Chosen To Be The Alpha's Surrogate

**I Penelope I**

The hum of the plane's engines vibrates through my body, echoing the constant pounding of my heart. I sit, bound and gagged, in a plush leather seat that feels more like a torture device than the luxury it's meant to be. The soft leather creaks as I shift, trying in vain to find a comfortable position with my wrists and ankles tightly restrained. The bindings chafe against my skin, leaving angry red marks that throb in time with my racing pulse. *Breathe, Penelope. Breathe.*

I try to focus on anything but my racing heart, my eyes scanning wildly my surroundings. The air in the cabin is cool and crisp, tinged with the faint scent of leather and some expensive cologne-probably Rook's. It's a far cry from the comforting scent of Malachi that I've grown accustomed to, and its absence makes my heart ache.

Rook sits across from me, his hazel eyes-so unnervingly similar to my own-watching me intently. The low lighting of the cabin casts shadows across his face, making his expression hard to read. I glare back at him, my chest heaving with labored breaths through my nose. The tape across my mouth feels suffocating, the adhesive pulling at my skin with every twitch of my lips.

"Relax, Penelope," Rook says, his voice frustratingly calm. "If you settle down, I might consider removing the tape."

I want to scream at him, to tell him exactly where he can shove his *generous* offer. But as another wave of nausea washes over me, bile rising in my throat, I realize I need to calm down. Not for Rook, not for his twisted idea of protection, but for the little life growing inside me.

*I'm sorry, little one. Mommy's trying.*

I take a deep breath through my nose, willing my heart to slow down. Slowly, I try to relax my muscles, starting from my toes and working my way up. It's a technique Malachi taught me for dealing with stress, but the memory of his gentle guidance only brings tears to my eyes.

Suddenly, a movement catches my attention, and I turn to see a woman approaching. The click of her heels on the plane's carpet is sharp and precise, each step filled with purpose. She's strikingly beautiful, with long dark hair that cascades over her shoulders in glossy waves. Her piercing green eyes seem to look right through me, assessing and calculating.

As she nears, I notice a mark on her neck, peeking out from beneath the collar of her silk blouse. It's similar to the one Malachi gave me a slightly raised, silvery scar in the shape of a crescent moon. The sight of it confirms what I already suspected:

*This is Rook's mate.*

Rook stands to greet her, his hand settling on her hip in a gesture so intimate it makes my chest ache. The soft rustle of fabric as they lean close to each other seems deafening in the quiet cabin. He whispers something in her ear, his lips barely moving.

Her eyes flick to me then, and I feel the weight of her gaze like a physical thing. There's curiosity there, and something else sympathy, maybe? Or pity? Whatever it is, a shiver runs down my spine under her scrutiny. Before I can decide how to interpret her look, she turns and walks away, disappearing behind me into another section of the plane.

The plane begins to taxi, the movement making my stomach lurch uncomfortably. A fresh wave of panic crashes over me, my heart racing so fast I fear it might burst from my chest. And the reality of my situation hits me full force: *Once we're in the air, Malachi's chances of finding me are probably none.*

As we accelerate down the runway, my breath comes in short, sharp gasps through my nose. The force pushes me back into my seat, the leather creaking under the pressure. The vibrations of the plane intensify, rattling through my bones. I can't help but think of how far it's taking me from Malachi, from home.

*No! Please, no!*

The pitch of the engines changes, rising to a fevered whine as the nose of the plane lifts. My stomach drops as the wheels leave the ground, and for a moment, I'm suspended between earth and sky, neither here nor there. Tears well up in my eyes, hot and stinging, spilling over as we climb higher and higher.

Through the window, I watch as the ground falls away, buildings and roads shrinking until they look like a child's playset. Each foot of altitude is another foot between me and Malachi, and the distance feels like a physical pain in my chest.

Sobs wrack my body, the sound pathetically muffled by the tape over my mouth. My chest tightens, each breath a struggle against the rising tide of panic. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision, the cabin seeming to spin around me. The baby kicks frantically, responding to my distress, which only serves to heighten my panic.

Suddenly, Rook is moving, crouching in front of me. His hands come up to cup my face, his skin warm against my tear-cooled cheeks. His thumbs gently wipe away my tears, the calluses on his fingers a stark contrast to his gentle touch. "Penelope, listen to me," he says, his voice low and urgent. I can see the concern in his eyes, feel it radiating off him in waves. "Focus on my voice. You're safe, I promise. Nothing bad is going to happen to you or the baby. Just breathe with me, okay? In... and out. That's it. In... and out."

Despite everything, I feel myself responding to his presence. That strange pull I've felt since I first saw him seems to hum between us, a tangible force calming me against my will. My sobs quiet to hiccups, my breathing slowly evening out to match his exaggerated breaths.

Carefully, he peels the tape from my mouth. I wince as it pulls at my skin, the sting sharp and immediate. But the relief of being able to breathe freely overshadows the discomfort. I lick my dry lips, tasting salt from my tears.

"Please," I whisper, my voice hoarse and desperate. The words scrape against my raw throat. "Please, Rook. Don't do this. Take me back to Malachi. Please!"

Rook's expression softens, genuine remorse etched in the lines of his face. I can feel his regret, as real as if it were my own. But when he speaks, his voice is firm, unyielding. "I'm sorry, Penelope. I truly am. But this is necessary. You'll understand someday."

He stands up, the movement swift and fluid. Panic surges through me again, my heart leaping into my throat. "No! Rook, please! Don't leave me like this!" I cry, struggling against my restraints. The bindings dig into my skin, but I hardly notice the pain. "Please, I'm begging you!"

But Rook just looks at me, his eyes full of sadness. "Try to get some rest, okay? It's a long flight." With that, he turns and walks away, his footsteps muffled by the carpet.

"Rook! Please! Come back!" I shout after him, my voice breaking. My throat burns with the effort, but I can't stop. "You can't do this! Please!"

But he doesn't turn around, doesn't even hesitate. His back is straight, shoulders set with determination as he disappears from view. My cries fade to quiet sobs as the reality of my situation sinks in.

I slump in my seat, feeling utterly defeated. Tears stream down my face, hot trails that cool quickly in the air-conditioned cabin. I stare out the window at the endless expanse of clouds, puffy and white in the sunlight. They look so soft, so peaceful-a stark contrast to the turmoil inside me.

Somewhere down there is home, is Malachi. With every second, every mile, we're getting further apart. The distance feels like a physical ache in my chest, a hollowness that threatens to consume me. *I'm so sorry, Malachi.*

I hope against hope that somehow, he can feel my remorse, my love.

*I'm sorry I didn't trust you. I'm sorry I let this happen.*

The baby moves restlessly, and I wish I could rub my belly, offer some comfort to our child. Instead, I'm left feeling more helpless than ever, unable to protect even the life growing inside me.

As the adrenaline fades, exhaustion begins to set in. My eyelids grow heavy, the gentle hum of the engines and the rhythmic vibrations of the plane lulling me despite my best efforts to stay alert. As I drift off into an uneasy sleep, my last conscious thought is a desperate plea:

*Find me, Malachi. Please... find us.*