Winterstoke Wolves Collection : An MM Mpreg Shifter Romance Bundle

by Sasha Silsbury

  “Yes,” he says.

  A look of relief passes over the omega’s face and the wolf knows he made the right choice. His omega wants to take care of him, and the wolf is letting him.

  The betas move towards him and the wolf lets them even though he doesn’t like it.

  He’s lying on some kind of raised platform with metal pieces on either side.

  It’s odd: both hard and soft. It moves when the betas push on it. The wolf doesn’t like that either.

  They push him out through more narrow bright white places and out into the open air to where a large vehicle is waiting.

  The wolf likes that least of all, but before he can protest, his omega is at his side, whispering soothing words and laying a soft hand on his shoulder so that he knows it’s safe.

  The omega knows this world and the wolf trusts him. He even lets them stick something sharp in his arm. It attaches to another long dangly thing in the vehicle, then he lets the beta touch him, and look at his eyes, his mouth, even his ears.

  The ride in the vehicle takes a long time and the wolf is glad that there are no windows in this one. He knows how quickly they can move. He’s seen them many times before and marvelled at their speed.

  There’s a ridge near the second river where a wolf can watch the vehicles on the road if he is so inclined. He and his brother used to watch them when they were cubs: watching the vehicles go by and counting the colors of each.

  The wolf feels a sharp pang at the thought of his brother, but his omega rubs his hand again, almost absentmindedly as if not realizing he’s doing it, and the wolf feels better.

  The vehicle stops at a place that smells even worse than the first one. There’s no residual mountain air here. No trees or pine needles.

  There’s nothing but a sharp man-made scent, and the reek of injury and blood. It makes the wolf’s stomach hurt with fear, and if he were healthy, he would shift to all fours and run until he reached the trees, but he’s not, so he concentrates on the soothing scent of his new-found omega mate instead.

  They wheel him through a bewildering array of more small bright white places where he is poked and prodded and told to stay still.

  Finally, his mate says, “Count for me. Can you count?”

  The wolf will do anything for those brown eyes even though he doesn’t understand what numbers have to do with anything.

  “One. Two. Three—”

  The world goes dark.

  JAX

  names and pheromones

  Jax sits in a hospital room in Button Oak and tries to switch his brain back on.

  The thing he has to remember is that this has happened before. He’ll have been going about his business and then wham! He’s hit by an intense physical connection with a hot alpha.

  It’s never been close to this strong before, but it’s the same thing really.

  Jax doesn’t believe in soulmates. He never has, and yet his whole body is singing that the sleeping stranger beside him is the other half of his soul.

  Jax sniggers. It turns into a hiccup. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  Soulmates. What utter nonsense. It’s nothing but raging hormones, and the beginnings of an imprint.

  He learned about this in his third year of medical school, the single omega in a class of three hundred, and he remembers how everyone turned around to look at him when the professor said they were going to be talking about omega mating cycles.

  He can picture the illustrations in the textbook that covered it, and the accompanying text. That’s why he knows in detail which hormones and pheromones are flooding through his body right now, how long they are going to last, and how his brain chemistry is changing.

  It’s going to be difficult to get out of but not impossible.

  All he needs to do is keep away from the guy long enough for the hormones to flush out of his system, and as long as he doesn’t let the man bite him, it won’t be permanent.

  It’s nothing. It’s just a natural, if intense, biological reaction to compatible alpha pheromones.

  His brain knows that. His many years of medical training confirm it. Everything else is screaming that the wild man sleeping in the bed beside him is his mate.

  Stupid omega hormones.

  This is why he’s always been careful to take only lovers with whom he feels no immediate flush of attraction. His past relationships have been nothing other than a string of perfectly nice, good-looking, but somewhat dull alphas. Boring, sure, but more importantly: safe. He never once felt the urge to be bitten by them. Not even in the worst of his heats.

  Jax never looked back after breaking up with them, and he suspects none of them did either.

  By contrast, he can’t stop staring at the man in the bed. The thought of even leaving the room makes his heart feel like it’s about to break.

  The hospital put them in a single room — one of the benefits of bringing in a wild and unpredictable wolf — and the door is closed.

  That doesn’t help either.

  The alpha’s scent in the enclosed space is intoxicating. It’s both delicious and infuriating.

  The longer Jax is exposed to the scent, the harder it’ll be to walk away. He doesn’t want to block the scent, but he has to. Reluctantly, Jax holds his sleeve up to his nose.

  What he actually wants is to crawl into the bed and cuddle up against the wild wolf, bare skin against bare skin, and bury his nose between the man’s jawline and shoulder blades breathing in deep as he can.

  He’s not going to do that. Obviously. Because he is not some lovesick omega. He is a grown man and an adult who makes rational choices.

  He’s also realizing for the first time in his life that it’s possible to hate a sleeve for merely blocking a scent.

  The wild man has been washed, cleaned and subjected to an involuntary haircut. His hair and beard were so tangled and matted with blood that there was nothing to do but clip it off. The little that is left is a deep chestnut color that catches the light.

  The now-exposed face is gorgeous. Jax has always been partial to a strong jaw on an alpha and this one could cut diamonds.

  Even lying unconscious in a hospital bed, the man radiates power and raw strength. It makes Jax feel like he’s going to melt into a gooey puddle.

  No. That’s the pheromones talking. He’s just a man. Hell, he’s more wolf than man so knock it off, you fool. That’s not why you’re here.

  Why is he here? Dealing with strange alphas isn’t an omega’s role in any pack.

  Unless, of course, the rest of the pack is out dealing with other strange alphas in the farce that is the mating run, and the omega happens to be the only representative left and a doctor at that.

  Jax sighs and tries to switch his thoughts into doctor mode.

  The wildling’s arm is encased in a white plaster cast. It should heal just fine, although it might ache occasionally and will likely always be weaker than the other. He’s going to be just fine. Isaiah is going to get his wolf back in one piece.

  Jax pulls his phone out from his pocket and checks the screen again. Still no messages, but that’s to be expected. The cell signal on the mountains is patchy at best.

  He’s had a single message from Gregor checking in to let him know that they still haven’t been able to make contact with Isaiah or his pack. Jax sent a message back updating him on the wild wolf’s status, but he’s not sure if it got through.

  Jax breathes out through his mouth and closes his eyes tight, steeling himself and trying to find some resolve.

  He is going to be sensible about this. When the wolf wakes up, Jax is going to talk to him. They’ll calmly discuss what happened up in the mountains.

  If the wolf isn’t used to human methods of communication, then Jax will simply and patiently take his time.

  The man might have spent most of his time running wild as a wolf but he has a human side too. They’ll work it out.

  Then they’re going to go back to Aylewood so the wolf can
rejoin his pack. If they’re very lucky, Isaiah will be appreciative of the assistance that they gave his pack member and will not come murder them all in their sleep. The wolf will go back into the mountains where he belongs and Jax won’t ever see him again.

  It’s a terrible plan and he hates it.

  Jax sighs, leans back in the chair and stares at the man’s gorgeous face while he is still able.

  He looks up with irritation at the disruption when the door opens to admit the doctor on his rounds.

  “Still asleep, then?” The doctor is a gray-haired old alpha in his sixties, with a moustache that looks like it takes at least half an hour to curl and primp in the morning.

  Jax nods. The man had been dismissive of Jax’s credentials earlier, clearly not believing him when Jax said he was a doctor. He learned long ago not to argue with bigots, but he can’t be bothered to chat to them either.

  The doctor bustles, checking the vitals that Jax has been monitoring anyway. He doesn’t say anything else to Jax, clearly marking him down as one of those omegas who argue with their betters and don’t know their place.

  “Well, all looks fine here,” the doctor says finally. “Let me know when he wakes up, dear. He should be good to be discharged when he’s awake, baring complications.”

  The doctor disappears and Jax pulls a face at him as soon as his back is turned. He’s always hated being called dear.

  Jax leans back in the chair, trying not to breathe in. It doesn’t work. The room is saturated with scent.

  Jax occupies himself with mapping out every contour of the wild wolf’s face and tucking the memory of it away in a safe corner of his mind. If he’s not going to see him again, there’s nothing wrong with having a few good memories, right?

  Ten minutes later, the rhythm of the wolf’s breathing shifts, and Jax’s heart gives a little jump.

  The wolf’s gray eyes open and fix themselves on Jax, the same way they had the whole way in the ambulance, through the emergency room and almost into the operating theater.

  The wild wolf smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners and Jax doesn’t remember the last time any of his beaux took such pleasure in just looking at him. His stomach twists, and his heart beats faster.

  Not that the wild wolf is a beau. He’s gorgeous and Jax would love it, but he’s not stupid enough to invite that kind of trouble.

  How are you feeling?” he says. It’s a neutral kind of question. Far better than the I want to have your babies statement that just popped into his head.

  The wild wolf cocks his head and looks down as if he’s taking physical stock of his body.

  He looks at the cast with some confusion “What is that?”

  “Your arm is broken. That will help it heal. It’ll need to be there for a few weeks at least.”

  “Oh.” The wolf still seems confused but evidently, he accepts it because his gaze turns from the cast and back to Jax.

  Jax always thought of gray as a dull color. It’s the color of concrete and once-white t-shirts. This isn’t a gray like that.

  The wolf’s eyes are the color of storm clouds, and just like clouds there’s something about them that suggests a bright endless expanse beyond.

  You sappy idiot. Focus!

  Unfortunately, the wild wolf replies, “Thank you. You have taken care of me. You have been a very good mate.”

  A tidal wave of lust hits Jax right in the groin. He shifts from in-love to in-lust in about three seconds. He twists uncomfortably in his seat, his jeans suddenly two sizes too small.

  He breathes out again, slowly, trying to get his head under control.

  Not a mate. But now is not the time to mention that. He needs to get the wolf back to Aylewood where his pack can look after him. That is the only thing he needs to think about. Anything else is too dangerous.

  Jax swallows, then forces a polite smile on his face. “How about we start off slow? I don’t even know your name.”

  He’s not going to think about the reaction his traitor body is having on the wild wolf calling him his mate. “Besides, I need to fill your name in on the hospital intake forms. You’re down as a John Doe for now.”

  As if the wolf would know what that is. Jax shakes the thought away. It doesn’t matter. “Let’s start with the paperwork and we can go from there.”

  Even to Jax’s ears it makes no sense, but it means he can pay attention to pen and paper and try to ignore the effect the wolf is having on him.

  “What do you mean?” the wolf asks.

  Jax waves the clipboard. “I need to know some information about you.”

  The wolf looks oddly pleased. “Yes, I would like to know about you too.”

  Jax ignores the comment and stares determinedly down at the form.

  “What’s your name?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jax is aware of the wolf just watching him and waiting for Jax to explain further.

  “What do your pack call you? For example, my name is Jason Winterstoke, but everyone calls me Jax.”

  “Jax.”

  Jax has never thought much about his name. He’s certainly never heard anyone say it in such an interested tone before.

  “Yes, my name is Jax. What about you?”

  The wolf looks thoughtful. “My pack called me that wolf with gray eyes.”

  Isaiah has a proper name so at least one person in the wild pack does. The wolf with the gray eyes must have something.

  Oh gods. You’ve imprinted on a man who doesn’t even know what his own name is.

  “Do you have another one? An ordinary human name.”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Jax thinks quickly. “What about your parents? What did they call you when you were born?”

  “The pup?” The wolf is frowning now, the confusion apparent, but then his face brightens. “Oh, I know. My mother was human. She used to call me words when I was little.”

  Human. Jax has heard of it happening: people who get fed up with civilization and join the wild wolves, putting their humanity behind him.

  His curiosity is piqued. It explains why the wolf’s linguistic ability is far better than Jax would have expected. He has questions but he squashes them down and focuses on the task at hand.

  “Perfect. What did she call you?”

  “Sweetheart.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Dear. Pumpkin. Darling.”

  Jax grins, despite himself. “Anything else? Something that sounds like a human-sounding name. Like Tom or Jack or…Barry.”

  “No. I don’t think so. Why don’t I just have that one?”

  “Which one?” Jax is losing the thread of the conversation so fast, it’s making his head spin.

  “Barry. That one.”

  “I can’t call you Barry.”

  “Why not? You said it’s an ordinary human name.”

  Jax is completely flummoxed. Because you don’t look like a Barry, that’s why. “Just pick another one. Did you really not have a proper name? A short one?”

  “A short one?”

  “Yes.” Despite his resolve to take as long as it needed to get communication flowing, Jax grits his teeth. It’s like getting water out of a stone… or understanding out of a wild animal.

  “They call me the wolf with the gray eyes because I am a wolf with gray eyes.”

  Jax is about three seconds away from naming the wolf Barry when the wild man continues, “When we were cubs and learning human words, my mother sometimes just called me Gray. One of my brothers has blue eyes so he was sometimes just Blue. Or sometimes she called him Ash because that’s the color of his fur. Is that what you mean?”

  Gray. It fits. Jax gives out a sigh of relief.

  “Gray, it is.”

  Jax writes ‘Gray’ on the form in the box next to ‘First Name’. The next boxes are for ‘Surname’ and ‘Date of birth’.

  Jax would put good money on the now-officially-named Gray not having the former, and not knowing the latter.
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  He’s not going through the whole naming ceremony again. “You know, what? I’ll just make something up, shall I?”

  “Okay.”

  He fills in ‘Winterstoke’ for the surname. Why not? The man’s going to be heading back to Aylewood and if anyone asks for a Winterstoke, Jax can point them in the right direction.

  Admittedly, that direction will just be a random wave in the vicinity of the mountain.

  He takes a stab at Gray’s age and makes a mental note of the date in case he needs it later.

  “I’m going to go call the doctor. Let’s see if we can get you discharged.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Take you home,” Jax explains.

  A look of horror crosses the wolf’s face. “No.”

  “Why not? Surely you don’t want to stay here?”

  “No.”

  Jax waits but that’s apparently all the man is willing to say on the subject.

  One step at a time, he thinks. It was hard enough getting a name out of him. Trying to get him to explain what happened is going to take centuries. He goes to find the doctor instead.

  An hour later, he’s pushing the wild wolf out of the hospital in a wheelchair.

  Gray is dressed in blue jogging bottoms and a too-large white t-shirt from the hospital gift shop.

  Jax bought the softest and loosest clothing he could find but Gray is shifting uncomfortably and pulling at the neck of the shirt where it touches his skin. Jax wonders if he’s ever worn clothing before. Probably not.

  Jax stops the chair the moment they exit the main doors and are officially out of hospital grounds.

  “You can stand up now,” Jax says. The wolf obeys and waits obediently while Jax takes the chair back inside.

  Jax comes back out to find Gray sniffing the air and turning his head up and down from side to side as if he’s trying to find something.

  “Are you alright?”

  “Where is the air?” the wolf says, a look of panic on his face.

  “What?”

  “The air. Where is the air? It’s all human smell.”

  “Oh sweetheart.” The word just pops out the moment that Jax realizes what he means, but the wolf doesn’t seem to have noticed. “We’re too far from the forest. We’ll get back soon.”