Accidental Surrogate for Alpha

Dark clouds seem to pass over the older man’s features. “No, I’m afraid my son has never forgiven me

for naming Dominic my heir.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” I apologize, realizing how personal the question was.

“Nonsense, you’re family now.” Henry assures me, looking pensive. “I love my son as any father

should,” he shares thoughtfully, “and when you welcome your pup you’ll learn firsthand that children

don’t always appreciate what’s best for them.

Roger would not have made a good Alpha, and I had to do what was best for the pack as well as him.

Neither would have thrived under his leadership, and I haven’t ever regretted passing the role to

Dominic one bit. I just wish it had been possible to do the right thing without sewing so much discord in

my family.”

“Roger hated me long before you named me as your heir.” Sinclair interjects, and I can see his

protective side coming out in response to his father’s sadness. “He’s been after me ever since Mom

died, and becoming Alpha wouldn’t have helped our relationship at all. If anything it would have created

more problems. He would have mismanaged things and I would have been compelled to challenge

him. You did the right thing.”

“Oh I know,” Henry reaches over to pat Sinclair’s shoulder, “l just can’t help thinking that there might

have been a better way, I could have handled it differently, including losing your mother.”

“Everything is easy in hindsight.” l offer gently. “And grief blinds us all, there is no right way to handle it.

Besides, it sounds like these cards were already on the table from the start. I’m sure you did the best

you could and that’s all any of us can hope for.”

“Thank you Ella.” Henry proclaims, managing a dim smile. “I appreciate that.”

We continue to the fair in peaceful silence, and I find myself staring out the window at all the lavish

decorations which were put up around the city yesterday. I was too preoccupied fighting with Sinclair to

notice when we departed the festival, but the old town has truly been transformed for the holiday.

Lights, greenery, ice sculptures and ornaments abound, glittering almost too brightly against the stark

white mounds of fresh snow.

The feast is happening against the backdrop of the Midwinter Fair, and though I wish we had time to

explore the carnival, when we arrive reporters and photographers are clamoring around us the moment

we exit the car.

Sinclair growls at them in warning when they edge too close to me, and though they back off, they

remain persistent in their demands for questions and photos. So we head straight to the feast, eager to

cross the velvet ropes that will block the clamoring media from the main party.

We have to greet the royal family first, bowing and curtseying to the King, Queen and Prince and

making polite conversation – at least, as polite as one can be with political opponents. Afterwards we

move to our assigned places at the head table, relieved to have the tense interaction resolved.

Sinclair pulls out my chair, but I can’t bring myself to sit down. “Oh no,” I gulp, holding my breath when I

see a large platter of grilled fish on the table. “Is that fish?

Sinclair follows my gaze, quickly growling at a waiter. “Can you remove the fish, please?”

“Remove it?” The man blinks, looking back and forth between us. I’ve got my hand over my mouth, and

my face is probably very pale from holding my breath. I’m about to break, needing air but knowing the

scent will be terrible.

“Yes, the smell makes Ella sick.” Sinclair explains, getting impatient with the man’s slowness on the

uptake. “Get it out of here, can’t you see what it’s doing to her?”

It’s too late, at that moment I lower my hand, heaving in a gasp of much needed oxygen, and feeling

my stomach turn in the very same second. I shake my head, knowing I’ve probably turned green and

whimpering when l feel my gag reflex engage. I take off for the restrooms, knowing ifl stay “‘ll be sick all

over the beautiful table.

I can hear Sinclair coming after me, but I race into the bathroom just as another woman is exiting. I can

barely hear their confrontation over the sounds of my own retching, but when Sinclair doesn’t enter I

know the stranger must have insisted he not set foot in the lady’s room. Propriety must have won out,

but I don’t mind – I hate being sick in front of people, especially handsome men who give me

butterflies.

The door opens just as a second wave of nausea overtakes me, and I hear high heels clicking across

the floor. “Oh you poor dear.” A feminine voice sounds behind me, and gentle hands pull the hair back

from my face. “There, that’s better.'”

“Thank you.” I croak, miserable beyond words.

“Nonsense,” My savior replies. “We she-wolves have to stick together.”

“Well l appreciate it.” I repeat, looking up for the first time. The other woman is beautiful, with short dark

hair and bright blue eyes. She’s elegant and sophisticated in a way I’ll never be, and I feel a twinge of

shame. I bet this stranger has never done anything as unseemly as vomiting in public – pregnant or

not.

“This is your first pup.” She observes kindly, “They’re always the hardest.”

“Do you have any?” I ask, moving towards the sink to rinse out my mouth.

“No,” She frowns, a dark look crossing her features. “

I haven’t been so blessed.”

“Oh I’m sorry, it was insensitive of me.”I realize, flushing with embarrassment.

“Don’t worry about it.” She gives me a long, lingering look full of unspoken emotion. “You’re very lucky,

you know.” She murmurs meaningfully, then turns and leaves without another word. I can’t help feeling

as though I’ve missed something important. It’s only after she’s gone that I realize I never even asked

her name.

When I return to the feast, Sinclair stands to greet me, reaching for my waist. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” I try to summon a smile, “as long as the fish is gone .”

“Do you want to leave?” He asks, stroking my cheek.

I shrug, leaning into his warmth and pressing my face to the curve of his neck. He smells so good, it’s

almost enough to make me forget about being ill. His arms come around me reflexively, and I can hear

him breathing in my own scent.

However, rather than purring or humming with contentment like he usually does, his body goes

completely stiff. He pulls away from me slightly, his brow furrowing in confusion as he searches my

features.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, feeling uneasy. He’s looking at me as if I’ve grown a second head, and I don’t

like it one bit.

“You smell like my ex-wife.” Sinclair grits out, his wolf suddenly glowing in his eyes. “You smell like

Lydia.”