Alpha Dom and His Human Surrogate

Sinclair steps close to my other side so that Rafe is between us. My hand still holds Cora’s on my left as Roger steps to her side. Together, I realize, we present quite a united front: the Alpha King and his demigoddess Queen standing with their much-coveted child and heir. And then, next us, the Duke and Duchess, likewise a brilliant alpha and a magical goddess-born half -human hybrid wolf.

I find myself smirking a little at the thought of all of our magnificent formal titles when I know the truth: that we’re honestly just four people desperately grateful that we’ve been lucky enough to find each other and build a family.

But still, facing this delegation? I’m a little glad that we’ve got some intimidating credentials to speak for us. Brave little mate, Sinclair says to me down the bond, making my smirk deepen. I’m glad you’re letting them see that you’re not scared of them.

Oh, I’m scared of them, I pass back, not bothering to look up at him for support. But you’re right. There’s no reason for them to see it.

He gives me a warm nudge of support as the first line of five Atalaxians step forward and give a bow. The man at the far left of the line steps forward then, beginning to speak. He introduces himself first – the first and most significant member – and then moves on to each new delegate, who bows his heads to us each in turn.

I turn my head a little as this formal introduction progresses, because this is …odd. I understand that this reception has a rather official quality, but each of the greetings we’ve given to each delegation before this has been warm and chatty, with people introducing themselves warmly or greeting Sinclair and I as old friends, if they know us.

The Atalaxians? They don’t say a word, instead letting their singular speaker do all the work.

Still, I do my best to follow along as Rafe begins to fuss in my arms, not liking something – I don’t know what, though. I hold him higher, tighter against me, trying to pass a little calmness down our bond so that he can relax, maybe fall asleep. The baby responds to this, resting his head against my chest a little and settling.

The speaker finishes introducing the first line of delegates, which includes the predictable ambassadors and senators who have been sent to witness the coronation and have discussions about the future connections between our two nations.

However, when the first row clears, moving away and revealing the second row, I’m surprised to hear the speaker introduce a Prince, which makes my eyes raise. Why had he not been included in the first row? Wouldn’t he be the highest-ranking delegate?

I study the Prince as he steps forward and gives his bow, though I admit that I do not catch his name, which I kick myself for. I’m a Queen now or about to be. I should be paying attention.

from his bow I find myself a bit struck by him, if I’m being honest. He’s about my age, and tall, with dark hair and a handsome face with eyes such a light blue-violet that they surprise me in his dark-featured face. While he’s broad shouldered,

sure of it. The prince nods steadily to Sinclair, looking serious but perhaps even a little bored, like he’s done this a thousand times. And then turns his eyes to me, but when

as he stands straight, staring at me for a long moment. Sinclair

second, his eyes flicking to Sinclair before he regains his bored

look up at my mate, whose shoulders

on earth just

line of delegates is dismissed and Rafe starts to fuss again in my arms,

baby hardly ever cries, instead letting us know what he needs through little taps and pulses down the bond to which we respond as quickly as we can. It’s

up at Sinclair, worried. “I think I have to take him out,” I

need us all here, for this delegation at least. If he cries, he cries. And I nod, understanding and turning back to

to us. I nod in turn, though I admit that my attention is decidedly focused on my son, who

has worked before sometimes he passes me an emotion, or

eyes are totally focused on the baby, ignoring the final members of the delegation in my maternal concern for my son, when suddenly

speakers says, “is Duke Xander of Moon Valley, who has been given honorary citizenship

on my uncle,

flares hot with rage, channeling something from

it, and I can feel her own fear in her grip, but something about it works – she holds me back from reacting at all, giving me

have asked,” he growls, violence in every line of him now, and I can feel him holding himself back from murdering Xander this instant, “about whether this man was welcome upon our nation’s soil. Because he is not. This man is a war criminal, and wanted for several crimes

either tear Xander to pieces or take