Surrogate For Alpha Dom

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

Sinclair as he

the door shut,

anyone?” he asks quietly,

I say, my curiosity growing with every step. Quickly, I

finger beneath the seal when

voice harsh

—

ask, looking up at him, suddenly worried

at me. “I just…it’s

hand out and I place the letter

“Come on,

for the kitchen. I follow eagerly,

we get into the kitchen, Sinclair puts a hand on my shoulder, walking me backwards until my back is pressed against the door of the

baby monitor

((

and grabs a knife, moving his body away as far as

to make light of it – hoping, needing him to

doesn’t answer me, just slowly finishes slicing the seal.

my anxiety keeping me absolutely on edge. My heart is racing now –

eyes off of him as he steps closer to the envelope, holding it carefully in his

paper with his knife, flipping it over, making sure there’s nothing strange about it, and then he stands up straight and

he says, looking

rushing to

little as I wrap my arms around him and

hurried scrawl of handwriting inside – just a few lines. We both

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