Wild Ride: An M/M Shifter Mpreg Romance Bundle

by Preston Walker

  "How long have you been alpha?" the omega asked.

  "Eight years," he replied, absently.

  "You must have been very young."

  "My father died in an altercation with a human before I had finished my schooling. I was next in line."

  "Oh. I'm sorry. So, you've been running the kingdom alone ever since?"

  "Into the ground, it would seem."

  "I see."

  Alfred whirled to face the omega. "What do you see?"

  "I see why this is so difficult for you."

  "It's not difficult for me! Everyone else might find it difficult to accept, but I was born for this."

  "Were you?"

  "Yes! Literally!"

  The omega shrugged, and Alfred suddenly realized that he didn't know what to call him now.

  "What's your name?" he asked.

  "Oscar Winters," he replied.

  The name sounded familiar. Too familiar.

  "That duke," Alfred said, as his stomach tightened like a lead ball. "What was his name?"

  "Um... I called him Daniel, but his name was... oh God, hold on, let me think... Duke Andrew Elliot."

  Alfred felt the blood rush out of his face.

  "You're certain?" he asked, hoping that the omega had gotten mixed up.

  "Yes, absolutely certain."

  Terror gripped Alfred's heart. This was some kind of sick cosmic joke. It must be his father, punishing him for his indulgences from beyond the grave. The ball had been broadcast. Every kingdom across the globe had access to the personal, private, shifter channel. His pride had, once again, bitten him from behind. Elliot would have seen the proposal. He wouldn't have missed it for the world. And he would have seen Oscar's fiery red hair and big green eyes, the subtle masculinity of his jaw and the shape of his nose, and he would recognize him, dress or no dress. Oscar was far more striking than he gave himself credit for. Anyone who'd ever known him would know who he was... including his mother who kept his child, and his ex-lover; who also happened to be Alfred's worst nightmare.

  "What's wrong?" Oscar asked.

  "Nothing for you to worry about," Alfred said, stiffly. "Stay in your quarters until I say otherwise. Your meals will be brought to you, and your door locked from the outside. Do not attempt to escape. I will be taking the phone and television from this room. You have plenty of books, and if you want anything else at all; paints, writing paper, anything your heart desires, just tell Burges when he brings you your food. He will be the only servant you see. You must not speak to anyone else for the time being."

  "Can... can my aunt and cousin visit me?"

  "No!" Alfred snapped. He took a deep breath, controlling his voice. "I'm sorry, no, I can't allow you to see anyone, not yet."

  "Why not?"

  "The situation has become far more complicated, and I don't have time to explain. Goodnight, omega."

  He unplugged the phone and the television and carried them through the bookcase, closing it behind him. He dumped the things on the floor and raced into the hallway. He turned a key in the lock of Oscar's door and pulled it out, taking it back to his room to slip it onto a bit of silk string. He tied it around his neck, then pushed the call button.

  "Sire?"

  "Burges, my quarters, now."

  "Yes, sire."

  Alfred paced the room. He knew by now that it took Burges exactly two minutes and forty-six seconds to get from his quarters to Alfred's, and Alfred counted the seconds. Two forty-seven. Two forty-eight. At three minutes and eight seconds, Burges finally tapped on the door.

  "Come in."

  "I apologize for the delay, sire. I was in my nightclothes."

  "Yes, yes it's fine Burges. Sit down, I need your help."

  Burges sat at the small breakfast table and waited patiently for Alfred to stop pacing.

  "Burges, I have to tell you something because I need your advice, but it does not leave this room."

  "Yes, sire."

  Alfred paced a few minutes longer, then sat down across from Burges, only to get up again.

  "Burges, I have a problem."

  "It would seem so."

  "My betrothed has a son. An illegitimate son."

  "That is a pickle, your highness."

  "No, that's not the pickle. The pickle is that the father is Duke Andrew Elliot."

  "Oh dear."

  "Yeah. And my betrothed also happens to be male, but a proved breeder, so that shouldn't be a problem, should it?"

  "Some... many of your subjects might take issue with the union, sire."

  "Why?"

  "Tradition, sire. King and queen."

  "So, we'll call him queen."

  "It may be more than they are willing to stomach, sire, especially if said male queen has given birth illegitimately."

  "Illegitimately, yes, but to a member of royalty. A baby who is now in line for the throne."

  "Ah, but not one of yours, sire. If your betrothed is queen, and her child is the Duke's, the Duke could make an argument for alphaship of your kingdom."

  "Would it be valid?"

  "Legally, yes. You would have to face him in the ring in order to maintain your place on the throne."

  "Brennan and now Elliot. God damn it. When will they leave well enough alone?"

  "As alpha, sire, you will be challenged until you prove yourself worthy of the throne."

  "You're the second person tonight to insinuate that I'm not worthy," Alfred growled.

  "Perhaps, sire, it's time for you to consider why."

  "Yes, yes," Alfred grumbled. "That's all I've been doing. You know what I should be doing? I should be in that room, wooing my soon-to-be wife. Then I should be here, organizing a push-back against the humans. What am I doing instead? This. Panicking about Elliot. Panicking about Oscar. Oscar! A man. A breeder, but a man. How is Brennan going to take that? How many times am I going to have to defend my title in the ring?"

  "As many as it takes," Burges said. "As many as it takes."

  Chapter 6

  Oscar slept restlessly, in spite of the luxurious comfort of the royal bed. Deep silence punctuated by strange sounds woke him from frightening dreams and, by the time the sun rose, he was exhausted. He crawled out of bed and dressed, aching for a cup of coffee. A gentle tap on his door answered his prayers.

  "Come in," he said.

  Burges entered, pushing a breakfast cart. Pastries, eggs and sausage steamed aromatically on individual plates, surrounding a piping hot pot of coffee.

  "Thank you so much," Oscar gushed, as he poured the hot liquid into an expensive-looking cup.

  "My pleasure, sir."

  Oscar looked at him sideways. He'd chosen a loose-fitting dress over leggings for his attire, since there were no pants or shirts in the wardrobe, and it surprised him when Burges accurately identified his gender.

  "Apologies, do you prefer miss?"

  "No, not at all. I just wasn't aware that you knew."

  "Yes, sir, his highness takes me into his confidence."

  "I see. Then perhaps you could shed some light on why he suddenly decided to put me on lock down."

  "I'm afraid, sir, that the particulars of your... romantic history... have given the prince reason to worry."

  "The Duke. Why is he worried about the Duke?"

  "I believe you should ask the prince yourself, sir. I am not at liberty to discuss the matter at this time."

  "Oh. Alright."

  "Can I fetch you anything, sir?"

  "No, thank... oh, actually? If you could find me some clothes... specifically underclothes... which fit better. I would appreciate it greatly."

  "Very well, sir. I will return momentarily."

  "Thank you, Mr. Burges."

  "Just 'Burges,' sir."

  "Oh. Sorry. Thank you, Burges."

  "Thank you, sir. Enjoy your breakfast.”

  Burges bowed slightly and backed out of the room, closing the door as he went. Oscar heard the key in the lock and sighed heavily. He was beg
inning to remember the difference between self-isolation and confinement. He never thought he would have to experience the latter again, and yet, here he was. Depression rendered his breakfast tasteless, and he picked at it as he gazed around his gilded prison. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined one wall, filled with more books than he’d ever seen in one place. The rumpled four-poster bed alone was larger than the whole of his attic room back home. It was too big for his comfort, in spite of the curtains which could be pulled close to turn the bed into a cozy, isolated sanctuary. Across from it, the massive, heavy wardrobe stood regally against the wall. The small pink sofa and throne-like chair created a small sitting room slightly to the left, and folding room dividers painted with colorful birds made a dressing room slightly to the right. The large, heavy door to the outside world was recessed in a little alcove, providing a millisecond of privacy if someone were to enter unannounced. The wall opposite the bookcases was cluttered with shelves, drawers, and two desks, all built into the wall. A door in the center led to the bathroom, which contained more waterspouts than his aunt’s entire house combined.

  It was large and interesting enough to hold his attention for a short while. He thought about rifling through the drawers to see if some previous inhabitant had left some mysterious object behind but, seeing as he was indefinitely trapped there, he decided to save that minor adventure for a time when his restlessness got the better of him. For now, he was satisfied with his coffee. He sipped it as he gazed out the wide window, overlooking the grays and greens of the countryside. He used to love the way the country looked in the morning; the golden dew on the deep greens, browns, and grays gave the illusion of magic. He used to walk, imagining that fairies and nymphs had spent the night sprinkling glitter over the rolling hills and jagged stones as they performed their magics to coax the sun back around again. That had been so long ago; back when he still felt innocent and curious, back when his future was still whatever he wanted it to be. Sitting in the quiet, he thought back, back before the prince, before the Duke, before he’d tossed his life away for what he thought was the truest love.

  He’d had so many ideas. He’d wanted to invent things. He’d wanted to be a nurse, or a doctor. He’d wanted to be a painter, a writer, a dancer. He’d had so many passions, but such a short attention span that he’d barely learned the basics of one passion before stumbling across another. That was why he read so voraciously; living out the fully-formed passions of another and discovering how things worked allowed him to live all of the lives that rattled around in his brain, without the trouble of seeking out a road to immortality.

  “Not that there is a road,” he muttered to himself. “Just the one short little life, is all. Only have one life to screw up. And God, have I screwed it up.”

  He sighed despondently and walked over to the bookcases. Many of the books didn’t have titles on their spines, so he chose one at random. The bed was too big and soft to make for comfortable reading, so he curled up on the little pink couch instead, settling into the cushions, resigned to a marathon of loneliness.

  "THE FAMILY NAME IS Winters. There was a son, named Oscar, a mother, and a sister with a child. Find out everything you can about them. Report back daily."

  "As you wish, sire."

  "And you, what's your name?"

  "Caspian, sire."

  "Caspian. Offer your services to the head cook at Garaidh's palace. I want gossip, everything you can come up with, specifically about Duke Elliot."

  "Yes, sire."

  "And do not tell them you come from Nead. Burges has a new identity for you. Find him before you leave."

  "Yes, sire."

  "Excellent. Scouts! We will need to revise our border checks. Daily isn't enough, I want no fewer than eight scouts on the borders at all times. Take shifts, hire as many new scouts as you need. I want to know the second a human crosses our border."

  "What should we do with the humans?"

  "If they enter our territory, scare them out. If they fight, bring them to me. Alive."

  "Yes, sire."

  Each group and individual scuttled away with their orders to prepare for their missions. Alfred leaned heavily on his palms, looking over the map, shifting through his mind. He was missing something. Some detail, just obvious enough to bother the corners of his brain. Increasing border security was a weak first step in combating the ever-spreading humans, but he didn't have enough reason to enlist his people for an all-out war, not yet. He didn't have enough information on the Winters family or the Duke to make a preemptive strike, which was why he was sending his people to check up on the situation. But there was something else, he could feel it fluttering around in his chest, a screaming butterfly in the shadows of his mind.

  "Sire?"

  "What is it, Burges?"

  "Prince Brennan has arrived unexpectedly. He is waiting for you in the drawing room. Shall I send him away?"

  "Brennan! No, I will be down momentarily. Thank you, Burges."

  Burges bowed from the waist and backed out of the room. Brennan, of course! He would be poking around for information. He wouldn't have missed the flurry of activity. Alfred only hoped he could lead his brother to believe that the servants and soldiers were simply preparing for the wedding. He checked his appearance in the mirror before heading downstairs, smoothing his worried brow and pasting on a love-drunk grin. Good enough, he decided. He took his time walking through the halls and down the stairs, as though he were just too spent from heady lovemaking to hurry. He strolled into the drawing room just as Brennan poured himself a drink.

  "Little early for that, isn't it?" Alfred asked.

  "It's never too early to celebrate your brother's happiness," Brennan said.

  His grin didn't reach his eyes, however, and he emptied the glass without bothering to lift it in a celebratory gesture.

  "What can I do for you, Brennan?"

  "I want to talk to your love muffin."

  Alfred chuckled suggestively. "I'm afraid her ladyship is... indisposed at the moment."

  "Well, dispose her."

  "What?"

  "Or whatever. Apologies, your highness, but it is a matter of life and death."

  "Whose?"

  "None of your business."

  "If it has to do with my betrothed, in my house, in my kingdom... why, I fail to see any possible way this could not be my business."

  "Goes to show you aren't the all-knowing alpha you pretend to be, but we both knew that already."

  "Burges will show you the door. Unless, of course, you feel like letting me in on your secret?"

  "God dammit, Alfred! I need to talk to her!"

  "Why her specifically?"

  "Because..." Brennan swallowed another drink as beads of sweat glittered on his brow. "Because rumor has it she's the only one in town who knows anything about this particular problem, and I require her expertise. It's a matter of life and death, man, what more do you need to hear?"

  "Details."

  "I can't give them to you."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I can't, alright? Please, just trust me."

  Alfred laughed.

  "Trust you? Not a chance. I know you, remember? One can't very well do both."

  "Just let me talk to her, in private, for one minute. Just one. Please, what harm could one minute do?"

  Alfred knew exactly how much harm one minute could do, but when he looked into his brother's pleading eyes he did not see deception. He saw desperation. Something had shaken Brennan to his core. Alfred tried to remember the last time he'd seen that look. It must have been years ago, back when they were children. Yes, that was it. When their mother had been injured beyond repair, and was dying. He'd gone into her room to say goodbye, and he'd come out with that look on his face. That had been the last time they had embraced each other in earnest, as brothers. So many years ago now.

  "Wait here," Alfred told him. "I'll bring her down."

  "Thank you."

  Alfred hurried up the sta
irs, his mind whirling with questions. What could a field hand possibly know that would save a life? Alfred groaned and slapped his forehead. Of course, Oscar didn't actually work in the fields. He couldn't possibly do that work without half the town knowing him and his history. He'd lied about that just as he'd lied about everything else. So whose life needed saving, and what did Oscar know? Alfred tapped lightly on the door and turned the key, hoping that Oscar was up, awake, and dressed appropriately. Though if he wasn't, it would back up Alfred's insinuated claim of morning sex, but that particular bit of cover didn't seem important any longer.

  He found Oscar curled up on the couch, sipping coffee and reading a thick, red leather-bound book. He closed the door with a thud, and Oscar jumped, spilling his coffee on the carpet.

  "Your highness! Sorry, I was... what happened?"

  "My brother requires your immediate assistance. He claims you're the only one who can help."

  Oscar's eyes grew wide and he leapt from the couch, pulling on his shoes with frantic haste.

  Chapter 7

  "Where is he?" Oscar asked.

  "Downstairs, I'll take you. Do you know what this is about?"

  "There's only one thing important enough to pull me from my prison as far as I can tell."

  Oscar saw Alfred open his mouth, saw the questions whirling behind his eyes. He ignored it. There wasn't time for questions, not now. He followed Alfred into the drawing room and looked around. He saw no one but Prince Brennan.

  "Where is he?" he demanded.

  Alfred, confused, pointed a regal finger at Brennan, who was looking pale and shaken, but was very obviously not the patient. Alfred backed out of the room and closed the door, leaving Oscar alone with the younger prince.

  "Your highness," Oscar said, briskly. "You wanted to see me?"

  "You know a thing or two of male births?"

  "I do."

  "Multiples?"

  "I delivered a litter of triplets three months ago."