Alpha Dom and His Human Surrogate - Season 2 Episode 31

Ella

Sleep! I beg my manic wolf. You have to keep your strength up! We need sleep!

I can’t rest when there’s danger. She argues stubbornly, and though I’m frustrated, I understand. I’m so exhausted with fear, anxiety, and pregnancy that I’m barely hanging onto my sanity by a thread, but I know it’s the right thing to do. I need to keep my wits about me.

I haven’t heard anything since the Prince visited my rooms. The servants brought me food and fresh linens, but I didn’t trust them enough to actually eat, and as comfortable as the bed looks, it’s a far cry from my beloved nest. I don’t feel safe here, so how am I ever supposed to let my guard down enough to rest?

If only I could talk to Dominic, to know that he’s alright and warn him about what I learned. As soon as the thought enters my mind, I realize what a fool I’ve been. There is a way! Of course there is!

I pull one of the blankets off the bed, scanning the room. I’ve circled the space about two dozen times already, memorizing every nook and cranny. Three guards are posted outside my door, and two more are posted on the ground below my third story window. In the end I clamber into the large wardrobe, needing to be hidden from sight – to feel walls around me even if they aren’t truly strong enough to ward off an attack.

I toss and turn, trying to get comfortable and calm my wolf. My mind is still reeling, but the knowledge that I could soon be lost in a dream with my mate gives me the determination I need. When I open my eyes again, I’m in the same moonkissed forest I’ve visited in our other dream dates, and I pray that Sinclair has the sense to sleep too.

It happens slowly.

The more time that pa*ses, the more I fear he’s too frantic to rest, but after what feels like hours, I feel the air around me change, sparking with sudden electricity. I know he’s here before I hear his voice, but it doesn’t make the sound of his deep ba*s any less beautiful. “Ella!” Footsteps are racing towards me, and then I’m out of the bed in the trees, sprinting towards the sound of his voice.

When I see him I feel as though time itself slows down. My vision blurs with tears, and I’m crying out for him too, “Dominic!”

He’s charging towards me beneath the stars, his ravenous gaze locked on me with such avid determination that part of me wants to turn and give chase – but I push those instincts far away. We’re both wearing the same curious clothing that always appears on us here, but the closer Sinclair comes, I can see he’s got a black eye and fresh scratches covering his skin. I’m worried for the wounds hidden beneath his clothing, but he’s alive – and he’s here.

When he’s only a few feet away, I launch myself into his arms, feeling not a single shred of pain as my battered body collides with his. Powerful arms lock around my body, clutching me so tightly I can’t breathe, but I don’t care. I want him to hold me even tighter, and so I cling to him with all my strength, wrapping my legs around his waist and burying my face in his neck. His scent fills my senses, and I’m crying with sheer relief. He’s okay.

The huge Alpha is nuzzling and petting me, murmuring sweet nonsense as he trails his lips over my skin. “Ella, my Ella. I’ve been so worried.” I can only whimper in reply, running my hands through his hair and hoping he can feel my love as powerfully as I can feel his. “Such a clever mate, to think of our dreams! So perfect, so sweet.” He drops to his knees, and though I’m trying my best to fuse our bodies together, he begins tugging at my limbs, “I’m so sorry, my love. Are you alright?”

I whine and squeeze him tighter, but his inner caretaker has claimed full control and he drags my body away from him with utmost ease. “Let me see, let me look at you.”

With an agonized expression, his eyes sweep over the gash where my head hit the window in the car, the black bruise on my temple where the wolves knocked me out, and the blooming blue shadow on my cheekbone from Lydia’s slap. His wolf whines as if my pain is his own, and Sinclair studies and fusses over each mark, dotting them with kisses and murmurs of sympathy. “Poor baby, what have they done to you?”

“The baby.” I hiccup, shaking my head and dragging his palm to my belly. He lets me guide his movement, obviously equally concerned. “He’s kicking but I can’t tell… is he alright?”

Sinclair dips his head to my neck as he focuses on the pulses of energy through his bond with our son, nibbling the spot on my shoulder where he claimed me the last time we were here. “He’s okay, but he’s stressed.” He finally confirms, “he can feel your anxiety.”

It’s not the best news, but it’s still an incredible relief. I’d been terrified that he might have been injured in the crash. “There,” Sinclair croons, stroking my tummy as he breathes in my scent. “You see, that’s better already. Oh my sweet mate, you must have been so afraid.”

“What about you?” I sniffle, “are you hurt? What happened in the battle?”

But Sinclair shakes his head, ignoring my question as he rises and carries me to the bed. He pulls off my night dress, apparently determined to examine every inch of my body for injuries because he can focus on anything else. He growls every time I try to object or push him away, running his hands over my bruises with featherlight tenderness, then following them with kisses.

I’m sorely reminded of a pet who can’t be dissuaded from investigating every last scent on their owner’s clothes after they come in from outdoors, albeit a very growly and affectionate one. Of course, I would ever voice such a comparison to Sinclair. He won’t be satisfied until he’s checked me from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet, switching back and forth between words of love and threats against the Prince. When he’s finally finished, he pulls me into his lap and wraps me up in a tight embrace, purring intently.

“I want to look at you, too. It’s my turn!” I complain anxiously, trying to wriggle enough to reach the buttons on his shirt. He huffs but eventually allows it, and I strip him the same way he stripped me, a fresh stab of pain slicing into me with every new scar and abrasion I find. His ribs are positively purple, and I feel guilty for squeezing him so tightly before. Still, when I try to keep my distance he simply reels me back in, holding me so tightly I have no hope of escape.

“How are you?” Sinclair inquires, still with such urgency despite the time which has pa*sed since we reunited. “Really?”

“I’m scared. For you, for me and the baby.” I confess, “They killed Gabriel and the others just for trying to protect me. I gave myself up and they still killed them!”

Sinclair growls, but this time I sense a flash of anger directed towards me. “They were always going to kill them, that’s why you never ever surrender yourself. Never, you know better than that, Ella. What were you thinking?”

“I just couldn’t stand there and do nothing!” I exclaim pitifully, hating his disappointment in me. I don’t ever want Sinclair to be angry with me, but it hurts especially badly right now, when I only want cuddles and support.

“Yes you could!” He corrects me firmly. “And when I get you back I’m going to make sure you never consider doing anything so reckless again. Not for me, not for anyone.” There’s a threat in his voice, but the strange thing is that I find the suggestion of his dominance more calming than anything else. I suppose it tells me that he still loves me enough to care – not to give up on me for a single mistake. “What else?” He inquires, still in protector mode, needing to know every last detail.

A fresh wave of sobs threaten as I consider the things which have occurred since I arrived here. “Lydia’s an abominable cow and the Prince is as dumb as a brick… and I miss my nest.” I burst at the end, breaking down completely.

Sinclair clucks, purring louder for me. “I know, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“Why is this happening?” I squeak after a minute, hating my weakness.

“The Prince is getting desperate.” Sinclair answers, kissing my hair. “But don’t worry, I’m going to make it right. I’m going to come for you. Where is he keeping you?”

“I can’t tell you.” I state abruptly, thinking of the conversation I overheard earlier.

Sinclair stills, seeming to pick up on my sudden tension. “You can’t tell me, or you don’t know?” He clarifies.

“I know… but I can’t tell you.” I clarify, feeling the sudden urge to cower. I peek up at him from beneath my lashes and see the foreboding look on his handsome face. My wolf tucks her tail between her legs, but I dig in my heels. “I won’t tell you.”

Sinclair growls, and I know I’m in big trouble.