Accidental Surrogate

Ella
“Why does it feel like this is more for my benefit than yours?” I inquire archly, watching as Sinclair pours oils and salts into a
large, steaming bath. The clever wolf knows how much I love a bubble bath, especially now that I’m pregnant. After years of
constantly being dirty and even living on the street, there is nothing else that feels so luxurious to me – and I can’t think of
anything more relaxing.
“Hey, I was going to get in with you – you’re the one who put your foot down.” Sinclair replies with a wolfish grin, skimming his
fingers through the water to check the temperature.
“Because you have open wounds!” I exclaim, exasperated but also impatient for the preparation to be over so I can sink into the
deep tub. “The doctors said you couldn’t submerge your injuries until the scabs are gone.”
Amazingly, the gashes on his back have already scabbed over. It seems that he truly wasn’t lying when he told me that shifters
heal faster than humans, but I hadn’t expected him to heal quite so fast. At this rate his wounds will be mere scars in a couple of
days.
“Which is why I’ll be supervising, not participating.” Dominic shrugs, I wonder if that hurts him? I ponder, watching the muscles
rippling in his back. He certainly doesn’t show any signs of pain.
He’s so strong. My traitorous conscience moons, and for a moment I actually think I see stars in my eyes.
Rolling my eyes at my inner voice, I cross my arms over my chest. “The idea was to help us both relax.” I sigh, guilt gnawing at
my insides.
“Believe it or not, Ella, but taking care of you does help me relax.” Sinclair declares coolly, pressing a button that triggers the
whirlpool jets built into the tub. A steady thrumming sound whirs to life as the water begins to churn, foaming and bubbling even
higher now.
“Oh sure, I’m sure your version of supervision will ensure neither of us get the least bit excited – as you and the doctor so
elegantly put it.” I snark.
The big wolf flashes his fangs, flames dancing in his eyes as he finally turns away from the bath. “If I didn’t know any better I’d
think you were worried about losing control with me.” He observes darkly, “but I can’t imagine why that would be, unless of
course your feelings for me are stronger than you’re letting on.”

“Now you’re just fishing.” I accuse, narrowing my eyes at Sinclair, even as he prowls toward me across the tiled floor.
“Am I?” His dark brows incline towards his hairline. “Because I have no problem admitting mine.”
“Don’t!” I interrupt, feeling a sudden spike of panic. “Seriously Dominic, whatever you’re going to say, I don’t want to know.”
“I thought we were past that, sweetheart.” He scolds, “didn’t you learn your lesson about actually hearing me out when I want to
tell you something?”
“This is different.” I insist, “it honestly stresses me out.”
Sinclair pauses, studying me closely. He’s only a few paces away now, but the longer he observes me, the softer his ravenous
expression becomes. “Has it occurred to you that part of the reason you’re so stressed is because you’re trying to fight the
inevitable, Ella?”
“Dominic, what stresses me out is bringing a wolf pup into a world I don’t belong to or understand, while living a lie and dodging
constant death threats.” I snap, before I can consider how the Alpha might take my words. “Can you really blame me for wanting
to keep things simple in the face of all that? If we lose focus for even a moment, this could all fall apart.”
He stops dead in his tracks, and I can see a great wall of guilt slam into him. I know he’s not focusing on my logic, but on the
blame I’ve basically just foisted upon him. “Wait... that came out wrong.” I try to backtrack. “Dominic, I didn’t mean that any of
this is your fault –”
“You might not have meant it that way, but you weren’t wrong.” Sinclair declares gutturally, his face a full shade paler than it was
a moment ago. “It is my fault – if I were a normal man, if I hadn’t forced you into this situation, you probably wouldn’t have any
complications at all.”
“No.” I object, my voice thick with emotion. “You didn’t force me into this, Dominic. And there’s no way to know whether any of
this is connected. Mike destroyed my reproductive system and plenty of healthy women develop this condition –”
“Maybe so,” He interrupts sharply, “but our situation certainly isn’t making things any better.” Sinclair is pacing now, resembling a
tiger in a cage.
“Please don’t do this.” I beg, hiccupping on a sob. “Please don’t blame yourself for this. You’re trying to do the right thing for
everyone here. Neither one of us planned this, neither one of us could have prepared for what the world would throw at us these
last few months. I don’t blame you, I just don’t want things to get more complicated than they have to be.”

At the sight, or perhaps scent, of my tears, Sinclair deflates, closing the final distance between us and pulling me into his arms.
“I’m sorry.” He croons in my ear, stroking my spine and kissing my hair. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Here I am, supposed to be
keeping you relaxed and I’m making you cry.”
My feet are still on the ground, but I don’t want them to be. I begin clambering up the huge man like a monkey climbing a tree,
until my arms and legs are wrapped around him and I’m weeping into his neck. “It’s not your fault.” I repeat pitifully. “I cry over
everything now.”
“Shh,” He coos, sitting down on the edge of the bath. “It’s okay, you’re not going to break me with a few tears, trouble.” He says
this, but I can hear the pain in his voice, I can still see the horrible expression on his face.
A steady purr takes up residence in his chest as he deftly strips off my clothes. He tries to deposit me in the bath, but I won’t let
go, afraid that he’ll leave if I release him. Instead he manages to pull off his slacks, shirt and boxers without dislodging me,
before sinking into the tub with me still in his arms. I try to protest about his back, but he just hushes me and continues
submerging us in the hot water.
It’s quite some time before my tears slow enough to talk again, and I realize this isn’t even the first breakdown I’ve had today. “I
love this baby,” I murmur after a while, “but I’m getting really sick of crying all the time.”
Sinclair’s lips graze my temple. “I don’t think that’s his fault either. Maybe some of it –”
“The bacon.” I remind him, thinking of my most ridiculous fit yet.
“The bacon.” He agrees, sounding almost amused. “But not the rest. You have every reason to be upset, Ella. I should have
listened to you earlier, before you fainted. You tried to tell me this was all too much and I was too preoccupied with romance to
really consider how right you were. It’s exactly like you said, I’m letting my feelings distract me from what’s really important, and
that’s the campaign. And it’s you and Rafe.”
“What are you saying?” I sniffle, fearing I know the answer, and unable to decide whether or not I hope I’m right.
“I’m saying I think you were right. If Lydia is pregnant it might be for the best, and if she isn’t I should try to find another she-wolf
to be Luna after we get through the campaign.” Sinclair proclaims, his deep voice sounding hollow – almost as if it belongs to
someone else.
Luckily I’m still curled around him like a baby sloth, so I hide my face in his shoulder to prevent him from seeing my
disappointment. I don’t understand it myself. I know this is the right decision, I know it’s the most logical solution for our

problems, and I don’t plan on arguing it – but it still hurts. It still feels like I’m being ripped apart from the inside out.
“Thank you.” I breathe, despite my breaking heart. “I’m trying really hard, but I don’t know if I can get through another week like
this one with my sanity intact.” I confess, recalling everything that’s happened in such a short time: blackmail, Roger learning the
truth, Lydia drugging Sinclair, our fight, the car crash, the hospital, now this. Has it really only been three days?
“Bed rest will help.” Sinclair promises, “just you wait, in a week or so you’re going to be so bored you’ll be wishing for another
blackmailer just to shake up the monotony.”
I hiccup a laugh, and finally relax against him as my tears slow at long last.
Of course, after two weeks of bed rest, it’s not a blackmailer awaiting me – it’s a text from Lydia. There are no words, only a
photo, one displaying the unmistakable image of a positive pregnancy test.