Winterstoke Wolves Collection : An MM Mpreg Shifter Romance Bundle

by Sasha Silsbury

  “I need you to pay attention. Can you do that for me?”

  Aaron’s gaze flicks down towards Gregor’s dick. Ordinarily, it would appreciate all the attention. Gregor forces his brain to take charge instead.

  “Don’t make me shout at you. I am going to make you come again, but then I need you to stay here. Do you understand?”

  Aaron’s gaze drags up to Gregor’s face. He’s flushed, his pupils blown wide with lust. He nods slowly, as if drugged.

  Gregor supposes he has been. He wants to kiss him properly, take his time and show Aaron just how much fun this can be, but he can’t.

  He doesn’t even have time to fuck him again.

  He reaches down into Aaron’s lap and grabs hold of the omega’s dick, tugging gently.

  “Oh my god!” Aaron shouts, his eyes rolling back in his head.

  It’s not that good, Gregor thinks, ignoring the wave of satisfaction he feels anyway. Aaron really hasn’t had someone else do this.

  He splays his other arm against Aaron’s chest. The omega’s heart is rabbiting, like he’s just been running flat out. Gregor pushes Aaron gently onto his back, pulling his hand away from Aaron’s dick.

  The omega whines in protestation.

  “I’m going to look after you. Don’t you worry about that,” Gregor murmurs.

  He leans down between Aaron’s legs and pushes his thighs apart. His dick takes an immediate interest, and twitches where it is, squashed against the sand.

  There’s more pleading coming out of Aaron’s mouth now: almost intelligible noises made of nothing begging, pleading and outrageous promises. He’s throwing off a scent of deep heat so thick that Gregor can almost taste it.

  He runs soft fingers over Aaron’s dick, then lower, cupping his balls and then lower still, until he pushes two fingers between Aaron’s legs.

  His fingers slip right in, meeting little resistance.

  Aaron moans and bucks his hips, instinctually pushing himself back.

  “That’s it,” Gregor murmurs. “You just enjoy that. Let me see if...”

  Yeah, he can get a third finger in without any trouble at all. The guy is so slick that he’s almost dripping.

  Is he normally like this? Or is it the drugs? Gregor is suddenly desperately curious. He wants to ask but Aaron is desperately fucking himself back on Gregor’s fingers, his mouth half open and brow furrowed in concentration.

  Gregor scissors his fingers slightly and is rewarded with another groan, and a rush of slick over his fingers.

  Alpha dick is the best thing to fuck an omega through his heat, but fingers are second best and can do the job just as well if the alpha knows what he’s doing.

  Gregor twists his middle finger just slightly, looking for something deep inside.

  There. That’s it. A small protrusion deep against the muscle.

  He grits his teeth. He wants to tease, brush against it slowly and then even slower. Really drag the pleasure out.

  You don’t have time for that. Get on with it, Winterstoke.

  He bucks his finger up, roughly rubbing the nub.

  Aaron comes hard: slick rushing from between his legs, dick spurting onto his stomach.

  Gregor works him through it, teasing out the aftershocks and finally only withdrawing his fingers when Aaron starts to wince.

  Not romantic. Not special, but it did the job.

  Even less romantically, he has to leave immediately.

  He gets to his feet and grabs the bottles, then gets back on his knees.

  Aaron stares up at him through a sex-drunk haze.

  “Stay here!” Gregor orders. “Do not move. Do not leave under any circumstances. Do you understand?”

  Aaron gives him a vacant look.

  “I’m going to get water. I’ll be as quick as I can, but you cannot leave. They will scent you. Stay here. That is an order. Do you understand?”

  Finally, Aaron nods slowly.

  Gregor blows air out of his mouth. God only knows if the message got through, but he doesn’t have any choice.

  They need water and he can’t take Aaron with. Not like this.

  “I am going to be back,” he shouts over his shoulder. “Wait for me.”

  As soon, as he is clear of the cave, he twists the bottles into a carrier onto his back, shifts and runs as fast as his paws can take him.

  GREGOR

  river gloop and flat red sand

  Gregor’s paws race across burning sand under a burning sun. The plastic bottles make hollow sounds as they bounce against his back.

  He’s been running due east for at least an hour. His tongue lolls out, hanging heavy out of his head as he pants.

  It’s dry as a bone. He wants to lick his lips but his mouth is just as dry. His throat aches with it.

  The river is definitely east. He remembers seeing it, and the map drawn in the sand in seared into his memory, but he can’t scent it making him second guess himself.

  At least part of that is because the breeze is behind him. He hates that. Aaron’s scent has long since faded but anyone coming close will be able to scent him.

  Aaron. An hour is far too long to leave him. Anything could have happened. Anyone.

  He picks up the pace, forcing his tired legs to move faster.

  There are alphas somewhere ahead of him, a handful of omegas dotted among them. The scents of their heats drift in.

  They’ve injected all of them. The horror of it makes Gregor’s stomach clench. Forget confronting Corrigan.

  He’s wants to confront all of it. The entire Red Run needs to be shut down. It’s insanity that it’s been allowed to go on for this long.

  The scent of river water finally hits his nostrils. A flood of relief washes over him.

  It is this way. He’s on the right track. It’s not that he didn’t trust Aaron’s information or his own memory. It’s rather that the stakes are far too high for him to get anything wrong.

  He slows then draws to a halt, panting as the sun beats down. He’s far into the flat red sands of the valley now. He’s left the shade of the adderthorn trees far behind and the only life he’s seen are a couple of fat adders, although he’s managed to scent out a handful of rabbits.

  Maybe if he has time, he’ll run in their direction on the way back and see if he can bring something besides water back for Aaron.

  He puts his head up to the sky and gulps in big swallows of air, trying to scent the air.

  The river takes up the whole of the east boundary, but the water might not be flowing as strongly through all of it.

  He needs to find the quickest path there that also avoids as many alphas as he can.

  They’re all out there: hundreds of them. There are so many that he can’t even differentiate them all by scent.

  He sniffs again, tasting the air.

  The north-east has fewest alphas, although there are some. There’s also a pair of omegas, both well within the throes of heat. Alphas crowd them like a pack of hyenas around a deer.

  North-east, it is. Destination determined, he sets off again, forcing his tired muscles to work harder than they have any right to.

  His mouth is sticky with lack of water, and his throat burns.

  The bottles on his back are less of a nuisance now and more of a promise. Not only will he drink water, but he’ll be able to take it back too.

  Water now and water later.

  He scents the air as he runs, changing course whenever he picks up the stink of alphas in the air.

  It’s another twenty minutes by the time he reaches the riverbed. Aaron was right here too, but also wrong.

  The river is surrounded by alphas but there’s no real way to get across it.

  Long dried mud banks prove that it’s far from full flow, but it’s still wider than anything Gregor was expecting.

  He’d expected something like the Aylewood river, long and deep but swimmable from bank to bank.

  This might be swimmable but he wouldn’t risk it. Even from hi
s position right on the edge, he can see how fast it’s flowing at its center and how easily it would be to get sucked down into the current.

  He sniffs again to check he’s alone. There are alphas nearby, but none close enough to bother him unless they want to.

  He trots down the bank, letting his paws sink into dried mud and then wet mud as he grows closer to the water itself.

  He’s almost knee-deep in the mud when there’s enough flowing water to bend and drink.

  He dips his head and laps, trying to pace himself when all he wants to do is duck his head underneath and keep swallowing until he is satiated.

  The water is fresh and sweet if a trifle gritty from the ever-present red sands.

  He drinks until he’s satiated, then raises his head and sniffs again, frowning. The alphas are getting closer, and there are at least four of them.

  He shifts where he stands in the muddy water, then walks out further to almost chest height where the water flows faster and clearer.

  He fills each bottle one by one and twists the cap on firmly. The plastic is thin and warped from years of use, but they all feel sturdy enough and when he turns them upside down, no water escapes.

  Gregor tugs on the knotted plastic between them, checking that they are still secure now that they’re heavy with water, and gives a prayer of thanks to whatever innovative omega left them there for him to find.

  The mud is heavy against his legs as he wades, and just before he reaches waist height, he dips his hands down, cupping more for a drink.

  There’s something about not drinking too much at once. He remembers that, even if he doesn’t remember the detail of it.

  He feels fine and he’s got another long run back along the burning sand. When he gets back to the cave, they’re going to need to ration their treasure carefully. He may as well drink his fill now.

  The alphas come into sight just as he’s squelching through the mud at the edges of the river, swirling red into the brown of the water.

  There are four of them: wolf-shaped and still a distance away. They stop when they see him.

  Gregor squints. One is the blood wolf, easily distinguishable by his scent and strawberry blond coat. He doesn’t recognize the others.

  They start to form packs, Aaron had said.

  Gregor wonders what happens when those packs find a stray omega. How do they choose who gets the claiming? Somehow, he doubts they let the omega decide.

  Gregor twists his head and surreptitiously sniffs at the side of his neck. Aaron’s scent fills his brain, lighting up every reward center. He keeps his nose there longer than he should, even as he regrets not ducking his head under the water when he had the chance to rinse off the omega’s scent.

  The wolves stay still, watching him. Gregor mirrors them. Four against one is not good odds, especially when he’s ankle-deep in gloop. If he’s lucky, they’ll identify him as neither omega nor ally nor threat, and just leave him alone.

  They’re far enough that their eyes won’t be able to make out the bottles, but they might be able to scent the plastic.

  The blood wolf dips his head, right then left. A pair of wolves separates themselves from the pack and race across the bank, not towards Gregor but across from him.

  Damn it. They’ve scented the plastic, and are going to try flank him, cutting off his escape routes. He’s done the same with his brothers a hundred times. Of course, then they were hunting deer, not humans.

  He also knows exactly when the deer has the best opportunity of escape.

  Now.

  He stays in human form and runs for it raising his knees high as he can, while keeping half an eye on the wolf pack. His feet make sucking sounds as they hit and remove themselves from the mud.

  He shifts the moment the mud thins enough, and races straight forward, all four paws almost meeting each other in the air as he sprints.

  The pairs of wolves on either side react immediately, racing towards him as he runs.

  Gregor pays them no mind. Their only chance is to cut him off before he makes it through to the flat of the valley. All he has to do is run fast enough in a straight line.

  He fixes his gaze straight ahead towards the rising shadow of Thorn Peak in the far distance.

  That’s where Aaron is. That’s where safety is. That’s where they can ride this out as safely as they can in this godforsaken hellhole. All he needs to do is outrun the wolves at his tail and get there.

  The bottles bump against his back, landing hard enough to leave bruises as he sprints along the red sand, nothing like the soft tap-tap of empty plastic earlier. He sends up a prayer to whatever wolf god might be listening that the plastic knotted rope holds strong.

  The wolf pack draws closer now, enough so that if he wanted, he could turn and see the color of their eyes.

  He doesn’t so want. He doesn’t want anything but to get to that point on the far horizon as fast as he can.

  Run, idiot.

  It’ll just take one of them to bring him down. One to disrupt his gait and bring him down and then that will be the end of it.

  They’re closing in. He can scent them now and not just the smell of alpha.

  He can scent the gophers they ate last night and the smell of sticky red mud crusted into the fur. He can scent the omega they tried to run down this morning and the remnants of their frustration when they failed.

  He pushes himself harder, forcing himself to pay attention only to the peak ahead. He ignores the thud of paws on sand alongside him and tries not to flinch at the thought of jaws ripping into his flanks at any moment.

  A snarl rips the air behind him, close enough that he can feel the hot breath on his fur.

  It’s followed by a snap. Teeth rake his fur and along his skin. A line of pain streaks across his flank. A shot of fear floods Gregor’s muscles, pumping his legs even faster.

  The teeth aren’t followed up by a deeper bite, and the scent of alphas begins to diminish.

  Gregor keeps running. After a few seconds, he risks a glance behind him. The wolves have fallen back, knowing they’ve lost him.

  He doesn’t slow his pace. He needs to get out of eyesight and then do as much as he can to confuse his scent trail, although without running water or a myriad of other animals, there’s not much he can do.

  He runs until he can’t anymore and no matter how much he forces his legs, they just won’t go any faster.

  Gregor stops and takes stock. He’s in the middle of the flat red sand now, the peak another hour’s run ahead of him. The hot sun burns down on his head and bakes into his fur.

  By some miracle, the bottles are still secure. He doesn’t untie them to check, not wanting to risk the fragile plastic breaking altogether.

  He scents the air. The alphas from the river are long behind, their scents lost in the sand and the air.

  He’s been gone for hours. Aaron is going to be struggling, assuming he’s managed to stay in the cave.

  Gregor struggles to his paws and forces himself to keep running.

  AARON

  orders and white-hot skewers

  Aaron shivers or maybe he shakes. Hot-cold tremors wrack his body.

  “That’s it,” Gregor murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. “You just enjoy that.”

  Aaron lies on the cool sand of the cave, his hands working hard between his legs, even as he trembles at the memory.

  He comes again hard. His hip aches, the pinprick from the needle burning red hot.

  In his mind, he can see it: a white-hot skewer shoved into his flesh that makes his hips buck and his dick so hard it hurts.

  He doesn’t know how many times he’s come since Gregor left. None of it makes any difference. Nothing is enough to make his dick soften or the flow of slick slow.

  Gregor’s scent is fading. How long has he been gone? Minutes? Hours? Days?

  He needs to find him. Aaron scrambles to his feet.

  “Stay here. That is an order.”

  The memory of his alpha�
��s voice sounds in his ears. Aaron’s knees buckle with the reminder of it. He sinks back down into the now damp and sticky red sand.

  His skin is rubbed raw from it, and yet he can’t stop. He lies down flat, writhing unbidden on the sand.

  He tugs at his dick frantically, another thing rubbed raw. Pain streaks with every thrust into his fist, but he can’t slow down. He jerks it harder, desperate for release.

  It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He reaches behind him with his other hand and shoves two fingers inside himself. That’s not enough either. His fingers can’t get deep enough. They’re not thick enough.

  He pumps them in and out as roughly as he can anyway, and somewhere on the edges of his consciousness, he hears himself whine in miserable desperation.

  Fuck. He needs Gregor. Right now.

  He’s on his feet again, racing for the daylight at the edges of the cave.

  “I am going to be back. Wait for me.”

  It was an order. Gregor said it like it was an order and he expected to be obeyed.

  Aaron hears himself whine again. He stands still, hips still thrusting into his hand, torn between the need to find his alpha and the need to obey him.

  He falls heavily to his knees, hearing them crack against the stone under the thin layer of sand at the cave’s entrance. Pain lances up his thighs, hardly noticed under his all-consuming desperation.

  Aaron wants Gregor to fuck him face to face next time. He wants to see the expression in his eyes when he comes.

  And fuck him from behind like before.

  And fuck him while lying flat on his back while Aaron rides his dick like there’s no tomorrow.

  Aaron jerks his dick harder, ignoring the lancing pain that comes with every pull of the skin.

  In his head, Gregor comes deep inside him. Again.

  Aaron cries out, spilling nothing more than a couple of drops onto the deep red sand.

  He’s so spent that there’s nothing left in there. His mouth is dry with thirst and his throat burns.

  Aaron looks down at his dick, still desperately hard. He must have spilled half his bodily water in come, and it’s still not satisfied.

  He takes it in hand again, wincing. Tears form at the corners of his eyes. Fuck, I am so tired of this.