Surrogate For Alpha Dom

Ella

“How are you feeling?” Sinclair asks, standing in the doorway of my bedroom. The wild hunt is tonight, and I know he’s not merely asking about my morning sickness or fatigue.

“Nervous.” I confess. “Do you think…” I trail off, blushing and unsure if I can actually speak the question I need to ask.

“What is it Ella?” He inquires, coming forward with an encouraging smile.

“Do you think I could see your wolf before we go tonight, just so that I’ll recognize it when I see you?” I whisper, barely loud enough to hear myself, but knowing Sinclair’s wolf ears will be more than capable of picking up on the sound. And so I won’t be scared. I add silently in my head.

“Of course.” He chuckles, “That’s a great idea. I should have thought of it myself.”

His powerful hands move to the buttons on his shirt, and I find myself taking a step back. “What are you doing?”

“You wanted to see my wolf, I don’t want to ruin this shirt.” He shrugs. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“Right.” I breathe, “Right, of course.”

He continues stripping off his clothes, and I work hard to avert my gaze. So far I’ve been very successful in avoiding temptation by not looking at his body in these vulnerable moments, and I’m not about to change that now – on the day when it’s more important than ever that we practice self control.

“Does it hurt, shifting?” I ask, staring at my fidgeting fingers.

Sinclair shares, “The first time is almost unbearable, it takes hours and hours, but once you’ve gotten

old

when they go through puberty.” Sinclair

I’m thinking of my baby – my son – eventually suffering through this sort of grisly shift, and I don’t like it

was with me, he got me through it, just like I’ll do for

imagine Henry was a very gentle and supportive

sweet Ella. I’m afraid it would be much too dangerous.” He comes forward, taking my face in his oversized hands. This is probably the first time he’s ever been unclothed when I’m not, and I’m amazed at how much stronger I feel with my own body covered. I never realized until now how vulnerable it is to be undressed and exposed when others are not, but Sinclair doesn’t seem to mind one bit. He’s still wielding the power in this room, and part of me resents his constant strength. “Now, do you want to talk, or do you

“Yes, sorry.” I flush.

close to me until after I’ve shifted, you don’t want to be within reach of my

my eyes on him, watching with horrified fascination as he ensures he’s not near anything breakable, then disappears. There’s a loud crack and the air seems to go blurry, I even feel a bit nauseous trying

and I feel my jaw going slack. “That’s not a wolf that’s a bear!” I blurt out, saying the first thought which came

large – far larger than any natural wolf and probably almost as tall as I am – gives me an affronted look, as if I’ve

trying to reconcile the fact that the beast in front of me is actually the man who spends every night wrapped around me like a very muscular heated

and rolls his eyes, sitting on the rug and waiting

you.” I point out, my head filled with images

and heated that I don’t need to hear him speak. I know exactly what he’s thinking and his mind is clearly in the gutter. “Not like that! You know what I mean.” I’m amazed that anyone could manage to be so suggestive without speaking a word, or even possessing

it seems positively hilarious that Dominic Sinclair is sitting in front of me with the squirmy energy of a puppy, and I

touch

waiting for me to come to him. It takes a minute for me to find the courage to move my leadened feet, but I manage. I slowly cross the room, feeling terribly anxious to be approaching a creature out of the horror stories I grew up fearing, even though I