Accidental Surrogate for Alpha novel Chapter 138

Sinclair

I don’t remember much about my own experience shifting for the first time. I remember the blinding pain, the torment of having every bone in my body broken, every muscle torn to perform the strange alchemy of reshaping my into a wolf. I remember it feeling as though it lasted forever, the certainty that it would never end… that I was surely dying. I didn’t understand how anyone could survive such torment, but my Father was beside me every step of the way, holding me, comforting me and promising that it would be alright. I recall the rumble of his steady, reassuring voice more than anything else, but I never imagined how hard it must have been for him to watch me suffer thus.

Now I understand only too well. It’s worse with Ella, because all her senses are coming in at once – the entire world suddenly becoming to sharp, too bright, too loud. And her agony is deeper, because in becoming her wolf she’s also losing our baby, the baby she waited and longed for over so many years. I’m devastated to know our son won’t survive, and I can feel his immense stress through our bond as Ella’s wolf emerges, but the worst part of all this is knowing I can’t fix it. I can’t protect either of them from the brutality of nature.

I would gladly take on Ella’s pain myself. I would gladly suffer so that she doesn’t have to… but I can’t, I can only be there for her and try to ease her distress. When the helicopter lands on the roof of the mansion, I carry Ella down to my room, struggling to hold onto her as her small form jerks and spasms with more strength than she would ever be able to manage normally. She’s still shivering with cold, and though her wolf is waking up, I’m worried that it may not be fast enough to save her fingers and toes.

“Look baby, look – it’s your nest.” I tell her, unwrapping her from my coat to deposit her on the bed.

Ella is still in the beginning stages of her shift, still lucid enough to know where she is and what’s happening. It won’t stay that way, of course. In a few hours she’ll be so consumed by pain that she won’t know her own name anymore. She peeks through the darkened room, taking in her surroundings. With a pitiful moan, she weakly crawls deeper into the pillowy haven, both relieved to be in her safe haven and heartbroken to know she won’t need a nest much longer. I quickly bury her trembling form in blankets, and drop a kiss to her tear-stained cheek, promising to return shortly.

I leave her only long enough to fill the bath with warm water, trying not to think about how different this might have turned out if I hadn’t waited so long to go in after her. I’d been trying to respect her wishes, to make her escape as safe as possible. Instead she ended up alone and helpless on the frozen mountain.

The sounds of Ella’s inconsolable weeping and whimpers of pain provide a tortuous soundtrack to my internal diatribe, and I return to the bedroom to find her writhing in discomfort under the blankets. When I try to lift her she resists, “N-no.” She cries, shoving my hands away. “I w-want to stay. If I h-have to l-lose him, it sh-should be here.”

“I’ll bring you back.” I vow, realizing what a mistake it was to offer her this comfort and then try to take it away – even if it is only temporary. “We have to get you warm first, sweetheart.”

But Ella won’t have it. She fights me tooth and nail as I forcibly remove her from the bed, as vicious as a tiny hellcat despite her exhaustion and depleted state. It breaks my heart to be so ruthless with her, but I know it’s for her own good. I can’t get her to be still long enough to undress her so I tear her clothes away and drag her into the bath. She goes in with a great splash, then whines as the warm water meets her numb extremities, no doubt sending pins and needles through her limbs.

Ella immediately tries to escape the tub, and I hold her down, wishing there was any other way. I’ve called for the doctor, but until her shift is over, administering any kind of care to her is going to be harrowing. Ella lashes at me the only way she can, telling me she hates me, that I’m a monster and she’ll never forgive me for this. I know she’s not herself, but I’d be lying if I said these words didn’t hurt, digging into my already aching heart like so many knives.

I can’t even purr for her, because the noise alone will make her pain that much worse. The sounds and chaotic scents of the city have already amplified the pain she was feeling in the forest, and I’m trying my best not to add to her plight. I wish I could get some food into her to help provide her energy for what is yet to come, but I know it will be impossible. It’s probably for the best anyway, since her taste buds will be just as over-sensitive as everything else.

Suddenly Ella’s back bows violently as a horrible crack fills the air, and I know we’re out of time. She howls with pain as she enters the second stage of her shift, and my wolf whines helplessly, rabid with the need to ease her torment. I pull her from the bath and return her to the nest, letting her feel my nearness and praying this will comfort her. Ella’s shouts of anger transform into wails and begging for me to make it stop. I can only hold and pet her, whispering sweet nothings and reminders that it’s only temporary. “I know, baby. I know it hurts. I promise it will be over soon.”