Surrogate For Alpha Dom

Bringing Aid Ella Our first night in the palace is so strange for me.

My two boys are sleeping soundly on either side of me – Sinclair sprawled out over our supersized bed (it’s much bigger than a King – I don’t even know if they have a name for it anymore; we had to make a custom order) and Rafe’s bassinet is pulled up close on my other side.

I look first at my mate and then at my little baby, smiling at each of them, marveling at how much they already resemble each other with their dark hair and their wide-set eyes, each framed with dark lashes.

My smile deepens as I look between them.

I mean, Sinclair is of course lacking Rafe’s pudgy cheeks, but the resemblance is still uncanny.

It’s very, veryclear who this baby’s daddy is.

“Rude of you, little baby,” I whisper, rolling over on my side and peeking into the bassinet, “to not bother looking like me at all.” He sighs a little in his sleep and wiggles, getting more comfortable.

It’s so cute that I think my heart might burst at the sight of it.

But the sight of my super-cute little baby can only do so much to distract me from all of the thoughts racing through my mind right now.

I roll onto my back and stare at the distant ceiling, turning them over one-by-one.

Half of them pertain to the wedding, which I really am excited about.

And I do think it’s a good idea – half of the trouble of bringing this nation together is suggesting to humans and wolves alike that this nation respects both kinds of persons – and that we’re allequal.

A marriage between them – especially as publicized as Sinclair thinks it should be will go far with both populations in suggesting that the Royal family, at least, truly embraces this idea.

I wrinkle my nose and laugh a little at the thought of myself as part of aroyal family- I’m nowhere near fancy enough for such a title – but then I sigh again, distracted.

Because Sinclair’s other point is still valid – I know, in my heart, that I want to help our citizens, helpeveryone.

that what I really want to do? Is that the best

bedside table, pulling out the cellphone that

flick it on and then quickly pull up a familiar name in my contacts and send off a text:

lip – because I really do feel bad about neglecting my friendship, especially after I asked her to stay here instead of going home – I send off my message and

if not a bit sharp-edged at times, I

little better at having gotten started on

groans as he rolls over to turn it off, and then he flops back in his spot and reaches out

his eyes in surprise

gasped and rolled away, reaching for my phone, desperate to

I whisper, excited to see that

“What?” Sinclair asks, groggy.

I murmur, quickly flicking

back to sleep.” Ignoring him, I eagerly click open

worried! Please come and see me – I want to

any

but, before I get far, I hear a snarl behind me and

pulls me, laughing, across the bed to settle tightly

“Ohh, poor big scary Alpha,” I tease, turning in his arms so that my stomach is

I can’t,” he growls, baring his teeth at me – an act that would probably make some men quail but which only makes me laugh.” We’re going to have to introduce some

like this

kisses along my neck and down across his shoulder, the tickly stubble of his beard making

rolling one shoulder back so that Sinclair can continue his path down across my collar bone and lower, until his lips press against the

he

up your phone first thing

to.” And then

feel of his lips against my skin, burying my fingers in his silky black hair and letting my head tilt