Accidental Surrogate

I sigh and spreads my body out against Sinclair’s, tracing the lines of his body beneath his clothes. I close my eyes, relaxing, letting myself feel the warmth of him, basking in the joy of having him safe and healthy and near, of the knowledge that our baby boy is asleep on the other side of the room.

“You do agree with me though, right?” I ask quietly. “All jokes aside?”

Sinclair takes a minute to consider and then he nods, his eyes still closed. “I think they should sort it out themselves,” he answers quietly. “But I agree, Ella – if he’s not willing to take her whether or not she can give him children…he should let her find someone who will.”

“Thank you, Dominic,” I respond, my voice barely audible, sending a little pulse of sincere gratitude down our bond. He sends love back.

And then we both relax, our bodies falling into a deeper rhythm of breathing that carries us near sleep.

Sleep that’s interrupted, suddenly, by the sound of the doorbell below.

I groan, pulling my head up off of Sinclair’s chest. “Who the hell could that be.”

“Probably someone who forgot a purse. Or a shoe. Or…whatever,” Sinclair mutters, working to sit

1. up. I rise too, letting him up, smiling at my sleepy mate who is so tired that his words aren’t making much sense.

He sighs, rising to his feet, and I get up with him.

“Stay,” he says, putting a hand on my shoulder, nodding back to the bed.

“No,” I sigh. “I’ll come with you. It’s probably for me, anyway. A package or something.” I’m rueful, suddenly, that we’ve let all of the staff have the day off after the long night. It would be nice to have someone else to answer the door…

…but then I realize that that’s horribly selfish and privileged, and I take my mate’s hand, tugging him towards the door and grabbing the baby monitor on the way, switching it on. Who have I become, really, that I’m turning my nose up at having to answer my own door?

Considering some of the conditions I’ve lived in previously in my life, I should be thanking my lucky stars that I even have a door.

Frustrated with myself, I hurry down the stairs, Sinclair following steadily behind.

When I pull open the door, though, there’s nobody there. Frowning, I look around, and then down at the doormat, where there’s a little folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” I ask, bending quickly to pick it up, the baby monitor making little static noises

left

as he frowns at it,

pulling the door shut, obviously on

addressed to anyone?” he asks quietly,

growing with every step. Quickly, I turn the envelope over and begin

slip my finger beneath the seal when Sinclair

his voice

—

at him,

shakes his head at me. “I just…it’s strange.

out and

“Come on,

he says, taking my hand and heading for the kitchen. I follow eagerly, desperate to know,

on my shoulder, walking me backwards until my back is pressed against the door of the pantry. “Stay here,” he murmurs, still looking down

monitor tightly between my

((

butcher block and grabs a knife, moving his body away as far as he can as he begins

a little desperately, wanting to make light of it – hoping, needing him to be overreacting right now

slowly finishes slicing the seal. When nothing happens, he stands up

absolutely on edge. My heart is

Sinclair murmurs, holding up a hand to keep me back. I can’t take my eyes off of him as he steps closer to the envelope, holding it carefully in his hands and turning it upside

with his knife, flipping it over, making sure there’s nothing strange about it, and then he stands up straight and steps closer to the butcher block,

a note,” he says, looking over to me,

relieved, rushing to

glaring at him a little as I wrap my arms around him and peer at it.

little bit and flips open the note, revealing a hurried scrawl of handwriting inside – just a few lines. We both

draining from my face as I read it again, horror racing through my