Wild Ride: An M/M Shifter Mpreg Romance Bundle

by Preston Walker

  For only a moment, a heartbeat fraction of a second, Houston felt as though there was a third soul present, small and new. Before he could even begin to think about it, the jaguars closed in and the real fight began.

  Houston lost himself. It had always been this way when he fought. Awareness left him, and all he had was a sense of motion. His vision was covered in a red haze of bloodlust, deepened by sprays of scarlet and furious wails that let him know he had struck successfully. Everything was motion, give and take, a chaos of back and forth. He bit and slashed, was aware only of when contact was made. Fangs bit into his belt, claws burying into his muscles, but he didn’t feel the pain. His heart thundered in his chest, and everything was a dance.

  Nothing made sense, and he gave in to it willingly. To fight made more sense than anything else in the entire world.

  He was confused, and yet he was found.

  There were others in the fight, mainly Mickey and some of the stronger members of his pack. The others fled or returned to hiding. Houston didn’t care. He only fought.

  And then suddenly the spell was broken as a terrified shout rang out.

  “Houston!”

  The magic was gone. The dance crashed to a halt. Houston spun in a crazed circle with a snarl tumbling from his open mouth, the sound carried to the floor with droplets of blood that weren’t his own.

  “Houston, please.”

  The call came again, quieter now.

  Houston finally came to a stop himself, blinking wearily. His muscles sagged and he staggered, turning his head to try and catch a glimpse of Mickey.

  Everyone was frozen, like a garden of statues. Wolves and jaguars alike littered the floor. Some were moving, while others would never move again. Houston’s heart gave a wrench as he recognized Beth amongst those numbers, her throat torn out; even in death, her eyes twinkled.

  Those who were still standing had stopped in the middle of fighting, standing only inches apart from each other while blood still ran from their injuries.

  And Houston saw why.

  As dark as a shadow, the black jaguar known as Solomon stood in the midst of everything. His pelt rippled with muscle, the pattern of his fur revealed in the faint flickering of firelight.

  And he had Mickey pinned beneath his wicked claws. The omega was human again, transformed in his need to call for his mate. He was bleeding, Solomon’s claws buried beneath the skin of his chest and neck.

  Solomon was poised to kill.

  Houston’s blood ran cold.

  Mickey writhed like a caught fish, mouth open in a soundless plea. His dark eyes held a novel’s worth of words in them, begging to be saved because he was not the only one who would die.

  It came again, that awareness of a third presence somewhere between his and Mickey’s shared souls. And now the omega’s words came back to him. “You might have to show me how you’re so good with kids.”

  He hadn’t understood then, but he did now.

  Mickey is pregnant. My child is inside him.

  Houston transformed back into a human. Slowly, he put his hands up in the air. “I’m surrendering,” he said, softly. “Don’t hurt my mate. Don’t hurt my baby.”

  A few of the wolves in attendance let out little gasps of realization, but Solomon looked bored. His nostrils flared. Then, he slowly released Mickey and stepped in front of the captured omega as he transformed.

  “I wouldn’t kill a child,” Solomon said, smoothly. The bass of his voice shook Houston to his core; he’d forgotten the black jaguar had such a deep voice. “But it’s not a child if it isn’t born yet.”

  Cold claws raked down Houston’s spine. “You wouldn’t say that if you could feel it,” he said, desperately. His voice cracked straight through, like shattering ice. “I can feel its soul. Inside Mickey. Inside my mate.”

  Solomon sneered. “What’s so special about that? I’ve felt the same damn thing.”

  “You have a child?”

  “I did.” Solomon gnashed his pointed teeth, striding forward to cut the distance between himself and Houston. “I had a mate, too. Prettiest kitten you’ve ever seen. Dainty rosettes on her dandelion fur. Do you know that’s the opening line of the poem I wrote to court her?”

  Great. He writes poetry.

  “Fascinating,” Houston said, sarcastically. “But if you had a child, you have to...”

  “Shut up!” Solomon roared, lashing out with his hand to slap Houston across the face. The blow didn’t hurt, but the force behind it wrenched his head around so hard that he very nearly passed out. Sickening speckles danced in his vision as he reeled. “My mate, my kitten, my Isabella... she died from the complications giving birth to our son.”

  “I’m sorry,” Houston said, raggedly. How would he feel if his awareness of Mickey was suddenly cut away, gone forever? Did it feel like you were dying yourself, if your mate died?

  “Our son, I named him Isaac. To honor his mother. He had her eyes, her fur. Had. Do you know why I speak past-tense, you little wolf?”

  “He’s dead.”

  Solomon started shaking, his shoulders jerking. “After my Isabella died, I made her dream come true. I started the restaurant she always wanted. Our clan kept her memory alive. And Isaac, he went to culinary school. He used his mother’s own recipes to give heart to her dream. Until you police bastards fucking shot him. My goddamn son. Shot and dead in a second. He never did a damn thing wrong his entire life, and now he is dead because of you and your stupid thief of a mate!” Solomon roared the words, tears coursing down his cheeks. “If my son is dead! None of what you love deserves to live! Fight me, you bastard cop!”

  Houston was shaking. He never imagined something like this. Solomon was no villain, just a broken man with nothing to live for but revenge. “No,” Houston said. “I won’t. That won’t solve anything.”

  “Fight me,” Solomon snarled again. His hand became a claw as it slashed towards Houston’s cheek.

  Pain ripped across the alpha’s face as his blood sprayed through the air and drenched another nearby jaguar. But still he just shook his head. “No. It won’t solve anything. Has any of this solved anything? Do you feel better, with all these innocent souls lying dead? Is that what you wanted?”

  Solomon stood before him no longer. The man was a jaguar, his eyes gone mad yellow. Houston stared down at him desperately, backing up. Solomon advanced, haunches swinging back and forth as he prepared to leap.

  I won’t have a choice, soon. I’ll have to fight.

  If ever he needed his training as a police officer to fall back on, it was now.

  “Solomon,” Houston whispered. “Solomon, I know it feels good to kill. I know you think you’re getting the revenge you deserve. But it doesn’t last, does it? When the rush goes away, all you’re left with is the same thing you had in the first place. Killing. Fixes. Nothing.”

  Solomon leapt, and Houston fell backward as the cat crashed down on top of him. Transforming as he fell, he dug his blunt nails into the concrete in front of him and used it to pull himself forward and away. He tried to turn back to face the jaguar head-on but he wasn’t fast enough. Fangs clamped down on the tip of his tail, making him yelp. Solomon gave a great heave, sending a lance of pain all the way up Houston’s spine to his neck. Then, the pressure ceased and he staggered forward, freed.

  When he turned around, he saw why. The tip of his severed tail lay between Solomon’s paws while the jaguar glared at him.

  I needed to lose a bit of weight anyway, Houston thought half-hysterically. Those jaws could cleave him in half. His normal tactic of going crazy wasn’t going to work here, not when Solomon was so immense that even a glancing blow would hurt like hell.

  So what am I going to do? What the hell can I do in this situation?

  Houston circled carefully around Solomon. Both alphas watched each other, eyes clashing together like an unholy mixture of moon and sun. They each scanned for an opening.

  Solomon’s muscles twitched. Houston br
aced himself for the attack but it had already happened, with Solomon slamming against him like a lightning strike. Houston rolled onto his back, aware that he was exposing his soft stomach for attack even before it happened. It was all he could think to do though, giving him somewhat of an angle to do exactly the same thing to the jaguar. At the first bite of the other’s claws ripping into his flesh, the same red wave of bloodlust started to crash down over his eyes. He was blinded by it, floundering for control. Rage would be the death of him. He couldn’t bear to die and leave Mickey alone. The fate was too terrible.

  Poor Solomon, all alone in the world because of a mistake that wasn’t anyone’s fault...

  Suddenly, a feline shriek split the air and the immense pressure on Houston’s body eased momentarily as the jaguar staggered away from him, kicking and bucking. Houston sprang to his paws, head lowered and ears flattened back. What he saw chilled him to the core.

  Mickey, riding on Solomon’s back, fighting as furiously as any omega had ever fought before. He was small and fast, perhaps even faster than the jaguar. Like a fish flitting in and out of the shadows, he flickered all over the gigantic shapeshifter.

  None of those hits he’s getting in are any use, Houston noted. Something deep in his chest told him that they weren’t meant to be very harmful. This was a distraction. But for what?

  A pulse of something inside his chest gave him the answer. It was sarcastic and yet full of love, a sensation so distinct it nearly translated directly into words.

  A distraction for him. One final try. He couldn’t think about it. He just had to do it.

  He readied himself, gathering his paws beneath his body. He felt Mickey’s wolf soul howling encouragement for his own, lending him all the strength he needed. He jumped.

  Mickey slapped his paws on Solomon’s eyes. The jaguar reeled, momentarily blinded as the omega used his head as a diving board and sprang away. In the same instant, Houston crashed his entire body down on top of the jaguar’s head. He felt something in his ribs give tremendously, crying out in pain as he rolled away from the other shifter as a human.

  Solomon lay on the ground, looking absolutely stunned. Huge as he was, he couldn’t handle having his head body slammed. No one could.

  I really need to find a way to perfect that. It’s been pretty useful.

  “Solomon,” Houston said, spreading his arms again. Mickey came to him and tucked himself beneath one of those arms, leaning their heads together. “Solomon, stop this. Please. You know who I am. I’m a police officer. I saw the reports of what happened, man. I’m sorry, but it wasn’t anyone’s fault. An officer’s gun caught on his belt, misfired, and then fired for real. It was a terrible accident. And do you know why? Because he wasn’t even aiming the gun. Forensics followed the track of the bullet. It hit a light pole and ricocheted. It was a one in a million freak accident.”

  The jaguar rose to his paws now, shaking his head to clear his vision. His fangs parted as he snarled, making Mickey tremble, but Houston stared unflinchingly at the animal’s face. Beneath the fury in those cold eyes, there was something else. Something human. Something wracked with pain.

  If only he could break through...

  Solomon lashed his whip-like tail as he approached, jaws opening to bite. He was close enough now to feel the heat of his breathing, ragged pants that made his chest heave.

  “It was an accident, Solomon. I’m sorry it happened. I’m sorry Mickey broke into your restaurant. We didn’t know what it meant to you. But you have to understand. Mickey was only trying to protect his own family, to help them find their way to living out their own dreams!”

  Solomon raised his paw, claws out.

  Houston stared into his eyes. “Shit happens. Go home. Rebuild. Find something else to focus your love on. And let our love be what yours couldn’t.”

  For a long moment, nothing happened. Houston held his breath, aware that there were tears on his face.

  Then, almost with a sigh, the jaguar disappeared and the broken shell of a man stood in his place. Solomon’s eyes were blank, his dark skin bloodless and pale with the realization of what he had almost done. He stood, turned and walked away.

  Houston didn’t even dare breathe. Even as the other jaguars began to follow their leader back across the expanse of the cavern and out through the exit, with the strong carrying the injured, he still felt as though all of this could turn right back around in an instant to the way it was. Any second now, Solomon would come dashing back and start killing more wolves, smashing their heads like grapes beneath his massive paws.

  It didn’t happen.

  The last jaguar to leave even respectfully closed the secret door behind himself.

  No one spoke for a very long time. Houston looked around at the remnants of the pack. The children were crying, most of them corralled into a small corner protected by a few wolves, one of whom had a limp and the other who was blind in one eye. However, the other, a little white girl pup, pushed anxiously at the shoulder of a dead adult who lay in the dust.

  Everywhere, haggard faces. People who were already broken now reliving their own brokenness in the aftermath of a terribly unmatched battle. Just estimating, Houston would guess that almost a fourth of their number had just been killed in a matter of minutes.

  Suddenly, Mickey stiffened at his side. “Is that Beth?” he whispered.

  “Yes.” Houston hugged his mate tightly. “I’m sorry.”

  Mickey’s shoulders sagged, inconsolable. “I see. Well... we need to start... gathering up the dead.”

  Houston waited a moment, watching his mate, but the omega didn’t say anything else. Everything had caught up to him, and now it was time for Houston to do what alphas do.

  He took charge.

  Standing up, he looked around quickly to get a better idea for names. And then he got started. “Jim, Russ, Amelia,” he called out, summoning to him three of the strongest in attendance. Jim and Russ were both non-dominant alphas, while Amelia had been outcast for being too dominant.

  “What can we do?” Amelia rasped, staring up at Houston. “We’ll do anything to help. You name it.”

  “Thank you,” Houston rumbled, relieved. “Could you... uh... well... start gathering up bodies? What do you all even do when someone dies?”

  All three of them glanced at one another, seeming to have an internal debate about something. Houston was mystified until he remembered that he was still a cop.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  “Funeral pyre,” Jim said, nervously scanning his feet. “And then the ashes are scattered in the tunnels. So that the dead can keep walking with us.”

  Sounds like a fine idea to me.

  “Good. Get all the bodies together. And then start getting together whatever you need for that.”

  Having found somewhere to start, the rest became that much easier. Houston organized all of it, from assigning someone to keep track of the children, to finding out that a grizzled old woman with a twisted jaw had once been a nurse years and years ago. He gave her the task of picking someone to help her patch wounds, which she set about doing with a practiced determination. He watched her for a moment and wished that he could have understood her when she said what her name was, although he figured that he would have someone else tell him what it was later on. Until then, there was work to be done.

  At some point, Mickey joined in with the preparations. By the time evening came, they were ready for the funeral pyre.

  “How does this normally go?” Houston whispered to Mickey.

  Mickey watched the pile of bodies for a moment before turning to look at the alpha. He shrugged. “It just... goes.”

  There were no profound speeches and no empty sentiments. Every member of the pack simply bid farewell to the soulless bodies of those they once knew. Their wolves had been freed since the moment of death, let loose to run wherever it was that the mind went after life.

  Houston kept his arm wrappe
d around Mickey’s shoulders as they watched the process. The children were the ones who started the blaze, touching long-reach matches to gasoline-soaked clothing.

  Have to learn lessons like this early, I guess, Houston thought bitterly. He couldn’t help but to wonder for a moment if these kids wouldn’t do better in life inside the system, where they were guaranteed food, clothing and a constant home. Then, he just shook his head and held his mate tighter against him. The pups were guaranteed those same things here in this pack that loved them in a way no orphanage ever could. Tearing them away from this family they had wasn’t worth the risk. Houston himself had never been adopted. Who was to say if the same would or wouldn’t happen to these children? Better to keep them here, where there was stability even in the chaos of a city beneath the city.

  Even covered in gas, the bodies took a long time to build up to true ignition. Small flames gradually pulled inward, spreading outward at the same time as greedy flames gathered enough strength to eat at bare cloth. The smell of smoke was thick and choking, but the smoke itself rose straight up in a harmless plume to filter away into eventual nothingness.

  On and on, the fire blazed. The pups were led away after a certain point, as were the more fragile-minded adult wolves. Those who thought they had said and seen enough eventually filtered away too, until only Mickey and Houston were left.

  Houston’s feet ached but he didn’t move from where he was. He didn’t shift positions. He simply watched the fire, aware of something primal deep inside him that said he must live the rest of his life in full to make up for what had been lost today.

  Around midnight, the fire died away entirely. Houston winced slightly, because the remnants were only halfway destroyed. Mickey seemed unfazed, or at the very least too shocked to have an opinion. They set about repeating the process, and continued to watch the fire until deep into the hours of morning when everyone else from the pack was stirring again to start the new day.