Accidental Surrogate for Alpha

Ella

It’s all come down to this.

My mind reels as I stare into the dark forest. For weeks I feel like Sinclair and I have been trapped in

the same pattern: flirting, holding ourselves back, slipping up and falling in too deep, then retreating. It’s

felt like two steps forward and one step back, but the reality is that those one steps have gradually

brought us closer to this point. The wild hunt feels like a turning point for our relationship – a critical test

to decide whether we become lovers or stay friends – if that’s what you can call us.

I know it’s up to me to decide. For all his affection, compliments and terms of endearment, Sinclair has

promised to follow my lead when it comes to taking things to the next level. I appreciate his restraint,

but there’s also a part of me that wants him to take the decision out of my hands. It’s just one more

impulse this pup has given me that I can’t even begin to understand.

I’ve never wanted anyone to decide anything for me in my entire life, yet here l am agonizing over my

desire for a man I barely know, wishing l didn’t have to be responsible for once in my life.

I think that’s the problem. The temptation is so powerful that I want to throw caution to the wind, but I

know better. I know so much better. So why am I still debating this?

Because it’s Sinclair. He’s different. He belongs to us. The little voice in my head encourages.

I don’t know what drugs you’ve been taking, but you really need to get a hold of yourself. I counter,

feeling more certain now that my conscience has demonstrated just how insane this pregnancy is

making us.

This is temporary. It will pass when I give birth. I can’t run around writing checks that my heart won’t be

able to cash in a few months. Focus on the pup, focus on the future.

I look around at the other participants in the ceremony: other she-wolves dressed in gowns like my

own, their mates glued to them like velcro in anticipation of the hunt. I’m sure Sinclair and I looked

much the same a few moments ago, but now I’ve stepped forward to begin the ritual. Ethereal music

fills the air, a nearby orchestra playing instruments I’ve never before seen, as drums and singing voices

raise towards the full moon.

Gooseflesh raises on my chilled skin, and for the first time since this journey began, I understand what

Aileen meant when she said shifters can feel the Goddess’s magic. I’m probably just imagining it, like

someone who believes they’ve taken drugs and therefore acts intoxicated, but I could swear the very

air feels different tonight.

I feel different tonight.

I close my eyes and raise my face towards the heavens, letting the strange sensations grow. Is it crazy

to think I can actually feel the moon on my skin, or that the electricity pulsing through my veins is not

merely my own excitement, but something more?

I can feel Sinclair’s eyes on me, and I glance back at him as one of the attendants hands me a blazing

lantern.

Sinclair looks as though he’s barely holding it together.

He’s wearing a fur cape like my own, but underneath he’s completely shirtless, sporting only sleek

black trousers and bare feet. His green eyes are glowing through the darkness, and I can see his claws

and fangs extended.

His wolf must be right at the surface, and I remember what he told me about his power being strongest

tonight.

I won’t be myself. He’d warned me. I’m not sure if he’s fully lost himself yet, but I can feel the power

rolling off of him in heady waves, at least I imagine I can. It must be so much more intense for the

actual shifters. I find myself shivering and turning away before the voice in my head can tell me to go

steal a k!ss or immediately flee. Instead I take a deep breath and set off into the darkness, starting

slowly as the music builds. Hundreds of floating lanterns are released into the sky as I disappear into

the forest, and as soon as I’m out of sight, I increase my speed.

Sinclair made me promise not to run once he’s caught me, but he didn’t say anything about

beforehand.

I’ve never been a runner, but tonight nothing sounds better than racing through the trees and feeling

the cold winter wind on my skin. The deep snow makes it difficult, but the golden light of my lantern

casts a warm glow on the dense evergreen trees, and I race forward without hesitation.

I’ve been running for about five minutes, amazed that I don’t feel even a little bit winded, when a

piercing how l shatters the air. For one astonishing moment my body stops dead, trembling and

quaking as Sinclair’s wolf calls to me. The sound paralyzes me, no doubt giving him a head start as he

takes up his pursuit, but once it’s over I’m able to carry on. At this point a true she-wolf would abandon

the lantern and clothing to shift, but Sinclair promised me no one would notice I don’t. AIl the other

wolves are much more concerned with their own hunts tonight, and they won’t even enter the forest

until Sinclair howls his victory once l’m caught.

I can still hear the distant music, and adrenaline and exhilaration flood my form as I continue running.

I’m grinning so wide my cheeks hurt, and actually on the verge of giggling. Why haven’t l ever run in the

forest before? l had no idea what I was missing out on.

Sinclair howls again, and again l’m forced to stop until the shuddering need coursing through my body

passes. This time I understand why I’m shivering and shaking this way, because the mere sound set

my body alight. He might as well have been touching me, bringing all of my neglected nerve endings to

life the way only he can. I’m beginning to really dislike his howls. I can’t let him catch me, if he keeps

howling he’ll catch me. It isn’t fair. The voice in my head wines, throwing off the oppressive weight of

his power to continue our flight.

Run, just run. I answer, not knowing where this is coming from. A few minutes ago I was determined to

let Sinclair catch me, but now that seems impossible. It’s not even an option. I don’t want to be caught.

I just want to keep running like this forever. I’ve never felt so free.

Who is Sinclair to stop us? My conscience inquires.

He’s not the boss of us, I’m never going to stop running and I don’t care what he says.

Yes. I think in agreement.

You’re right, you’re so right. We’re never going to stop.

Another howl breaks the air, and I prepare myself to halt and battle the call, but for some reason my

body doesn’t respond this time. It’s as if the third howl has no impact on me at all. Surely I haven’t

become immune?

Am I so far away now that it can’t affect me? That doesn’t make any sense, he’s ten times faster than I

am – he’s got to be closing the distance with every minute.

I’m still pondering this when I hear a distant growl, and it occurs to me that the third howl was a higher

pitch than the first two. Is that supposed to mean something?

Is he closing in on me? Was that the victory howl?

l c0ck my ears to the forest behind me, and sure enough I hear more than just music and owl songs. I

expect the steady loping of a gargantuan wolf, but the air is muddled with too many noises – distant

snarls and strange crashes, whimpers and whines. I thought the others Wouldn’t start the hunt until our

part was finished? I think, a bolt of fear slicing through me. And that doesn’t sound like s3x.

In my periphery I think I glimpse a flash of movement, but then an identical flash happens on my other

side. I start to whip my head back and forth, trying to get a hold of what I saw. Unfortunately I can’t do

this and keep my eyes on the path in front of me. I have to choose: look for dangers in my

surroundings, or make sure I have an escape route.

The voice in my head isn’t just urging me to run for fun now, but with the understanding that something

is very wrong here. Finally I hear the steady thud of a wolf on my trail, his paws crashing and crunching

in the dense snow much more swiftly than my own clumsy feet.

But when another howl sounds in the distance, once that does nothing to summon my desire but

seems to scream at me to run for my life, I realize: The wolf behind me isn’t Sinclair, and he isn’t alone.