Accidental Surrogate for Alpha novel Chapter 17

Some of my confidence has waned on the ride home. Sinclair has been so mysterious about this scent marking business, and I don’t like the way he keeps looking at me – as if I’m some prey to be devoured.

There’s still so much I don’t understand about this word, like how carrying his child can make me smell more like a wolf myself, or how someone can leave a mark which must be sensed and smelled, rather than seen with the naked eye. Not for the first time, I’m jealous of shifters’ heightened abilities. The more time that passes, the more enchanted I am by the idea of transforming, of letting out one’s inner animal and being truly wild and free. I don’t know why I like the idea so much – it’s not like I have an inner animal to release, so I’m not actually missing out.

“You look nervous.” Sinclair observes, resting one proprietary hand on my knee as the car speeds along. Of course, his touch only makes me more antsy.

“You can fix that.” I suggest, “it doesn’t have to be a surprise.”

“True, but it’s much more fun this way.” He smirks.

“Fun for you maybe.” I mutter mutinously. “Besides, if you want your scent to be strongest tomorrow, shouldn’t we wait?”

“And deprive myself of the opportunity to do it a second time?” He arches a brow, “why on earth would I do that?”

“I…” I don’t know what to make of this. If he were anyone else I’d think he was flirting with me, but that’s not possible. Wolves and humans don’t mix. Maybe he simply enjoys teasing me, like a cat toying with a mouse. He certainly enjoys making me squirm. I realize this must be the reason, and suddenly I find myself feeling very indignant. I don’t like the idea of being some plaything to the hungry predator. I narrow my eyes at him. “Maybe I won’t let you.” I decide.

The hand on my knee tightens, but not enough to hurt. “What was rule number one, little human?”

“That I should be as relaxed and happy through my pregnancy, so you shouldn’t be making me nervous.” I reason, knowing full well he expects me to confirm that he – as Alpha – is in charge.

“You forget I have a link straight to our pup, I know when you’re stressed, and when you’re just making mischief.” Sinclair rumbles. “But if you want more justification for doing it often, it’s to avoid scenes like what just happened. If people can’t see your shoulder and also smell me on you very powerfully, they can be fooled into thinking I have marked you. We can give the mating ceremony excuse to those who ask, but it would be better to avoid the questions altogether.”

A little while later, Sinclair is standing in front of me in my room, looking so powerful and attractive I’m almost too distracted to hear him speak. “Take off your clothes.” He instructs.

“What, all of them?” I squeak.

“You can keep your underwear on, but it’s better if we’re skin-to-skin.” He says, unbuttoning his own shirt.

I watch with wide eyes as he strips down to his boxer-briefs, taking in the sight of his muscular body and feeling my jaw go slack. I’ve never seen anyone so rugged and chiseled.

“Do I need to take them off for you?” He asks, arching a brow and stepping forward.

“What? No!” I yelp, reminding myself that he’s already seen me in my bra and panties. Taking a deep breath, I carefully lift my dress over my head, bracing myself for whatever is to come next.

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Standing beside Sinclair in a ball gown, done up from head to toe in makeup, jewelry and heels, it seems hard to believe Sinclair was rubbing his mostly naked body all over me an hour ago. Scent marking – I’ve learned – is a deeply intimate act, one that confuses me more than I care to admit.

Yesterday when he marked me the first time, he took it slow and explained every step of the process, making sure I understood why it was so important to impart his scent on every inch of my body. This second time, however, was completely different. There were no explanations, no soothing caresses for my frazzled nerves. He came to me with a mission in mind, and slowly, sensuously covered me in his pheromones. If he noticed my body’s response to his attentions – my aching breasts and liquid arousal, he gave no indication.

Now those feelings are long gone, as we’re finally at the campaign dinner I’ve been preparing for non-stop over the last 48 hours. Sinclair quizzed me in the car on the way over, testing my knowledge of shifter society and nodding with approval when I smoothly answered each of his prompts. He hasn’t said a word otherwise, which tells me just how much tension he’s carrying in anticipation of the event.

When we arrive at an incredible palace, I can’t keep my jaw from dropping to the floor. “I’ve never seen such a beautiful estate.”

“This is where our pup will be raised if my campaign is successful.” He shares, “The King’s Palace.”