Taming The Alpha: A Wolf Shifter Mpreg Romance (Savage Love Book 3)

by Preston Walker

  And really, he was pleased to be there in the memorial park. He couldn’t remember the last time he visited, which meant it must have been years and years ago before the two opposing motorcycle gangs had even formed, so it was like he was seeing the place for the very first time.

  There had been a meeting and a fight between the packs before, in this location, but Ulysses hadn’t been there when it happened. He had been at home, sleeping off the effects of a wild party from the night before.

  Though it had been quite some time since the fight, the area still showed much in the way of wear and tear. Thought well-maintained and diligently mowed, the shorn grass still showed patches that had yet to grow in properly. Some of the trees had broken limbs which had not grown back to their former glory.

  Yet, despite the remaining flaws, the park was a beautiful and quiet place surrounded by stands of trees that helped to block out the views and sounds of the city. Squirrels bounded close to the trails, curious and unafraid of these signs of human habitation. Sparrows and wrens and all manner of tiny, cheerful little birds cluttered the tree branches, twittering and chirping to the arrival of early evening.

  Ulysses and Robbie walked a few of the trails and then made their way to the part of the park that touched the ocean.

  When sunset came, they watched together, and Ulysses wondered how he could have ever lived without experiencing this before. To watch the sunset with someone he newly cherished was to see all the sunsets his life contained, stretching out before him. What would each day bring? What would he reflect upon each night, looking back at the events of the hours before?

  In general, he was not the kind of man to have such romantic and fanciful thoughts. That was just what being with Robbie did to him.

  Thought they didn’t have sex on the beach, with the colors of the sunset shading their skin, though they only kissed and caressed and petted, Ulysses went home that night feeling like he’d had one orgasm after another. He was content.

  His soul was content.

  Until the next morning, when he went into work, and found Wheeler waiting for him just inside the front door.

  Ulysses paused, still holding the door with one hand as he regarded his boss. Wheeler could have been standing there for any reason whatsoever, yet he knew that it was himself who was being waited upon, anticipated, and not in a good manner. Wheeler’s expression was somber and mask-like, revealing nothing of what he might be feeling on the inside.

  “What’s up?” Ulysses asked, feeling like he had been having to give voice to that question a little too often over the course of the past day. “Am I in trouble?”

  He said the second part teasingly, lightly, but the look on Wheeler’s face left no doubt in his mind that he must have done something wrong at some point. All he could think of was that perhaps the crazy guy from yesterday must have been right about… something. He could think of nothing else that might cause such cold behavior in his normally friendly boss.

  “Let’s talk in my office,” Wheeler said. Without waiting for an answer, or giving Ulysses a chance to ask what this was about, Wheeler turned around and marched towards the back of the shop. His office was right before the break room. Despite the close proximity of the two areas, it was virtually impossible to eavesdrop on Wheeler in his office. The walls and door were more or less soundproof.

  His heart fluttering, his stomach churning with nerves, Ulysses followed his boss back to his office.

  Wheeler shut the door behind them, though he didn’t lock it. That, at least, was somewhat of a good sign. He didn’t expect this conversation to be long enough to have to take that precaution of locking up.

  No one was allowed to be here in this office without the boss present. Even though Ulysses was worried and more than a little intimidated by this behavior coming from his boss, he couldn’t help but to look around while waiting for the conversation to begin.

  Really, it wasn’t an office so much as it was a closet that had been made to look like an office. The space was square and cramped, every available inch taken up by calendars, reminders, various awards hung on the walls, cabinets and safes and an enormous desk that must have been assembled in this very room because there was no way it would have fit through the door no matter how it was twisted or turned.

  Stacks of papers and folders covered every available surface, most of which were opened and looked to be in a state of near completion.

  And there were more things, forms and such that Ulysses could not name.

  Wheeler cleared his throat, bringing Ulysses’ attention back to him. “It has come to my attention,” he said, “that you spoke to a dissatisfied customer of ours and recommended that he come see me.”

  “Well, yeah,” Ulysses said. It was the first time he had done any such thing for as long as he had been working here, because there had never really been a situation he couldn’t handle on his own. This time, he just hadn’t had enough information to do anything. “Aren’t you proud of me? Grade A customer service, right?”

  “You used my name.”

  This was such an odd statement that Ulysses had no idea what he was supposed to do with it. Now there was dread in his stomach as well as nervousness, tingles of warning that perhaps this situation was even more unfathomable than he originally thought. He couldn’t follow any of this.

  Wheeler must have grown tired of waiting for a response because he said, “Next time, don’t use my name.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a matter of protection,” Wheeler said, which Ulysses didn’t understand at all. His boss sighed, probably seeing his confusion. “That man was clearly out of his mind. He didn’t know you from Adam, and he probably had no idea what he even agreed to do with his van.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Ulysses replied quickly, glad to be on the same page where something made sense. “But then, why shouldn’t I refer him to you so all of this can be sorted out? You did get it sorted out, right?”

  ‘Of course, I did. The thing is, there’s a better way to handle this. Next time, just tell the customer that they can speak to the person with whom they made the deal. No names. Do you understand?”

  “No.”

  “What if this customer went to the media, or started posting online that Wheeler of Wheeler’s Repairs had his car stolen, instead of coming to me to have it sorted out properly? Maybe nothing would have happened, or maybe the accusations would permanently have harmed out business. After all I have done for this shop, and after all the positive reviews you have been bringing in, I would hate to see that happen.”

  While that sounded like a reasonable-enough explanation, Ulysses couldn’t escape the impression that something was still off about all this. Wheeler was acting weird about something that had clearly turned out not to be all that big of a deal.

  Then again, what do I know about running a company?

  He would have to ask Robbie if all of this made any sense. The omega would know better than he did.

  “That’s all,” Wheeler said, suddenly cheerful. He sounded much more like himself now but it was almost as if something lingered just underneath his facial features, like he was a puppet being controlled rather than a real man. “No harm done, as long as you remember that for the future, okay?”

  “Right,” Ulysses said.

  Wheeler opened the door for him and shooed him out, and Ulysses went to work as if everything was completely fine and dandy. Yet, where before he had been filled with thoughts of Robbie, now he was filled with concern and suspicion. Something was wrong and he had no idea what it was, or how anything connected.

  Should have asked about those parts in the corner, he thought. And then he dismissed the notion. No need to go antagonizing the boss about something so insignificant.

  10

  The daycare hummed with activity, as it did day in and day out, every single week. Even during the holidays, Robbie kept one of the locations open for a few hours just in case a parent might need time to finish up w
ith work on Thanksgiving or Christmas day. Workers during those time were strictly those who volunteered for it, because he would hate to rob someone of precious time spent doing something they had been looking forward to all year.

  But, right now, Christmas still a ways away and the activity was about normal. Everyone was coloring, some of them sprawled out on the floor surrounded by loose crayons, or drawing primly at one of the little tables. Caregivers circulated the room, giving praise, picking up fallen crayons, moving juice boxes and snacks out of the way so an errant elbow wouldn’t create a mess. Noses were wiped and gentle reprimands were given whenever someone got a little out of hand, as young children are wont to do when doing even the most mundane of things.

  Some of the older children had taken it upon themselves to act as little caregivers, guiding their smaller peers. Sometimes this went over quite well. Accidents were avoided, rapports were built.

  Other times, an argument might break out and an adult would have to dash in to solve the problem.

  Watching from the doorway, Robbie observed one such argument starting to develop. Despite their skills for mimicry, children often lacked finesse with actions and words. A 7-year-old girl in pigtails, named Precious of all things, was attempting to help a boy half her age develop his coloring skills by telling him whenever he was going outside the lines. Precious’s own drawing was neat and unimaginative and generally perfect, the epitome of what a little girl will draw when asked to put crayon to paper. Blue sky, a yellow sun with lines for rays, a house and a green lawn and a single rounded tree.

  She was a well-meant child, but she was getting frustrated with the boy, just as much as he was growing annoyed with her. He wanted to do his own thing, didn’t understand why he couldn’t have a purple sky and blue grass and a green sun if it was what he wanted to do. Voices were rising. Both children seemed on the verge of tears, which was something Robbie could relate to, remembering how he couldn’t help but cry when he was angry.

  Before a true argument could break out, one of the caregivers noticed the brewing storm and hurried over to intervene. Robbie watched her go. She was 17 and could only work two days each week, but she had apparently been watching after younger kids since she was hardly out of diapers herself. She came with a slew of recommendations and had proven herself to be just as skilled as anyone twice her age.

  While he watched, she quickly and efficiently calmed the kids down and got them back to work.

  When everything was as it should be, Robbie made his move and entered into the room. His daycare had several rooms inside, and this one was for quiet activities. It was honestly one of his favorite places to be, with a number of shelves around the walls offering a variety of fun things to do, from coloring to reading to putting puzzles together. He was never happier than when he was watching a child make a discovery, figuring out their potential. They could make a pretty picture. They could figure out what that tough word was. They could solve the problem.

  They could make something happen.

  Nothing was better than that, and it was a huge part of the reason why he couldn’t wait to have his own child someday. He would have a front row seat to all the discoveries his son or daughter made about who they were as a person, and as a wolf.

  As he circled the room, children started to notice his presence. Their eyes lit up and they stopped what they were doing to wave at him. A chorus of little voices rang out.

  “Mr. Roly Poly!”

  There were only two ways to acquire a nickname. The first way was to spontaneously call someone something and to have it stick fast.

  The second way was more convoluted, involving a series of changes and adaptations until a final consensus was reached.

  The latter way was how Robbie had come to be called Mr. Roly Poly by the kids. It all started when he was a freshman in college and there had been a substitute professor, who had been calling for Robbie for one reason or another.

  Robbie had requested to be called “Robbie” instead of “Robert” so the original professor must have written that down somewhere.

  The substitute tried to call out, “Robbie Olson,” but ended up blurring the two into a singular “Rollie.”

  Over time, Rollie became Roly. Shortly after, Roly Poly, like the little pill bugs which are capable of curling themselves up when threatened.

  He even made a cartoon version of a pillbug his mascot, which was sees as a big risk by his friends. Most of his friends were humans, and possessed a human’s learned dislike for insects. If he had to use a bug, why not a cute one like a caterpillar or butterfly, or even a ladybug?

  And if he was going to use a gross pill bug, why not something even more disgusting like a snake?

  It was strange logic humans had sometimes.

  Robbie stuck to his guns and at one point even had a tank of pill bugs in the quiet activity room. The kids loved the little bugs; upon learning that the funny act of rolling up tight was actually a sign of fear, they lost interest in teasing the animals and instead took joy in watching them scurry and burrow around.

  Then, one fateful night in the middle of one of the coldest Florida winters in modern records, the power had gone out. The power company said the failure lasted no more than an hour but by then, the damage was done. The heater over the bugs’ enclosure went off and the poor things froze to death almost immediately.

  Robert made up a story about how the bugs had escaped, removed the tank, and that was the end of the daycare pets. The likelihood of something like this happening again was very low but he wasn’t going to take the chance. It was faux roly polies from then on.

  And, of course, there was always himself, Mr. Roly Poly. Even the ones who were too young to remember the pill bug tank, or just hadn’t been around, still called him that.

  “Hi everyone,” he said, keeping his voice happy but very low. This was, after all, the quiet room. “Don’t mind me. I’m just a little mouse.” Bending forward, he brought his arms up in front of him in an exaggerated sneaking position.

  Once the kids had settled down and had more or less forgotten about him, he started a slow circuit of the room. He made sure to stop by to talk with everyone, asking them how they were or what they were drawing. That second question usually led to a guessing game, where he was supposed to figure out what these apparently meaningless lines were. Luckily, he had had a lot of experience by now with deciphering children’s drawings and he had little difficulty with these.

  And then he came to a five-year-old girl named Sammy, who had a bad habit of sucking on her thumb that her parents were trying to break.

  “How are you doing today, Sammy?” he asked, leaning over her.

  Sammy looked up at him with bright, intelligent eyes and smiled just as wide as her mouth could stretch. “Mr. Roly Poly, you got fat!”

  Oh, wow. How do I respond to that?

  Even while he was thinking, his mouth was speaking for him. Rule number one in childcare, the very first thing he had learned in the first college course he had ever taken: Don’t let kids get the upper hand because they will ruin everything. At the time he thought it was malarkey but now he knew better.

  In the rare occasion that he was thrown for a loop, he reacted on instinct.

  Like right now.

  “That’s so I can hibernate in the winter, like a bear. Remember that story we read about why bears eat so much?”

  “You’re not a bear,” Sammy said smartly. “You’re just chubby! Like my mama before she threw up my sister.”

  Because he was still floundering, he wasn’t able to think of another response. Defeated, he said, “What?”

  “At the hospital.” Clearly considering their conversation to be over, Sammy returned to her drawing and started scribbling once more. Almost as an afterthought, she added, “I’m glad I don’t make babies when I puke.”

  “That’s not a very nice word to say,” someone said, coming over to lightly scold Sammy. “And neither is fat. You should apologize to Mr. Olso
n, Sammy.”

  Robbie recognized the voice as belonging to the first person he had hired, his most trusted caregiver who also often acted as his personal assistant and secretary when it was called for. He trusted Aaliyah in a way he trusted few others, mostly because she would tell her exact thoughts when asked.

  “Out of the mouths of babes, right?” he said, trying to make a joke of it.

  Sammy frowned at him, probably upset at being labeled a baby, but she dutifully apologized and then went back to her work.

  Robbie went on around the rest of the room, greeting children, making his presence known to them and treating each one as if they were the most special person on the entire planet. Nothing else was said about him being fat, or even chubby, but now he’d had it put out in front of him, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  Shifters very rarely became what a human would call “fat.” Their metabolisms were typically much higher than that of an average human, the expedited process of breaking down and absorbing nutrients probably playing a huge role in their ability to heal. As a result, most shifters were big eaters and never gained a pound of fat from it unless they really, really tried hard at it.

  There were those who were wider, huskier, but even they seemed to carry their extra weight in an even manner. No flabby arms, no love handles, no rounded tummies that bulged over the tops of their belts.

  It had only been a week since he last saw these kids, having spent that time at his other daycare. Was it possible, in that time, he had gained weight? He wasn’t sure how he would have done so or where he might have put it, since he felt more or less the same as always. He wasn’t aware of any extra tiredness, so slowness, no bumping into things because he thought he was thinner than he was.