The Werewolf Boss’s Baby

by T. S. Ryder

  Tears had begun streaming down her cheeks and soft, hiccupping sobs tore past her throat as she sunk to the floor. “The first time Ramson came demanding payment... I said no, but he then mentioned Therese, saying how it’d be a shame if she and Auntie May had to suffer for my stubbornness, and I just… I couldn’t let him hurt them, Desmond. I’d do what I did and ten times more to keep them safe.”

  The more she spoke, the more choked her words became. “I didn’t know how he found out about Therese, but he did... he knew about it when I first came to him, and he planned the whole thing from the start. And after that first time... all I wanted to do was come back home... All I wanted to do was forget I had sold myself to him... but I couldn’t face you, Desmond. I just couldn’t. I was terrified of your disappointment, of you taking Therese from me, and I just… couldn’t.”

  Desmond just stared at the wall with a hard glare and listened as she broke down, his anger mounting until she mentioned wanting to come back home. As soon as she said she couldn’t face him, his heart shattered in his chest and he slowly moved towards her.

  “Marceline,” he sighed, kneeling beside her and pulling her into his arms. “Sweetheart, I wouldn’t have turned you away – and I sure as hell wouldn’t take away your baby... our baby. This isn’t your fault,” he whispered to her, rocking her slowly back and forth as she cried against him.

  Heavens, this was a whole lot to wrap his head around at once. He wanted to cry, and rage, and laugh, all at the same time, but he knew he had to set processing all he just found out for another time. Marceline needed him to be strong now. To keep her safe and make things right.

  “Listen to me, sweetheart. I’ll fix this. Ramson will pay for what he’s done to you... And then you and I? We’ll fix things between us like we should have years ago.”

  She nodded slowly against his chest and sniffled softly, to which he sighed and kissed her forehead.

  “Ok,” she whispered.

  Desmond smiled. “Good. Now, finish your shower, and I’ll bring you clothes this time. I promise.”

  Desmond had time to bring Marceline clothes, heat up a can of soup in the microwave and clean up the first aid kit before she turned off the shower and moved back into the bedroom. Both of them had calmed considerably. Tomorrow, he’d worry about what he was going to do about Ramson. And after he’d dealt with that, he’d travel up North to meet his daughter. But tonight, he told himself, was all about Marceline.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked her, unsurprised when she shook her head.

  “No, just tired,” she mumbled. One of his t-shirts covered her body down to her thighs and the towel she’d used to dry off with was tangled in a mass on top of her head. “I think I might just try to sleep. Are there still spare blankets in the hall closet?”

  Desmond looked at her in confusion. “Spare blankets? What do you need one for?”

  “To sleep on the couch? I didn’t figure you’d want me in here since...”

  “No. You’re sleeping in here,” he said firmly, shocked she’d even ask such a question. He’d longed to sleep next to her again for years, and wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to share a bed with her again. If he was honest with himself, he hadn’t slept quite right since she’d left him.

  “Are you sure?” she asked. She was met with a withering look as she slowly pulled the towel from her hair and laid down against the pillows. Already, her eyes began to droop.

  “You’ve had a rough day, sweetheart. You need proper rest and you won’t get that out on the couch,” he said, reaching over to the lamp beside the bed and flicking it off. Slowly, he laid beside her and cradled her to his chest with a soft hum, pleased to find she made no attempts to move away or protest.

  “Besides,” he whispered, hugging her closer until his lips rested just above her ear. “I missed you too much to sleep away from you tonight.”

  Marceline giggled softly and pressed her face against his neck, a soft hum falling from her lips.

  “I love you, Desmond.”

  “I love you, too.”

  He waited until he was certain she was asleep against him, before kissing her on the forehead. It wasn’t like him, being so outwardly emotional, but then, the day had been tense and he owed it to himself to love Marceline. After all, there was no promise that Marceline would keep wanting to fix things between them in the morning.

  Chapter 6

  Desmond didn’t know when he had finally drifted off to sleep, but it seemed only seconds had gone by before he jerked awake. At first, he wasn’t sure why. The sky was still dark outside and the clock beside the bed showed it was just past three. Marceline laid curled up beside him, her curly hair splayed out like a mane around her head.

  Slowly, he relaxed beside her again and closed his eyes again, only to tense as a strange smell hit his nose. He stilled completely, not even daring to breathe as he strained to listen around him. Something was wrong.

  Marceline’s deep breathing was distracting beside him and deadened the other soft sounds of the night, yet still he strained until—

  “Say goodnight, Desmond.” The soft shnk of a knife being pulled from its sheath sent adrenaline flooding his system, fueled all the more by the softly whispered statement. His eyes flew open only to stare straight up into Ramson’s cruel green irises.

  He moved—too late—to attack the rival alpha that stood over him, only to feel the cold bite of steel sink into the flesh of his chest.

  “M-Marceline!” he choked out, eyes lightening silver with the danger of Ramson presence.

  “Shut up. She’s mine, Desmond. There is nothing you can do to stop that,” Ramson snarled, turning the knife handle as he bore deeper into the wound he’d created.

  Blood poured from Desmond’s chest and yet his skin still shivered. The clicks and pops of bones reshaping could be heard for a mere handful of seconds until a wolf exploded from Desmond’s body.

  With a thunderous snarl, he charged at Ramson, lunging at his legs, his sides, his hands, anything he could get his jaws around. At one point, he sank his teeth deep into the rival alpha’s calf, but even as a human, the man possessed a strength and agility that he should have.

  With a few sharp shakes, Desmond lost his hold and Ramson bowled him over, a second knife gripped in his hand.

  “Give it up, Desmond,” he sneered, lunging forward with blinding speed that left Desmond with a fresh slash across his snout. He snarled deafeningly but made no move to attack further as his eyes started blurring with blood loss. “Marceline was never yours! She never wanted you! You’re stifling! Uncaring! She h—“

  Three loud cracks of a gun firing cut off his word, and with wide eyes, Ramson looked down at his chest. Blood welled up from three, near perfect, circular wounds until, much like the wound Desmond had suffered, it coated his entire front and dripped to the floor.

  “Don’t speak like you do any better, Ramson.” Marceline murmured, the gun she had threatened Desmond with the morning before was once again gripped firmly between her hands.

  The rival alpha’s eyes flew wide as he stumbled about, turning to face the woman with pure hatred in his gaze until, with a gasp, they rolled back in his skull and he fell face first into the growing puddle of his own blood.

  Marceline shivered as she dropped the gun, tears of fear and anger apparent in her dark brown eyes as she quickly ran to Desmond’s side and with trembling hands, inspected the stab wound on his chest.

  “T-Turn back, baby… Please. W-We,” she sniffled, a look of panic on her face. “We need to get you patched up.”

  Desmond whined, his eyes hazy and distant. For a moment, he didn’t think he had the energy to change back, but one look at the sheer desperation on his mate’s face and he slowly, painfully shifted back into his human form.

  The wound on his chest was deep. Far deeper than anything he’d ever received before and his entire body felt cold. In the growing darkness, though, he was aware of Marceline’s touch as she held him.r />
  “Gauze...” he whispered, forcing his eyes to focus on her perfect face. “Pack the wound with gauze.”

  “I can’t leave you!” Marceline cried, clutching desperately at his hand as tears rolled down her cherub cheeks.

  “Sweetheart, I’ll be ok,” he whispered, a faint smile on his lips. “Pack the wound. Stop the bleeding.”

  He watched as she nodded and smiled. With a shaking hand, he reached up and brushed away a tear on her cheek. She laughed sadly and pressed into his touch, shaking herself, she got to her feet and walked away.

  In the moments she was gone, Desmond had to seriously struggle with himself not to fall asleep.

  “It’s just a little blood loss,” he scolded himself, gritting his teeth. “What’s the big deal?” But, he’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t relieved when his mate returned and began stuffing the stab wound with gauze, as instructed.

  “Son of a…” he swore, alertness gripping him as pain at her prodding rocked through him. A cold sweat had broken out on his skin by the time she was through. Things must not have looked so bad, though, because Marceline smiled and laid down beside him on the blood soaked floor, her hand resting against his bandaged chest gently.

  “I thought you were the one who was going to take care of me,” she teased softly. Her lips pressed lovingly against his side before he could answer, and he sighed, knowing she meant the words to help him feel better.

  Ramson was dead. His pack would scramble to find a new alpha that, hopefully, wasn’t as corrupt by lust as Ramson had. There was nothing left to worry about, except—

  “Marceline?” Desmond whispered softly, his voice hesitant as he forced himself upwards just enough to look at her properly.

  “Desmond what—“

  “I want to meet Therese,” he told her, “Soon.”

  Marceline stared at him with a stunned expression on her face. Her dark eyes were puzzled, scared and excited all in the same instant. For a moment, he worried that her concern about him taking their daughter away from her still haunted her, but then her face softened, and a rock fell off Desmond’s chest. “I’ll call Auntie May tomorrow, see if she can bring Therese,” she told him gently.

  She began to settle at his side again when he called for her again.

  “Marceline?”

  “Yes, Desmond?” she asked, no doubt expecting another glimpse into the soft heart of him, the one that he saved just for her... and, now, their child.

  “Will you marry me?”

  Whatever she was expecting to hear, the look on her face told him that was not it. Her mouth gapped open, and she clearly didn’t know what to say. As she closed it slowly, still silent, he began to fear she would reject him, but then she curled ever closer and rested her head just below the wound she’d taken care to bandage.

  “Of course…” she whispered, tears in her eyes once again and a smile on her lips. “Of course I’ll marry you, Desmond.”

  He smiled and laid his head back down with a sigh, eyes slipping closed. “Good,” he whispered, finally allowing himself to wrap an arm around her and pull her closer.

  “I’m never letting you get away from me again.”

  “Do you promise?” she asked, kissing over his heart.

  “I promise.”

  *****

  THE END

  Bonus Book 5: The Billionaire Wolf's Baby

  By: T.S. Ryder

  Description

  A curvy prude who is always in control PLUS the sexy, rich son of the CIA’s director PLUS a dark family secret hidden in the forest...

  Harrod Ford is a perfectly charming guy, working away on his degree and living a somewhat normal life. Well, as normal as having an oil tycoon for a grandfather and the Director of Central Intelligence Agency for a father allows...

  But life outside the mansion is sheltered, with two vans following Harrod wherever he goes and strict security all around. And life inside the mansion is lonely with only him and his father, who is barely even home.

  A little before his 25th birthday, Harrod starts having strange dreams. As the dreams turn into nightmares, Harrod reaches out for help, only to find more secrets and lies. But his journey into the unknown is just beginning...

  Things pick up the pace when he ends up partnered with a girl he has a huge crush on.

  Siobhan was raised by stern mother, Senator Daphna. Now, she’s a prude who has never had a relationship. She is always in control, as she has always been taught. She keeps a sharp eye on the people around her, knows even the most trivial details about those who surround her and keeps a poker face.

  But all of that begins to change when she ends up partnered with Harrod. Harrod — a rich, stuck-up jerk, according to her.

  But fate has other plans for them, and as their paths cross they find that they have a lot in common. As the secrets unravel and shocking truths surface, what direction will Harrod and Siobhan’s lives take?

  Chapter One - The Sleep Terrors

  Harrod

  I sat in the therapist’s room, staring at the walls. The color was a soothing green. It felt like the place was filled with nature, even though the only signs of it in the room were the two plants: a bonsai tree on the coffee table and a money plant next to the door. I cracked my knuckles again. It was a nervous habit I had recently developed. My mind kept going back to last night’s dream, giving me shivers over and over again. This was unusual for me. Nothing like this had ever happened before. It was almost as if I had hit puberty all over again.

  The therapist knocked on the door and entered the room. She didn’t really need permission; it was her office, after all. She sat behind the desk and focused her attention on me. Her clothes were casual, her manner formal. She pulled out a notepad from her desk, grabbed a pen and then looked at me.

  “Hello,” she finally said.

  “Hello,” I replied.

  “Harrod, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Harrod, I am Dr. Parker.”

  I smiled, too nervous to speak.

  “So,” she began. “What brings you here?”

  “Haven’t you read my file yet?” I asked. My GP had asked me all sorts of questions before sending me here.

  “I have, of course,” she smiled patiently. “But I want you to tell me what’s bothering you.”

  I was sweating profusely. I lifted my arms, revealing the huge spots of moisture that had seeped into my shirt, and said, “This.”

  “Right,” she said. “What we have to do is to get to the root of this. I am going to ask you some questions throughout the session. They may be of a personal nature. You’re free to not answer if you feel uncomfortable, but it would help me greatly if you do. Of course, everything you say will remain between us. I am sure you know about doctor-patient confidentiality.”

  I nodded in agreement.

  “Now, start at the beginning,” she said.

  “Well,” I began. “As far as I remember, everything was fine up until a few days before my 25th birthday. Then I started having these dreams. It was the same dream every time. They have become more frequent now. In the beginning, it was nothing, but every dream progresses a little, showing something the previous dream didn’t. When I wake up, my heart is pounding, hammering in my chest. It feels like I can’t breathe…like I’m having a heart attack.”

  “Was there something unusual in the weeks before all this started?”

  I shook my head, “No.”

  “Were the days preceding all this of any significant to you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Are you in a relationship?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Have you ever been in one?”

  “I was kind of seeing someone, but it ended. That was three or four months before this. We ended things on pleasant terms, so that has nothing to do with it.”

  “What about your sex life?”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer this, but I went on truthfully. “I just jerk off, or hook up with gi
rls I meet at bars.”

  She paused for a moment and cleared her throat.

  “Harrod, what you are experiencing are mild sleep terrors, coupled with panic attacks.”

  “But why is this happening?”

  “Usually, some major change in life, something unexpected, catches your brain off guard. The defense mechanisms fail, or get bypassed, and the brain goes into an emergency mode. The result is what you are experiencing. The changes are always unanticipated, like the death of a loved one, a new job, getting fired from work, marriage, divorce, etc.”

  “Trust me, none of that is the case with me. I saw my breakup coming, we both did. We talked about it, lingered for a while, then let go. Neither of us has any regrets. Plus, I am interested in someone, but it’s too soon to take that into account.”

  “How do you feel about it?” she asked, scribbling something on her notepad.

  “I don’t feel much about it. Like I said, there’s this girl at my university that I am interested in, and we’ll see how it goes. There’s not much to add.”

  “Right,” she said. “How is your relationship with your parents?”