Winterstoke Wolves Collection : An MM Mpreg Shifter Romance Bundle
Page 56
The horn blows again, and the gate opens.
Aaron is out of there in an instant, pumping his legs faster than Gregor would ever have thought possible.
Where are you going? What’s your plan? The dark wolf is runs west, away from the river and towards where the peak rises into the distance. Gregor watches him go.
AARON
red sand and pale olive brush
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Aaron races, paws barely meeting the ground. He’s not even thinking. There’s no space for thought. There’s no space for anything except fear and blind panic amidst a smothering miasma of alpha excitement.
The prick of the needle in his haunches still stings. He should have seen that coming. The beta doctor didn’t say what it was, but he knows.
Heat triggers. The assholes have injected him with a heat trigger.
Faster. Go faster. Aaron’s legs ache, the muscles burning with exertion. Until now, his sole form of exercise has been attempting to jog on the spot in his bedroom along with occasional star jumps whenever he’s feeling sufficient motivation.
He hasn’t run like this since... Actually, he’s never run like this.
He races over red sand and pale olive brush, only half aware that he’s running away from the river: the single water source in the entire run.
It doesn’t matter. The only thing that’s keeping his burning legs moving is the stink of alphas behind him. Nothing matters except getting as far away from them as possible.
He’s vaguely aware of the presence of the other omegas also running hell for leather.
He lost track of the red-haired one seconds after they left the gate. If that guy can find a hidey-hole, so can Aaron, although how the red-haired omega stops alphas from tracking him into it is another question.
Aaron is slowing now, even as he’s screaming at his legs to move faster. They can’t. They’re growing heavier and the muscles are burning. He’s panting hard.
His body forces him to stop. He stands, head hanging low, the air burning his throat as he gulps in air.
He turns his tail and sits back on his haunches. He can still scent the alphas in the air. The smell still makes him want to throw up with terror, but he’s not drowning in them. They’re no longer close.
He sits up, squinting into the distance, trying to work out where he is. Wolf eyes aren’t meant for long range vision, so he shifts.
He stretches. His muscles pop as he pushes his aching arms high.
The sun has dipped half-way beyond the horizon, and the shadows are lengthening, running dark patches across the sand.
Aaron shivers, sweat cooling against his bare skin. He reaches down and runs the tips of his fingers over the raised bump in his thigh.
Heat triggers are illegal. They weren’t allowed to do that. A short despairing laugh bursts from his lips. It’s not as if there is a complaints department he can appeal to.
Depending on the type of trigger they gave him, he’s got between four hours and three days before the heat kicks in.
Aaron blows air out of his mouth. Best to assume they gave him the worst one of all. Four hours.
On the bright side, if the heat is as bad as he thinks it is going to be, he’s going to be happy enough once the alphas get close.
He stares off into the distance, trying to calculate how far he’s come. He can’t see the registration building at all, and the alpha viewing platform is just a blip on the horizon. The distance should make him feel better, but however fast he’s run, the alphas can do it twice as fast. This is nothing but a brief respite. He’ll be lucky to be still unmated by morning.
He should have run for the river, drunk his fill while he still could, but he remembers from his long-ago studies that the river is where most of the omegas are claimed at the beginning of the run.
Behind him, there are low hills, and sharp rising salt cliffs beyond.
The salt cliffs are a breeding ground for adders, he remembers reading. They’re attracted to the birds that nest in the crevices and ridges. The omega on that forum had warned off going anywhere near it.
Perhaps if he gets to the top of one and avoids the adders, he can hold the alphas off? Getting high and isolated won’t solve the water problem, but it might solve the alpha one for at least a little longer.
One thing at a time, he tells himself. He might not have a plan, but he does have an immediate goal: don’t get claimed in the first scrap. If he survives that, he can set another one.
He shifts as the sun finally sinks below the horizon. He stretches aching muscles, then forces himself to move his paws. He moves with purpose, setting his sights on a rising hill in the far distance. The further away he gets, the better.
The scents of the world change as darkness falls. The air smells cooler and fresher, and the scents of the day plants fall as they close their flowers for the evening.
The sounds of small animals rustling in the brush and under rocks increases as the nocturnal come out to play, and the diurnal settle in for the night.
Aaron trots on, careful not to overextend himself now that the immediate panic is over.
He imagines breaking a paw in one of the many creature holes on the scrubland and being unable to do anything but crawl while a strange alpha bears down on him.
A shiver races through him, sending cold prickles along his back and making his fur stand on end.
Knock it off, he tells himself. Stop panicking and play it sensible. It doesn’t help.
The ground begins to grow rockier and steeper as he approaches the stony ridges. The sun is almost completely gone, only a thin orange sliver remains far on the horizon against a deep navy sky.
His paws scratch against pale red stone as he jumps from rock to rock, climbing as high as he can. He can’t see the spaces between them, but his nose compensates well enough: the air flows and traces of small creature scents across the hard surfaces let him read the space as well as his human eyes.
A familiar pang of warmth in his stomach stops him in his tracks. It spreads out and radiates across his body. A flush of fear follows it.
His heat is coming already.
Aaron determinedly ignores it and puts one paw in front of the other as fast as his burning legs will allow. The further he gets now, the further he’ll be when it finally starts.
Behind him, a horn suddenly sounds in the distance, long and low.
He stops and turns back towards the viewing platform, now long faded into the horizon.
The first wave of alphas are coming. Aaron’s legs find new energy. He runs for his life.
GREGOR
premium starts and a bright yellow moon
Gregor counts fourteen of them at the starting gate. The other alphas watch from the regular viewing platform with a mix of envy and anger.
The premium crowd competition is mixed. Two of the alphas are elderly enough that they aren’t likely to catch anyone. If Gregor hadn’t heard them chatting about how much they were looking forward to rolling around in the fear scents that the run omegas left behind, he wouldn’t have any clue as to why they were there at all.
Gregor has been surreptitiously weighing up the others, as he’s sure they have been doing to him.
Out of the fourteen of them, he’s confident he can take ten without much trouble. Of the remaining three, he estimates two would be a fair fight, and the other is to be avoided as far as possible.
The one to be avoided is a giant of a man: eight foot and scarred. Privately, Gregor thinks he looks like he should be running his own pirate ship, possibly fighting sharks on the high seas. Sometimes the bigger guys are easier to take down. They’re slower and clumsier, but it’s not worth taking a chance.
The fair fight fellows consist of one of the blood wolves who has snuck enough surreptitious glances at Gregor that it’s obvious that Corrigan has told him to keep an eye on him, and a tall, dark-haired string bean of a man who exudes wiry strength.
It should be fine, Gregor thi
nks. After all, he’s after one specific omega and one only. He knows exactly who he’s after and where they need to go. He’s not planning on fighting anyone unless he has to.
Gregor stands on all four paws at the starting gate, stretching out his back, while he waits for the horn to blow.
The giant man has turned into an even bigger wolf, and is standing right beside him, far closer than Gregor would like.
Gregor ignores him. Now is not the time to show weakness, even if the guy does look like he could eat every single one of them and still have room for desert.
Instead, he focuses on the honey-sweet scent of Aaron leading off into the distance. That’s all that matters: follow the scent, rescue the omega and go home, leaving all this insanity behind them.
Any minute now, he thinks. The waiting around is driving him crazy. Blow the damn horn. Let’s get this over with.
As if on command, the horn blows loud and low.
The alphas surge forward. All have shifted, and they’re running fast. With the exception of Gregor, all have their noses to the ground.
Gregor doesn’t need to follow the scent. He runs directly west to where Aaron’s slight figure disappeared into the distance.
He can smell him anyway: a mix of that honey scent along with good dose of terror. It triggers Gregor’s alpha instincts immediately. A wave of protectiveness flows over him, and he has to stop himself from growling.
Run faster, idiot.
The majority of the other alphas are heading towards the river, but a handful are heading west with Gregor. Unfortunately, it includes the blood wolf and the string bean, but not the giant wolf which is something to be grateful for.
It occurs to him that he should have paid more attention to the other omegas. He has no idea how many others are headed the same way as Aaron.
He sniffs, picking up multiple omega scents. That’s all he needs to know. As long as they don’t have to all fight over one omega, he has a good chance.
He feels a twinge of sorrow for the others. Can’t save you all, he thinks.
He’s racing now, running fast and furious across the scrubland. The other alphas are still within viewing distance but they’ve started to spread out.
Gregor slows his pace, and puts his nose to the ground, sniffing out Aaron’s scent to make sure he’s going the right way.
It’s fully dark now, although a bright full moon has lit the desertscape. It’s enough that Gregor can make out Aaron’s likely destination: a low, rocky hill in the distance.
It seems an odd place to head for. Gregor dismisses the thought. All he needs to do is get there before anyone else. He doesn’t need to know Aaron’s plan. All he has to do is find him.
There are only another two alphas close by now. One is one of the elderly ones, a good distance to Gregor’s rear and getting further behind as Gregor outpaces him.
The other is the stringy wolf who is running, nose to the ground, directly towards where Aaron’s scent trails seems to lead.
Gregor picks up his pace.
AARON
a cold crawlspace and the scent of serpents
It’s not much of a hiding place, but it is one. Aaron slinks along on his belly under the low-hanging rock, wriggling as deep into the space between the rocks as he can.
The best hope he has is to hide and hope the first wave of alphas pass him by in the frenzy of catching the first omegas. He certainly can’t outrun them. The red-haired omega managed to survive three runs. Aaron can do it too. Somehow.
It’s pitch dark. He can’t see anything, not even his own paws as they scrabble for purchase against the sand. He keeps his nose low, sniffing.
His nose picks up the distinct sharp scent of a serpent, but it’s days old if not weeks. There’s nothing in the crawlspace now except bugs. The serpent’s scent sends cold shivers through his bones anyway.
His head bumps up against cold rock. He reaches out a tentative paw, confirming what his nose tells him. He’s gone as far as he can go.
He wriggles and shuffles, scraping his spine against rock as he turns, so he’ll be at least pointing the right way when it’s time to leave.
Aaron lies down flat on the cold sand, feeling the cold prickle into the ends of his fur, even as his belly warms with the first waves of his coming heat.
The long run has dried his mouth. He’s not yet desperate for a drink, but he will be.
He reaches out with his nose to the cool rock, hoping to find some moisture this deep under the ground, but it’s dry as a bone.
Despite the pitch dark, he keeps his eyes open, hyper-aware for the darkness to suddenly shift and become the alpha he has been dreading.
He’s deep enough into the crevice that he can’t scent them at all anymore, but he can still feel them, racing through the dark towards him.
The memory of them stalking the fence at the omega pen returns, dozens of leering faces until they all merge into deep blue eyes fixed on Aaron’s own, drowning him.
Their intensity sinks into his brain weighing him down into the dark.
He’s not aware that he’s fallen asleep until he wakes with a start, as suddenly as if doused with ice water.
A new scent has drifted into the cold and the dark. It’s sharp and sour: the smell of old dish water.
No. Not that one. I don’t want that one.
His paws scrabble against the sand, trying to push his body further back into the crevice. He hits hard rock. There is nowhere to go.
Sound follows the scent: a nose snuffling on rock and getting closer. The sour scent grows stronger.
Ice grows in his veins. He can’t go forward. He can’t go back.
What was he thinking? He should have kept running through the night and never stopped.
A low growl echoes at the entrance to his hiding space, sending a sharp shiver of terror all the way up his spine. Aaron can’t help it. He whines, flattening his belly against the sandy floor.
He bares his teeth. No wolf is going to be able to get in here, and definitely not a big alpha. The alpha is going to have to pull him out with his hands.
Aaron is ready. Anyone reaching in is going to lose his fingers.
Don’t be stupid, a little voice in his head begs. You’ll just make him angry.
He keeps his teeth bared, forcing himself to let out a low, threatening growl.
He ignores how pathetic it sounds.
There’s the sound of air shifting, then a voice calls, “Come now, little omega. I know you’re in there. You’re here for a reason. We both are. Let’s play this game outside.”
Aaron responds with another growl. He’s not leaving. Not without a fight. Maybe if he makes it too much trouble, the alpha will leave.
You have to leave sometime, the voice in his head says. Not now. Not tonight, he argues back.
The alpha outside draws in a sudden sharp breath, and Aaron hears the air change as he shifts.
Aaron freezes. There’s no reason for the alpha to shift. He won’t be able to get in here as a wolf. It’s too small for an alpha. What is he doing?
The answer to the question drifts in on the breeze: another alpha scent, this one the fresh scent of cut grass under the summer sun.
Oh god, there are two of them.
The new alpha smells a lot better than the first one. A lot better, but that makes no difference. He doesn’t want any of them.
There’s also no way he’s going to be able to get away from them both.
A snarl sounds from outside the crevice and is answered by another, low and furious.
Aaron wants to cry. This isn’t what was supposed to happen. He was supposed to be in Aylewood, following his brother’s escape route into the Winterstoke packhouse.
This wasn’t the way his life was supposed to go at all.
The snarl is followed by a louder growl, and then a deep fleshy sound ending in a yelp.
He sinks his head lower, wishing he was human-shaped so he could stick his fingers in his ears.
The sound changes. It’s not a big one but it’s enough. The growls and snarls and snaps grow slightly fainter.
The fight is moving away from the entrance to the crevice.
Maybe he’s imagining it...
No. There’s another yelp. It’s definitely further away.
If he’s quick, he might be able to get past them while they are fighting and make a run for it.
Somewhere in the back of his head, he knows he’s not going to get far but anything is better than waiting here to be dragged out like a rabbit from its den.
He wriggles fast and low on his belly, praying that the fight doesn’t draw closer again.
The darkness shifts from pitch dark to shadows and then finally the pale shine of moon on rock.
He eases out of the space, ignoring the roiling, fighting mass just beyond.
The moon is up now and the clouds have cleared. He doesn’t waste time trying to find out who is winning the fight.
As soon as he is clear of the overhanging rock, he runs.
His muscles burn immediately, complaining after the pace earlier in the evening, but he doesn’t stop. He directs every ounce of energy he has to moving his legs.
It’s easy. Adrenaline surges, sending him faster and faster across red sand, now black under the pale moonlight.
Somewhere far behind him, there’s a long and final yelp.
Oh god, they’re done. Any moment now they’re going to notice he’s gone.
His lungs burn as he steps up the pace. He doesn’t know where he’s heading. As long as it’s away.
The sound of racing paws sounds behind him. His stomach turns and the adrenaline rises, streaming through his muscles and he’s flying now, faster than he ever thought possible under the desert moon.
The sound of pursuit grows closer.
Aaron pushes himself harder, or he tries to. His body is slowing, whether he likes it or not.