A Season of War: M/M Wolf Shifter Mpreg Paranormal Romance (The Last Omega Book 3)

by Apollo Surge

  Sawyer didn't answer. He couldn't speak past the sobs still wrenching their way out of him, making it difficult to breathe, much less speak. He just let his head fall onto her shoulder, soaking the arm of her shirt.

  "I'm just scared for you," Alicia went on. "I know so little about how to help you. I can't... I can't watch another person I care about die because I don't know how to save them."

  She squeezed Sawyer to her harder and Sawyer remembered with an unpleasant chill how she'd looked only a few months ago, kneeling on the kitchen floor with her mother's blood on her hands.

  She held him until he got himself under control again. Once they were both a bit more calm she did a few more tests, giving him the most thorough check-up she was capable of with her limited resources and abilities.

  "We've got a vet ultrasound around here somewhere," she said, putting her things away. "I'll try and dig it out so we can get a look at what's going on in there."

  "I don't know if I want to see it," Sawyer said uneasily.

  "You don't have to look," Alicia conceded. "But I do. It's the only way to catch certain problems before they become dangerous. And you need to make up your mind about whether you're keeping it, fast. If you're not, we need to figure out how to terminate it safely, and we already don’t have much time. If you are going to keep it, you've already missed a whole trimester of prenatal care that could seriously affect the baby's development. I'm going to be watching you like a hawk from now on one way or the other. I'm going to get you some supplements that you should start taking and talk to Jacob about making sure you get better balanced meals. Don't look at me like that, I won't tell him. I'll just say it's an omega thing. But you need to be taking care of your health right now."

  She took his hands as he stared down at his lap, uncertain, and squeezed them tight.

  "You need to tell Elliot," she said seriously. Sawyer went stiff, pulling away, but she just tightened her grip. "I'm serious, Sawyer. I know you're scared, but you shouldn't be doing this alone. He needs to know. Not because he's the father, but because he's your partner, and you need his help and support right now, no matter what you decide to do."

  "He'll leave," Sawyer said, grim and certain. "I know he will."

  "You're wrong," Alicia insisted. They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment, each willing the other to concede, until at last Alicia sighed and let go of his hands. "I won't tell him for you. I won't tell anyone. And I'm going to be here to help you no matter what. But you need to make a decision, soon. This isn't a problem you can avoid or run away from."

  "I know," Sawyer said, swallowing the lump of anxiety in his throat. "Thank you, Alicia."

  "Don't thank me yet," she said with a sigh, straightening up. "I'm going to be on top of you for the next six months making sure you're taking care of yourself. And I hope you like knitting cause I'm putting you on fulltime indoor crafts, buddy. Christ, you've been working with fertilizer and farm animals your entire first trimester. We'll be lucky if this kid doesn't have two heads."

  "Is that a possibility?" Sawyer asked, suddenly worried. Alicia rolled her eyes.

  "No, but dangerous microbes and parasites sure as hell are!" Alicia bopped him on the head with her notebook, barely hard enough to muss his hair. "You've got to be more careful, or it won't just be the baby you lose. Just listen to everything I tell you and you'll be fine, okay?"

  "All right," Sawyer agreed. Despite everything, he actually felt better now that Alicia knew. At least he wasn't completely alone in this anymore. At least he had a better idea of what he was doing.

  "I'm going to go make some excuses for you," she said, glancing at her watch. "Tell them you've got some kind of omega ailment and that I need you on knitting for the foreseeable future. You go get some rest in the meantime. We'll see about that ultrasound tomorrow."

  "Got it," Sawyer said, not willing to fight even though the idea of going to nap while everyone else was working chafed.

  "Come talk to me as soon as you've made a decision," Alicia said, halfway out the door. "And Sawyer? Make it soon."

  She gave him a pointed look, then closed the door behind her.

  Sawyer sat where she'd left him for a long moment, then gathered himself and headed, not out to the cabin he shared with Elliot, but upstairs to the guest bedroom that had been his for the first several months he'd lived here. The clean white walls and narrow bed, the sheers dancing over the open window that looked out on the garden, were all familiar and reassuring. He curled up on the bed and was asleep almost before he'd closed his eyes, exhausted emotionally as much as physically.

  But he didn't sleep long, or soundly. Alicia's ultimatum haunted him. As he lay in the bright, comforting room, all he could think about was the two weeks ahead of him which were all the time he had left to make his decision. Alicia was right. He'd had three months. He should have chosen by now. He'd been doing everything he could to avoid it. To avoid even thinking about it. What if the time limit passed and it was only after it was too late that he realized he couldn't do this?

  What did he even want? He knew he didn't want kids, didn't want this pregnancy. So why was he hesitating? Why did he keep putting off the decision when he knew this wasn't what he wanted?

  He didn't know. But either idea, the idea of keeping it or going through with ending it, terrified him equally. He needed more time.

  He slipped out of bed and snuck down the stairs. It was still early in the day. He could hear Elliot talking to someone in the kitchen, laughing. He went out the side door and avoided the back garden, where someone might be working. He gathered a few supplies from the cabin, shed his clothes by the old trailer, shifted, and sprinted into the woods.

  Chapter Five

  Sawyer always felt better when he was running. There were more than a few times he wished that he'd never been turned. That he hadn't been born a potential shifter at all. He couldn't imagine what his life might be like right now if he'd been a normal kid. Shifter Influence had been ruining his life since before he could remember, destroying his family and forcing him to spend his life constantly on the move, trying to avoid hurting anyone else. But even in light of all that, he'd have had a hard time giving up this. Nothing felt better than running through the trees as a wolf. When he ran flat out, the entire world seemed to melt away, narrowing to only the obstacles directly in front of him. When he kept a more moderate pace, he felt like he could run forever and never rest. That freedom was almost worth everything he'd suffered. Almost.

  As he neared the top of the mountain he slowed, searching for the place he'd seen the mountain spirit before. It had been a few months but surely it was still there. He put his nose to the ground, but the spirit had smelled of nothing but wet stone. And on a mountain during snowmelt there was hardly an inch that didn't smell like that.

  He hadn't been searching long when his ears pricked at the sound of music in the distance. Curious, he followed the sound. There was usually nothing human on the mountain. It was all protected state park for miles and the wolves discouraged all but the most foolish of campers from staying in this area. For a group to be camping this high up, and this close to the farm without having been noticed, was beyond unusual.

  The music was strange too. The closer he got the less it resembled something he'd hear on the radio and the more it seemed like something that belonged in a weird ass movie. Something by Lynch or Kubrick. For a note or two it resembled Mozart, bright warm swells and crescendos, and then it would dissolve into incomprehensible jangling discord, like wind chimes in a hurricane. It was as unsettling as it was hypnotic. Against his better judgment, Sawyer moved closer, drawn by the eerie almost-music.

  When first glimpsed through the evergreen branches, Sawyer's first impression was of insects. Giant glittering wings and iridescent shells. Jewel colored segments and petal pink membranes. Golden beetles and orchid mantises. Laughter like the harsh buzzing of fruit flies. An instant later he couldn't explain this impression even to himself. />
  Sitting in a loose circle among the trees were three of the most beautiful people he'd ever seen. He couldn't have easily assigned a gender to any of them. He judged one to be male based on the broad shoulders and the ripple of muscle beneath their golden skin, but then they turned and he saw the shadow of breasts beneath their loose clothing and he was no longer certain. All he knew for sure was that they were beautiful.

  They lounged on richly colored blankets and pillows, wearing very little considering it was an April morning. They seemed better dressed for mid-June in breezy, effortless silk. But as Sawyer drew nearer, creeping low under the bramble, he realized it wasn't as cold a day as he'd thought. It was warm here, the sun bright and close. The snow was gone, and the trees were showing greenery he hadn't expected to see until May at least.

  It took a surprising amount of effort to wrench his eyes away from the strangers and glance behind him, but doing so confirmed his suspicions. There was still snow on the ground only a few feet away. There was magic at work here.

  One of the people, thin and long limbed with skin the color of rich earth, was playing some kind of instrument that resembled an incredibly complicated harp. They paused as another of the group raised a hand to silence them. They were slightly more masculine than the others, with wild hair like corn silk.

  "Don't look now Amaryllis," he said, and the person playing the instrument raised their head, their close cropped curly hair like moss. "I spy yellow eyes in the shadows."

  Sawyer crouched lower, heart racing. He'd been spotted.

  "Oh?" Amaryllis looked pleased by the idea, releasing the instrument and reclining invitingly among the pillows. "Is it some beast come to devour me? And how sharp the teeth for supple flesh? I will not be gnawed nor nibbled nicely."

  Sawyer crept silently backwards, hoping to get away before someone realized what he was and either called animal control or tried to kill him themselves. If they were witches practicing here illegally he needed to talk to the rest of the pack and Serena. That was a serious breach of the treaty.

  "Whatever tactless thing tried its teeth on you would shortly suffer sore sorrow, poisonous thing you are," the yellow haired person said, smiling. His teeth seemed to be all one curve of bone rather than separate teeth.

  Amaryllis laughed and winked at him, proud of her poison perhaps, or at least entertained by his word play.

  "Oh, it's only some ugly stray dog."

  Sawyer yelped as sharp fingers dug into the scruff of his fur and lifted him as easily as a kitten.

  One of the strangers had come up behind him. He hadn't even noticed them moving, and that scared him more than he could articulate. Their fingers felt fever hot where they gripped his fur. He twisted and snapped at them, snarling ferociously, but they didn't drop him, just looked sour and impatient, like he was a child throwing a tantrum while they had somewhere to be, and not a massive wolf almost as big as they were.

  "That's no dog," the yellow haired one said as it stared at Sawyer. "Have you no eyes, Fiddlehead? That's a guest!"

  Fiddlehead squinted at Sawyer, wrinkled their nose in distaste, and cast Sawyer off like discarding a toy they were bored with. Sawyer skidded but landed on his feet and immediately bolted away down the mountain.

  Imagine his confusion then, when two steps later he was running toward the party again.

  "You've frightened him," the yellow haired one scolded, smiling at Sawyer with his strange, plate like teeth. "There's no need to be afraid, friend. We don't mean any harm. In fact, we have a wonderful gift for you."

  Sawyer contemplated trying to run again, but he had a feeling it wouldn't work. And the longer he looked at these strangers the less he wanted to turn his back on them. Ears folded flat to his skull he held his ground, waiting to see what they would do.

  "Come canine, be cordial." Amaryllis curled a finger to call him forward. "Copious cloudlike cushions and our congenial company cater to you."

  Sawyer hunched his shoulders and didn't move, suspicion making his hackles rise.

  "Now, don't be rude," the yellow haired one said, his voice suddenly chilly, his eyes narrowing. Sawyer's heart jumped into his throat in sudden anxiety. "We have extended our hospitality. You must respond in kind."

  "You're wasting your time," Fiddlehead said idly. They had long, coiling hair the color of fire that twisted itself around anything they stood near. It was currently tangling with the branches of a young fir in a way that looked painful to Sawyer, but didn't appear to faze Fiddlehead. "Old dogs, new tricks."

  "More like new dogs, very old tricks," said Amaryllis with an airy giggle. "They don't teach anyone the rules anymore. Poor dumb doggy doesn't know."

  "Well that's hardly our fault, is it?" Fiddlehead said with a scoff. "That the cur doesn't ken common courtesy."

  "Ooh, excellent," Amaryllis clapped. "Treats for you!"

  She threw something at Fiddlehead which may have been pomegranate seeds, or small jewels. Fiddlehead caught the treats and inclined their head in gratitude, their hair pulling away from the tree branches without so much as a tug.

  Sawyer watched this, eerie anxiety still turning their stomach, and spotted something familiar among the branches, just out of reach of Fiddlehead's hair.

  The mountain spirit crouched in the shadow of the highest branches, his features taught with distress. He stared hard at Sawyer, then mocked a bow, his gestures urgent and as anxious as Sawyer felt.

  Sawyer, suspicious but not sure what else to try, did his best impression of a bow, bending his front half low in the yellow haired stranger's direction.

  The little party, sans Fiddlehead, clapped politely.

  "There, was that so difficult?" the yellow haired one said warmly, extending a hand. "Now, do give us your name."

  Sawyer's eyes flicked to the fir tree where the mountain spirit was shaking his head and drawing his fingers quickly across his throat in warning.

  Sawyer had overheard enough of Alicia and Serena's conversations about magic to know that handing out your name in magical situations was a bad idea, but he wavered, unsure what to do instead. His tail swept the ground clear of pine needles as he fidgeted, finally drawing himself up, sitting as tall as he could.

  "This is my territory," he said. "I think it's only polite you give me your name first."

  "So the dog does have a voice," Fiddlehead observed.

  "I told you, Fiddle," the yellow one said without looking away from Sawyer. "This is a guest. And right you are, furry friend. This territory is yours. For now. You may call me Goldenrod."

  He winked, making the innuendo clear. Sawyer noticed the careful wording as well. And responded in kind, baring his teeth.

  "In that case you can call me Red Rocket," he said. Fiddlehead giggled and Amaryllis grinned wider.

  "Aren't you a delight?" Goldenrod smiled with his strange blunt teeth. "Why don't you come and join us, Red? We'd be delighted to share our little picnic with such a charming hound."

  He gestured at the blanket at his feet and Sawyer realized it was covered in food. Fresh fruit, cake, and what he was fairly certain was a plate of Jacob's scrambled eggs with smoked salmon and dill. It was the first thing the other man had made for him and had made Sawyer seriously consider marrying him. What it was doing out here in the woods Sawyer wasn't sure. He was beginning to wonder if this wasn't some kind of fever dream.

  "No thank you," Sawyer said as politely as he could. "I'm not hungry."

  "At least come and sit down," Goldenrod insisted, gesturing to the comfortable pillows. Suddenly, Sawyer's earlier exhaustion seemed to return all at once, doubled. It felt like he hadn't slept in a week. His very bones ached. He would have paid blood to lie down. He took a step forward without even thinking about it. He could see the mountain spirit gesturing frantically in the tree and, just before he took a second step, he noticed the band of snow drops in front of him. They ringed the stranger's little picnic area perfectly. Sawyer had faint memories of childhood warnings not to step
in 'fairy rings,' when mushrooms grew in a circle. Did snowdrops count? He took a step backwards anyway, despite how much his exhausted body longed to lie down in those soft pillows. He'd been this tired before, and worse. He could endure it.

  "No thank you," he said again. "I'm fine."

  "A cautious cur," Fiddlehead said, sounding slightly impressed.

  "Surely there's something we could offer you?" Goldenrod said, eyeing Sawyer curiously. "We would not want to be ungracious hosts."

  "This is my territory," Sawyer pointed out. "If anything, you're my guests."

  Goldenrod grinned wider and Sawyer sensed he'd made a mistake.

  "Why, so we are," Goldenrod confirmed. "Well then, perhaps it is you who should be indulging us?"

  Sawyer swallowed a nervous lump in his throat and glanced up at the fir tree. The mountain spirit held up three fingers and Sawyer scrambled to try and figure out what that meant.

  "Three," he said aloud as he tried to work it out. "Uh. Three guests. Three favors."

  That seemed right, he thought. He couldn't be running around doing errands for them all day. Judging by the grim look on the mountain spirit's face he'd not guessed correctly.

  "An auspicious number," Goldenrod said with a smile. "Agreed!"

  "You can have mine," Fiddlehead said, eyeing Sawyer critically. "There's nothing this mutt has that I want."

  "Gladly," Goldenrod said with a grin. "And you, Amaryllis?"

  "Have it," Amaryllis replied with a laugh. "I'll get more enjoyment out of watching you play."

  "Excellent," Goldenrod said warmly, then turned back to Sawyer. "My dear host. Would you do us the favor of showing us what you look like under all that fur?"

  Sawyer felt himself shifting before the words were even fully out of Goldenrod's mouth. He'd never felt a compulsory shift like this, but he was powerless to stop it regardless. Trying to fight it only caused him pain and he soon stopped. In a moment he was kneeling naked in the dirt just outside the ring of snow drops. Goldenrod's eyes widened as he looked down at Sawyer and the stranger stepped out of the circle to pull Sawyer to his feet.