Wild Ride: An M/M Shifter Mpreg Romance Bundle

by Preston Walker

  "Good, come with me."

  Prince Brennan grabbed Oscar's hand and yanked him toward the terrace doors. Oscar began to object, but thought better of it. This could be his out; besides, there was work to be done. The prince shoved him into a waiting carriage and climbed up to the driver's seat, snapping the reins. It crossed Oscar's mind that it was really improper for a prince to drive himself, but he ignored the thought. There was no room for propriety in a birth. The team of horses careened around corners, nearly tipping Oscar out onto the dusty roads as they thundered through the countryside. The prince pulled the horses up at a remote, isolated dugout cabin with grass growing on the roof. Screams and sobs echoed through the silent, sun-soaked landscape, driving Oscar out of the carriage. He beat Brennan to the short, curved door by a hair’s breadth, and flung it open to reveal a terrifying scene.

  A heavily pregnant male shifter was writhing on the floor in a pool of his own blood, sobbing and wailing in pain. He shifted from wolf to human and back each time the contractions wracked his body, which Oscar could see was slowing his progress immensely. An older, female shifter sat close by, wringing her hands.

  "How long has he been like this?" Oscar demanded.

  "An hour, maybe more, oh God I don't know! He called me this morning to tell me he wasn't feeling well, but I had my kids and my farm; I had to do things. I came as soon as I could to check on him and found him like this."

  "Where's his mate?"

  The woman looked away and bit her lip.

  "Well?" Prince Brennan said, his voice cracking. "Do something!"

  Realization struck Oscar like a slap in the face, and he gaped at the prince. The prince struck him across his cheek and pointed him at the writhing beast.

  "I said, do something!"

  Oscar rushed over to the shifter, kneeling beside him. He held his head, turning his face to look into his eyes.

  "What's his name?"

  "Oren."

  "Oren? Can you hear me?"

  "Yes... yes... oh God, it hurts!"

  "I know. Stay with me, okay? I'm gonna need you to settle down. Are you more comfortable in wolf or human form?"

  "Wolf," he whimpered.

  "Good. Stay just like that, then. Is this your mother?"

  Oren nodded.

  "Ma'am, please take my place. Hold his head and keep his attention; I need to check on the babies."

  She tearfully trotted over and did as Oscar instructed. Oscar knelt between the shifter's knees and realized that he was utterly unprepared.

  "I need my kit," he told Prince Brennan.

  "Your what?"

  "You think I drag the pups out with my teeth? My medical kit, at my aunt's house, about three miles in toward town."

  "Three miles! There's no time! Do something!"

  "I am doing something! But I need gloves and sterilized scissors and antiseptic. I doubt you have that in your carriage."

  "I have those! All of them!" Oren's mother gasped. "Just over the hill, th–the farmhouse, oh God it's with the tack and everything but it's in a little box? You know?"

  "No, he doesn't know, run and go fetch it quickly. Brennan, hold his head."

  "I... don't..."

  "Hold his goddamn head!"

  Brennan moved and the woman rushed away. Oscar stood and looked around the tiny, dirty room and stepped away.

  "Where are you going?" Brennan demanded.

  "To wash my hands. Hold his head."

  "B–b–brennan?" Oren stammered, reaching a shaking hand out.

  Brennan took his hand and squeezed.

  "I'm here," he said, soothingly. "I'm right here. You're going to be okay."

  "Brennan... if I die?"

  "You won't die," the prince said, firmly.

  "But if I do... what happens to the babies?"

  "It's going to be okay, Oren. You won't die. Look at me. I promise you. You aren't going to die."

  Brennan stroked his lover's furry head and gazed lovingly into his pain-clouded eyes. Oscar's heart squeezed, watching his own life play over again. The cheating noble and his desperate, terrified lover. This moment, in his own life, was what led him to learning all he could about male midwifery in the first place. For the first time, it was almost too much to bear. The Duke hadn't been there, stroking his head or murmuring sweet nothings as Oscar writhed and screamed his baby into the world. There had been no one. Male pregnancy had such a stigma attached, and was so very rare, that no self-respecting midwife would admit to catering to it. Pregnant males were considered freaks of nature, something to be hidden, something no one wanted to talk about. And yet, for as rare as it supposedly was, Oscar was preparing to deliver his fourth male-born litter of the year.

  The mother pushed breathlessly back into the room, carrying a leather bag filled with everything Oscar would need.

  "Why didn't you have this here before?" Oscar asked, as he pulled a pair of gloves on.

  "I... I didn't think about it. That's my calving bag is all, I didn't... oh, I'm such an idiot," she wailed.

  "It's alright," Oscar sighed, impatiently. "Brennan, I need Oren on his side."

  Brennan turned his head while Oscar turned his hips, and Oren let out a sigh of relief as the pressure eased.

  "Get your knee over my shoulder," Oscar instructed.

  Oren was panting, exhausted, but he did as Oscar said. The different position caused a contraction, as Oscar had known it would and, now that he was positioned properly and had stopped shifting and writhing, Oscar could see the problem. Two babies were trying to come out at once, one headfirst, one feet first. He was going to have to convince them to take turns.

  "Oren," Oscar said, gently. "I'm going to move your babies around just a little. This is going to hurt. Bite down on something, and Brennan, hold him tight. I just need you to stay in your wolf form, alright? This will be over before you know it. One, two..."

  On three, Oscar slipped his hands into the thick of things, folding the tiny little feet back inside the womb. As soon as they were out of the way, the first baby descended rapidly. Oscar directed Oren to push, and it wasn't long before the first baby slid into Oscar's arms. He wrapped it in a towel and waved the new grandmother over to hold him. No sooner had he handed the first baby off when the second descended, butt-first. It wasn't Oscar's first breech delivery, but there was more to it than that. No matter how close the baby came to exiting the womb, his head would not appear.

  "Alright, Oren, I need you on your hands and knees. Come on, you can do it. You're in the home stretch now, brother, you can do this."

  Oren whimpered, but shakily did as he was told. He had no more energy left to scream when the next contraction hit, and he sobbed onto Brennan's shoulder as Brennan held him tight. A few pushes and a quick little twist later, the second baby came into the world, irritable and starving. He screamed for the breast, and Oren, awash in blissful post-baby hormones, collapsed against Brennan and held his arms out for his little darling.

  "Ugly things, aren't they?" Brennan said, but his voice was full of love.

  He wasn't wrong; shifter babies were scrawny and covered in spiky gray hair, with their ears folded against their heads and their eyes shut. Human form save for the tiny stub of a tail, they weren't the prettiest babies in creation, but nothing could make a new parent feel more in love than their fuzzy little gremlins nuzzling at their chests. Oscar's own heart ached for that connection as he busied himself with cleanup. Oren, so in love with his offspring, barely noticed when Oscar stitched him up and doused him with antiseptic.

  "Look, Brennan," Oren whispered. "He's got your coloring."

  "He's got your snout," Brennan whispered back, rubbing a finger over the little baby's head.

  "I'll give you a moment," Oscar said, as he finished cleaning his tools.

  He stepped out into a wild orange sunset. The birth had taken far longer that it had seemed to; wasn't that always the way? Poor Oren must have been laboring for hours before Oscar got there. As Oscar stoo
d contemplating, the mother stepped out to join him.

  "How bad is it?" she asked.

  "He tore a muscle in his back, and has several deep tears. His tail is dislocated, and his pelvis may have broken. He's going to need to stay in bed for a few months, probably. There's only so much I can do. But he needs to be kept clean and dry, and he'll need to change his position frequently to avoid bedsores. He's going to need you."

  "My farm..."

  "You mentioned you had other children?"

  "Yes..."

  "How old?"

  "Oren's the eldest, just turned eighteen. Then seventeen, twins are sixteen and fourteen, then singles at twelve, ten, eight and six."

  "They know how to run the farm?"

  "Yes, mostly, I mean, I should really be there to supervise. They're not perfect by any stretch..."

  "Will they burn the place down or kill anything that shouldn't be killed?"

  "Well... well no, I'm sure they wouldn't actually cause any permanent damage."

  "Then take care of your son and trust your children. He needs you more than he's needed you since his own eyes were closed."

  "I... yes. Yes, I'll be sure to do that. Thank you so much, um...?"

  "Um is fine. It was lovely to meet you; you have beautiful grandchildren. Would you happen to have some clothes around here? I'm half bloody."

  "And half milky," she pointed out, nodding at Oscar's chest.

  He glanced down and sighed. This always happened. He usually prepared for it. Had he been home when this happened, it wouldn't have been a problem.

  "Yeah," he said. "Change of clothes?"

  "RIGHT THIS WAY. BURGES! Burges!"

  "Your highness?"

  "Any news yet?"

  "I'm afraid not, your highness. I have been in contact with the head of the royal guard, but every available soldier is at the border as we speak. He has sent two riders back."

  "Two? My brother has kidnapped my betrothed and he sends two?!"

  "He says he does not have enough men to spare if you want to keep the borders protected, your highness."

  "Screw the borders!"

  "Prince Alfred?"

  "I'm sorry, Burges, I'm sorry. No. Two riders. That's fine. I won't wait. Send them out... I don't know... everywhere! Find them! I'll be at Brennan's house."

  "Yes, your highness."

  Alfred stormed out of his palace. He heard his horse nicker in the distance, and decided against bringing her. He was in a savage mood, and he didn't want to take it out on the beast. He walked the mile to his brother's estate, through the vast gardens and secret pools of the royal property. When he was feeling less bloodthirsty, he enjoyed walking these garden paths at sunset; at the moment, however, Oscar and Brennan had been missing for hours, and he didn't even notice the beauty of it all. He fingered the heavy weight of the clawed steel gloves in his pocket, the unnecessary ruthless weapon of werewolf royals. They slid over his natural claws when he was in his beast form, and their razor-sharp serrated edges could rip flesh of the bone in seconds. He quickened his pace when Brennan's estate came into view, ready to tear the place apart in his search for Oscar.

  "No word?" Brennan's wife asked nervously, as she cradled her child.

  "You know there's been no word! Where is he?"

  "I, I don't..."

  "Where?!"

  "Alfred, please," she begged, as the baby began to wail. "I don't know where he is; I wish I did. He bolted out of here before lunch without a word and I haven't seen him since, I swear it."

  "Then you won't mind if I look around," Alfred growled.

  She stepped out of his way and he stormed past her, through each room and corridor in the big house. Servants scurried out of his way in terror, and no hidden door was left unopened, no servant's quarters left unchecked. He scoured the house from top to bottom and back again, but there was nothing. No sign of Brennan or Oscar, no clue as to where they'd gone. Brennan's wife glared at him as he burst back into the front drawing room.

  "Hush," she hissed. "I just got Benji back to sleep, and if you wake him I swear to God, royal or no royal, you're putting him back to sleep yourself."

  Alfred bowed silently and departed. Benji, that was the nephew's name, he thought in an absent little corner of his mind. There were still plenty of outhouses and cellars on their shared property, and Alfred began systematically checking each of them. When he came to the stables, the coachman was otherwise occupied, screaming obscenities at the head gardener.

  "But I'm telling you, Frank..."

  "Who else, then?! Who else took the bloody carriage if not you?!"

  "I don't know, Frank, honest..."

  "And where is it now, huh? Lost it in a card game? Gave it to a trollop? If the prince discovers it's missing, it'll be on your head!"

  "Mine?! But I haven't touched the blasted thing since Friday! Hand to God!"

  "We'll just see about that, I have half a mind to... your highness!" Frank's voice squeaked when he saw Alfred.

  "What's missing?" Alfred asked.

  "Well you see, sire, Percy here likes to borrow things sometimes..."

  "Do not!"

  "And I have this sign out sheet, and everyone is supposed to check in with me before they ride off, but Percy here..."

  "Has been working all day and hasn't set foot nor hoof off the property," Percy interrupted, crossing his arms with a scowl.

  "What. Is. Missing?" Alfred repeated, his patience wearing thin.

  "One of the carriages, highness. The little one we use for shopping, and the speckled team."

  "Percy, you're off the hook. Frank, when was the last time you saw the carriage?"

  "Why this morning, right before I took my lunch."

  "Your nap, you mean," Percy sneered.

  "Why, you shut your..."

  Alfred held up a hand, cutting Frank off.

  "I believe Prince Brennan absconded with your carriage. I apologize for my brother, he hasn't been in his right mind since the baby. Sleep deprivation, you understand. He probably forgot to sign the sheet, that's all."

  "But... he's driving himself?" Frank asked, aghast.

  "It would seem so. Please prepare my horse for a journey. I'm in the mood for a gallop."

  "As you wish, sire."

  Frank turned away, pausing for a moment to sock Percy upside his head. Percy flushed red with unspoken epithets, and stormed away across the yard to his gardens. Alfred took little notice of the interplay. He was busy running through every possible place that Brennan might have taken Oscar in the town. The only way to narrow it down was to figure out why Brennan had needed Oscar in the first place. If he'd simply wanted to examine or interrogate Oscar, he would have taken him to the old dungeon in the ancient ruins on the far eastern border. That wouldn't explain the fear Alfred had seen on Brennan's face though, and he knew Brennan well enough to know that he wasn't nearly a good enough actor to successfully create that look for the purposes of deception. No, he had been truly and terribly afraid. There was only one way to find out what Brennan needed, and that was to ask Oscar's family what he could do. He'd had Burges find out where Oscar's aunt and cousin lived earlier that day; now it was time to use that information to his advantage.

  "Here you are, sire. Fresh as a daisy and ready to please."

  "Thank you, Frank. Give Percy a break, will you?"

  "But he...! As you wish, sire."

  "Very well. Ha!"

  Alfred urged his steed out through the palace gates and into the wide boulevard before it, steering her toward the center of town.

  Chapter 8

  Mrs. Wendell, as Oscar now knew her, had provided him with one of her old dresses—"I always said I'd fit into it again someday," she sighed—a pair of leggings, and a clean pair of comfortable house slippers. Everything he'd worn during the birth was utterly ruined, either by blood or by milk, and he decided to simply toss it all out with the trash. Once changed, he returned to the front room to check on the new parents and their pup
s.

  "How are you feeling?" he asked.

  "Absolutely wonderful," Oren said, though his eyes were heavy and bloodshot.

  "That's great. Does your back hurt?"

  "Yeah, it hurts really badly. So does... you know. And my chest is really swollen."

  "Your milk's come in," Oscar said, with a grin. "That's good. Your chest will be swollen for years, longer if you have more pups. You've sort of grown breasts, you see."

  "Oh," Oren sighed. "That's lovely."

  "Get some sleep," Oscar ordered. "Those pups will be driving you crazy before you know it."

  Oren smiled sleepily, and was snoring within seconds, his two sons snuggled against his brand-new breasts. Prince Brennan dropped a kiss on his forehead and tucked the blankets securely around the three of them. Oscar left Mrs. Wendell with instructions for Oren's care, and they departed. Oscar climbed into the coach and stretched his tired body out across the benches, aching for a hot meal, a hot bath and a very long sleep. Midwifery was exhausting. He couldn't imagine being a traditional midwife and doing this every day, but once in a while it was the most rewarding experience of his life. He drifted in the hazy buzz of spent adrenaline for a long while, until he suddenly realized that they were heading in the wrong direction. He sat up stiffly and stuck his head out of the window.

  "Excuse me, your highness? Aren't we going back to the palace?"

  Brennan merely snapped the reins so the horses would gallop, and Oscar tumbled backwards against the bench. He shook his head to clear it, and suddenly realized that Brennan couldn't take him back to the palace. He'd been witness to Brennan's extramarital affair... with a man, and a male breeder at that. Oscar now had information that could utterly destroy Brennan's life. Fear settled like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach, a fear which was confirmed when Brennan turned off the wide country road onto a small, ill-maintained forest path.

  Though the sky was still awash in the colors of the sunset, the sun itself had hunkered down behind the horizon, and the forest had come alive with blue-black shadows. Brennan pulled the horses to a halt in a dark hollow, and hopped off the driver's seat. Oscar hesitantly opened the door. If Brennan was going to kill him, he at least wanted a chance to fight back. Brennan didn't seem interested in fighting, however. He stood at the crest of the hollow, looking back the way they came. Oscar wanted to run, but running away, taking the royal carriage, abandoning the prince in the woods... each option got him in more trouble than the last. He crossed his arms tight over his chest, tucking his trembling hands under his arms as he waited for Brennan to say or do whatever it was he brought him here to do.