Chosen To Be The Alpha's Surrogate

** Malachi I**

I watch Penelope sleep, her face softened in repose, one hand curled protectively over the swell of her belly. In the thin light filtering through the threadbare curtains, she looks impossibly young, almost fragile. But I know better.

There's a core of steel running through this woman, a stubborn, unshakable strength that's kept her standing against every blow life's thrown at her. It's there in the jut of her chin, the fire in her eyes when she stares me down, refusing to cower despite the danger I represent.

*She's a fucking survivor. Just like me.*

The thought unsettles me for reasons I don't care to examine. Shaking it off, I push to my feet, restless energy buzzing beneath my skin. I need to move, to *do* something other than sit here, watching over her like some brooding gargoyle. Grabbing my coat, I slip out the door, taking care not to wake her. The morning air is cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of exhaust and frying oil from the diner on the corner. Glancing at my surprisingly untampered car, I pick a direction at random and start walking, no real destination in mind.

*Just...away.*

Away from the suffocating intimacy of that tiny apartment, from the unfamiliar emotions stirring in my chest every time I look at Penelope.

*Fucking hell, get it together. She's just a means to an end, remember? A walking incubator for my heir.*

But as the thought crosses my mind, it feels...hollow. False in a way that makes my gut twist.

Because as much as I try to deny it, Penelope's starting to get under my skin. With her stubborn defiance and fierce, unshakable love for our child, she's forcing me to feel things, to question my ruthless worldview in a way I haven't let myself in since...

*No. I'm not fucking thinking about her again. She left me. She's dead to me now.*

I'm pulled away from my thoughts by the growl of my stomach, reminding me that even the *Alpha King* needs sustenance. Glancing around, I spot a small supermarket across the street, its windows plastered with sun-faded posters advertising weekly specials.

*Might as well make myself useful.*

Decision made, I cross the street, shouldering my way into the store. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting a sickly pall over the scuffed linoleum. I grab a basket and start down the first aisle, trying to remember what humans typically eat for breakfast.

*Eggs, bread, some kind of processed meat product? Fuck, this domesticity shit is not my forte.*

As I turn the corner, lost in thought, I nearly collide with another body.

"Malachi?" Penelope's surprised voice snaps me back to the present. She's standing there in a ratty t-shirt and sweatpants, a canvas tote bag slung over one shoulder. Her eyes widen as she takes me in, gaze darting from my face to the basket in my hand. "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you, I'd imagine," I say drily, lifting the basket. "Hunting for breakfast."

Her mouth quirks, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Top of the foodchain predator taken down by the need for sustenance. Alert the media."

I snort, shaking my head. "Smartass. You here to mock me, or are you going to make yourself useful?"

"I dunno," she drawls, reaching past me to grab a carton of eggs. Her arm brushes mine and I feel a spark, electric and warm. "I wouldn't want to get between the *big bad wolf* and his *hunt*."

I roll my eyes but can't quite suppress the smile tugging at my lips. "Yeah, yeah, yuck it up. But unless you want to dine on dry cereal and ramen noodles ala struggling single mom, you best teach me the ways of human grocery shopping, wiseass."

She throws her head back laughing, bright and unfettered, and something my chest tugs.

"Well, come then, Daddy-to-be," she says, snagging my basket and hooking it over her arm. "Let Mama show you how it's done."

*Fuck me, that shouldn't sound half as hot as it does.*

I follow her through the aisles, watching as she selects items with quick, sure movements. She keeps up a steady stream of chatter as we go, commenting on brands, sharing childhood stories of the orphanage she grew up in, speculating about the baby's future favorite foods.

And despite myself, I find I'm...enjoying it. This slice of normalcy, of domesticity, acting like any other soon-to-be parents. It's a glimpse into a life I never knew I wanted, never dared to hope for.

*Because monsters don't get fairytale endings.*

*We don't get lazy Sunday breakfasts and sleepy midnight feedings.*

*We get blood, loneliness, an endless stretch of days surrounded by power-hungry animals like ourselves.*

The thought sombers me, a familiar bitterness settling on my tongue.

*What the fuck am I doing, playing house like this?*

It's a fantasy, a cruel illusion that will only end in heartbreak for everyone involved.

I suspect that Penelope senses the shift in my demeanor because she pauses, a box of raspberry leaf tea in hand. "Hey," she says softly, her brow furrowing in concern. "You okay? You kinda spaced out on me there." I shake myself, forcing a bland smile. "Fine, just...a lot on my mind."

She studies me for a long moment, her gaze far too knowing. Then, slowly, she nods, placing the tea in the basket. "Okay. Well, I think we've got everything we need. Ready to head back home?" *Home.*

The word sends a pang through me, sweet and aching.

"Yeah," I say gruffly, clearing my throat. "Home sounds good."

We make our way to the checkout, the silence between us weighted but not uncomfortable. As we step out into the bright morning sunshine, Penelope turns to me, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"Thanks for this," she says, hefting the shopping bags. "For playing along with my little domestic fantasy."

I shrug, uncomfortable with her gratitude. "Kid's gotta eat, right?"

Her smile widens, her free hand coming to rest on the curve of her belly. "True. But still...I appreciate it. Having you here, doing this with me...it's nice. Doesn't make me feel so alone."

*Nice.*

Such a small, simple word. But coming from her, it feels like a gift. A blessing I sure as fuck don't deserve.

"C'mon," I say, jerking my chin towards the street. "Let's get you two fed before you start getting snappy on me."

She laughs, bumping her shoulder against mine as we fall step. "Heaven forbid. Wouldn't want to ruin your *Big Bad Wolf* rep, now would we?"

"Damn straight," I mutter, fighting a smile. "I've got an image to maintain."

*If only you knew, little rabbit.*

But as we make our way back to the apartment, trading barbs and banter, I can feel that image slipping. I can feel myself *changing*, molecule by molecule, the iron walls around my heart cracking under the force of her light. And it scares the ever-loving shit out of me.

It's only a matter of minutes before we're back at the apartment, Penelope and I falling into an easy rhythm, moving around each other in the small kitchenette as we put away groceries and start preparing breakfast. It's strangely domestic, this simple act of cooking side by side, and I find myself savoring the novelty of it.

"Can you grab the butter from the fridge?" she asks, whisking eggs in a chipped ceramic bowl. "And the shredded cheese, if there's any left."

I comply, handing over the requested items and watching as she sprinkles a generous handful of cheddar into the eggs. "Cheese, huh? Guess the kid's not going to be lactose intolerant."

She grins, patting her belly. "I sure hope not. Mama needs her dairy fix."

We lapse into comfortable silence, the only sounds the sizzle of eggs hitting the hot pan and the low hum of the ancient fridge in the corner. As I watch her cook, her movements sure and efficient, a strange sense of longing takes root in my chest.

I've been alone since...since she rejected me, and I thought it made me strong, untouchable. But seeing this, being a part of something so mundane yet utterly precious...it makes me ache for things I forgot I once wanted.

The realization hits me like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless and reeling.

*Fuck. When did I start thinking about Penelope as a partner?*

The words feels foreign, ill-fitting for what we are to each other. And yet, some traitorous part of me yearns for it, for the easy intimacy and quiet understanding flowing between us.

As if sensing my inner turmoil, Penelope glances over her shoulder, her brow furrowing. "You okay there, Big Bad? You're awfully quiet."

I clear my throat, aiming for nonchalance. "Fine. Just thinking."

"Careful, you might strain something," she teases, but there's a note of genuine concern beneath the snark. Setting down her plastic spatula, she turns to face me fully, her eyes searching mine. "Seriously, though. What's on your mind?" *You. Us. This fucking mess we're in and how badly a part of me wants to make it work somehow.*

But I can't say that. I can't lay myself bare, risking rejection and the disgust to follow.

So instead, I shrug, my gaze skittering away from hers. "Just...all of this. The kid, the bond, the whole fucked up situation.'

She's quiet for a long moment and I tense, bracing for anger or mockery. But when she speaks, her voice is soft, almost wistful.

"It's a lot, isn't it? I keep waiting to wake up, to find out this has all been some crazy dream." She huffs a laugh, shaking her head. "I mean, a year ago I was married to Donovan, trying to play happy family while he fucked around behind my back. And now..."

She trails off, her hand coming up to rest on her stomach. There's an old pain in her eyes, a hurt that makes my chest constrict.

*I'll kill him. Rip out his fucking throat for putting that look on her face.*

The intensity of the vicious thought surprises me. Since when do I care about Penelope's feelings? About anyone's feelings but my own?

*Since her feelings started being tied to yours, dipshit. Since she started carrying your kid and worming her way under your skin.*

Before I can second-guess myself, I'm stepping forward, my hand coming up to cup her cheek. She stiffens in surprise but doesn't pull away, her wide eyes locked on mine.

"Fuck Donovan," I growl, my thumb stroking over her delicate skin. "Bastard never deserved you."

Her lips part on a shaky exhale and I can feel the tremble in her body, the way she leans into my touch. It sets off a fierce surge of satisfaction in my gut, primal and possessive. *Mine. Mine to protect.*

"No one's going to hurt you like that again," I vow, my voice low and rough. "Not while I'm around. Not the mother of my child."

Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears, her throat bobbing as she swallows hard. "Malachi," she whispers, my name a broken plea on her lips. "I...I don't..."

"Shh..." I murmur, pulling her into my arms. She comes willingly, fitting against me like she was made for my embrace. "I've got you, little rabbit. I've got you *both*."

And I do. In this moment, with her in my arms, our child a gentle curve between us, I know it like I know the beat of my own black heart.

*I will burn the world to ash before I let any harm come to them.*