Accidental Surrogate

Ella

When we arrive at the edge of the forest where the ceremony is set to begin, I’m wearing a shimmering pearl-colored dress, which looks as if it’s been spun from pure moonlight. Its straps are so thin it doesn’t seem like they should be strong enough to hold up the flowing fabric, which plunges between my breasts, hugs my waist and then cascades out into a wide skirt with a graceful train. It’s completely inappropriate for the cold weather, but a cape of plush black furs billows down my back and Sinclair’s cozy heat is warming my left side. My shoulders are heavy with the weight of his arm, and I feel thankful the rough forest terrain made wearing high heels impossible.

We move through the crowds of reporters and admirers, pausing for photos and handshakes but not answering any questions. The press coverage from the moon bathing ritual was truly phenomenal, almost fawning in its analysis, and the crowds are getting bigger every day. Everyone seems to want to glimpse us for themselves, and I’m beginning to feel more like a museum attraction than a person.

It’s hard to keep myself grounded when everyone around me is staring, jumping up and down yelling my name. This is business as usual for Sinclair, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. I also don’t know if I want my child subjected to all this attention. “It won’t always be like this, right?” I ask, cradling my tiny baby bump as we move past the crowds. “Surely it’s just the festival and how new our relationship is.”

“Things will calm down.” Sinclair agrees, his keen eyes not missing the way I try to shield our pup with my hands. “They’ll be excited about the baby too, but they’ll keep their distance. They know how protective new parents are, and as invasive as we can be about adult relationships, children are considered off limits.”

“Good.” I breathe, still frowning. “I don’t like it, but I’ll endure it as long as they leave the baby alone.”

“After the campaign is over we can pull you out of the spotlight.” Sinclair offers, “you’ll be a new mother, it would be perfectly reasonable for your public presence to be diminished.” Just then the wind shifts, and Sinclair scents the air, his muscles suddenly going very tense.

tree. “What kind of Luna looks for excuses to get out of doing her job?” I don’t need to look to recognize the speaker – her tone is completely altered from when she helped me in the bathroom,

you’ve been reduced to skulking around like a fox, Lydia?” A murmur moves through the gathered shifters, and I suspect calling a wolf a fox is something of an insult. Though I, as someone who has always liked foxes, can’t help but feel a bit offended

“Are you really so preoccupied with

lock me against him in an iron grip. I feel a little growl bubble up in my chest, only to be reduced

venomous tongue is back at it, “Well you might not want me

to catch up, and I gradually understand that she’s trying to take my place in the ceremony. She thinks that I don’t have the right to participate because Sinclair and I haven’t fully been mated, and suddenly I feel outraged myself. How dare she try to take our place? How dare she try to take Sinclair from us? The little voice in my head is in a full on rage, and any logic I might have used to calm it – like the fact that Sinclair isn’t ours in the first place, so it’s impossible for him

Heartbroken yes, but when I learned he was cheating I didn’t feel envy for Kate, only sorrow for myself and all those wasted years. But I feel jealous now. I feel a possessive fury unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Something raw and primal is building up inside me, and I don’t know how to identify it or reign it in. Is this the pup too? Staking its claim

of your head,

can feel Sinclair reaching for me again, but I pull myself up to my full height and shoot him a warning glare over my shoulder before giving Lydia the full

and I wonder if I’ve hit too close to home. I also wonder if her new husband might have realized the same thing she did – that Sinclair was never sterile, so their inability to conceive was

empathizing! The voice in my head admonishes angrily, You can feel bad for her later, right now there’s a battle to

you?! I cry in return. What battle? I’m not going to publicly