Gay Romance: The Dragon Omega's Baby Plan (MM Gay Mpreg Surrogate Romance)(Dragon Shifter Paranormal Short Stories)

by J. R Fox

  For Edhel, the courage to stop letting himself be pushed around by forces that didn’t have his best interests at heart were a nice bonus, too. As was getting to keep Wolfric, who he wouldn’t give up for anything.

  The protective, possessive instincts he’d acquired due to the spell had never faded, but he thought now that they were just a part of his personality. None of his other patients reported a dramatic shift in the way they behaved as a result of the process. Edhel had just never known what it was like to be in love before, and been thrown by how quickly it’d happened.

  “You should nap until supper. I’ll wake you when it’s time to eat.”

  “I love it when you say such sweet things to me. Can I keep the baby?” Edhel opened his eyes to look at Wolfric.

  “I don’t think he’d have it any other way.” Wolfric laughed. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” Edhel murmured, already on his way to sleep.

  The End

  Bonus story 2 - Fire For Ice

  MM Dragon Shifter Romance

  Chapter One

  Chris had never flown on a plane before. Maybe that was why he’d kept his ticket in his hand the whole time, crumpled up between his sweaty fingers even as the screen showed that his flight had been delayed for another half hour. He had a place in his bag to put it, an empty pocket that’d keep it pressed clean until he needed to pull out and show it to the stewards, but an odd fear in the back of his head kept him from storing it away.

  He was flying to Norway, to study at his college’s sister school in the capitol. The University of Oslo, it was called, and if the posters and brochures that his college had been throwing at the student body all year were anything to go by, it was beautiful.

  Still, even with the tempting images of snowcapped mountains set against crystal lakes and videos of the northern lights, Chris had heard that only a handful of students were set to study abroad in the winter quarter. Understandable, as Norway’s weather would be harshest then, though for Chris, the idea of a smaller group of peers was a bit of a highlight. He’d never been good at making friends in the best of circumstances, but he would be lying if he said that a smaller crowd didn’t make the fear of talking to strangers a bit more manageable.

  Chris had long ago accepted that his nervousness was his biggest flaw, though his father had never pushed him to make friends, or even to go outside, for that matter. Chris chalked it up to his dad being a cautious man, pale and spindly in his old age, yet Chris could definitely remember him younger; healthier.

  Happy.

  Chris’ father didn’t have any friends either, and without the odd relative to shed some insight, Chris could only guess that his father had regressed into himself after the death of his mother. Not that Chris remembered her – he’d never even known her. She’d died giving birth to him, something that Chris had discovered one night after sitting up in the attic, looking over old photographs. His parents had been all smiles and laughter up until the last picture of his mother, angry and blushing as someone – probably his father – had taken a photo of her in a wheelchair at the hospital. After that, the only family photos were of his father, beaten and depressed with a baby in his arms.

  “Your mother died giving birth to you,” his father had admitted when Chris confronted him. “It was you or her, and she chose you.” He’d rambled on about how small his mother had been, and how they should’ve known that her body couldn’t handle it. Like it was her fault, or something.

  Which made Chris wonder, sometimes, if it had actually been his.

  Childbirth had complications, and as a twenty-two year old who had spent his fair share of time pouring over medical books, he knew that. But sometimes the complications that arose only came up because of the baby rather than the pregnancy in general, a thought that’d kept Chris up for more nights than he would have ever cared to admit. He’d considered just asking his father outright, or maybe even contacting the hospital to see if they had anything on record.

  But Chris was a coward, and so he had never gotten a clear answer, just like he’d never received an invitation to a classmate’s birthday party.

  “Flight two-fifty, flight two-fifty is now boarding,” a voice boomed out overhead. Chris scrambled to stand up, his ticket in one hand and his carryon in the other, when a woman tripped into him.

  “Ouch!” she hissed as her heel snapped, her outburst quickly morphing into a gasp as her coffee sloshed onto Chris. “Oh my god!” she straightened, and it was all that Chris could do to help her stand, his body suddenly breaking out in a harsh sweat. He hated it, being so nervous all the time with people. It wasn’t even a normal sort of nervous, like the butterflies in the stomach that he’d heard girls talk about. And sure, the woman freaking out over the coffee stain was pretty, but Chris had never been into women, and he still couldn’t manage anything other than a small smile at her.

  “Did I—did you have any electronics?” she asked, glancing worriedly between him and his bag that most of the coffee had spilled onto. “In your carryon?”

  Chris found his voice at her panic and shook his head. “No ma’am,” he said, waving her off with the hand holding his ticket. “Just a few books, but they’ll dry.”

  “Well,” she said, glancing around. Suddenly, she stopped, and pointed. “There’s a bathroom over there, if you want—”

  “Ah, actually,” he blushed, and he swallowed miserably in the knowledge that it was obvious on his pale skin, no doubt lighting up the freckles that spanned over his nose to both cheeks again. “My flight is boarding. But I appreciate it,” he added, hoping that his thick Georgia accent would hide his slow speech. He just never knew what to say, and speaking like that had always helped him get his thoughts in order.

  “Of course, of course,” she nodded. “Sorry again,” she said sadly.

  “No problem,” he smiled. “My ticket is dry, so I’m good to go.”

  “Flight two-fifty!” the speakers called again.

  “Ah!” he said, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “That’s me. Thanks again,” he waved, taking off toward his gate. Joining the line, he silently congratulated himself on a somewhat normal interaction. Now all he had to do was speak in complete sentences to the lady checking the tickets against the passports, and he’d be golden.

  Chris hadn’t counted on turbulence. He sat in his chair with both hands latched onto the armrests in a knuckle-white grip, his head pressed back against the cushion and his feet planted firmly on the shaky ground.

  He felt like he’d been trapped on the world’s worst roller coaster, and there was no way off.

  “Sir,” a steward said, bending down over his trolley to blink at Chris’ sweaty face. “Would you like some complimentary wine?”

  “Uh,” Chris said intelligently, licking his dry lips. At twenty-two, he wasn’t much of a drinker, but he had to wonder if the alcohol would help. “Sure,” he said, removing a shaky hand to reach for one of the plastic prepackaged wine glasses. The steward picked it up for him, moving it within his reach. “Thanks,” Chris grinned nervously, but a sudden jump in the plane made his hand shooting back to the armrest, the glass stem just barely clutched between his fingers.

  “No problem, sir,” the steward smiled sympathetically before wheeling away.

  Chris waited until he’d left to close his eyes again, doing his best to block out the unstable world around him.

  He tried to focus on family instead, and how this trip would make him the first one to go overseas. He had also been the first one to go to college, at least that’s what his dad had told him, anyway. It’d surprised Chris to learn that his father had never held a degree, especially since the man worked at the local library where Ms. Hidgens would so proudly proclaim that her own degree made her a Media Specialist, and that she should be addressed as such. Chris had always just assumed that his dad was one too, but was simply less pompous about it.

  College had been a good change for him, for a while. In his sma
ll town, Chris hadn’t ever made any friends, and he’d hoped that a new town would offer new people to connect with. Only, he’d learned too late that friends were made outside of class rather than in the classroom, and now he was halfway through his senior year with the half-baked determination to give it one last try.

  He could still remember when he’d told his dad about the study abroad program.

  “Norway?” his father had asked, staring down helplessly at the pamphlet that Chris had handed him, frowning at it like it was written in a foreign language.

  “My scholarship covers it,” Chris had promised. He’d already checked with five different counselors. “And it won’t be till next quarter, when I’ll only have the electives left to knock out. Plenty of time to get a passport.”

  “But,” his father had frowned. “Won’t you be too busy? Your senior thesis—”

  “Undergrads don’t write a thesis, dad,” Chris had explained. “Trust me, it’s Norway. I’ll have time for this.”

  Chris hadn’t needed his father’s permission, but just like with everything else that he’d ever done, he had wanted his approval. And his father had given it, if a little hesitantly.

  And now, as Chris checked the interactive map on the seat-back television and watched the cartoon rendition of his plane leaving North America, he could say that he’d had it when he had crossed the Atlantic Ocean.

  Chris awoke with a start, an electronic ding going off every few seconds as the pilot talked on the main speakers.

  “Buckle up, folks, we are coming in for a landing,” he ordered. “Please listen to your steward for further instructions.”

  Chris didn’t pay much attention to them, not when he was yawning and stretching himself awake against a seatbelt that’d wrinkled his shirt while he’d slept. Scrubbing his face with a hand, he could only imagine what his red hair looked like. It was wild on a good day, but after being pushed up against a chair back for a few hours? He could only imagine.

  The plane landed rather smoothly, or maybe it just felt that way after experiencing hours of uncontrollable turbulence. Either way, they were allowed to leave the plane within minutes, and if standing hadn’t finished waking Chris up, the sour smell of coffee that wafted up to him when he grabbed his carryon certainly did.

  He followed the crowd to customs, surprised and perplexed at the three different lines for passports. Taking a moment to decipher between then, he quickly made his way into the one that accepted passports from the United States and did his best to stay out of everyone else’s way.

  By the time he got to the front of the line, he saw that there were three possible clerks that he’d be sent to. One was a tall blonde woman with a soft smile, the other an annoyed brunette, and the last—

  “Next!”

  The last was an obese man with an angry expression.

  Chris hurried forward, his body breaking out in a sweat as he quickly handed over his passport. The man snatched it up, opening it to the page of Chris’ personal information with a glance to confirm that Chris matched his photo.

  “Why are you here?” he asked gruffly, grabbing a pencil as he jotted something down.

  Chris licked his lips, “School.”

  The man raised an eyebrow, but still did not look up. “For how long?”

  “Uh, a quarter. Ten weeks.”

  When the man just snorted, still writing, Chris took a glance past the desks. A giant sign caught his eye over the escalators, proclaiming in English, “Welcome to Norway!” It reminded him of the huge American banner that he’d seen when he was leaving the states, saying, “Welcome to America!”

  “Here,” the clerk said, shoving Chris’ passport back into his hands. “Welcome to Norway,” he said, waving for Chris to get moving already.

  Somehow, Chris found that he liked the banner’s silent welcome better.

  Chapter Two

  As it turned out, a handful of students meant thirteen, and Chris was the official number eight. He wouldn’t have known, except for the student ambassador handing out nametags with their numbers on them.

  “Welcome!” she proclaimed happily. “I hope no one has any horror stories about their flights?” She asked, her English perfect. It wasn’t so surprising, then, when someone asked about her accent and she revealed that she was American, just like them. “State of Virginia, born and raised,” she smiled. Her name was Mary, and she was earning her Master’s while doubling as a teacher’s assistant. “It’s how I got roped into meeting you lot at…” she glanced at her watch, feigning horror. “Eight frickin a.m., Jesus,” she said, slapping a hand to her cheek.

  “You’re telling us,” a boy, Jimmy, spoke up.

  “Yeah, well,” Mary sighed. “Professor Holt will be here within the hour after the last plane is due to touch down, so pick a seat and get comfy.”

  Chris didn’t make a move toward the benches and let the girls get them instead while he leaned up against a wall and stuck his hands in his pockets. He was sweating madly again, and the last thing he wanted was for one of his new classmates to notice.

  “All right,” Mary clapped her hands together, moving to stand in the middle of the crowd of students. “How about we all introduce ourselves? I’ve already started, so you,” she said, pointing to a kid on the ground. “You’re next.”

  “Pssh, okay,” the kid shrugged. He was wearing a letterman jacket in red and gold colors, a far cry from their university’s own green and silver. Chris wondered if it was from the kid’s high school. “Name’s Aiden,” he said, winking at the ladies. “I’m a freshman.”

  “And your major?” Mary prompted.

  “Undecided,” the kid shrugged again.

  “Yeah, I’ve been there,” Mary nodded wistfully. “And you?” she asked the girl sitting on Aiden’s left.

  “Oh, um, I’m Katie,” she said shyly, her fingers threaded together in her lap. “Sophomore, English major.”

  And so it went. Chris tried his best to pay attention, really, but he’d never been good with names, and he was all too content to momentarily nod along with each student rather than actually commit what they were saying to memory.

  And then, all too suddenly, it was his turn.

  “Uh, hi, I’m Chris,” he said, pointing to his own name tag. A girl laughed, but not unkindly. “I’m a senior,” he added, well aware that he was the only senior among them. “A history major.”

  “Ooh, what kind of history?” Mary smiled, urging him on.

  “Uh,” Chris blushed in spite of himself. “Medieval studies.”

  “Ah, so I bet you could tell me a whole bunch of tales about brave knights and daring deeds, right?” Mary winked.

  Chris wanted to respond in the same happy tone. He wanted to make a witty reply about chivalry and how most knights could’ve cared less, or about Lancelot and King Arthur. He wanted to reference the Canterbury Tales and prove that he had earned his senior status through all-nighters spent studying and impress the lot of them with his wealth of knowledge. But most of all he wanted to wink back, and be part of an inside joke.

  But he was nervous.

  “Something like that,” he said softly, rubbing the back of his neck as he hunched in on himself and stared at the ground. He wondered if Mary had heard him as she stood there, apparently still waiting for a reply, when she suddenly frowned and dug a hand into her pocket.

  “Ah!” she said, hastily answering the phone that she’d pulled out. “Professor? Oh. Got it, we’ll be right out.” Hanging up, she smiled at the students before her. “Okay people, Professor Holt is outside blocking traffic for us, so it is time to move!”

  Chris knew that it was snowing before he’d even stepped through the airport’s sliding doors. The smell of frost was thick in the air, and every breath taken closer to the automatic doorway had his nose tingling from the cold.

  Snow, deeper than he’d ever seen it, literally crunched under his feet as he stepped outside, and he felt an odd sort of satisfaction from the way t
hat his shoes sunk into the ground with every step. Mary yelled at them to be careful and mind the ice on the road, but Chris wasn’t worried.

  “Let’s go, let’s go! Give me your bags, and get yourselves on the bus!” Mary called, her back bent as she threw the luggage into the outer compartment. Chris frowned as she struggled with an especially large leather duffel bag, and he set his suitcase down with the others to help her lift it. “Thanks,” she breathed, and they worked together to toss it inside. He started handing her others, but she shook her head and pointed to the rest of the students filing up the bus. “Get inside,” she said sternly, her attention already back on the pile of luggage.

  Chris was too shy to disagree.

  Stepping behind Jimmy to follow everyone else up onto the bus, he gripped the metal railing as he trudged up the steps and turned to face one of his biggest fears.

  Where to sit in a crowded space.

  Luckily, thirteen students made for plenty of empty seats, especially since a few of them were sitting together and already becoming fast friends. It made Chris sad to see more than half of them already talking amongst themselves, and he sat down with a pathetic pit in his stomach in the closest empty seat.

  It only took another minute or so before Mary came marching up those steps herself, her breathing shallow from the workout that she’d just put herself through.

  “I counted thirteen bags,” she huffed. “We’re good,” she gave the bus driver a thumb’s up.

  “Wonderful,” a voice said dryly, and it had definitely not come from the driver’s seat. Chris jerked his head up to look, surprised to find a tall man in black relaxing against the driver’s dash, hidden and out of the way from where he was pressed up behind the open bus doors.

  “Hey,” Mary said, stepping past Chris. “Thanks for the help, kid.”