in retaliation.

  “You two better get back up there,” Jax says. “I’ll wait for the ambulance. They’ll be here any minute.”

  Neither of his brothers move. “What?”

  Luke and Gregor glance at each other.

  “Not going to leave you here alone with a strange alpha,” Gregor says, arms folded.

  Jax rolls his eyes. “I can handle an unconscious alpha with a broken arm.”

  “Hmm,” Gregor says, the way he does when he doesn’t want to argue but isn’t willing to concede the point either. “Luke can go. I’ll stay with you until the ambulance gets here.”

  Luke nods and heads towards the door.

  He’s gone before Jax can answer, but that doesn’t matter because Jax’s entire world has suddenly narrowed to a single overwhelming point.

  The man on the bed is awake. Gray eyes like storm clouds stare into his own.

  Electricity jolts up Jax’s spine. His stomach flips and his heart starts racing.

  Oh no.

  GRAY

  sharp things and unnecessary numbers

  There’s an omega staring at him with a startled expression. Brown eyes gaze into his own, black pupils blown wide.

  The sweet heady scent of mate floods the wolf’s nostrils, filling his world completely.

  The gray-eyed wolf stares back contentedly. Imprinting happens once in a lifetime. It’s something to be savored.

  This is him. This is the omega who is destined to be his mate.

  Thick black lashes rim the startled brown eyes, in a perfect face. Below are soft lips, open just enough to show a tantalizing glimpse of pink tongue. The gray-eyed wolf wants to lean up and kiss them.

  It’s a good idea. He’d always been told that when he meets his omega, he’ll know what to do.

  So he does it.

  The gray-eyed wolf isn’t thinking about anything at all except the immediate instinct to push back on his elbows and rise up and kiss those soft-looking lips for the first time.

  Red-hot pain rips through his arm and radiates out through his body, darkening his vision and sending out a screaming reminder of every gouge and tear.

  The wolf screams, and what follows is instinct: he bares his teeth and snaps.

  Someone shouts but it’s not his omega. The scent of alpha bears down on him, and he feels his chest being pushed as he’s held down.

  Rage rises, and he struggles. Away from the immediate world-encompassing scent of omega, everything else comes flooding in.

  Everything is wrong. It’s white and bright, and it smells sharp and empty. It’s too small. The world ends in white walls and metal shapes.

  He growls again, but it’s hard to struggle. Every flex of muscle and sliver of movement sends shooting pain through his extremities.

  “Hey, ssh. It’s okay,” someone says, “You’re in a hospital. Gregor, stop pushing him. You’re making it worse.”

  The voice is honeyed and soothing. Soft fingertips touch the sides of his face, and the rage slips away as easy as rain.

  He falls back panting, partly from the calming touch of his omega and partly because he simply has no strength left to fight.

  There’s something long and bright white directly above him against the flat where his vision ends. It hurts his eyes.

  He looks away and into the beautiful face of his mate who smiles at him.

  “We’ve got an ambulance coming,” his omega says.

  The gray-eyed wolf has no idea what he’s talking about but he likes the sound of his voice.

  “Do you understand me?” his omega asks.

  The gray-eyed wolf’s lips are dry, and he hasn’t used his human voice in years. It takes him a moment to remember how to move his mouth in the right way and where to put his tongue to get the sounds he needs. “Yes.”

  His omega looks startled again, but the gray-eyed wolf understands. That’s the way imprinting works: scent, touch, voice. The first experience of each of them is special and cements the bond.

  Now the bond is complete and the wolf remembers how to use his voice, he says the other thing that is obvious. “You’re mine.”

  His omega’s eyes widen and the scent of his slick fills the air. It’s exactly how the gray-eyed wolf always imagined it was going to smell.

  “Mine,” he says again.

  “Oh, I don’t think so, sunshine,” the other alpha says. He’s a big man, tall and blond, and looks enough like his omega that they have to be family.

  The gray-eyed wolf growls at him, and the alpha growls back.

  The wolf picks up the scent of others in the air, just as two betas come into sight. They’re wearing the same type and color of clothing and the wolf immediately recognizes it for what it is.

  It’s their pack marking, the wolf thinks.

  Humans sometimes dressed in pack colors to confirm which team they’re on. His father used to say that.

  The betas look at the wolf dispassionately, their gaze roaming over the wolf’s human body.

  The wolf doesn’t like it. It’s as if they’re assessing his injuries to determine how vulnerable he is. He gr
owls at them. The taller of them raises his eyebrows.

  “What’s with this guy?”

  “He’s one of the wild wolves,” the blond alpha says.

  The beta frowns, “You should have said that when you called. We’d have brought extra muscle.”

  “He’ll be fine,” his omega says, a trace of irritation in his voice, and the wolf wants all the others to go away so he can bask in the sound of his mate’s voice alone while the imprint is still new and fresh. That’s the way it’s supposed to be done.

  But then nothing is the way it is supposed to be, not since he woke to jaws gripping his throat.

  The beta rolls his eyes at the omega, then bends down and bares his teeth at the gray-eyed wolf in a manner that the wolf thinks is supposed to be a smile.

  “We’re not going to hurt you,” the beta says. “We’re just going to get that arm fixed up for you.”

  The beta’s expression and his voice say one thing, his scent says another. He’s preparing for a fight.

  The gray-eyed wolf growls at him, then remembers his words. “No.”

  His omega gives another little jolt at his alpha’s voice, and the wolf feels a flush of pleasure.

  The omega reaches out and touches the wolf’s hand. It’s a small touch, nothing more than light fingertips on skin, but suddenly the betas and the alpha might as well not be there at all. The world is nothing but the wolf and his mate.

  The omega rubs the skin on the wolf’s hand, just between his thumb and forefinger. The wolf’s eyes almost roll back in his head with pleasure.

  “It’s okay,” the omega says. “These men are medics. They’re going to take you to the hospital.” His omega hesitates and the wolf understands. The imprint is setting in, and he’s beginning to understand his alpha better. He knows that wolf doesn’t recognize the word. “They’ll take you to a special place to fix your arm.”

  The wolf looks from omega to beta to the other alpha. He’s not stupid. He knows how bad the injury is. He’s seen this kind of break before in one of his father’s littermates when he was a cub. It started smelling bad and she died sweating and half-conscious. It’s a terrible way for a wolf to go.