Accidental Surrogate for Alpha

Ella

I woke up in a thick haze of confusion, feeling as though I’ve been run over by a truck, but not remembering why. Muscles I didn’t even know I possessed are screaming at me, demanding ice packs and pain killers, and I have a thumping headache. For a moment wonder if I somehow have a hangover, recalling the groggy morning afters I used to experience following nights out on the town.

Slowly the memories trickled in: the wild hunt taking a horrible turn; the rogue wolves chasing me in the forest; my near scrape with hypothermia; and fighting for my life while knowing it will all be over once they catch me. When I reach the point where I’m reliving being trapped in the boulders, feeling their claws ripping into my skin as I try to hold them off, I rush to the bathroom.

Emptying my stomach into the toilet for reasons that have nothing to do with my pregnancy and everything to do with the sheer terror I feel, I collapse on the tiles and try to force the horrible memories from my brain.

Other unwelcome images crowd into my thoughts even as I struggle to bury this most recent horror, ghosts from my past seeing an opportunity to rear their terrible heads. Breathing deeply, I force them back into the iron safe in the back of my mind, shoving the memories of last night inside with them. It isn’t easy, but l’m well practiced at stowing unpleasant things away like this, protecting myself from their torment. When the work is done, I feel dazed and numb, but that’s better than wallowing in agony.

Pulling myself up off the floor, I study my bandaged arms in the mirror, realizing they’ll clash with my ball gown’s off-the-shoulder cut. I call the dressmaker first thing, asking her to hurry to my side. The morning papers tell me that the bloody events of my first wild hunt went undetected from the media and the general public, but today is the Solstice itself – it’s more important than ever that Sinclair and I make a strong showing.

The dressmaker arrives shortly, surprising my guards – who apparently didn’t realize I was awake. She suggests tight-fitted sleeves the same color as my flesh, to disguise my bandages without compromising the gown’s design, and also offers to sew me a pair of matching gloves to help hide my injuries. I agree and she quickly makes the adjustments. By early afternoon the gown is complete, and I’m standing in front of the mirror studying the effect.

When Sinclair barges in halfway through the fitting, I’m expecting him to compliment my quick thinking. I smile at him, feeling proud of my efforts, but he only glares. “What in the Goddess’s name do you think you’re doing?

His growling voice sends a shiver down my spine, but I summon a soft chuckle. “Well I can’t very well go to the bar looking like a mummy.” I answer, nodding towards my white bandages.

Sinclair stalks forward, dismissing the dressmaker with a curt “Leave us.” Once the door closes behind her, he bears down on me, towering above me with a foreboding expression on his handsome face. “Ella you’re not going to the ball.”

“I’m sorry, are you auditioning to be my evil step mother?” I quip, astonished by his apparent anger.

“This isn’t a joke.” Sinclair informs me sternly. “A few hours ago you were bloody catatonic.”

to the mirror and pretending I don’t see his

bit groggy from all the doctor’s drugs at first, but that passed ages

muttering in something akin

turn on him, understanding slamming into me. “You called Cora? You told her? Why would

declares, turning me back towards

clutching the garment to my chest. “You should have talked to me before calling Cora. It

of you is

is wrong with you?” I demand, feeling my annoyance devolve into outrage. “Why

almost killed last night but you’re pretending like nothing happened!” Sinclair bursts. I feel a familiar rush of disappointment

denying it happened,” I correct

You’re fine, I’m fine. It was

face him, but he’s obviously wary of touching my wounds. Instead he circles in front

He asserts firmly, searching my face for signs that his words are sinking in and becoming even more

“I know you think I’m this fragile

wits end. “It isn’t fragile or weak to be affected by a near death

isn’t what I meant, just that you want me to behave according to your expectations… but

you were handling it, I wouldn’t care what method you

what, you want me to be upset?” I inquire, aghast. “Why,

want you to be upset!” He rumbles, catching my waist. “But I also don’t want you hurting yourself by repressing your feelings.

process what happened, but I’ll be damned if l’m going to let the Prince win this campaign. Don’t you think he wants us to stay home and lick our wounds?” I demand, surprising myself with the force of my

I also want to make the Prince pay for trying to harm my unborn child. “He shouldn’t get away with