Chosen To Be The Alpha's Surrogate

** Penelope **

Sleep proved elusive last night, my mind restless with memories I'm trying desperately to suppress. The warmth of Jax's hands. The intensity in his eyes. The way my body betrayed me with every touch. *Stop it. Stop thinking about him.*

I press my palms against my eyes until stars burst behind my lids. The baby shifts restlessly, responding to my agitation. My hand moves automatically to soothe him, and for a moment, guilt crashes over me so strongly it makes my breath catch.

*What would Malachi think?*

The thought of him, of how he would feel if he knew about Jax makes my stomach churn. Would he be able to smell Jax's scent on me? Would he know about the unwanted sparks of attraction? About the way my pulse quickened under another man's touch?

A knock at the door startles me from my spiral of self-recrimination. "Come in," I call out, not bothering to move from my position on the bed.

One of the maids-Quin, I think her name is-enters with fresh towels. Her eyes sweep over me, still in my nightgown despite the late morning hour. "Alpha Rook requests your presence at breakfast," she says firmly.

My first instinct is to refuse. The thought of leaving this room and potentially running into Jax... but isolation isn't doing me any favors either.

*Maybe some company will help get my mind off things.*

"I'll be down shortly," I say, pushing myself up with effort. The pregnancy makes every movement more challenging these days.

Quin nods and leaves me to dress. In the closet, I choose a flowing sundress, one that makes me feel just a fraction more confident than I really am.

As I make my way through the corridors, I find myself hyperaware of my surroundings, tense with the possibility of encountering Jax. Every shadow, every distant sound makes my heart skip.

*This is ridiculous. I can't spend my entire captivity hiding in my room.*

When I get to the foyer, the dining room doors are open, sunlight spilling out into the hall. For a moment, I pause in the doorway, taking in the scene before me. Rook and Kira sit close together at the massive oak table, their heads bent in intimate conversation. The morning light catches on Kira's dark hair, making it shimmer. Rook's hand rests on hers, his thumb tracing absent patterns on her skin.

*They look... happy.*

My heart tugs in my chest as memories of Malachi flood my mind. The casual intimacy, the quiet comfort of merely being in his presence. My hand drifts to my belly, seeking comfort in the gentle movements of our child.

They look up as I hover in the doorway, and I catch the tail end of something passing between them-a loaded look. Rook's lips curve into that knowing smile that makes him look so much like me it's unsettling.

"Good morning, sister," he says, gesturing to the empty chair across from them. His voice carries that odd mix of authority and warmth I'm still getting used to. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd join us." *As if I had a choice.*

I move to the chair, feeling their eyes on me. A servant appears silently at my elbow, filling my glass with water and placing a plate of fresh fruit before me. The smell of coffee from their cups makes my mouth water, but I know better than to ask. Pregnancy has robbed me of that small pleasure.

"Did you sleep well?" Kira asks, her tone tinged with genuineness. But there's something in her eyes-knowledge, maybe, or curiosity that makes heat rise to my cheeks.

"Fine," I say shortly, focusing on selecting a piece of melon from my plate.

"Really?" Rook's voice carries an edge of amusement that sets my teeth on edge. "No trouble falling asleep after your... late night adventure?"

My hand freezes halfway to my mouth. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"No?" He leans back in his chair, studying me with those hazel eyes so like my own. "So you weren't in the training room with Jax last night?"

The piece of melon slips from my fingers, landing with a soft plop back on my plate. Kira shoots Rook a look I can't quite interpret, but he seems to ignore it.

"I couldn't sleep," I say defensively. "I was walking. I happened to find the training room. That's all."

"That's all?" Rook's eyebrow arches in a way that makes me want to throw something at him. "Not what I heard."

"And what exactly *did* you hear?" The words come out sharper than I intend, my heart racing despite my attempts to appear calm.

Rook opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, a guard appears in the doorway. His presence feels like an intrusion, breaking the tension that's been building in the air.

"Alpha," the man says, urgency clear in his tone. "There's a situation that requires your immediate attention."

Something passes between Rook and Kira then-one of those silent conversations that seem to happen in the space of a heartbeat. She gives him an almost imperceptible nod, and he rises from his chair.

"We'll continue this conversation later," he says, his eyes lingering on me for a moment longer than necessary. There's something in his expression I can't read-concern, maybe, or warning.

The silence settles thick and heavy as Rook's footsteps fade. The clink of silverware against the plate seems too loud in the quiet. I focus on my food, pushing a strawberry around with my fork, achingly aware of Kira's presence across the table.

When I chance a glance at Kira, I find her watching me with that unsettling perception that seems to be a trait among werewolves. She takes a deliberate sip of her tea-chamomile, I think before breaking the silence. "He's not what you expected, is he?"

The question catches me off guard, though I've been half-expecting it. My fingers tighten around my water glass. "I don't want to talk about Jax."

"Don't you?" Her voice is gentle, understanding. "It's okay to be confused, you know. The true mate bond... it's not something you can just ignore."

My heart stutters at her words. I set down my glass harder than necessary, water sloshing over the rim. A drop slides down the crystal, catching the light like a tear. "I'm not confused," I insist, but my voice wavers traitorously. "I love Malachi. He's my mate. My choice."

The words taste like ash on my tongue, heavy with guilt. Kira leans back in her chair, the silk of her blouse whispering with the movement. The morning light catches on her mate mark-that silvery crescent on her neck that marks her as Rook's -and something in my chest constricts.

"Love and mate bonds aren't mutually exclusive," she says carefully, each word measured as if she's walking through a minefield. "You can love Malachi with all your heart and still feel the pull of a true mate."

My heart pounds against my ribs, the sound loud in my own ears. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" The words come out sharper than I intend, catching in my throat.

Kira sets her teacup down, the porcelain making a soft chime against the saucer. Steam curls up from the golden liquid, carrying that soothing chamomile scent that somehow makes me want to cry. "No," she says simply. "I'm not going to pretend I understand what you're going through. Rook is my true mate-I've never been with anyone else, never had to choose. But I've seen enough mate bonds, both true and chosen, to know that there are no easy answers."

I study her then, *really* look at her. Sunlight plays across her features, highlighting the quiet confidence in her bearing that I hadn't noticed before. There's something regal about her, yet approachable. Strong, yet yielding. The contradiction nags at me.

"How do you do it?" I ask, the question slipping out before I can stop it. "Balance being your own person with being his mate? You seem so... strong, and yet..."

"And yet I submit to him?" Her smile holds no offense, just understanding. She leans forward, her dark hair falling like silk over one shoulder. "Submission isn't weakness, Penelope. It's trust."

The words sink into me slowly, finding purchase in places I didn't know were empty. My hands rest on my belly, seeking comfort in my son's movements. "I don't understand."

"I choose to let Rook lead," she explains, "because I know he'll always put my wellbeing first. It doesn't diminish who I am-it enhances it. When you trust someone completely, giving them control isn't surrender. It's freedom."

Her words resonate through me, stirring memories of moments with Malachi once again. Times when his strength felt like shelter, not chains. But then... unbidden, unwanted, another image rises: Jax's hands guiding me through defensive stances, firm but careful. The way his authority had felt both overwhelming and right...

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "What..." The question sticks in my throat, but I force it out. "What kind of man is Jax? Really?"

Something softens in Kira's face. "One of the best I've ever known," she says quietly. "Loyal to a fault. Fierce in protection of those he cares about. Any woman would be lucky to have him."

For one dangerous moment, I let my guard down. Let myself imagine what it might be like to be the woman Jax looks at with that intensity, that barely restrained passion. The air feels suddenly thick, hard to breathe. His scent-earth and pine and raw masculinity-seems to ghost across my senses even though he's not here.

The baby kicks hard, startling me from my traitorous thoughts. Guilt floods through me then, bitter and sharp on my tongue. My fingers find my mate mark, Malachi's mark, pressing against it until it aches.

"It doesn't matter what kind of man he is," I say, my voice rough. "I made my choice."

"Did you?" Kira asks, her tone gentle but probing. "Or did circumstances make it for you?"

The question hangs in the air between us, uncomfortably close to thoughts I've been trying to suppress.

*You don't have to answer that.*

...

*I won't answer that.*

My heart thuds against my ribs as another question rises to my lips, one I've been holding back since last night.

"When Jax..." I pause, gathering my courage. "He kept calling me '*princess*.! The way he said it... what did he mean?"

The change in Kira is subtle but immediate. Her spine straightens slightly, her fingers tightening around her cup. Something flickers in her eyes-recognition, maybe, or concern. The air seems to still, like the calm before a storm. "That's not my place to answer that," she says carefully, each word measured. "You should ask Rook about your heritage. About your family's true place in our world."

Frustration burns in my chest, hot and sharp. "Why does everyone keep avoiding my questions?" My voice rises slightly. "Why can't someone just give me a straight answer?"

Kira sets her cup down with deliberate care. The soft clink seems to echo in the suddenly heavy air. "Because we all answer to someone," she says, rising from the table. "And I value Rook's trust too much to break it by telling you something you could ask him yourself about."

She leaves me there, the soft whisper of her silk dress fading with her footsteps. The remnants of breakfast lay forgotten on the table-half-eaten fruit, cooling tea-all of it suddenly meaningless against the weight of secrets everyone seems desperate to keep.