Wild Ride: An M/M Shifter Mpreg Romance Bundle

by Preston Walker

  Mulligan opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off by the ringing phone.

  "Burges? Oh, is that all? Yes, bring it up. What's that? Yes, just in case."

  Alfred cradled the phone and turned his attention back to the quivering mass in the chair before him.

  "I will return your two million, in gold, if you get the hell off my land and never return."

  "In... gold?"

  "Yes."

  Mulligan thought about it for a moment before his face hardened stubbornly.

  "I would have made twice that in the first year alone if I had completed my project," he insisted.

  "No, you wouldn't have. Because we would have eaten your customers."

  Mulligan scoffed, and Alfred snarled, flashing his teeth again. Mulligan fell silent.

  "We would have eaten your customers, your workers and your investors. The only reason you aren't lunchmeat at this very moment is so we could have this conversation and put a stop to this nonsensical building once and for all. However, I do understand the challenges you will face when you attempt to explain the situation without sounding like an utter lunatic, so I am willing to pay you three million for your trouble."

  "Five million," Mulligan insisted.

  "Four, and your life."

  Mulligan once again opened his mouth, but snapped it shut when Alfred's threat registered.

  "Fine, four," Mulligan said.

  Alfred extended an elongated, clawed hand, and Mulligan made a face. He shook it, however, as his business sense overwhelmed his natural human senses. Alfred wondered at the human ability to survive even as long as they had.

  "Then we have a deal," Alfred said. "Just one more thing. If any of you decide to ignore our agreement, continue building your little things, or venture onto my property, there will be no second warning. I will instruct my people to slaughter yours."

  "Savages," the man muttered.

  Alfred only grinned. A tap on the door announced Burges, who pushed a breakfast cart through the door, topped with a covered dish.

  "Nice of you to finally bring your guests refreshments," Mulligan said, reaching for the cart. Burges kept it just out of reach and removed the lid. Beneath it, on the dish, was a neat stack of five gold bars.

  "Your money, sir."

  Mulligan stared slack-jawed at the pile of gleaming gold, and began to sweat. Humans, Alfred thought with disgust. Always dripping about something.

  Chapter 17

  Oscar scowled at the papers scattered over the desk in the palace library. The longer he looked at it, the more complicated the problem became. There were simply too many ingrained societal barriers to the union, and too many people who would feel personally slighted by it. If they did this wrong, they would have a civil war on their hands. The people's concerns would need to be addressed before the truth came out, which meant they were fighting the clock. The palace staff was already buzzing with juicy snippets of news, and it was only a matter of time before the kingdom figured out the truth.

  "How are you coming with that?" Alfred asked as he stepped into the room.

  "It's a complicated problem," Oscar admitted.

  "What is? All we have to do is make a statement; that should be easy enough. Just make it diplomatic, that's all."

  "Diplomacy isn't going to help you this time, Alfred. You're going to need to put in some real work."

  "Diplomacy is work," Alfred said, furrowing his brow. "What's the trouble?"

  "The trouble is that the bones of the statement that you gave me are blatantly flying in the face of everyone who has had to live off of the radar. Several people in this town know what I did for a living, and you want to make a blanket statement about us not having any secrets. That pits every pregnant male, every midwife who has ever assisted a male against their better judgement, and everyone who has lost a loved one to male childbirth against you. Then you want to state that you are adopting my son as your own, which flies in the face of certain traditional family values, and sparks the question of bloodline alphaship. Aiden has shown strong alpha qualities; if he does turn out to be an alpha, and you and I produce a second alpha, which alpha will take the throne? Tradition says the one you sire should take the throne, but adopting him flat out muddies the issue. That is going to be a problem for the traditionalists, as well as anyone who has been left impoverished by outdated inheritance laws. This bit about Brennan forfeiting his right to face you in the ring is going to be a problem too. You haven't given a reason why. As your twin, he fits the firstborn criteria. Many people in the kingdom are still of the opinion that your initial alpha battle was rigged, and are looking forward to a day when Brennan beats you and takes his quote-unquote rightful place as alpha."

  "You've certainly learned a lot."

  "I've been talking to Helga. It helps to get an outside perspective. The thing is, Alfred, your entire statement can be boiled down to: 'these laws and regulations which you, the people, are bound by do not apply to me.'"

  "Hm. I can see how that can be a problem. So, what's all this?"

  "I've been researching the specific legalities of each issue. Some appear to simply be tradition, while others are writ. I am organizing the problems by type so we can address them one at a time. The legal ones will actually be easier to counter. All it will take is a decree from you to render them impotent. The issues founded in tradition will be more difficult."

  "What do you suggest we do about those?"

  "Acknowledge the tradition in your statement, and assert that it's time for the old ways to be put to the past. It's not foolproof by any means. There will be backlash. People aren't going to swallow it easily, it's not in our nature to accept change without a fight. Also, I think that after you make your statement, you should host a party. A small one. Invite the social movers and shakers, the charity leaders, the farmers, doctors, midwives—anyone who has been called on to nurture the kingdom in any way. They will know the struggles the common people face, and they will have opinions about how best to address those struggles. As one of those people, I have a few suggestions myself."

  "Which are?"

  "First, male midwifery. The laws against it must be stricken from the books immediately to stem the epidemic of males dying in childbirth."

  "I will draft an addendum this evening."

  "Thank you. Second, there's an economic problem. Half the kingdom still deals exclusively in trade, but as more young people reach the age where they want to spread out and own their own bit of earth, there isn't enough money to make it happen. We have entire acres filled with stone-age style dens that people have dug into the earth. They live as beasts the majority of the time because it's easier to manage. For a kingdom as wealthy as yours, it's a crime to allow that to happen. Now don't get me wrong, I've got a mad uncle or two who enjoy the lone-wolf experience and actually prefer to live that way, but those people are few and far between. It should always be a choice to live rough."

  "So the problem there is... I'm sorry, what's the actual fixable issue there?"

  "It's two-fold. First, the trade and cash combination economy. There's nothing you can trade for a house, and many people haven't learned any other method of exchange. Second, existing houses are ridiculously expensive to buy. There simply aren't enough of them."

  "Why don't they build?"

  "Ah, three-fold, my apologies. They don't build because the necessary licenses are more expensive than the materials and labor combined to build the house."

  "Oh."

  "Yes. How it works, from what I can tell, is when a person wants to build they have to pay a certain amount to lease the land from the king. Then they have to submit plans, which have to be examined and accepted or rejected. Each new plan costs money, and the builder can't just update an existing plan, they have to submit a whole new plan at the same rate each time. The average person working for a cash salary would be out of money before they even broke ground."

  "That explains why no one's built anything since... I can't r
emember the last time any new buildings went up."

  "Yes, according to these records, the last time anyone built anything significant was before you were born. The cluster of cottages where my aunt lives were the last buildings, and they're all still owned by the same family who built them. They've been renting them out for decades."

  "Right. So, what if we just name all of these problems in the statement, and tell the people that we have a plan to fix them?"

  Oscar shot him an impatient look.

  "You can't just promise to fix everything. They're going to need to see proof, and the only way to prove it to them is to do it."

  "It's going to take months to even begin to solve these problems."

  "Yep. So... set the date on your calendar, and hope to God that Brennan is full of hot air."

  "That's your answer?"

  "It's the best one I have, highness. Right now we have two options. We can either lie through our teeth about everything and dispel the rumors by sheer force of will, stick me back in a dress and get married next week... or we fix this disaster, prove our worth together, and celebrate our success with the most extravagant wedding this kingdom has ever seen."

  "That second one sounds like the right thing to do, but the first sounds like a lot less time spent in the ring."

  "You're absolutely right. If we go with the first option, you won't have time to get to the ring. You'll be fighting for your life the second you step foot outside these walls."

  Alfred was silent for a long time, turning Oscar's words over in his mind, wondering why none of his tutors or advisers had ever laid out his kingdom's problems the way Oscar just had. Were they all so disconnected from the issues plaguing the kingdom that the reality never touched them? He couldn't be sure, but he suspected as much. Many of the staff members had been working in the palace longer than he had been living in it. Burges, for example, had worked for his grandfather when he was a small boy, and had lived in the palace ever since. In spite of his network of connections, Burges was disconnected from the people of the kingdom. Alfred had noticed the isolating existence of palace life as a child, and had been determined to change that as alpha. His way of doing that, however, seemed to have fallen flat. His people didn't want grand parties every month. They needed someone to listen to them and believe that their truths were valid. Oscar seemed to have a natural knack for that exact thing. Now that he was thinking about it, the parties had never been for the people. He hadn't been reaching out to them, he'd been drawing them in, setting the rules, and vying for validation. It had become a sort of self-delusion. As long as people kept coming to his parties, he couldn't be doing too badly.

  "Very well," he said, steeling himself for a marathon of grindingly difficult work. "Where do we begin?"

  "I'm putting together a list of laws and by-laws which support the current societal structure. You can help me if you like, but if there is something else which requires your attention I will be able to get it done. Books are where I live. I know how to cajole them into giving me the information I need."

  "I've never been a particularly studious person, but I'm willing to give it a try."

  Oscar nodded and picked up a terribly heavy-looking leather bound book with years inscribed in gold on the cover.

  "This is volume one of the laws passed during your grandfather's father's rein. I haven't touched his generation yet; I have been working my way backward since so many new laws seem to simply be variations on old laws. Here is a list of key words I'm looking for, and... oh! There it is. I've been using these bookmarks to mark the pages which contain the laws, in addition to copying down the specific wording along with the volume, page and paragraph number. I'll get you a fresh sheet, we'll label it generation 'W' as I'm working backward through the alphabet."

  Alfred held the pile of materials and his eyes widened. He suddenly felt like a school child again, except the test was an essay on a subject he wasn't prepared for. Oscar didn't notice his dilemma, as he had already buried his nose back into a legal volume and was muttering to himself as he jotted things down. Alfred regretted offering his services. He knew it would take him all day to do what Oscar could in an hour, but he wanted to prove—to himself as much as Oscar—that he was wholly dedicated to serving the people. He was motivated by guilt over a lifetime of viewing the world backward and upside down, where the people are beholden to the king and are the foundation upon which the royal family sits. Age or exposure were partially to blame for his shifting views, but he very much doubted that those things would have had any effect on him before he'd met Oscar. The benevolent chaos which surrounded Oscar seemed not to touch him, though it altered everything around him; he was the eye of the storm, the studious little omega ripping through Alfred's world like a force of nature.

  Alfred had just settled at a second desk with his project when Burges entered the room.

  "Pardon me, your highness, but there is something on the television which you will want to see."

  Burges flipped on the set which stood in a dusty, unused corner of the room. The signal came in fuzzy, but quickly cleared, revealing a royal face twisted with emotion.

  "The so-called alpha has stolen something from me. Something important, something that I—in my recklessness—drove away. It is my duty to rescue this person from his clutches. I don't know what kind of dreadful, dank prison he's keeping this person in but, whatever it is, I swear on my blood that I will release them from that hell. Winters, if you can hear me... just hang on. I'm coming for you."

  Oscar's pencil clattered to the desk as he stared, slack-jawed, at the face of his old lover.

  Chapter 18

  Oscar paced the hallway outside of Alfred's door. The battle was set to take place the next morning at dawn; the ring had been readied; the announcement had been made. Try as he might, Oscar couldn't talk Alfred out of facing Elliot. Visions of Elliot's temper tormented Oscar, flashes of his face immediately before he struck, the force of his blows. Oscar couldn't escape the memories, and Alfred refused to try avoiding the fight. Oscar had no doubt that Alfred was a skilled fighter, but he knew Elliot, and Elliot was a force of pure brutality. Unable to help himself any longer, Oscar tapped on Alfred's door.

  "Come in," came the flat reply.

  Oscar pushed the door open hesitantly, and gasped when he saw Alfred. Alfred stood, gazing blankly into the full-length mirror, dressed in his formal ring attire. A blood-red sash draped over his loins, loosely enough to remain intact when he shifted. Clawed metal gloves hung over his fingers, wrapping like snakes around his forearms. The metal braces undulated as Alfred moved, a fluidity which would be stripped once he was in his beast form. A thin gold chain held a flowing red cape; a cape which would be removed prior to battle, and used to hide his opponent's broken body should the fight be fatal. Should he be the one to fall, the cape would go to his killer as a trophy. Oscar's gut clenched at the sight of it. Elliot had showed him a photograph of his trophy case once. It had been filled with a dozen capes in a wide variety of colors and hues. Most shifters these days stopped fighting when they won. Elliot always, always went for the kill.

  "You look a little pale," Alfred said. "Are you feeling well?"

  "Am I? How can you ask at a time like this?"

  "Seems like a natural question."

  "I'm worried."

  "Don't worry," Alfred told him soothingly, taking his hands. "I won't let Elliot anywhere near you, I swear it."

  "That isn't what I'm worried about," Oscar said, fiercely. "Though... thank you. That means a lot. Stop thinking about me for one second and think about yourself. Have you ever faced Elliot before?"

  "I've never had a reason to," Alfred said, shaking his head.

  "He's vicious, Alfred. He's brutal. He has a trophy case... it's full. He's never been in a fight that wasn't fatal."

  "That's unfortunate," Alfred said, sincerely.

  "Unfortunate? It's terrifying! Aren't you afraid?"

  Alfred pulled Oscar over to the be
d and sat down, looking up into his eyes.

  "I am," he said, softly. "I am very much afraid, but not for the reasons you think."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I'm not afraid of death. I'm also not afraid of Elliot. I haven't fought him personally, but I've seen him fight. I know his methods, I know his style, I even know his rituals. I am certain that I will beat him."

  "Then what are you afraid of?"

  "I'm afraid that he won't give me a choice. I'm afraid that I will be forced to kill him. I'm afraid that once you witness that savage, beastly part of me, once you see the blood on my hands, that you won't be able to stomach my embrace."

  Oscar put his hands on either side of Alfred's face and pushed his fingers through his hair. Alfred closed his eyes, memorizing his touch. Oscar leaned close, the blood pounding in his ears, deafening him as he pressed his lips to Alfred's. Alfred inhaled sharply, gripping Oscar's hips, forgetting the weapons on his hands. Oscar cried out sharply, and Alfred pulled away, his face full of fear.

  "Are you hurt?"

  "Just a scratch."

  Alfred began to remove the gloves, but Oscar stopped him.

  "You need to know," he said, hoarsely. "I need to know."

  "Know what?" Alfred asked, breathlessly.

  "If I can love you when you're dangerous. If you can protect me from yourself."

  Alfred swallowed hard and gently touched Oscar's cheek. The razor-sharp serrations pressed lines into Oscar's skin, but did not break it. Oscar closed his eyes and bit his lip, aroused by the sensation. Slowly, carefully, Alfred ran one finger down the front of Oscar's shirt, effortlessly slicing through the fabric, leaving a light pink line down Oscar's chest. Oscar gasped as the hint of pain ignited his body with need. Alfred's lips trailed over Oscar's bare torso, following the scratch his claw had left behind. He moved, standing and spinning so that Oscar was pressed against the bed, kneeling to slice the pants from his body. Oscar trembled and gasped as Alfred's mouth searched for his most tender places, teasing him, heating his blood. He used his teeth and claws like punctuation, scattering Oscar's attention, playing his nerves like an instrument, until Oscar was gasping and groaning with desire.