Supernatural Love

  Supernatural Love

  An MPREG Romance

  Troy Hunter

  Contents

  All Rights Reserved

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  1. Felix

  2. Felix

  3. Nate

  4. Felix

  5. Felix

  6. Felix

  7. Felix

  8. Nate

  9. Felix

  10. Felix

  11. Nate

  12. Felix

  13. Felix

  14. Felix

  Epilogue

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  All Rights Reserved

  Published by BUP LLC, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 by Noah Harris

  All registered trademarks in this book are the property of their respective owners.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. All resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Please don't read if you are under eighteen.

  All rights reserved.

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  1

  Felix

  I trudge into my apartment at two in the morning and consider myself lucky it isn’t even later. While Target closes at eleven, the management team insists everyone leave together and that no one leaves until the store is pristine. Due to chronic understaffing, the night shift never gets to leave on time. I flip on the lights and kick my shoes off by the door. My studio apartment is tiny—a kitchen barely large enough to hold a stove, a bathroom the size of a broom closet, and a combined bedroom/living room—but the rent is cheap. The rental office deals with requests and questions promptly and is flexible about when the rent is paid. At least, they work with my fortnightly paychecks, and as long as the rent is paid each month, they don’t worry so much about the when. It’s a fair trade-off for having to live with stained, oatmeal-colored carpet, poor window seals, and somewhat creepy neighbors.

  There’s a groaning lump moving around in my bed. Normally, that would be a reason for concern, but I recognize the sound of that lump. Seconds later, Nate’s messy, dark hair emerges from the blankets, followed by the rest of his face. His blue eyes blink blearily at me.

  I usually don’t mind Nate barging in whenever he wants and acting like he owns the place, but I’ve been so sick and nauseous lately. After my shift, all I really want to do is climb into bed and sleep for a month.

  “What time is it?” he rasps.

  “Two,” I reply.

  Nate groans and rolls onto his stomach, tangling himself in the sheets and inadvertently revealing some truly impressive back muscles. “Thought you got off at eleven, Felix,” he says, running a hand over his face.

  “I was supposed to.”

  Nate scowls. “I keep telling you. When it’s time to go home, you need to insist on going. They can’t hold you hostage in the store.”

  Sure, they can’t hold me hostage, but they can cut my hours. Or fire me. “It’s not that easy,” I say, although I know it isn’t any use arguing with Nate.

  Nate is an alpha, first and foremost. He says what he thinks, when he thinks it, consequences be damned, and because he’s an alpha, people expect that from him. They don’t expect it from omegas like me. Even if I did protest about the hours, at the end of the day, I still need a job. Nate doesn’t. He’s never worked a day in his life, certainly not retail and because of his absurdly wealthy parents, he will never need to.

  Sometimes, I really wish my parents had been able to invest in Microsoft and Wal-Mart before they were even Microsoft and Wal-Mart.

  “It is that easy,” Nate replies. “You say ‘Suck my cock,’ and walk out the door. Throw your name badge at them as you leave, Kitten.”

  I roll my eyes at the pet name. Nate’s been calling me that since we were both ten years old. He’d always been a poor student of Latin and somehow he’d got it into his head that Felix meant cat. It doesn’t, but it’s no use pointing that out to Nate. No amount of pleading, arguments, or passive-aggressive scowls will change his mind now. I will be Kitten until the day I die.

  “It’s just a throwaway job until my jewelry business takes off,” I say, hoping to placate him.

  “But why do you need a throwaway job?” Nate asks. “Why can’t you just come live with me?”

  “And what? Spend the rest of my life mooching off you?”

  “Just until you meet a nice alpha to take care of you,” Nate replies. “One I approve of, obviously.”

  Considering the only luck I’ve had finding an alpha so far involved a string of one-night stands during my last heat, I seriously doubt I’m going to find a nice alpha anytime soon. I don’t really have time for a relationship anyway.

  “Besides,” Nate adds, “Your jewelry business will take off much more quickly if it’s your only priority, and if you have some significant financial backing from your friendly neighborhood millionaire.”

  “I’m not going to mooch off you,” I say. “It wouldn’t be right.”

  “And working forty hours a week for pocket change is right?”

  “Thirty-two. They aren’t letting anyone work forty these days. Want some coffee?”

  “I could support you until your business takes off.”

  He just doesn’t get it. But maybe that’s not really his fault. Nate isn’t used to dealing with problems that can’t be fixed with money.

  “You shouldn’t be drinking coffee at this hour,” Nate says.

  I toss my name badge in his general direction, but my aim is so poor it doesn’t come anywhere close to him. I’m lucky it even landed in the bed. “Suck my cock,” I say, as I walk into the kitchen.

  “No. Use that assertiveness on your manager. Not me!”

  There’s an open bag of Chex Mix on my kitchen counter and I know I didn’t leave it there. “Come and close this,” I say. “I know Eleanor taught you better manners than this.”

  “Why can’t you close it?” Nate asked. “You’re standing right beside it.”

  “Because I didn’t leave it open,” I reply.

  Nate sits upright and gropes around in the sheets. “If you close it, I’ll give you back your name badge.”

  “That’s not a good incentive. Work has spares. Now, get up. If you’re going to raid my fridge, the least you can do is clean up after yourself.”

  Nate grins and makes a huge show of stretching, but he still makes no move to leave my bed.

  “I’m not your maid,” I say.

  “Which one?” Nate asks. “I have five. Do you want one?”

  “No,” I answer. “What I want is for you to respect my apartment and come and close this bag of Chex Mix. Now!”

  Nate gets to his feet and sighs like it takes all the effort in the world. “You’re so mean to me,” he says.

  “If I get bugs, I’m blaming you,” I reply.

  Nate crosses the room and makes a big show of closing the bag of Chex Mix. I shake my head as he returns to bed and plops down on it.

  “See? There is value in hard work,” I say.

/>   “I don’t pick up after myself for just anyone, Felix.”

  That is certainly true. He was a terror as a child. I get a pot of coffee going, because whether Nate wants a cup or not, I do.

  “So when are you off again?” Nate asks.

  “Today.” Thank God.

  Nate brightens. “Great! We can hang out, then. I—”

  “I’m going to sleep all day,” I reply. “Sorry. But I have to do this all again tomorrow.”

  Nate heaves a massive sigh. “I need you to take a week off,” he says.

  I bite the inside of my cheek and tap my fingers on the countertop. I don’t know if I can afford to take a whole week off, especially if it’s just to participate in some borderline illegal scheme of his. Which is more than likely the case. “I don’t know if I can swing that.”

  “You have to. I will wither and die if you can’t come with me.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Don’t you have vacation time?” Nate asks.

  I probably do, but I doubt it’s an entire week’s worth. Still, even if I can’t miss an entire week, I might be able to manage if I just miss a couple of days. Half paid vacation, half unpaid days off.

  “What do you want to do?” I ask.

  “I want you to come look at a house with me.”

  “You’re buying a house?”

  He already has four, properties his parents left when they died. Nate pays for the upkeep of all of them but he only lives in one. It doesn’t make sense for him to buy another house.

  “No,” Nate says. “I’m thinking of filming in it. The university is having a film festival in October, so it would be the perfect time to release a horror film.”

  “The university you’re banned from?” I ask.

  “I’m not banned from Gulf Coast University,” Nate says. “I’m only banned from the chemistry building.”

  “So today’s what? April 18th? You’re going to film this entire thing in six months,” I reply.

  I don’t know anything about making movies but that sounds like an absurdly short amount of time.

  “I didn’t say it would be easy,” Nate points out, “But I know I can do it. I’ve got friends from the university who can help and I’m sure I can probably get more if I take out an ad in News Journal. Assuming the house works out. It looks like it has the right aesthetic and it’s supposedly haunted. I thought it might be fun to wander around the place at night.”

  “You want me to miss a week of work, so I can wander around a musty, old house with you,” I say.

  “No,” Nate replies. “I’m telling you you have to miss a week or two because we’re going to wander around a musty, old house, and I’m willing to bribe—and if necessary, abduct— you in order to get you to comply.”

  “We’re ridiculously understaffed, though—”

  “Hmmm, go to work a retail job where you’re overworked and underappreciated,” Nate says, holding out his hands as if they’re scales and he’s literally weighing the choices, “Or wander around a haunted house with me, stay in a fancy hotel for a week, and have fun. Truly, a difficult choice.”

  “It’s not that simple,” I say. “If I’m not there, my coworkers have to work harder to cover me.”

  “Which isn’t your problem.”

  “But it isn’t fair.”

  “Well, sometimes, life isn’t fair,” Nate says, crossing his arms.

  I sigh, pour a cup of coffee and then drown it in creamer. I love coffee, but only when it’s been appropriately cut with French vanilla and cream.

  “Besides,” Nate continues, “Your coworkers have called out and left you to work harder before, haven’t they? You’d just be getting even.”

  I’m not the sort of person who gets even.

  “And didn’t the assistant manager—Kate or whoever—schedule you as the only person closing half the store? And added to that, didn’t you and your coworkers notice that little oversight an entire week before the shift? An oversight that, by the way, they didn’t bother to fix. I know you don’t want to quit because you’re too proud or whatever, but God,” Nate says. “Take a week for yourself.”

  “For you, you mean. A week for you.”

  “Well, if I happen to be there, that’s even better, isn’t it?” Nate asks.

  I roll my eyes and lean against the counter with my coffee. “Right. I can’t think of a single way I’d rather spend my time than wandering around a creepy, old house.”

  “Scared?” Nate asked. “Don’t worry, Kitten. I’d protect you.”

  “I don’t need you to protect me. Ghosts don’t even exist.”

  “Remember that time when we were teenagers and we went to that haunted maze?”

  I wince. That was admittedly not my best moment. It’d been Halloween, and someone wearing a hockey mask and wielding a chainsaw ran towards me. I’d reacted with tact and grace, nearly running Nate down in my haste to get away.

  “I was thirteen,” I say. “That isn’t fair. If you’re going to pull out receipts, you could at least get them from this decade.”

  “I can’t get receipts that recent because you’re married to your job and never have any free time. Your hair is going white, too, Kitten.”

  “Three hairs hardly constitute going white,” I say.

  I sigh and take a sip of coffee. It feels like lava going down my throat. I definitely should’ve let it cool down. “I need at least two weeks to request time off, and that’s still no guarantee I’ll get it,” I say. “Where is this house?”

  “Jackson, Alabama.”

  I wrinkle my nose. That means a long car ride, too. This trip of his is sounding worse and worse. On the other hand, I do know Nate will work hard to make sure I’m happy and entertained, and aside from quick visits like this, we really haven’t been able to hang out much lately. Between working all hours of the day and night, and going to gem shows to buy cheap stock for my jewelry business, I really haven’t had much time for socializing. Even when I get a day off, it’s usually spent trying to catch up on lost sleep.

  “I’ll put in the request,” I say.

  Nate grins and fist-bumps the air.

  “However, if I don’t get the days off, you’re not allowed to nag me, got it?”

  “Okay,” he replies in a tone indicating that’s exactly what he’ll do if I can’t get those days off.

  “I mean it.”

  Nate grins broadly. “So do I,” he says huskily.

  I plop onto the bed beside him and yawn.

  “It’ll be fun, though,” Nate says. “Super fun!”

  “Mmhm. Now get out, you. I’m going to drink this coffee, so I have the energy to brush my teeth. Then, I’m going to bed.”

  Nate throws an arm around my shoulders and heaves a melodramatic sigh. “If I must,” he drawls. “Get some rest, but I’ll text and remind you to take the days off. I know how forgetful you are.”

  I’m not really forgetful. I just have a hard time refusing people, and because of that, I pretend to overlook things sometimes. I’m the master of last-minute cancellations, and I do feel guilty about that. But I also like light, water, and a roof over my head. Thus, I’m stuck in an endless cycle of never scheduling days off. I commit to things and leave it to chance—and the management team—whether or not I’ll actually go through with them.

  “Whatever,” I say.

  Nate lightly punches my shoulder and climbs off the bed. “Later, Kitten. Remember, ask your work?”

  I don’t even look at him. Instead, I settle into the piles of blankets and pillows. Unusually for him, he closes the door quietly. Nate usually slams doors, but he’s trying to be respectful to my neighbors who don’t have the misfortune of having to be up this early in the morning.

  I take a sip of coffee and switch on the TV. Despite how tired I am, I can never go to sleep right away after a shift like that. I’m too wired up, and any attempt to go to sleep now will just end up with me staring at the ceiling and constantly checking my cellphone
to see how much time has passed.

  There isn’t much on this early in the morning. I settle on re-runs of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. I was a child in the nineties and I hope we didn’t all dress like that. My coffee needs more creamer, but I don’t feel like getting up. Instead, I gaze morosely at it and continue to drink. I’m vaguely envious of Nate’s ability to drink coffee black without his taste buds wanting to shrivel up and die amidst screams of bitter agony.

  This is my day off and it’s sort of distressing to know I’ll spend most of it sleeping. I’m due to work the night shift tomorrow, followed by an early shift. Nate just doesn’t get what it’s like to work for a living. I smile wryly. Someday, my jewelry business will take off and I won’t need to work so hard. Or if I do, I’ll at least be doing something I enjoy.

  I show up for my next shift even though I spent the morning throwing up. I’ve been sick quite a bit lately and I can’t seem to figure out why. I can’t afford to go to a doctor, so I cope with it as best I can. Usually, the sickness passes quickly anyway. It’s probably just bad luck or maybe something I’m allergic to.

  I know I shouldn’t go to work but I also know I can’t afford not to. With the chronic understaffing issue, I expect management would be less than sympathetic. The good of the store comes before the good of…well, me. Still, I manage a smile and greet every coworker I pass as I head back to the fitting room. I realize being able to fake cheerfulness isn’t the best skill to boast about, but I’m proud of my ability to leave my drama at the door. I can be happy at work even if I really don’t want to be here.

  I know it’s a job and I should be grateful. Most of the time I am, but when you’re working it’s hard. It’s a throwaway job. Just until I can get into what I really want to do.