Accidental Surrogate

“Well, I guess that settles that.” I muse, staring at the image dominating the narrow screen of my smart phone. Granted, it was
sent by the woman I saved as “Satan’s Mistress” in my contacts and is centered right below the photo of Lydia and Sinclair in
bed together, but there’s no mistaking the sight of a positive pregnancy test.
I’ve taken enough home tests in my life to understand what the two pink lines filling the small results window mean – they’re the
sight I wished for a thousand times but never saw.
I’m trying to keep the pain and disappointment out of my voice so that Sinclair won’t know how upset I am, though I don’t know
why I bother. It seems he can read me like a book, even at the best of times.
Whether he can sense it or not, I’m devastated to know Lydia is pregnant, that her scheme worked. Even though this solves
some of our problems, I hate to think that she’s getting rewarded for her duplicity, and I despise the idea of Sinclair starting a
family with anyone else – even if it’s in my baby’s best interest.
“Not yet it doesn’t.” Sinclair replies, his big body still wrapped around me in our bed. “Not until I know the test is real, and even
then – it might not be my pup. I wouldn’t put anything past Lydia at this point.”
“So you have to go see her?” I guess, fighting the strange but increasingly familiar urge to growl.
“Yes.” He confirms, not sounding any more excited about it than I am. He shifts my body beneath his, balancing his weight on his
elbows. “I’ll go by her hotel on my lunch break.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I question, sliding my hands over his muscular chest. “What if she tries to drug you again, or
pull some other kind of trick?”
“She succeeded last time because she bribed a waitress to put something in my drink.” He reminds me, sharing the details we
learned after his guards investigated the staff at the bar he’d visited that fateful night. “I didn’t know she was anywhere in the
vicinity, or I would have been much more careful. I’m not going to let my guard down with her.”
“Fine,” I huff, “but if she lays a hand on you I’m going to rip her head off.” I remark, already fantasizing about doing just that.
“Oh I see,” Sinclair answers, a teasing note in his voice. “So you can rip peoples heads off but I can’t?”
“Yes.” I reply primly, “because in my case it’s just a fantasy, in yours it’s an actual possibility.”

Sinclair chuckles, nuzzling my neck and pausing to nibble the spot where it meets my shoulder. “I bet you could rip off some
heads if you really wanted to.” He states, sounding as if the idea pleases him very much. “You should have seen yourself trying
to go after the driver who hit me.”
“Well I guess we’ll never know, because you didn’t let me avenge you.” I grumble sullenly.
“Poor, mistreated Ella.” Sinclair croons, shifting to dip his tongue into the hollow of my clavicle. “Not allowed out of bed, not
allowed to slaughter your enemies. What did you ever do to deserve such abuse?”
“You tell me, you’re the one holding the keys to my jail cell.” I challenge, arching my chest in a blatant attempt to encourage him
downward. Unfortunately – or fortunately I suppose, he has enough restraint to resist.
“I promise I’ll take you anywhere you want to go just as soon as the doctor clears you, sweetheart.” Sinclair promises, lifting his
head from my body.
“What ever happened to that driver anyway?” I ask, realizing that I was so distracted by my medical condition and Lydia’s
scheming that I almost forgot about our would-be murderer.
“We can talk about that later.” Sinclair announces, “I have a few other updates for you, but there isn’t time now.”
I slide my knees up so I can tangle our legs together. I know he’s getting ready to scent mark me, which means he’s also getting
ready to leave for the day. However, being stuck on best rest has made me a bit clingy, since I can’t see Sinclair except for the
times he’s home.
When he feels my legs wrapping around his own, Sinclair chuckles darkly, sparing one of his hands to stroke the length of my
leg. “You trying to stop me from leaving, trouble?” He asks, pausing to massage the muscles in my calf.
“Of course not.” I lie, adopting an innocent expression. “I just like feeling close to you.”
“Mmm, I like being close to you too.” Sinclair professes warmly, kissing my pulse point. “Now be a good girl and let me scent
mark you.”
Wanting to stall him, to keep him in bed with me forever, I inquire. “Dominic, if I’m on bed rest then why do you need to scent
mark me? I’m not going to be seeing anyone.”
His eyes flash with emerald light, and I know his wolf has risen to my challenge. “We don’t know that for sure, what if some other
wolf comes sniffing around the manor?”

“How would they get past all your guards?” I pose, narrowing my eyes with suspicion.
“Mmm, you can never trust wolves.” He declares, his fangs extending in a predatory grin.
“Says the hungry wolf in my bed.” I laugh, trying not to squirm as he drags those fangs over my ear lobe.
“What’s wrong, little human, are you worried I might gobble you up?” Sinclair teases, his voice a low rumble that makes my
insides turn to jelly.
“I’m just wondering why I need to smell like you just to lie in bed all day.” I answer, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Because you always need to smell like me.” Sinclair insists, raking his dark gaze over my body with relish. “You’re mine whether
you’re in public or private.”
I positively quiver when he claims me for his own, and though my inner feminist wants to be outraged, I can’t deny how delicious
it feels to be wanted this way – especially by a man such as Sinclair. “Why is it I feel like I’m talking to your wolf right now, rather
than you?” I joke, knowing full well that this is exactly the case. From the moment I challenged him about scent marking, his
inner animal rose to the surface, pushing the logical man I’ve come to adore into the backseat.
“Baby, my wolf and I are one in the same.” Sinclair reasons, even as he pulls off my night dress and begins to rub his body
against mine.
“Maybe, but it’s very obvious when he’s in control. You start acting like a treasure-obsessed dragon who’s mistaken me for some
sparkly trinket.”
Sinclair rumbles in protest, pausing to look down at me with a foreboding expression. “How dare you, you’re so much more than
some trinket or trophy, Ella.”
“You know what I mean.” I laugh, rolling my eyes.
“I do,” He concedes, eyes glittering. “but the real question is why you’re delaying something you need just as badly as I do.”
The terrible thing is that he’s right. I’m trying to delay the scent marking because I know he’ll leave once it’s over, but I do need
him to mark me. I need to feel his claim on me, to feel the proof that I belong to Dominic Sinclair.
The bigger the baby grows, the sharper my senses become. I can smell Sinclair now, the way only a shifter can. It’s not like with
humans, whose aromas are combinations of body odors, soaps and colognes that linger on the skin. Wolf scents are so much

deeper than that; powerful essences that exude from the pores and bear strange and mysterious magics. Sinclair’s is all balsam
and warm, spiced honey, plus a heady, masculine musk all his own.
I can feel when the strength of his scent fades from my body after a long time apart, and it makes me feel oddly incomplete – like
I’m suddenly missing a piece of myself. There’s also a primal part of me which wants to ensure he doesn’t go to see his mate –
the she-wolf who’s carrying another one of his babies – without claiming me first.
I’m already fighting a great conflagration of jealousy at the idea that she’s carrying his child. I want to destroy her, I want to
smother him with my own scent before he goes to her, to stake my claim on him so Lydia knows that he’s mine no matter what
she does.
Suddenly I find myself doing just that. As soon as the thought occurs to me, I find myself rubbing my body all over his,
aggressively wriggling against him, determined to cover every inch of his skin in my own essence. Of course, this is much harder
for me than it is for Sinclair.
He’s so large that he can easily wrap himself around me and cover my whole body. I, on the other hand, have to take extra care
to ensure I haven’t missed a spot. I don’t understand what’s come over me, it’s like I’ve been possessed by some wild spirit
which won’t rest until this man bears my mark– then again, much of pregnancy feels this way. I don’t have any control over what
my body does these days.
Sinclair is purring and chuckling at once, both pleased and amused by my wolfish behavior. I pause, shooting him a suspicious
glare, “Are you laughing at me?
Sinclair grins. “I like seeing you like this. So possessive – so much ferocity in such a tiny package.” His hands are stroking my
sides, exploring the curves of my naked body in a sensual dance that is fanning the flames already consuming me. “It’s adorable,
and incredibly sexy.”
I can feel myself flushing. I can also feel a very familiar and dangerous heat pooling in my belly. If we keep this up, we’re going to
start kissing, and if we start kissing... well, I’m not sure how much longer either of us can hold ourselves back from one another.
This thought is enough to finally cool my overheated blood – we’ve agreed to be friends, not to overcomplicate things.
I slump back down onto the bed, throwing my arm over my eyes so I can’t see Sinclair’s handsome face or rock hard body. “You
should go.” I sigh, trying to be strong. “This is getting out of hand.”
There’s a long beat of silence, but when Sinclair speaks again I know he must have reigned in his own desires, recognizing the
slippery slope we were headed down. “I’m sorry, Ella.” His weight lifts from the bed, and I feel his soft lips graze mine, “I’ll call

you as soon as I’ve seen Lydia. And if you can promise to try and be less irresistible, I’ll promise not to go telling you how much
you turn me on. Deal?”
I can’t help but laugh, moving my arm so I can see his sultry smile, “deal.”