Wild Ride: An M/M Shifter Mpreg Romance Bundle

by Preston Walker

  Shaking his head and snorting, he rose up onto his paws again and shook the dust and bits of debris out of his fur.

  Looking around again, he suddenly froze.

  There, only three feet away from him, crouched another wolf. It was small and slender compared to him, stooped in the shadows where sunlight couldn’t directly reach.

  Houston blinked for a moment, not quite able to understand why he couldn’t clearly see the other. Maybe he had hit his head...

  The other wolf, who was quite obviously an omega, bared its fangs. They flashed quite clearly, the only distinct part of the wolf. Then, it turned around and took off down the path at a breakneck speed.

  Houston shook his head so hard that his flapping ears made a popping sound, and then he gave chase. The thieving wolf quickly put ground between them, clearly running as hard and fast as he could. Houston kept him in sight but held his own pace back, breathing easily and settling into the rhythm of his loping run.

  For several minutes, there was nothing but the sound of his panting breath, the pattering of his paws and the scratching of his nails against concrete. Through twisting and turning alleyways, he followed the omega as it threaded its way swiftly through the network of paths. It was so thin and lithe that he couldn’t help but to admire its ability to navigate, leaping and diving at what seemed like the speed of light compared to Houston’s heavy pace.

  Then, he realized that the tail of the omega was a little closer to him than before. Wolves were not sprinters. They were distance runners if they held themselves back; clearly, the omega hadn’t been expecting to go up against someone who knew what they were doing.

  Now was the time.

  Houston lowered his head and let out a snarl beneath heavy pants of breath. Stretching his legs out further, he pushed his paws harder against the concrete and ran faster and faster. His chest ached, his lungs felt like they were about to explode, but he pushed himself even further.

  The omega let out a desperate whine and tried to put on an extra burst of speed, but it didn’t get anywhere at all. It was tiring fast, the tip of its tail now only inches away from Houston’s muzzle.

  Grinning to himself, his fangs bared, Houston gave one last stride and then pushed off the ground hard with his powerful back legs. He sailed through the air and crashed roughly against the omega, bowling them both right over against the nearest wall.

  It’s over.

  Any omega beneath an alpha wolf had no chance of escaping. Houston prepared to clamp his fangs on the other’s neck, to push it into submission, but when he lunged down he realized that the little wolf wasn’t going to make it easy for him. It thrashed, body whiplashing, legs flailing out at all angles with claws flexed and ripping. Luckily, his fur was too thick for any blow to land too hard but his face was getting battered and one of his ears was nicked at the tip, crusting over with sticky blood.

  Houston growled and shifted his paw, aiming to press it against the omega’s stomach. The little wolf had been waiting for it though. Houston saw it in the way that its body tensed up, tracking its intent through those wiry muscles bunched together. He tried to stop himself, to redirect his aim, but it was far too late. What he could see was not something he could prevent. Like a weasel, the omega writhed, popped out of his grasp, smacked him across the face with a paw, and then staggered away.

  Reeling from the stars dashing around in front of his eyes, fruit-shaded starbursts of dizziness, Houston pushed himself to his feet and gave chase again. Why he shifted was something he wasn’t entirely aware of until he realized that he must have done it subconsciously. The perp was fleeing from him in human form as well, huffing and puffing as they scaled a nearby fence with ease.

  Houston rushed over and grabbed at the omega’s head, but then he fell back as the perp jerked around. In his hand he held a black ski mask. He looked up again just in time to see someone with shoulder-length black hair disappear over the top of the fence. Rapid footsteps, light and frantic, pattered on the concrete for a moment before fading away.

  “Damn,” Houston grunted, rubbing his face where he had been struck. No blood when he inspected his fingers, but he still felt a bit dizzy. The force behind that was something no omega would have normally been able to produce. Desperation was what did it. Need could conjure up some pretty interesting abilities, that was for sure.

  And now the perp was getting away. Had already gotten away, he corrected himself. And all he had was this ski mask. He supposed the force could track down what stores were even selling these at this time of year, but he felt like that would be a lost cause. The material of this thing was grungy and covered in a variety of mysterious fluids, as well as being frayed around the bottom edge. It obviously hadn’t been purchased recently.

  He did have a description of the perp now. However, the description didn’t make much sense to him though, and he was the one to see it. Tan skin with an olive cast to it, and flowing black hair that danced at about shoulder-length; a slim, supple body with wiry musculature.

  By all appearances, it was a woman. A young woman, no doubt. No older than her mid-twenties.

  Yet, as Houston rose to his feet and started trying to figure out exactly where he was, he couldn’t help but to feel that was wrong. Everything had happened so quickly during that last part. Even his senses struggled to absorb all of what was happening. He just couldn’t help but to feel like the omega wolf beneath him had been undeniably male. It was some gut instinct, some fluttering in his stomach, some little bit of knowing that he couldn’t quite place where it came from.

  Maybe, just maybe, for a second there as he held the omega beneath his body and prepared to bite, the wolf inside him had been confused. Biting necks was how many shapeshifters marked and claimed their mates. Perhaps for a split second, his animal counterpart had been distinctly aware of the other’s gender because of that.

  The butterflies in his stomach made sense if that was the case, he concluded. He wouldn’t have felt this way if the omega had been a female. Houston had never been attracted to the feminine form and, as far as he was concerned, he never would be.

  “Unfortunately, I can tell that to the Chief but it can’t get put on record. It’s no use to the public. Neither am I, I guess,” he said lightly, into the air around him.

  Growling a little, he felt himself torn between being impressed at the other wolf’s resourcefulness and angry that he had been made a fool of. An omega beating an alpha? Such a thing could only happen through trickery and guile. Most omegas were full of smarts that seemed to evade alphas, so at least he could feel a bit better about that.

  It didn’t make him feel any better at all though, not when he walked back out into the scene of the crime with only a dirty piece of cloth in hand to speak for his efforts. By now, the crowd had dissipated but it had also been replaced by a few news vehicles. A robbery like this wasn’t worth very much when compared against the rest of the crimes committed from day to day, but Houston had no doubt that they were here in the hopes of getting something juicy based on the fact that the witnesses were talking crazy.

  One of the other officers saw him returning and their face lit up while also crashing down. One of the strangest things Houston had seen today, that was for sure.

  “Damn. Looks like you almost got him?”

  “Slippery bugger,” Houston grunted. He was about to say something else when he took a mental step back. “Did you say he?”

  “Yep. Gathered statements give the general idea that it was male.”

  So, I was right.

  Inside him, his wolf gave a lonely whine and wondered where its intended mate was.

  Chapter Two

  It was a beautiful day; felt like spring. Since it was NYC and any marginal amount of heat was magnified tenfold by the shining silver sides of skyscrapers, that really meant that it was late autumn.

  Mickey sauntered on down the street, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets. He wanted to have it zipped up and the hood drawn up over
his head, but that was simply paranoia and nothing else. He was safe here. Hadn’t hit this part of town in months. No one was looking for him anymore and, even if they were...well, they didn’t actually know what he looked like. Besides, it was all or nothing with these people.

  These people.

  They should have been his people. Even as a shapeshifter, he should have felt like he belonged amongst at least some of them. But no, the difference was larger than that. The difference was so large, in fact, that they chose not to see it at all. They chose not to see him.

  Pushing his hands deeper into his pockets, Mickey slouched and pressed in closer against the wall as a particularly thick group of people swarmed past him, laughing and joking as they slid around behind him and entered the restaurant he’d just passed. There was a host out front, holding open the doors and encouraging people to step inside for a while. Mickey had kept his head down while passing, way down, and he found himself struggling yet again with the urge to cover up. However, there just wasn’t enough to cover with. The air was so warm and inviting, as of yet without any unbearable humidity; everyone walked around in shorts and tank tops where possible, while the office workers in their suits were going without jackets or scarves or extra padding. Mickey could get away with his hoodie and have it viewed as a statement, but he couldn’t cover up without people starting to notice him. The only way he would be able to get away with that was if he was wearing much, much more. Then, he would be invisible. The humans would assume he was homeless, wearing every bit of clothing he owned, and then their eyes would glaze over and slash right past without actually seeing him.

  The very thought of it made him seethe with anger. Such dreadful apathy...how did people even live with themselves?

  Still, he had to try and not let this ruin his day. Mickey took a deep breath and then let it out slowly through his nose. He was going to need to keep a calm head about him if he wanted to be any use at all today. Yesterday’s screw-up was nothing. In the past. Insignificant. Today was a new day. A new place. New needs. A new mission.

  Every day was always brand new. Mickey knew that. Why treat one the same as all the others, when this one in particular just might be the very last? Humans like these, walking down the streets like a lazy current, just didn’t understand that. They forced themselves into their routines.

  They forced me into spontaneity though, so I should feel grateful to them.

  A bit of a smile curled on his lips as he paused at the corner, waiting for the crosswalk light to turn. Someone in front of him jabbed impatiently at the button, evidently aware that these things were all on a timer and the button did nothing but give the illusion of control; soon enough, the light changed on its own and the human gave what could only be described as a purr of satisfaction. For a single moment, they were on a pleasure high, assuming the entire world changed itself to fit their needs above everyone else’s.

  And that was exactly why Mickey was grateful to them. Their stupid negligence made things a lot easier for people like him.

  Glancing nonchalantly about himself as he finished crossing the street, he took a turn to the right and then started off down that way. The sidewalk narrowed here, with the parallel street being a small one to connect the two larger roads; buildings pressed in from the sides, almost standing on the sidewalk themselves. Shadows reigned heavy here, the temperature dropping considerably. Mickey gave a grateful little shiver, enjoying the slight chill against his skin. A slight wind blew past him, tangling his long dark hair about his face.

  He tossed his head for a moment, and caught a glimpse of a girl watching him out of the corner of his eye. He gave a little smile, and she blushed and turned away.

  Cute, he thought, but with no real interest. Women weren’t really his thing.

  Reaching the other main road now and rejoining with a huge crowd once again, he took another right turn and effectively headed back the way he had come. His mental map served him well here, as he counted off the distance until he was slowly walking in front of a discount clothing store. On the other side of this place would be that restaurant he passed, with the host out front.

  Mickey stopped abruptly in his tracks, making the crowd of people behind him also jerk to a halt. They grumbled with irritation, shifting around to part around him like the biblical Red Sea.

  Ignoring all of them, he reached into his pocket and brought out a flat, painted rectangle that looked remarkably like a smartphone. Every detail about it was absolutely correct, from a bit of wear and tear on the side to the shimmering gloss of the screen. He flicked his eyes along the surface, pretending to read a text, and then he sighed and shoved it back inside his pocket while stepping inside the clothing store.

  Once inside, the reek of pot smoke smacked him right in the face. He almost gagged on it, but instead chose to breathe through his mouth. The taste of it, grassy and rotten-sweet, settled in a film over his tongue.

  Mickey glanced around and headed over to a rack of t-shirts that were covered in stupid little pictures called memes. He didn’t understand any of them, although he knew what they were for the most part. He slowly riffled through them while flicking glances around the interior of the shop.

  While it wasn’t exactly a huge shop, there were definitely a lot of people in here. At least fifteen customers, most of whom were crowded around a small booth in the back where e-cigarettes and various types of vaping fluid were being sold.

  Mickey rolled his eyes. Judging from the smell, he guessed there was a bit more going on here than there seemed.

  He moved off, walking down the racks of clothes to find an honest-to-goodness display of hookahs.

  Seriously, why haven’t the police shut this place down yet?

  He grumbled about it to himself but was then distracted by the sight of what was quite obviously an exit doorway. He glanced around again at all the others in the store. Most of them had their back turned to him, which meant that now was the time.

  Mickey leaned down as though he was about to pick up one of the hookahs from the lower shelf. He didn’t. Instead, he shapeshifted into his wolf form. Then, as quietly but swiftly as he could, he slunk toward the exit with his legs bent and his body pressed down low to the ground. His own canine breathing and the soft swishing of his fur seemed far too loud to his own ears, but apparently not to these humans. They ignored him, and he breathed easier. Lifting up one paw, he pushed at the handle and the door obediently swung open.

  Slipping inside and nudging the door shut behind him with his hind leg, Mickey groaned. This wasn’t outside. Rather, it was a back room with a table and a counter with a microwave and coffee pot. The employee lounge. Dammit.

  He lifted up his ears but couldn’t hear anyone, so he set off down the hallway to the left. A bathroom, an office and an unmarked door.

  Come on, he growled impatiently, and shoved it wide open.

  The moment the door was open even a crack, a mixture of scents flooded into his sensitive nostrils. He reeled back a little, shaking his head and snorting. Success, for sure, but it didn’t smell nearly as sweet as he had been hoping. The scent was pot smoke and chemical, mixed with the warm, rotting odor of food gone over. The scents were layered, endlessly old. It seemed like for generations people had been leaving trash and marijuana out here to go bad, and now the smell had taken on a life of its own.

  It was nothing so profound, and not even really as gross. Mickey shut the door behind him again and looked around. He stood at the back of the hipster clothing store, near a few tall black trash cans that were brimming with junk and dripping black liquid. Clearly, someone hadn’t taken the trash out in a very long time. A chain link fence separated this back alcove from the next, where there were several very large dumpsters. The rotting food stench was coming from those.

  His plan had worked. He was only inches away from the rear of the restaurant.

  Excitement rose in his chest but he shoved it back down. No. Patience. Calm. Clarity.

  Holding o
nto his mantra, forcing himself to focus, Mickey shifted into a human and approached the fence. Curling his fingers into the links, he tested their strength and found it surprisingly durable. Hoisting himself up now, he climbed it in a matter of seconds and then dropped down into a crouch on the other side.

  Reaching into his pocket, while keeping his face tilted down low, he pulled on the ski mask. He didn’t know if there was surveillance here but it was better to be safe than sorry.

  He walked calmly toward the back door of the restaurant and pulled on it. It came open easily, without so much as a creak. Another smile curled on his lips, and he slunk inside.

  When the door shut behind him, the world changed. Now the scents were fresh and vibrant, making his nose twitch and his mouth water. Chopped herbs, their spicy aroma filling the air. Roasting meats and savory gravy, all of it laced over a base of freshly-baked breads.

  That was what he was here for.

  Well, the fresh stuff wouldn’t do him much good. But where there was baking bread, there was flour. That would suffice.

  Pricking up his ears, Mickey listened intently and scented for workers, but he was way in the back of the building and the kitchen was separated from there by a huge storage area. In fact, it looked like this door was only ever approached when there was trash to be taken out or a smoke break to be had.

  I’m lucky. Very lucky.

  Moving silently, taking it one soft footstep at a time, he moved toward the storage area. The door wasn’t locked, although he had his lock picking kit with him so it wouldn’t have been a challenge if it was. He edged inside, shutting the door and locking it behind him.

  Only then did he finally let out a sigh of relief, and he flipped on the lights.

  Sight only reinforced what he could already smell, but he loved the sight anyway. It never got old. Sacks of flour lined the floor, their grainy scent rich and yet somehow dusty. Jars of yeast lined the shelves above. There were huge bags of potatoes, smelling of the dirt from the different states where they were grown. There were also jars of spices and canisters of things he didn’t recognize, butting right up against wire sacks of onions in at least three different colors. Jars of peanut butter in a pyramid, boxes of oatmeal and bulk-size containers of unlabeled sauces.