A New Millennium's Omega

by Marilyn Black

  A New Millennium's Omega

  Brooks Creek Omegas Book 2

  Author: Marilyn Black

  M/Mpreg Unicorn x Cat shifter (because everyone loved it the first time, despite how dark it was!)

  Summary: In the late 1990s, another romance blossoms in Brooks Creek when Unicorn shifter Frederick Paulson and a Cat shifter named Stuart Bentley come to town and have a chance meeting. However, their first encounter was a fluke and Stuart had a very short fling with another Alpha male from the infamous Grover family. When Stuart and Frederick meet for real, a romance quickly blossoms, which makes the Grover brother jealous and filled with despair…

  Introduction to Frederick

  Frederick Paulson liked to think of himself as a reasonably serious man. He was driving down to Brooks Creek, Oregon because he had managed to snag a deal on a massive mansion whose owner had recently died. The price for the house was a steal, but he had managed to negotiate a lower price still by a sudden generous gesture from a relative of the expired owner. He had found the mansion for sale on the Internet— an exciting new medium that, as far as he knew, was about a decade old and yet was presented and hyped as one of the most significant developments in the history of the world. Indeed, when he had first emailed the man, he had marveled at how futuristic the entire event had been— talking to someone else through a computer! Yet he enjoyed himself by pretending not to, instead putting on the same professional air he brought to all of his other meetings and transactions.

  Finally, no more than 48 hours prior, he had secured the final transaction and digitally shook hands with the buyer.

  They had given him a short and simple response afterward: "Thank you."

  The relative didn't wish to speak about what had befallen the old owner, but often referenced it, something which irked Frederick as he believed injecting personal matters into such transactions were unprofessional business. Yet he could not deny that it intrigued him and made him want to learn more about why they were so jumpy about this subject. Were they hiding something? Had the old owner been murdered there? The internet listing said nothing, and the continued email correspondence was drenched in a sense of regret and a longing to be rid of something, but that detached means of business was the way he liked it.

  This new mansion and the mysterious backstory behind it captivated him throughout the entirety of his drive towards Brooks Creek, and it was on that drive that he met with a cold front, the first major one of the season. Persistent rain washed his windshield, and the wipers could only scarcely keep up with his determined drive forward so that he could avoid the cars in his path. The interstate was flooding in certain spots, but was still road-worthy for most vehicles. Winds bent trees, and the clouds in his set direction seemed to be getting darker. Yet this wasn't frustrating to him. These cold rains were indicative of his favorite season: fall, when the Omegas were hot and bothered and would be in such great numbers that there would be no need for a rut. At several points, he found himself daydreaming of knotting inside an Omega bear or Unicorn's cloaca and filling them with his seed. He subsequently had to lurch back onto the road, and it always tortured him whenever he shuffled himself and felt his hardened cock rub up electrically against his black slacks.

  To drown out the rain and his own horniness, he had the air conditioner on the coldest setting at full blast, just because he could. Whenever he had become sufficiently cold (almost to the point he could pick ice particles off of his beard), he turned it down and turned up the radio. There weren't as many good songs on it compared to his youth in the late '80s, he believed. However, whenever the Shania Twain and Britney Spears started playing, he couldn't help but listen in while also singing along, even though he knew that he 'shouldn't' do such a thing in public. After all, he was about as much of an Adonis as any other Unicorn Alpha male, so surely he ought to have been listening to something a bit more masculine, or at least something that wasn't deliberately made for tweens. And the truth was that he had his time for groups like Lou Bega, who had recently hit the radio with 'Mambo No.5,' a song that he couldn't help but bob his head to from time to time. There was also the recent wave of rap-metal, a trend which he recalled one of the Cullen wolf Alphas had joined by co-founding a band: it was masculine to listen to KoЯn, something befitting an Alpha. Yet his guilty pleasures were all the boys and girls groups that it seemed every new subversive and edgy group wanted to war against.

  His reason for listening to this music went a bit deeper than just because they had catchy melodies and strong beats. There was also the fact that such groups were very popular with Omegas. If nothing else, he'd like to share common ground with someone he wished to form a spiritual bond with. And it was upon this sensual fact that his true intentions for coming to Brooks Creek lie— it was home to an unusually large number of Omegas from a variety of species, most notably those from cats, bears, and lesser dragons.

  He fell into that sinful thinking again. Fall was when most Omegas found themselves entering a virile and robust heat, one where they were easily impregnated and often begging for any cock they could get their lips around. In those times, Omegas were the ones truly in control, and Frederick's dick often throbbed as he imagined finding a particularly twinky Omega in one of Brooks Creek's many gay & Omega bars.

  What's more, he had also heard of an increasingly famous local coffee shop in the town, one where people who were passing through thought it was a complete ritual to actually visit all because of a particularly pleasant flavor of latte— itself created by a local Omega. How could he not visit his own brother's coffee shop or try his mate's famous latte?

  And so his Bugatti cut through the rain, ferrying him towards the town.

  He was happy, or at least he believed he was happy. Two jobs combined paid him seven figures a month, and he was about to move into a massive mansion. His old life was stable, and he was pleased to move around in Washington state. Moving to Oregon presented a shift, but not one that altered his worldview or presented a significant problem. Rather, he saw it as another chapter in his life.

  Yet he could not help but shake the feeling that his ulterior motive for traveling was rooted in a more profound sense that he was incomplete as a person until he had found a mate. What was true happiness, he wondered? Was it obtainable through money? Influence? Power? Or was it something that only could be found in the arms of someone who deeply loved him? He couldn't answer that question, but he felt the answers did lie in the miles beyond.

  Soon, after hours of traveling, he saw the first exit sign for Brooks Creek. Though he had enjoyed the constant rain (as much as it was possible to enjoy it), he was eager to finally get a little bit of rest and see what lay in wait for him.

  While driving around a bend, he managed to see the three-story mansion he had purchased. It was a peculiar place, and it even included what looked like a castle tower on the side, something that went unmentioned in the original post. A sudden sense of eagerness filled him. Usually, he wasn't that antsy when looking at such massive homes. Despite his vast wealth, he had always put off living in a mansion, which had been one reason why he was able to save so much money to grow wealthy in the first place. This ought to have been something of a great accomplishment for him more than anything. And it was. He wasn't nervous, nor was he having second thoughts— it was entirely the seller's repeated mentions of some tragedy that piqued his attention.

  And it was when he finally pulled into the massive horseshoe drive-way that his story in this town finally began in earnest.

  Frederick

  The place was beautiful. More beautiful than the small, low-quality pictures on the real estate website could ever tell me otherwise. The front was this alabaster brick with several Gre
ek pillars holding up the porch. On the side was a five-story minaret that wouldn't have looked out of place on a medieval castle. At the bottom was a massive portal, and above that portal was a bizarre-looking window. I couldn't call it a balcony. It was more like the opposite of such, what with the sill jutting out so far ahead. The first thing I thought of was how dangerous it was: if someone tried climbing out of it, they'd have nothing to grab onto. I had seen nothing about that extra tower, and it didn't seem I'd pay any extra for it. What good fortunes, I figured.

  Funnily enough, the only reason why I checked the place out at all was because I was a host for the server the site was on, and there were plenty of complaints about how the mansion was an obvious scam. At the start, I intended on humoring the scammer because I knew some gullible fool would’ve taken the bait (the Internet wasn’t new, but it wasn’t mainstream enough that grandparents and kids would know better). But after checking everything and reading the IP address, I saw the unlikely truth that they were based in this town, and they offered to send me the keys as well as give me a tour before asking for payment. Except as soon as I got the keys, they told me they vacated the place and were fine with me coming in.

  I walked out to the front gates and looked at the mailbox.

  "GROVER ESTATE."

  "Hey, man." A hippie waved at me as he walked past me. "Nice digs you got there."

  I waved him off. "Oh, I just moved in."

  He frowned and said, "Oh, really? I don't see any of those moving trucks."

  "I know. I'm moving all my stuff in tomorrow because of the storm coming in, and I wanted to move into my new place ASAP. Also, I heard that a lot of the furniture in there is still intact, so it didn't sound like I'd have a hard time moving in anyway."

  "Ah, wow. I'd love to have had furniture in my home beforehand. You're lucky."

  I nodded, but the truth was that I didn't feel particularly lucky. There was just something so bizarre about how I got the damn place. Online (seriously, can you believe I bought something on the Internet?), the seller kept bringing up someone named Jonathan and how they lived here and owned the place, but they also spoke as if he had no right to his own home, which came across as weird to me. I had a distinct sense that I may have been walking into some trap, that if I didn't watch my back, then I'd walk through a door and end up with a needle sticking through my spine from some trap door. Or even more embarrassing: I’d walk in to a mansion whose owner was still there and baffled as to who this man was and why he had his missing key, all the while some scammer laughed his ass off behind the bushes.

  Yet so far, the truth was as good as it seemed.

  I waved the man goodbye and thought about my answer. It must've sounded suspicious to him. If I heard it, I'd be suspicious too. But the storm clouds that dropped such a massive ocean of rain on the way here was still moving— slowly— so it would've been a bitch to unpack everything while getting soaked. I sold my old place and locked the door behind me, so I didn't want to go back. There was certainly nothing wrong with the place at all, and I even told my buyer that they'd love it, but I wanted to start anew in a place where the Omegas outnumbered the Alphas 5 to 1.

  I checked around the mansion all day, going to different rooms and looking at every nook and cranny I came across. Just as the seller said, most things were still in place. Even the fridge and freezer were still stocked with stuff that had been spoiled for months, even a year— I looked at a carton of milk whose expiration date said 10/14, but when I looked in, it had half-turned to cheese. Other foodstuffs all had 1998 as their year, which told me that whoever died pushed daisies sometime in October of '98. I thought back to what I was doing last October and felt a bit melancholic about the idea that someone just living their life died here.

  I spent a good hour throwing everything in the fridge and the freezer into the trash, making space and then scrubbing down the inside as well just for good measure. Once I was finished, it was dark outside, even though it was only 11 AM. I went upstairs and saw that, on the second floor, there was another lobby that would've been perfect for raising a child. As soon as the thought flashed through my mind, I pressed my chest and thought to myself, 'I will find a mate here.' My ventures in Seattle hadn't worked out well, and it seemed like all my potential mates were terrible fits. But sure, I'd be luckier here. Just like what the man said.

  Some hidden doors were leading to mancaves as well as a den in the back of the mansion whose purpose wasn't clear because there was an equivalent place in a much more ideal spot upstairs. That was clearly the throwaway den because there was a substantial build-up of dust (even more than for the rest of the place), and the carpet was clean while the room itself had virtually no furniture besides a single loveseat and table next to it. I started figuring out what I wanted to turn each room into, and that one was going to be a special love room if I ever needed it. It was facing the back, but the patio door was also facing a brick wall, so it was plenty private.

  The heavy rain started moving in, so I went to my suitcase and pulled out a book, and then read to my heart's content.

  I flipped through the pages while my new house got washed by Mother Nature, but I couldn't read because I couldn't wait to explore the town itself. I blinked. My whole world stopped for a brief moment.

  Something flashed across my eyes, though I couldn't make out just what it was. There was a face, the most beautiful face I'd ever seen. It was soft and had nice angles, with little and puffy lips and dimples— he had shocks of hair and a bit of a shag going on. I could see him sitting in a chair, legs crossed, and hands over his knee while he spoke to someone. Maybe that someone was me. His body was slim, svelte, and very nubile. I could see the flush in his cheeks and hear the higher pitch in his voice. This strapping young lad was an Omega, and he was in a sweltering heat.

  Within me, my Unicorn bucked and shifted around in my soul. Its horn shined in the light of my mind, and I thought that it was about to blast off and shift me involuntarily.

  Quickly, my hands went to my cock. I couldn't help but stroke myself off a few times because of how overpowering the urge to fuck had become. Then I stopped because I didn't want to completely soil my pants and have to wash them when I didn't have another good pair on me.

  The vision returned, and I saw the place where this beautiful man was sitting— that two-story coffee shop, 'Steamy Cups.' It was an urge before, but once I saw the name, it became something of an instinct. I had to go there and find out who was there before my penis flew off. And you know how the song goes— I didn't want to wake up the next morning and find out that my penis wasn't there. I needed that thing.

  I stood up and looked outside, pulling down the windows and scanning the front lawn— all 10,000 square feet of it. There was no one there, so I couldn't blame that vision on aliens. I looked into a mirror and saw nothing there, so it wasn't like it a ghost trying to play tricks on my mind either. All that I ever wanted was going to be at Steamy Cups.

  I had the distinct sense that I ought to have gone out into Brooks Creek to find Steamy Cups myself, but my rational self took one extra look at the thick rainstorm and knew better than to put myself through that.

  Except, there was another alternative. Damn, was it obvious! What couldn't get wet and could cut right through even the most torrential rainstorm? A Unicorn, of course!

  Once I realized it, I ran out to the front porch and shifted— my face extended, my arms and legs became digitigrade with red hooves, and a tail extended from my spine.

  Then, I stared galloping onwards. The rain flowed off my skin, never sticking, and always running. It felt good on the skin.

  My horn lit the way forward, but at the same time, it was also guiding me. There was a sense that I was being pulled towards the shop more than running towards it, and the way my legs could not stop even to rest seemed to confirm this in my mind. If nothing else, I had to see at least if it looked like it did in my vision.

  I galloped down the roads, going to Jam
iston Drive and then to Fifth Street. Then there was Donatello Park, a mini-nature reserve mixed with a scenic park in the very center of the town, right behind the mayor's office ("his backyard," I heard he called it). Then I got onto the main street, Lukas Street, passing by all the night clubs and higher-end businesses. From there, I rushed for at least two miles towards one edge of the town, towards a place called Duke Lane. How did I know this was the right road? I really didn't. My heart and horn guided me.

  And after less than a minute of further running, as I approached an S-shaped bend in the road not far from a traffic light, I saw it. It was snuggled in a secluded area not far from a generic-looking strip mall, and it was also sandwiched between a side street and a hair salon.

  Just as I had seen in the vision.

  I rushed towards the front door and looked inside. The glass had fogged up, and there was a neon 'Open' sign on the window.

  And it wasn't on.

  My heart sunk when I couldn't see anyone inside. It was empty.

  I read the hours:

  Mon-Fri

  7:30 - 12 / 1:30 - 9:30

  Sat

  8:30 - 11 / 1:30 - 9:30

  Sun

  CLOSED

  I shifted back into my human form just to snap my fingers and said, "Drat!" And after running in my shifted form for such a long time, I needed to rest.

  There was an overhang keeping me dry, so I didn't get wet immediately, but the splash from the rain did send up a mist towards me.

  Then, when I looked into the shop again, my heart did a spin. Two youthful looking men were staring at me, one looking over his shoulder— and he had all the same features. Same dimples, same slight-shag, same lips...

  Quickly, I turned around to get a better look at him as he did for me, and I thought I heard a cupid's wings fluttering by. It was not the right time of the year for that, but I was thankful regardless.