Accidental Surrogate

Sinclair

I decide to work from home for the rest of the day.

I’m so amazed by everything that’s happening, and overwhelmed by how much our lives have changed in the last 48 hours. Two days ago I was grieving the relationship I believed was impossible, wishing against all logic that Ella could be a wolf. Now all our dreams have come true, yet I feel reluctant to trust these changes. It’s all too wonderful, even if mysterious forces have clearly been at work – pulling the strings of our lives from far away.

I hate the idea that someone has been watching and manipulating us from afar – even if it is the Goddess. Still, the Goddess isn’t what frightens me most. The thing that frightens me most is knowing that someone out there knows the truth about Ella, they know secrets she and I have yet to uncover, and might use them against us. True, it seems that bringing us together was for our benefit, but the picture is never clear until it’s complete. Shifters in this city know exactly how vulnerable Ella is right now, and we can’t wake her wolf for another three and a half months, at least.

Around seven I realize that I’m not going to get any more work done this evening. Instead I head upstairs to my bedroom, expecting to find my sweet mate resting before dinner. Instead, I walk in to find Ella out of bed and pacing, overflowing with anxious energy. The second thing I notice is that every pillow, blanket and cushion in the linen closet has been piled onto the bed, and the canopy curtains drawn closed.

Ella stops in her tracks when she sees me, wringing her hands. “Baby, what is it?” I ask, crossing over to her. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not right. I’ve been trying to fix it but I can’t… it’s not right.”

I pull her into my arms, purring softly as she tucks her head against my chest and breathes in my scent. “What’s not right. How can I help?”

“The bed.” She huffs, gesturing to it sullenly. “It’s not cozy enough. Your pillows are terrible, and none of the blankets are soft enough.”

coping with a mate in this exact state? These instincts are as powerful as all the cravings and mood swings, and they’re also further proof of Ella’s true identity. I chuckle happily, and Ella stiffens. “Are you laughing

at you.” I promise. “It’s

and setting up a nursery?” She clarifies, her adorably brow furrowing in confusion, “but that shouldn’t come until later, and we’ve already picked out

explain. “It’s probably made worse by the bed rest, you’re stuck in this room with nowhere to go, it’s only natural that you want

is wrong.” She complains, unbuttoning my shirt so

sympathy, scooping her up. “Well then let me help.” I suggest, my own alpha instincts urging me to settle her. I deposit her on the bed, then move to the intercom by the bedroom door, sending my guards for every

she creates her nest. I hand her pillows and blankets, then accept them back if they don’t fit the indescribable qualifications she’s seeking. I have no idea what’s going on in her mind, but I know enough to realize this isn’t a matter of logic. Her inner wolf is pushing her to satisfy a powerful craving that she probably doesn’t understand any more than I do when my wolf urges me to scent mark her. It’s all feelings and one word commands, primal and powerful

pride and offering me a satisfied smile that makes me want to kiss

this. She narrows her eyes, “As

her carefully placed pillows. Right as I settle beside her, I accidentally knock one of the overstuffed

elated that I’m finally able to be with her so freely. Every other time we’ve gotten carried away with

so much love to give – you’ll truly be the perfect queen.” I exalt, loving the shy blush that colors her cheeks. “We’ll usher in a new era for the

way that tells me she’s getting excited just talking about this. Still, she sighs, a familiar look of hesitance on her lovely features. “Don’t,

you’d like more if you can get them?” I guess, understanding her reluctance to get her hopes up. I know only too well how hard

confides, “it’s part of why I wanted a child of my own. To be biologically connected – at least once. And I love being pregnant… but I don’t need all my babies to have my

have your genes.” I tease, sliding my