Kraken under pressure, p.1
Kraken Under Pressure, page 1
Kraken Under Pressure
M.J. Marstens
Copyright © 2022 by MJ Marstens.
All rights reserved.
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.
Cover: Kadee Brianna at Everly Yours Cover Designs
Formatting: A.J. Macey at Inked Imagination Author Services
BLURB
Shifters. Mates. Sadistic bad guys.
When did my life become make-believe?
And all because I tried to stop being a sex addict, but thank my lucky dildos I am. Otherwise, I never would've met the men of my dreams. Or he friends ever (the sweetest titmouse and loveliest booby ever), but some major *sshats are trying to tear my world apart.
Namely, Dean Stiffd*ck and Dr. F*ckstick.
But I won't let them hurt my loved ones, and now that I'm a mom, I'm not letting these wankers destroy everything that I hold dear.
I'm Belle Harper, and they messed with the wrong ho.
WARNING
Kraken Under Pressure is book three in Shifters Anonymous. This reverse harem novel contains language and content for readers 18+, including an FF scene and the mention of child-loss.
DEDICATION
For all the ladies in the streets but freaks in the sheets.
Belle wishes she could be classier like you, but once a nympho, always a nympho.
Contents
1. JUDE
2. BELLE
3. BELLE
4. ARTHUR
5. BELLE
6. BELLE
7. JACK
8. BELLE
9. SIAN
10. THEO
11. BELLE
12. BELLE
13. ARTHUR
14. BELLE
15. BELLE
16. JUDE
17. BELLE
18. SIAN
19. JACK
20. BELLE
21. BELLE
22. THEO
23. BELLE
24. BELLE
25. JUDE
26. BELLE
27. SIAN
28. ARTHUR
29. BELLE
30. BELLE
31. JACK
32. BELLE
33. BELLE
34. THEO
35. BELLE
36. BELLE
37. EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT M.J.
Chapter one
JUDE
“Doctor, we're losing her!”
I double down on my concentration, intent on my task of saving the woman's life—as well as her babies. The nurse repeats her announcement in a second shout, making me scowl under my face mask. As if I need the reminder. I don't. Everything is on a precarious perch. The balance can tip one way or another—for better or for worse—depending on what I do next.
A tiny incision here—a flash of Belle’s vibrant hair.
An incision there—a flicker of the dead human woman's face.
I growl low under my breath, squinting my eyes hard to snap them back into focus. I thought the task at hand would drive every other thought from me, as well as all feelings and emotions. Instead, it's only heightened them. Danger presses in on me on all sides with every passing second as I come closer to losing another life. Tears sting my eyes, and I quickly blink them away, working furiously.
I couldn't save Belle, but I'll be damned if I don't save this human woman.
Finally, at long last, I pull the baby from the woman and pass it to a nurse—a nurse who is not a shifter and has been warned, but nearly drops the creature in horror. I barely give the furry newborn a cursory glance. I can contend with what it is later. Who knows what the Dean and his scientist have concocted. I have two other women who need my attention.
Hour after grueling hour, I do the exact same procedures until, one by one, the last three monstrous babies are delivered. I wipe the sweat from my brow, offering a prayer of thanks to the Gods of Emergency Surgery. Although attended by a barrage of nurses, I personally make sure all three women are in recovery. When I’m assured all are resting and well, I check on the woman who had the three-headed dog.
Cerberus, as Belle named him.
I’m beyond knackered, but trudge down the hall to her room, intent on seeing her. My mind needs verification that she’s alright before I pass out. Little Gryff's mum passed, creating an ache in my heart for her loss. It was not anything she should have ever suffered. I don’t want the same fate for Cerberus’ mum. The sorrow blossoming in my chest reminds me of my own loss. My mate is gone once more, but I trust Nestor—and the others—to get her.
I also trust Belle.
This isn't the first time that she's been captured by the Dean and his henchmen. If I recall correctly, she got herself free the last time. She might be human, but my Yank mate's no pushover. She’s brilliantly resourceful, and there's a lot at stake. I lean over the human woman, quietly checking her stats, making sure that everything is on the up and up. Once satisfied that she’s stable, I go to leave, but a hand grasps mine. The woman is now wide-awake. Her eyes alight with panic.
“Where's my baby?!” she gasps in distress.
“It's ok,” I soothe. “I'm Dr. Knight, and you’re at the hospital. Everything will be alright.”
“My baby—where is my baby?” she repeats.
I frown, unsure of what to say. I don’t want to upset the recuperating woman more. Her labor and seeing the other human mum die surely have created substantial mental trauma.
“Your baby is with some caregivers at the moment,” I answer vaguely, wondering how much she remembers.
Her eyes catch mine; steely resolve reflects in their brown depths.
“I want my baby—no matter what he is.”
So she does recall.
“I promise you, he's in the best hands. Right now, you need to rest in order to heal properly. If in a few days you would like to see your son, I will have him brought here,” I concede, knowing Sian and Elise aren’t going to like this—but it’s the right thing to do.
I think we just assumed her reaction would be like Gryffin's mum’s. One of disgust and repulsion for what she’s birthed. This woman is vastly different; she knows what her son is and still wants him. We must honor that. For the first time in a long time, a weary smile crosses my face. Belle might have named the little guy too soon. I doubt Cerberus would’ve been the woman’s first choice. Soothing the perturbed mum, I gently tuck her back into bed, staying until she falls asleep before walking out. Up ahead, a nurse is sprinting down the hall at me fast.
“Dr. Knight! Come quickly. The b-b-babies! They’re ch-ch-changing!” she stutters in a mixture of haste and concern.
My shoulders relax when I realize the little ones aren’t in danger—they’re doing what all shifter babies do. Of course, this human nurse has never encountered shifters. One moment, the newborn’s an animal, the next they’re in human form. I hope none of the nurses was holding onto them—that’s the kind of surprise that makes someone drop a baby. The poor woman before me is a combination of winded and utterly gobsmacked. I try to smile encouragingly at her, but it feels brittle and forced. There’s too much on my mind, and my nerves feel electric with the overload of emotion coursing through them. Instead of explaining, I simply hustle down the hall to the special nursery set up. Even though the first shift is natural, I want to check on the babies to ensure they’re healthy.
When I enter the room, three squalling babies are being held by other doctors already examining them. The men nod to me warily, acknowledging me as a fellow doctor, but also an unknown. I sigh. Arthur did what he thought necessary when he told the humans about us, but the weight of that tension rides all of us hard. The humans don’t know what to make of us, and I’m too twisted in my own affairs to take the steps to bridge the gap. Instead, I turn my attention to the babies, listening to everyone’s reports. Interestingly, all three are male.
In the back of my head, I tuck the information away, wondering if this is something the Dean’s scientist genetically engineered by intent or if it merely was a coincidental accident. When you tamper with Mother Nature, she tends to fight back. In this case, if there are no females, no one can breed with them, making me wonder if the baby boys will grow up to be impotent, as well. Unfortunately, the answer to that question can’t be answered until much later in their lives—assuming they get to live them. I shake the pessimistic thought from my mind. All of the newborns look wonderfully healthy and that’s where I turn my focus. I can’t control these events as they unfold, so I might as well rejoice in the small things. And it’s something their mums can be happy about, too. I frown, looking down at one boy, realizing that I don't know anything about their animals.
Clearing my throat, I hesitantly ask, “This might make you uncomfortable, but I was so busy with their mums, I don’t recall much about the boys’, er, animal forms? Do you know—”
A nurse steps up, waving some papers.
“We took notes, Doctor!” she interjects helpfully.
“Excellent. May I, please?”
The woman hands me the sheets, and I smile ruefully at everyone in the room.
“My apologies that I’m just catching up to speed now.”
“You were saving lives,” one of the doctors dismisses. “Everyone is eternally grateful to you for that.”
<
“I only did what I was supposed to do.”
I'm no hero and don’t want to be lauded as such.
Scanning the hospital paperwork, I feel my stomach drop out my arse. Listed neatly is a baby stag—complete with horns—with the wings and legs of an eagle, as well as the beak, a leopard with an extremely elongated neck like a snake, and a mustang with the bottom half of a great white shark—essentially a peryton, a serpopard, and a hippocampus.
It would seem that Dean Hardwick is breeding an army of monsters.
Chapter two
BELLE
A lot of things go through your mind when somebody tells you you're pregnant, such as:
What the fuck?
How did this happen?
Who's the dad?
I mean, I assume those are normal questions people ask themselves.
Maybe not.
The dean glares furiously at me like my womb was his to rent out, and I've abused my tenant agreement.
“Who did you fuck?! Who impregnated you?” he snarls. “Or do you even know?”
Screw this asshole.
I don't answer.
“She can't say anything—she's paralyzed. I gave her succinylcholine,” Dr. Fuckface says, giving the real reason why I didn’t respond to the dean’s questions.
“Well, get her the antidote!” Dean Stiffdick snaps.
The doctor jumps to do his bidding, pulling out a vial from a cabinet, filling a syringe, and injecting me once more with God-knows-what. I sincerely fear the lifelong repercussions all this crap is going to have on me later in life. One second, I can't move a muscle; the next, it's like a dam is broken free from my mouth. I hate to give Dr. Asshat any credit, but he might be right about my ability to shut up—and being silenced these last however many minutes has made the words build up in me like a volcano that now comes exploding out.
“Pregnant! Are you kidding me? I didn’t even pee on a stick, and you're going to take this idiot's word?! First, you turn me into a-a-a chimera-thingy; next, you're sticking me with another needle that makes me an anti-badass, and now this crap! Well, what do you two assholes have to say for yourselves?!”
“You're sure she's up the duff?” the dean demands to his mad scientist.
“Of course, I'm sure!” Dr. Evil huffs while adjusting his glasses. His black scowl lands on me, as if he’s mortally offended that his credibility was called into question. “I have her blood work.”
I raise a brow at the dean.
“Wouldn't be the first time he's fucked something up.” I grin smugly at the doctor when he clamps his teeth together. “No rebuttal because I'm right?”
“Listen, you little slag—”
“Do you mean hag?” I cut him off.
“No, I mean slag.”
“Um, that's not a word. I think you mean hag, as in an old lady. Honestly, I don't really think I qualify for this. What are you going for?”
“A slag!” he screeches.
I look at the dean in confusion.
“Is that some type of, like, British animal I don't know about?”
I seem to be learning a lot about them lately.
“It means whore,” Stiffdick clarifies.
“Oh…oh! In that case, yes, this is the word you were looking for. Please, continue, Dr. Fuckface,” I acknowledge magnanimously.
The man’s right eye begins to twitch alarmingly before something snaps inside his whacked head. In a blur, Dr. Psycho lunges at me with a scalpel in hand. Where he got the scalpel, I have no freaking clue. What he plans to do with it—I don't really want to stick around and guess. Tapping into the badass ninja skills that I don’t have, I roll off the hospital bed just as the dean intercepts the maniac.
I guess the bastard is good for something.
The two of them grapple against one another, and I use the opportunity to scramble out of the room on my hands and knees. I make it two feet down the hall before the dean realizes what's afoot and yells at the doctor to get his shit together—good fucking luck with that one, buddy. I look around quickly and grab the closest thing to me, which happens to be a fire extinguisher. I stare at it, wondering how much damage I can really inflict with the thing, but slags can’t be choosers.
Actually, slags can be choosers—they just choose everyone and everything—but now’s not the time.
Just as Dean Hardwick and Dr. Asshat enter the narrow hall of the yacht, I blast them with extinguisher foam.
“Back, you demons!” I cry like a priest performing an exorcist.
By the time the red can is empty, it's almost comical. The two cumstains look like the Michelin man. Unfortunately, I don't have any time to enjoy my handiwork because I need to escape. I scramble away up the stairs onto the deck of the yacht, praying there’s no fire before I get off this thing, since I don’t see any more fire extinguishers. When I reach the railing, I stare down into the choppy, inky water, hopping from foot to foot.
What do I do?
Do I jump, or do I stay?
Which one will lead to my doom?
I know staying won't necessarily lead to my death, but it can't be a good future. Yet, jumping into that black water steeped with mystery seems even darker—who knows what’s lurking beneath the surface. At least here I know they don't want me dead...then again, maybe I'm of no use to them now that I've been “bred”. My stomach twists at the thought, and it’s almost too surreal to admit—I’m pregnant. I'm going to be a mom. My parents’ worst nightmare has finally come true.
I’ve procreated.
For better or for worse, it’s not just me anymore. I've got a baby to think about, and the consequences of jumping into unknown waters is something I must weigh heavily.
“All right, you little slag,” I call the baby inside of me as I hiccup on a nervous laugh. It's probably not appropriate to call your unborn daughter or son the British word for ‘whore’, but I think it's kind of cute. “We got a problem out here, and I'm trying to figure it out. You just stay in there nice and cozy. You got a lot of swimming room, ya lucky, little bastard. If I jump into this water, I'll have a lot of swimming room, too, but I'm not part fish like you are right now.”
I stop talking, realizing that I'm having a conversation with my newly conceived child who I just called a British slut when I really need to be paying attention and making a decision. It's hard to mentally create a list of pros and cons when you know any second the people who want to tie you down and paralyze you are coming. Suddenly, an idea light bulbs above my head.
A life raft.
Every yacht has a life raft, right?
I mean, even the Titanic had life rafts. Not enough, but they still had them.
It’s a genius plan. If I can find one, I get off this hellhole boat and into the waters without being in the water. Darting down the length of the yacht, I keep my eyes peeled until I spot exactly what I'm looking for. I hasten to untie it, flip it over, and toss it overboard. Either some of my Chimera strength is coming back or I have mom strength—never underestimate the power of a woman who’s pushed or is going to push a watermelon-sized being from her vag—because I yeet that bitch faster than Miss Trunchbull could hammer throw a shot. The life raft makes a large splash, alerting everyone to what I'm about to do, I’m sure.
I look once over my shoulder before muttering, “Women and children first—assholes can go down with the ship!”
Then, I jump, landing in the wooden raft with a curse for my stupidity. I rub my legs, wondering if I’ve broken them, before a hand flies to my stomach.
“Little slag, are you ok in there? Little slag, speak to me!”
Of course, I get no answer, but I will myself to remain calm. If I’m alright, then so is Baby. Using the paddle, I try valiantly to push away as quickly as I can from the yacht. Again, mom strength, fear, and a shit-ton of adrenaline pumping in my veins comes to my aid. I manage to get twenty feet away before the dean and the doc come lunging over the rail. Our eyes connect and alarm slams into me hard. Dr. Fuckface looks pissed, but the dean looks amused.
