Chosen To Be The Alpha's Surrogate

** Malachi I**

The room is quiet, save for Penelope's soft, steady breathing. I lie beside her, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on her arm, marveling at the way her skin still tingles under my touch. Making love to her after the imprinting... it was unlike anything I've ever experienced. It was as if we were discovering each other for the first time, every touch, every kiss infused with a depth of emotion I hadn't known was possible.

I thought I loved her before, but now? The feeling in my chest is so profound, so all-encompassing, it almost scares me. I've never been one for flowery words or romantic notions, but in this moment, I understand all those sappy love songs and poems. Penelope isn't just my mate or the mother of my child. She's become an essential part of me, as vital as the air I breathe.

But even as Penelope sleeps peacefully, contentment radiating from her in waves, I find myself unable to rest. There's a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach, an unresolved tension that won't let me relax. I know what it is, even though I've been trying to ignore it. I need to make things right with Elijah. I'll never truly be at peace until I do.

Carefully, so as not to wake Penelope, I slip out of bed. I take a quick shower, letting the hot water sluice over me, hoping it might wash away some of my anxiety.

It doesn't.

I change into my usual attire-dark jeans, a crisp white shirt, and my leather jacket. The familiar clothes feel like armor, preparing me for the confrontation to come. *I have to do this. It's long overdue.*

Back in the bedroom, I pause by Penelope's side of the bed. She looks so peaceful, one hand resting protectively over her swollen belly. I caress her cheek with the back of my thumb, the touch feather-light. Then I lean down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, my hand joining hers on her stomach for a brief moment.

"I'll be back soon," I whisper, though I know she can't hear me. "I love you both."

Outside our room, I give strict orders to the guards. "Don't leave her unguarded for a second, understood?"

They nod, their responses of "Yes, Alpha" echoing in the hallway as I stride away. The drive to Elijah's house is familiar, but tonight it feels longer, more fraught with tension. My mind wanders to thoughts of Fallon, our sister. The guilt I've carried for years resurfaces.

*I should have been a better brother. I should have stepped up.*

I was hurting too, but I could've done more for Elijah. After all, he felt the loss of her deeper than I did. I know it, even when I care not to admit it.

When I reach Elijah's estate, his guards greet me at the gate. They nod respectfully, allowing me in without question. Sometimes I forget that Elijah is an Alpha in his own right, with his own pack and territory. It's easy to still see him as my little brother, the boy who used to follow me around, eager for attention and approval.

I park right in front of the house but don't immediately get out. For a moment, I just sit there, trying to gather my thoughts. Elijah isn't the easiest person to talk to on a good day, and our relationship has been strained for years. *How do I even begin to bridge that gap?*

Before I can come up with a plan, I see Elijah emerge from the house. He descends the stairs slowly, stopping at the bottom as I get out of the car. We stand there, a few feet apart, sizing each other up like fighters before a match. "And to what do I owe the pleasure, brother?" Elijah's voice is cool, his face a mask of indifference.

I gesture towards the house. "Can we talk inside?"

For a moment, I think he might refuse. But then he nods, turning on his heel and leading the way into the house. The interior is sleek and modern, all clean lines and minimalist decor-exactly as Elijah's always preferred. It's a far cry from the warm, cluttered home we grew up in.

"Drink?" Elijah asks as we enter the familiar parlor. It's been a while since I've been in his home, yet it remains unchanged.

I nod, accepting the offer more out of a need for something to do with my hands than any real desire for alcohol. He moves to a well-stocked bar, the clink of glass on glass the only sound in the room. I watch him, trying to read something, anything, in the set of his shoulders or the tilt of his head. But he's become a master at hiding his thoughts from me.

"I take it Penelope is fine?" he asks, his back still to me as he pours. "Heard about the incident at the lake."

*Did you hear about it? Or did you orchestrate it?*

*I'm not here for that. It's a conversation for another day.*

"She's okay," I confirm, watching him carefully. But his face remains impassive as he turns, offering me a glass. I can't read him at all, and I find myself wondering when my brother became such a stranger to me.

I take a sip of the amber liquid. Bourbon, of course. Elijah's favorite. The familiar burn helps ground me, gives me the courage to broach the subject I came here to discuss.

"I've been thinking about Fallon lately," I start, watching Elijah carefully.

The change in Elijah is subtle but unmistakable. His fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around his glass. A muscle ticks in his jaw. For a moment, I think he might lash out, might finally release the anger I know he's been harboring for years. But he doesn't. He just stands there, still as a statue, waiting for me to continue.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "I failed you," I admit, the words hanging heavy in the air between us. "When she died... I should have been a better brother. And I want to make things right between us, Elijah."

I pause, steeling myself for what comes next. "I should never have been with Julia, no matter what *fate* had to say. I should never have done that to you."

The silence that follows is deafening. Elijah's face remains unreadable, but I can almost see the gears turning behind his eyes. The tension in the room is so thick I could cut it with a knife.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Elijah speaks. His voice is low, controlled, but I can hear the undercurrent of emotion beneath it. "You want to make it up to me?" "Yes," I say, without hesitation.

*Whatever it takes to heal this rift between us.*

Elijah takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine. The air between us crackles with intensity. When he speaks again, his words are measured, deliberate.

"Give up your place in the running for King. Endorse me instead. That's how you can make it up to me."

His words almost make me stagger. Give up the kingship? The position I've been working towards my entire life? The future I've envisioned for Penelope, for our child?

For a moment, I'm speechless. And Elijah just watches me, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes at having caught me off guard. I take a large swallow of bourbon, buying myself time to think.

On one hand, the kingship has been my goal for as long as I can remember. It's what I've sacrificed for, what I've built my entire life around. To give it up now, when I'm so close...

But on the other hand, isn't this why I came here? To make amends, to heal the wounds between us? And haven't I found something more important than power in Penelope and our child?

I think of Penelope, sleeping peacefully at home. Of our unborn son, the future we're building together.

*Would giving up the kingship really be such a sacrifice if it meant having a whole family again?*

But then another thought hits me.

*What kind of king would Elijah be?*

He's always been more volatile, more prone to letting his emotions guide his decisions. Could I really entrust the safety and wellbeing of all werewolves to him?

I look at Elijah, really look at him. My brother. My rival. The boy I grew up with and the man I barely know anymore. Can I trust him with this responsibility? Can I trust that this sacrifice would truly heal the rift between us, or am I just handing him another weapon to use against me?

The silence stretches on, punctuated only by the sound of my heartbeat thundering in my ears. I can feel the weight of Elijah's gaze, waiting, judging. The choice looms before me, impossible and inescapable. My ambition or my family. My future or my past. The man I've always strived to be or the brother I failed to be.

In this moment, with Elijah's eyes boring into me and the taste of bourbon sharp on my tongue, I've never felt more torn. The weight of the decision presses down on me, and I know that whatever choice I make will change everything.