Chosen To Be The Alpha's Surrogate

**I Penelope I**

Sleep eludes me again tonight. I lie in the massive four-poster bed, sheets twisted around my legs, staring at shadows dancing across the ceiling. The baby shifts restlessly inside me, as if sharing my disquiet. My hand moves to my swollen belly, trying to soothe both of us, but it's useless. The walls of this gilded prison seem to close in with each passing moment.

"Shh," I whisper, though I'm not sure if I'm talking to the baby or myself. "Everything's going to be okay."

But the words ring hollow in the darkness.

*Nothing is okay.*

I'm trapped on an island, separated from Malachi, surrounded by strangers who view me with suspicion at best, hostility at worst. And then there's Jax... *No. I won't think about him. I can't.*

With a frustrated sigh, I push myself up, the silk nightgown Rook provided sliding against my skin. The movement takes more effort these days, my center of gravity shifted by the precious life growing inside me. Once sitting, I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet finding the cool marble floor.

The enormous windows offer a view of the moonlit ocean, waves crashing against distant shores. It's beautiful, in a lonely sort of way. Like everything else in this place.

*Maybe a walk will help settle my mind, help me stop thinking about... everything.*

I move to the dresser and change into something less exposing, less vulnerable. With a soft glance in the mirror, I begin my way to the door, silently opening it.

To my surprise, I find no one standing outside. Just me and an empty hall.

*Is this Rook trusting me? Or is he testing me?*

Without another thought, I proceed. The corridors are eerily quiet at this hour, my footsteps echoing softly off the stone walls. I don't have a destination in mind, just the desperate need to move, to breathe, to escape the suffocating thoughts that plague me in the stillness of night.

That's when I hear it-the sharp sound of flesh meeting flesh, followed by grunts and the shuffle of feet. My heart leaps into my throat, but curiosity pulls me forward. The sounds grow louder as I approach a set of double doors, left slightly ajar.

I shouldn't look. I should turn around and go back to my room. But something draws me closer, until I'm peering through the gap into what appears to be a training room. My breath catches.

The space is huge, with high ceilings and walls lined with weapons, but it's the scene unfolding in the center that holds me transfixed. A group of young wolves spars under the watchful eye of their instructor, and the moment I see him, something inside me shifts.

*Jax.*

He stands shirtless, his powerful form commanding attention. Moonlight streams through high windows, casting dramatic shadows across the planes of his muscled chest. His dark hair falls in waves around a face that seems carved from marble-high cheekbones, strong jaw, and those stormy blue eyes that seem to see right through me. A jagged scar runs along his right ribs, somehow making him more striking rather than less. He moves with lethal grace, demonstrating a complex series of moves to his students.

I should leave. Every instinct screams at me to turn around and walk away. But I'm frozen, unable to tear my eyes away from the raw power radiating from him. He flows like water, each movement precise and controlled, beautiful and deadly altogether.

One of the younger wolves attempts to replicate the sequence, but his form is sloppy. Jax steps in, adjusting the boy's stance with firm but patient hands. His teaching style is demanding yet encouraging, a side of him I hadn't expected to see. "The key is balance," his deep voice carries easily to where I hide. "Power means nothing without control."

Something about those words resonates deeper than they should. I lean forward slightly, trying to hear better, but the door creaks with my movements.

Jax's head snaps up, his eyes finding mine unerringly through the gap. My heart stops, then races. For a moment, we just stare at each other, the tension between us so thick it's hard to breathe. *Move. Go. Run. Do something!*

"Well, well," he says, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. "Are you going to lurk in doorways all night, or would you like to join us?"

Heat floods my cheeks. I want to run, to hide. But I realize that it's too late. It would only make me look more foolish.

Drawing myself up as straight as my pregnant form allows, I push the door open fully.

The young wolves turn to stare, a mix of curiosity and wariness in their expressions. Some of them I recognize from around the castle, but none have ever spoken to me directly.

"Kal," Jax calls to one of the older boys, his eyes never leaving mine. "Take over the drills. Focus on defensive stances."

The boy nods sharply and begins directing the others, though I notice them stealing glances in our direction.

"Quite late for a walk, isn't it?" Jax asks, moving toward me with that predatory grace that makes my heart stutter.

I lift my chin, refusing to be intimidated. "I couldn't sleep."

He stops a few feet away, close enough that I can see beads of sweat glistening on his chest, far enough to maintain a pretense of propriety. "And you just happened to find your way here?"

"I heard noises," I say defensively, my voice softening just a fraction as I say, "I was curious." I pause, my gaze flickering to the scene behind him briefly. "What exactly do you do here?"

His lips curve into that infuriating half-smile that makes me want to slap him. "I train our warriors. Someone has to make sure they meet pack standards."

*So he's a warrior.*

...

*Probably Rook's best, at that.*

His eyes sweep over me assessingly. "Speaking of which, your form is terrible."

I blink, taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"Your stance," he elaborates, circling me slowly. "You carry yourself like prey."

Anger flares hot in my chest. "I am not prey."

"No?" He moves closer, his scent-earth and pine and raw, intoxicating masculinity-overwhelming my senses. "Then why do you flinch every time I get too close, *princess*?"

The pet name stirs something deep and unsettling in my chest. Each syllable seems weighted with meaning I can't quite grasp, yet somehow recognize on an instinctive level. "Don't call me that."

The words come out sharper than I intend, and something shifts in Jax's expression. The usual cockiness falters, replaced by an intensity that makes my breath catch. His eyes search mine, and for a moment, I see conflict there as if he's wrestling with something far heavier than our verbal sparring.

His jaw works silently, muscles tensing and releasing. When he finally speaks, his voice carries an edge I haven't heard before. "Why not? It's what you are, isn't it?"

The knowing tone sends a chill down my spine. He takes another step closer, and I can see the internal struggle playing across his features. His hand lifts slightly, like he might reach for me, before dropping back to his side. "Or hasn't your brother told you yet?"

There's weight to his words, layers of meaning that make my skin prickle with awareness. "What are you talking about?"

Jax's expression tightens, something like frustration or perhaps regret-flashing in his eyes. For a heartbeat, he looks like he might actually tell me, his chest rising with a deep breath. But then his gaze flicks to the young wolves still training behind us, and his walls slam back into place.

"That's a conversation for you and Rook," he says, though everything in his posture suggests he wants to say more.

*Why? Why can't you just tell me? Just is everyone so fucking secretive?*

I want to argue, but there's something about the way he holds himself like a man carrying secrets that want to break free that makes me shudder.

His eyes track the movement of my hand as it instinctively cradles my belly, and something in his expression shifts. The knowing edge softens into something more dangerous-concern, maybe, or a possessiveness. When he takes a step toward me, it's deliberate, measured, as if he's afraid I might bolt like prey.

That thought stiffens my spine. I'm not prey-not to him, not to anyone. But even as I try to hold onto that defiance, I find myself retreating.

"I'm not here to train," I protest, the words coming out softer than I intend. The way he looks at me like he can see right through every defense I've built makes me feel exposed, vulnerable. "I was just walking—"

"And now you're training," he cuts me off, but there's something almost gentle beneath the steel in his voice. His eyes linger on my belly with an expression I find impossible to read. "Unless you plan to spend your entire life depending on others to protect you?"

The words sink into me slowly, each one irritably finding its mark. I think of all the times others have had to save me, defend me. Malachi. Derek. Elijah. Even Rook, in his twisted way. The realization sits heavy in my chest-even now, I'm helpless, at the mercy of those around me.

My silence must speak volumes because something in Jax's expression softens, though his stance remains unmovable. "I'm pregnant," I say finally, gesturing to my swollen belly. "This isn't exactly the best time for combat training." He moves then, circling behind me with that predatory grace that makes my pulse skip. His presence is like a wall of heat at my back, close enough that I can feel the energy humming off his skin but not quite touching. "On the contrary, princess," he murmurs, and I hate how that title affects me now, loaded with whatever secret Rook is keeping from me. "This is exactly the time you need to learn."

*But Malachi would never let me do this if he were here. He'd probably hate the very idea of it.*

Jax's hands come to rest lightly on my shoulders, the touch surprisingly gentle despite the strength I can feel coiled in his fingers. "Your child makes you vulnerable. And vulnerability..." he pauses, his thumbs pressing ever so slightly into the tension in my muscles, "can get you killed."

A shiver runs down my spine, but not entirely from fear. The baby kicks sharply, as if responding to the charge in the air between us. "Why do you care?"

The question hangs there, dangerous in its simplicity. I feel his grip tighten fractionally, feel the slight catch in his breathing. When he speaks, his voice is rough with something that sounds almost like pain. "You know why."

Three words, but they crack something open between us. It's there, nagging and irresistible-the mate bond we both pretend doesn't exist, the pull I fight with every breath. I close my eyes, trying to center myself, to remember why I need to resist this.

*Malachi. I belong to him. Only him.*

I open my eyes after a moment, determined with everything inside me not to let Jax and whatever... *this* is get to me.

*I will not bend.*