Wild Ride: An M/M Shifter Mpreg Romance Bundle

by Preston Walker

  Bitter and confused, Houston blew through three more cigarettes before finally pulling into the garage of his apartment. Parking in his spot, he dropped the last cigarette butt on the concrete and stomped it out before heading inside. He took the elevator, dully watching the numbers count up to three before the shining double doors opened again. The halls of the apartment complex were anything but fancy, the exterior wasn’t much better and the apartments themselves left a lot to be desired, but Houston had to give it to the landlord: those elevator doors were never anything but gleaming.

  Trudging down the hallway with its worn green carpeting, Houston shoved his key in the lock on his door and pushed his way inside. Sudden frustration came over him and he grabbed the door, aiming to slam it despite the fact that it was four a.m. and he was completely exhausted. Only at the last second was he able to catch himself, although it was too late to keep from ramming his fingers against the doorframe. Swearing bitterly, he turned around and faced his dark, empty apartment.

  I shouldn’t be here alone. I should have a mate. I should have Mickey.

  Too miserable to do anything, he walked right past the shower and fell into bed in his sewer-stained clothing. True sleep never came, although he dozed in and out through the small hours of the morning until a sudden buzzing in his pocket woke him again. Grabbing at it, he stared blearily at the time: 8:25.

  He forgot to check the name before answering it, shoving the speaker in the general direction of his mouth. “Uh... ’lo?”

  “Houston!”

  All his exhaustion and grogginess went away in an instant. Sitting bolt upright, he pressed the phone harder against his face. “Chief Elmers,” he growled. The Chief was calling him before his shift began, which meant what was about to follow would be anything but good.

  “You need to come here,” Chief Elmers said, rapidly, her voice low. Despite her tone, she spoke almost frantically. Houston could practically scent her fear through the phone. The wolf in his soul was agitated, pelt spiked along the spine. “Fangs bared.”

  Damn.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded, lurching out of bed and thundering toward the door of his apartment. He was already in the elevator before she had a chance to reply, and he took the opportunity to listen to the constant blur of background noise on her end.

  Yelling, both distant and near. Police sirens. Animalistic sounds, although they were of such a quality that he couldn’t place them.

  “Another damn robbery. But we need you. The shit hit the fan and we stumbled across... Shit! Just get here!” A fierce, tumbling snarl in the distance rolled out like thunder, almost drowning her out. “Address is 3786 Hoffman Avenue. Get your ass in gear!”

  “Already there,” Houston snarled. He ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket, pacing restlessly in the tiny confines of the elevator until the doors opened again. Then, he burst through them before they were even open wide enough to allow him to get out. Metal bent and crumpled beneath the force of his shoulders. A few powerful strides and he slammed out of the building, dropping to the ground as a wolf.

  Damn anyone who might see him. There was no time to worry about that, and the police would cover up any reported sightings of a wild animal on the loose anyway.

  His claws dragged deep furrows in the concrete as he raced along the sidewalk and through the alleys, cutting through empty lots to head for Hoffman Avenue. Time narrowed down to only a second. His vision became a pinpoint. Nothing in the world existed but for the motion of his body and the feel of the immediate world around him; he was a killing machine, built for excellence. Nothing could stop him. He was a tank and would mow down any and all who threatened his brothers and sisters in blue.

  They were his family, the closest he would ever get to a pack, and now the closest he would ever get to a mate after screwing everything up with Mickey.

  Proud muzzle lifted into the air to try and catch any scents that might tell him where he was, Houston galloped in the general direction of his destination. He sort of knew where it was but not really. However, once he was within a few streets, there was no doubt about where he was supposed to go. Lights blazed and shouts rang out every few moments, along with terrible gunshot blasts.

  His chest twisted into a knot of anxiety, and he pushed himself to run even faster. Contrary to popular conception, the good police officers tried to not actually use their weapons unless it was called for.

  Charging abruptly onto the scene, Houston didn’t even pause to take in the surroundings. All he saw was taken in after only a single moment, information stored away before he was even aware of it. Cruisers forming a barrier on either side of the street. Officers crouched behind their cars, or anywhere they could find cover. Blood splashed in thick smears up the sides of the surrounded building, which was obviously a restaurant of some kind. There were three stars on the sign, although the name of the place didn’t register in his predator’s mind. The furious wailing animal cries he heard before kept bursting up from inside the restaurant, at a much higher frequency than the gunshots. He couldn’t make out any of what was being said in the human shouts.

  Something seemed a bit off to him and he only realized what it was as he finished crossing the road and leapt in through the busted doorway. There were no onlookers, no rubberneckers aiming to get their kicks by watching a tragedy. There were always one or two, often an entire crowd, but he had seen none.

  That only further reinforced his observations that this was a very bad robbery. A robbery gone wrong.

  Baring his fangs, Houston pivoted around as his paws hit the hard floor of the interior of the restaurant. Again, he took it all in. The layout of tables and booths, the bar section. More blood, cloying scents of fear and death, and the acrid bite of gunpowder; the lights were off and shadows moved frantically through the dining areas, human forms fighting desperately against sleek, crouching shadows.

  “Houston!” a female voice cried out.

  He lurched around and saw his chief, gun pointed up. In the same instant, a gigantic panther slammed down against her and knocked her to the floor so hard that the back of her head cracked hard against the leg of a table. Her gun went off, uselessly. Knifelike fangs flashed in the darkness, and glowing feline eyes narrowed in the haze of bloodlust.

  Houston leapt. He leapt as he had never leapt before, crossing a distance that any omega would have been proud of. His front paws slammed into the side of the attacking beast, knocking it clear of Chief Elmers but entering a rolling knot of limbs and gnashing teeth. Kicking out with his hind legs, the wolf pushed away hard from the attacker and landed on all fours. Turning around again, he snarled a warning and took his first good look at what he was actually up against.

  Facing him down was the largest jaguar he had ever seen. Its eyes blazed with madness, and its muzzle dripped. Houston himself was no small wolf but, though this jaguar didn’t have much on him as far as length, it more than made up for that in being almost three times his weight.

  He knew jaguars. They killed instantly, with one piercing bite that sent their fangs directly through the skull and into the brain of their prey.

  One wrong move and he was done with, either dead or majorly incapacitated. He couldn’t let that happen. Chief Elmers called him here because he was needed. He was the best fighter they had, and the largest.

  But none of that would mean anything against this overgrown tabby cat.

  One option left, then.

  Houston threw all caution to the wind and summoned all his frustration and self-anger. The shadowed world around him went blazing red with rage. A snarl burst from his open maw, saliva pattering on the floor between his paws. He lunged without any warning, but not up. The jaguar moved anyway, rising up slightly to catch him. It quickly realized he wasn’t there and started to drop down onto him to catch his attack, but by then it was far too late. He smashed headfirst into its soft, sensitive stomach. Lashing his head around, he sank his teeth deep into the exposed flesh
. The moment of his attack saw them rolling again but he paid no attention to it, instead bringing up his forepaws and ripping madly at jaguar’s stomach with his dull claws. He shook his head, tearing flesh. Blood soaked his face, dripped from his nose. The taste of it filled his mouth, and it tasted like regret.

  Houston bit down harder just as fierce claws grabbed at his back. The jaguar squealed and dropped its grip. So did he. Hopping backward, he growled with satisfaction as the wounded animal lurched away and escaped through the nearest window, shattering it. It left a trail of blood as it went.

  “Houston.”

  He shapeshifted back into a human, the fur around his face receding so that he felt the slimy texture of animal blood intimately on his skin. “Chief,” he said, trying to keep his lips as close together as possible so that he didn’t taste the blood again. It didn’t work.

  “Thank you,” Chief Elmers said. Her voice shook slightly, and she reached up with one trembling hand to push her hair out of her face. Her eyes flicked around in the dark, assessing the chaos still reigning around them. “I don’t know what’s going on here. I don’t understand... your politics.”

  “You said a robbery?”

  “That’s what the call said. But when we got here, all they wanted to do was fight.”

  Houston shook his head. Too much information was missing. Why were all these cats in a restaurant, and who had been doing the robbing? More to the point, why had these shifters called the police and then chose to fight them when they showed up? “I couldn’t tell you.”

  “Then, find out,” Elmers commanded. “Just try not to kill anyone.”

  No promises, he thought as he shifted and charged into the fray again to take on the next jaguar he saw. At least this one was slightly smaller than the last. Still, the fight was harsh and left him feeling winded. Battling shapeshifters didn’t just give up and go away, especially not aggravated ones like these. You very nearly had to kill them, or at least show them death was a real possibility.

  The jaguar pinned beneath his paws struggled for purchase to climb to its own feet, but he bit the nape of its neck again and again until it whined for mercy. It could hardly walk away.

  Again and again, he helped the other officers by diving in to their personal battles. He noticed that the people inside were only the ones who were shifters themselves, or were aware that shifters existed; smart of Elmers to arrange that, but it meant there weren’t nearly enough people. It was a losing battle.

  Still, he fought as if he knew they could win it. He faced yet another jaguar, while the police officer behind him aimed their gun.

  Then, suddenly, the jaguar was replaced with a boy in his late teens, holding his hands up in the air. He was a fine young man, not an alpha but definitely a beta coming into his own. “Don’t shoot,” he said, in a voice that bordered on gruff. Beneath a wild mane of orange hair, his eyes were round.

  Houston shifted in kind, holding out one arm to warn the officer behind him to actually hold his fire. “Why shouldn’t he shoot?” he growled. “And why shouldn’t I rip your throat out right now?”

  “Geez, man!” the kid said, his eyes growing even wider. “I didn’t even want to be involved in this but I work here so unless I wanted to lose my job. I didn’t have a choice, you know?”

  Coercion.

  Relaxing slightly, Houston gave a nod. “Okay. Put your hands down, then. Who’s in charge of...” He gestured around. “...all this?”

  The kid immediately pointed back toward the kitchen area. “Solomon. Big black jaguar. He’s got some kid hostage in the freezer.”

  His heart gave a lurch. “A kid?”

  “Like, my age. A little older. Some little wolf guy. He tried to break in and...”

  Houston held up one hand. His heart was pounding now. He didn’t need to hear anymore. That was the whole story right there, contained in those few little words. Anything else was unnecessary, and a waste of time when the puzzle pieces had revealed themselves and also clicked together in one fell swoop. “Get out of here,” Houston growled, and then he shifted into his wolf form and raced away before he had a chance to see if the other did what he said.

  All thoughts of duty to his fellow police officers and to the public were gone. All he could think of was Mickey. Poor, valiant little Mickey, who stole from restaurants because a hard floor could be a bed, and a rickety brick construction could be a home, but empty air could never be food. He must have targeted this place and the jaguars called the police in an attempt to keep their cover by acting as humans would... but why had this all turned into such a terrible mess? Why had this erupted into fighting, instead of a peaceful handing-over of a criminal?

  Panting, Houston barreled right through a line of cats that were obviously waiting to prevent anyone from breaking through to their leader. His wide shoulders shoved them apart, their sharp claws sliding uselessly through his thick fur. They turned and gave chase, but by that point he had the advantage.

  He passed by the kitchen, where a jaguar and a police officer lay tangled in death. He was almost blind to it, instead scanning the area for where the storage pantries and freezer might be.

  A short hallway loomed to the right, ending in a heavy metal door.

  Probably locked.

  But a door couldn’t stop a shapeshifter. Houston threw his whole weight at it. For a moment, as his body shuddered with the first shocks of pain, he thought it might have been a useless effort after all. Then, something gave. With a squeal and a crash, the door buckled and ripped right off the hinges. He crashed into the freezer, piercing straight through with cold and confusion as he struggled to right himself.

  A muted cry rang out from near the back of the freezer, or where he thought the back might be. Sound was both sharp and distorted in the cold, and his vision was still blurry from his tumble. His side hurt, and he shook his head to try and clear his focus.

  “So,” a man rumbled. His voice might as well have been a roar. The depth it contained was immense, far more than simply a growl. “I see someone managed to get through my line. Impressive. How?”

  Houston finally managed to clear his gaze enough to get a good look around. The freezer was exactly the way that all walk-in freezers are, with rows of shelving and labeled areas. Boxes were neatly stacked exactly where they belonged, going all the way from floor to ceiling in some places and utterly lacking in others. Mickey was crushed back in the corner between the wall and the frame of the last shelf, one eye swollen closed.

  Houston nearly sagged with relief. The omega was okay! He didn’t seem to be hurt other than that eye. Still, it was enough to make his pelt bristle and his eyes sting. No harm should have come to Mickey at all.

  Standing before Houston, separating him from Mickey, was the largest man he had ever seen. For his whole entire life, Houston had never seen anyone bigger than himself. Now, as his eyes continued up and up and up, searching across chest and neck and chin to finally meet a pair of glowering yellow eyes, he felt as though he finally understood what it was like to be an omega.

  The shapeshifter known as Solomon must have been pushing at least seven feet tall, if not surpassing it. He was almost twice as broad as Houston, and the outlines of his muscles were so sharp they looked as if they could cut through steel. His eyes were yellow, and his hair was black. His skin was dark brown, which only served to heighten the intensity of the shade of his irises.

  Solomon’s lip curled as Houston didn’t answer him. He spread his arms like a speaker in a debate, inviting the audience to embrace his side of things. “Won’t you converse with me? Man to man?”

  Houston bared his fangs and let out a low growl in answer, taking a threatening step forward. That was, it was meant to be threatening. However, he was exhausted from the long night, the run here, the dozens of fights prior to this... And his side continued to ache terribly from where he crashed into the metal door. His threat turned into an embarrassing stagger.

  Solomon said nothing, although t
he corners of his full lips quirked upwards. Defeated, Houston transformed back into a human.

  “I ran right through them,” he grunted in answer.

  Solomon leaned slightly to the side, and it was like watching a tree sway in the wind. “I would guess that is why they’re all blocking your escape.”

  Houston just shrugged. “I don’t want to escape. You have my mate.”

  Mickey winced, and Houston tried to send him a subliminal message that now was not the time to go disputing things like that with each other.

  “Your mate was stealing from me,” Solomon pointed out. “Your mate...”

  The jaguar’s shoulders tensed, and his voice went raspy. He said something, but Houston didn’t hear it. Gunshots rang out, and a jaguar cried out in pain.

  Then, a half-ton black shadow slammed into Houston out of nowhere. Pain lanced through his whole body and he blacked out before he even knew what was happening.

  Chapter Seven

  I thought you were going to die.

  Mickey shuddered as he looked down at the prone alpha, swathed in bandages and covered in thin hospital bedsheets. He looked somehow smaller when he wasn’t swaggering and speaking his mind, and for some reason Mickey hated that. He hated the alpha—wanted to hate him—and his stupid egotistical ways, but he hated it when Houston wasn’t himself. He hated that he was hurt. He hated that all of this was his fault, and he hated the realization that he was nowhere near as good at this as he thought he was.

  There had been so many screw-ups lately. Had he already passed his prime for things like this?

  The hospital reeked of cleaning solution and fear, somehow both sterile and cloying all at once. He could practically feel the rampant germs when he touched anything, from the doorknob to the chair. Diseases were barely held at bay, itching to find their way into his system. It made him wary and restless, but he didn’t move from that chair at Houston’s bedside.