Destiny's Love: A Wolf Shifter Mpreg Romance (Savage Love Book 1)

by Preston Walker

  “It’s a problem.”

  “No, it’s just you. Anyone who has a problem with a man doing his own thing is crazy.” Brock looked at him with a slight smile. “That’s why everyone likes you so much, you know? You’re always up for anything. And you deserve a break with all the work you’ve been doing. Go and enjoy your picnic. Don’t let me stop you.”

  “Thanks, bro.”

  Brock stepped out of the way, allowing Markus to slip past him. Their hips brushed together for just a moment, and that was when he remembered the map on his pocket. The map which just struck against Brock’s leg, drawing his attention downward with vague interest.

  The map popped out of Markus’ pocket, unfurling as it fell.

  Brock’s interest suddenly sharpened, slicing through the air with the fresh ease of a blade right off the assembly line.

  Markus watched his own hand arch back through the air, snapping the map easily, tucking it back into his pocket where it belonged. The entire world seemed to have slowed down, allowing him to be completely aware of every single bit of sensory information. The crisp surface of the paper. The breeze which ruffled through his fingers. His heart, climbing high up in his throat. Brock’s scent, thick in the air.

  If he had made a conscious effort to do this, he doubted it would have happened. The map would have drifted down to the ground, revealing its plotted points. Brock would have questions. So, so many questions.

  As it was, Markus just forced another grin and managed, “Directions.”

  He turned his back on his brother and hurried away to his motorcycle, hardly daring to believe he would get away with such a pathetic excuse. Any second now, he would be grabbed from behind and dragged back into the house, trapped in his own home by his brawny sibling.

  All that happened was Brock let out a startled, sluggish, “Yeah, sure. Directions.” This was followed by a brief moment of silence, then a sharp thump as the front door shut behind him.

  Every part of Markus wanted to slump down with relief at this lucky break. He fought off the urge in case Brock was watching, swung his leg over his bike, adjusted his helmet, and tore out of the neighborhood as fast as possible. There were no aggressive shouts this time, no children to stare at him as he blazed by. Everyone was at work or cooped up inside, following the routines society demanded of them.

  Markus rode. He followed the Bayou Texar for a short way, which was exactly what it sounded like—a bayou—before crossing over the bridge to the other side. His memories of the bayou were fond, if a little bit hazy. Childhood summers were like a recurring dream, instances of which were nearly impossible to separate.

  That had been when he and Brock and their friends were dumb enough to believe the color of the water was blue, that the mud beneath their feet held no dangers, and the thin banners of withered trees were filled with wonder and adventure. Hell, maybe Brock and the other alphas still believed such things.

  Markus, for all that he bounced around, had become aware he wasn’t invincible. The bayou had become brown and soupy, the mud turned into a reeking mess, and he had realized the trees were filled with snakes and drug addicts, all over the course of a school year between one summer and the next. And things were never the same, never as amazing, since he had lost that boyhood way of thinking. There were occasional glimpses of it, usually around the time he picked up a new hobby.

  As he rode over the bridge, watching the boggy water pass sluggishly underneath the concrete, it came to him that this was exactly the sort of thing the childhood version of him would have died for. A real adventure, instead of a fake one.

  Maybe, all this time, I’ve been trying to recapture that feeling.

  All this time, he hadn’t known how much a real adventure would suck. This wasn’t fun. He was filled with adrenaline like no one would believe, his thoughts soaring and his heart racing, but it wasn’t a good feeling. There were lives at stake here. Wolves were depending on him.

  As Markus exited the bridge, some of the remaining boyish nature inside him wilted. He actually felt it happen, a distinctly unpleasant sensation not entirely unlike wading into cold water that made his entire groin area shrivel up so hard it might as well have disappeared entirely. In the empty space where that part of his personality had once been, something new started to bud. It was hardly more than a seed, just beginning to emerge from the dark soil in the back of his mind, and already it was much heavier. It felt like he had thrown out a flower and planted a tree.

  Yet, the heaviness didn’t exactly feel bad. It felt almost useful somehow, like its sturdiness would serve him better than the airy beauty of any blossom.

  After leaving the bridge, and the memories of childhood, behind, he swept quickly through a number of small, comfortable little neighborhoods. These were the sort of expensive communities which were all but gated, tight-knit, and enclosed by thick stands of trees. Inevitably there would be a neighborhood watch, who never had much to report outside of the rare occasions like this when a biker ripped down the quiet streets like a cat on fire.

  Part of his hurry at this point was simple eagerness, while the rest of it was the result of a variety of discomforts. Not only did he just not belong in this sort of pricy area, the combination of close proximity to the bayou and thick clumps of woodland made for a heavy, soupy atmosphere. What little wind penetrated through the layers of trees and houses could do nothing to dispel the humidity and the unfortunate scent of rotting vegetation that came with it.

  Tourists didn’t know a damn thing. While beautiful, the wilderness areas of Florida were best viewed from a distance. Markus had never been to a real glade or bog, and his infrequent trips through these areas of Pensacola convinced him that he wasn’t missing out on much.

  Then he was at the highway, heading due north at a breezy speed that put even the top mileage of a wolf to shame. The world whipped around him, the city long and low and serene, punctuated with stretches of complicated greenery. He relaxed into the sensations of freedom and weightlessness, letting some of his tension filter away. This was the easiest part of the journey ahead of him, getting to his destination. The real trouble would come later.

  Actually, the trouble came much sooner than he had been expecting. Driving through a busy city and gliding down an interstate were two very different experiences. A journey of eight miles across the city wasn’t simply a matter of motion. It was a battle of focus, between paying attention to stop signs, street lights, crosswalks, construction detours, and all the other drivers who were performing those exact same tasks with varying degrees of success.

  On the highway, all Markus had to do was drive.

  He had pretty much forgotten about this discrepancy, finding himself about to leave I-110 by way of an exit ramp. I-110 bumped into I-10, which led both to the east and west. He had no idea which way to go. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. Following the interstate had been his entire fucking plan.

  No wonder Destiny had some doubts about this.

  This venture was shaping up to be exactly like everything else he did, all action and no thought.

  He started slowing down, aware that a long line of backed-up vehicles was forming behind him. Cars started to honk, and now they were blasting around him. He kept his head down, so disheartened he didn’t want to see all the people flipping him off so he could respond in kind.

  All the exit ramps were rapidly approaching. There were so many. If he wanted to go anywhere specific, he needed to make a decision and fast.

  Something suddenly touched him on the shoulder, a light tap that came and went again.

  Bikers were very much used to being directly exposed to the elements, which could certainly be a learning curve. Most drivers were invincible to such things, whether that be rain, hail, or clouds of insects. Bikers, on the other hand, had to weather such things directly. If Markus freaked out every single time a bug smacked him in the forehead, he would have long since crashed and been run over.

  This occasion was a little
bit odd, considering that the touch came from behind.

  Markus slowed down a little further and turned his head so he could see whatever was touching him. He couldn’t really turn or else risk falling, but he caught a glimpse of something familiar in his peripheral vision.

  He couldn’t believe it.

  Destiny wove around him seamlessly, pulling up right at his side while maintaining enough space so they wouldn’t accidentally knock against each other. He wore a helmet with a visor, apparently a wise choice since there were a bunch of bug guts splattered around the place where his mouth would have been. It was clearly him, however. There was no mistaking the way his hair fluttered out behind him, his relaxed and confident form.

  Plus, he was sitting on top of that jacked-up cruiser. There would never be another like it.

  Destiny made a small gesture, which Markus recognized as a beckon. He nodded, then let Destiny take the lead.

  They ended up taking exit 10A, which led to the west around a gigantic loop. After the road leveled out, Destiny took the nearest turn and led Markus to a gas station. They parked together off to the edge of the row in front of the convenience store, then turned their engines off at the same time. The thrumming growl of Destiny’s engine hung in the air much longer than Markus’, undiluted by the sound of the nearby highway.

  Markus pushed his helmet back a little to get it out of his sight. The rear edge of the plastic pressed against the back of his skull, sending little tingles outward. Though his hair was starting to grow back around the scar, that particular spot was still a little tender. The sensation reminded him of when he tried on a friend’s glasses, that peculiar buzzing on the bridge of his nose that told him something wasn’t quite right.

  Lifting one hand, Destiny removed his own helmet and dropped it into his lap. His features were surprisingly open and friendly despite the stressful location.

  “You followed me,” Markus said. He smiled a little, wanting to be annoyed and finding himself incapable of it. Here he had just been thinking that Destiny was right to doubt him, and now he had proof of it. Was recognizing his own failings the same thing as personal growth?

  “Not really. You told me where you were going to go. I was just going to trust you. I swear. And then I got this weird feeling?”

  An extremely loud, unmuffled truck roared past, interrupting their conversation for several seconds. Markus winced a little, hand rising automatically to touch one of his ears. Sometimes having super strong senses wasn’t a good thing.

  When the truck was gone, he pressed, “What feeling?”

  Destiny looked over at the window of the convenience store for a moment, his beautifully asymmetrical eyes scanning over the advertisements for the cheap food offered within. Then, he looked back at Markus and it was as if he was an entirely different person. Or maybe, this was who he had been in the past, before the weight of caring for so many wolves started to crush him. He looked so roguishly handsome, his grin wide and fierce.

  Warmth opened up inside Markus’ groin, and he grinned back. Something seemed to change between them, not that he knew quite what it was. Just…something.

  “I got excited,” Destiny finished. His voice came out a real soft, rough growl, leaving Markus feeling like he’d just been kissed hard on the throat.

  “I wanted to come along. I didn’t know if I was going to be able to find you, but when I saw someone on a motorcycle holding up traffic, I figured it was you. You had a good idea, terrible execution.”

  “Just an average day with me, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Destiny leaned over. Their motorcycles were parked so close together this alone nearly made their lips brush together.

  Markus felt all his breath go somewhere else, rushing out of his lungs. Leaning in, he started to sink deep into the kiss.

  Destiny leaned back almost immediately, teasing him. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

  Markus growled, leaning further in his seat. He reached out, grabbed onto Destiny’s face to hold him still, and went in for the kiss again.

  Before he could do anything, someone nearby said, with a great deal of disgust, “Get a room.”

  Raising up his middle finger in the general direction of the speaker, Destiny rubbed his lips against Markus’s.

  Markus felt his lips tingle with sweet heat. He kept his hand wrapped around Destiny’s chin, the feel of alternating stubble and smooth skin so sensual he hardly knew what to do with himself. Their lips tangled together between them, nuzzling and tugging for a long, delicious minute.

  When they parted to breathe, Destiny murmured, “It gets harder and harder to wait to talk about this.”

  Seeing as how Markus was just fine with leaving things without labels for right now, he didn’t agree. He only shrugged a little in response. “We came out here intending to do something. We have to see it through all the way. I’m just not sure what to do now.”

  “You’re definitely onto something,” Destiny mused. His eyes narrowed to intense slits of color. He was so incredibly handsome when he puzzled over something that it made Markus feel breathless again. “Look how quickly we got here by using the interstate. Whoever is doing this could come and go in an instant doing the same thing. The question is in which direction they’re most likely to come from. East, west, further north? Or what if they take 29 instead of 110?”

  “Or what if I’m just completely wrong?” Markus sighed. He rubbed his forehead, impatiently shoving his helmet further back on his head.

  “No, you’re right.”

  “Say that again,” Markus inserted, interrupting before the alpha could continue. “It’s such a rare phenomenon, coming from you.”

  Destiny swatted impatiently at him, though the slap was so light it was clearly meant in play. “I’m serious. You’ve got the right instincts. Pretty damn often. I’ve been thinking about this on the ride. To the south is just the vacation islands, the tourists spots. They can’t be coming from there.”

  “Same thing for directly to the east. More beach. More water.”

  “As for the west…to do what they’ve done, if they were coming from there, they would have to cross both of our territories. We would have seen them. That leaves the interstate to the north.”

  “Which means they can’t be using the interstate from the south. To the east, even up here, is more shores and beach. Too busy. They would be too noticeable.”

  Markus had no trouble keeping up with the logic here. What Destiny was putting into words was exactly what he had been feeling, the reasons he had gone on this venture with so much confidence. He just hadn’t stopped long enough to put it all into words.

  If I had stopped and thought about it, if I had listened to him…Markus put a halt to his own thoughts. No, if I had listened to myself, then we could have talked about all this before I ran off.

  So, he had just learned another lesson. A few extra seconds of waiting at the beginning would save him more time in the long run.

  “So, that leaves north or west,” Destiny finished.

  “There aren’t really any major roads to the north right here,” Markus replied. “The interstate now leads to the west.”

  “So, we’re a group of murderers. I wouldn’t want us to fuck around with small roads when we’re trying to get things done as fast as possible.”

  “Then, we go west!” Markus pointed off in said direction.

  “Any idea what we’re looking for? What have you been looking for all this time?”

  Markus was about to explain, when an intense chill suddenly ran down his spine like claws raking through his flesh. There was no reason for him to feel that way, no cause for this sudden fear spiking through his blood. Something in the air itself had gone sour, gone bad. A shadow crossing the sun, or something equally ominous.

  But no. It wasn’t anything so distant and remote that bothered him. He wasn’t much for signs and omens. No, whatever this was, it was right behind him.

  He just knew i
t.

  It lurked at his back, a hulking and slimy thing pulled directly from the nightmares all children share about monsters in the closet. Its breath puffed humidly against the back of his neck. The claws on his spine belonged to it, he knew that, too.

  Very slowly, moving like a man trying not to alarm a rabid dog, Markus turned his head.

  He saw a huge shadow, barrel-shaped and bulging. His stomach went tense and tight, squeezing itself into furious knots.

  He turned more, and the shadow assumed its true form. Not a monster in shape, though certainly a monster inside.

  It was the man who had stabbed Jacob, the beefy, greasy bastard. His bulk was so massive that light itself seemed to bend around him, warped by his own personal gravity.

  Heaving, jiggling step after step, the man drifted like a stray planet over to the ice box along the side of the building. Reaching in, he pulled out a huge bag of ice and slung it over his shoulder.

  Markus watched the ice actually start to melt the instant the cold bag touched the murderer’s skin, sunburned skin and lupine temperature combining to form a hellish heat. Streams of water poured down his back, dribbling in miniature waterfalls over fat and skin folds.

  Without paying, the murderer flounced his way back to a car so inappropriately tiny it seemed as if there was no way it would be able to propel itself while he was inside. The structure of the vehicle sank down several inches when he lowered himself onto the seat, joints groaning with the stress.

  “Markus! Hey, muffin! What’s going on?”

  Markus flicked his eyes over in Destiny’s direction, hardly daring to believe what he had just seen. “That’s him.” His voice choked.

  The gas station faded out, every day scenery abruptly replaced by a nightmarish memory of an alleyway where the shadows seemed to be melting. But they weren’t shadows. They were wounds, pouring with life blood. The wounded was Jacob, his hands fluttering weakly at his sides after he had been stabbed. The expression on his face was tortured confusion.