Accidental Surrogate for Alpha-Chapter 282: Hell on Wheels
Posted on February 17, 2025 · 1 mins read
Listen to this chapter:

Ten days crawled by with agonizing slowness, and I thought I'd lose my mind.

On the morning of the eleventh day, I sat in bed, passively staring at the TV, flicking through channels without caring what was on. I'd seen it all, anyway.

I hadn't been idle. I'd tried everything. I'd sent countless emails to aid organizations, asking if I could help from home. They all replied with pleasant congratulations and urged me to focus on my recovery. I scowled, deleted each email, and silently wondered if Sinclair had intervened, whispering to the organization heads to keep me occupied only after the birth.

When that failed, I tried various crafts I'd always wanted to pursue. Knitting was mind-numbingly boring, I'm a terrible painter, and my novel-writing attempts were disastrous. Hobbies abandoned, I turned to education, downloading language apps to become the polyglot I'd always dreamed of being.

But, I swear to God, if that little owl popped up on my phone one more time urging me to practice my French…

Let's just say my fondness for birds took a significant hit.

So, it was just me and the damn TV, my brain slowly deteriorating as I lay in bed, supposedly resting—even though it felt like torture.

It's not that Sinclair isn't kind. We meet nightly in the dream space, but during waking hours, his time is limited. He's working tirelessly to unite humans and wolves, and I lacked the heart to tell him I'd tried stacking Oreos on my forehead (eighteen, by the way) to alleviate boredom.

I knew even a hint of my misery would have him rushing to my side, but what kind of queen would I be if I pulled him away from our people? I needed to be strong, but damn, it was hard. Who knew charging through a shelled city to a temple would be easier than ten days of bed rest?

My only relief was the dream state, with or without Sinclair. I slept and napped constantly. I felt freest alone. I cherished our nights together, touching and holding each other in ways impossible in the real world, but when alone, I transformed into my wolf and ran—

Through rivers and mountains, feeling the snow crunch beneath my paws. Through moonlit forests, drinking from silver lakes. Across deserts, my paws barely touching the sand. Sometimes, a little pup ran beside me, yipping with joy. He wasn't always there, but when he was, my heart swelled.

But a girl can only sleep so much, especially with nothing to do but sit around.

That's how I ended up on channel 826, passively wondering what happened after 999. Did it loop back to 0? Or did it go on…forever?

I sighed, tossed the remote, and growled in frustration.

Damn it, I needed something to do. I'm a wolf; we weren't meant for passive bed rest. I had to move.

Again, I racked my brain, considering how my loved ones would handle it. Cora would grit her teeth and endure, like med school. Sinclair would ignore the doctors and forge ahead. While tempting, I'd promised I wouldn't.

I slumped against my pillows, thinking of everyone I knew, when Sinclair's father, Henry, came to mind.

I gasped, grabbed my phone, called him, and prayed he answered.

"Hello?"

"Henry! I have a great idea. Can you help?"

Hours later, the house was bustling.

"Yes, this is perfect," I breathed, as a service technician lifted me from bed.

A ragged snarl ripped through the room.

"Get your hands off my mate," Sinclair demanded, his voice a murderous threat. The technician, seeing the werewolf, trembled, nearly dropping me.

"No!" I cried as he started to lower me. Pointing, I commanded in my best Luna voice, "Don't put me back in that bed. I'll flip out."

Torn, the technician hesitated, fearing for his life.

Sinclair snatched me from his arms before I could speak, holding me close. "Get out," he growled. "And if I ever see you again—"

I heard running feet. I peeked around Sinclair's shoulder anyway.

"Seriously?!" I exclaimed. "You had to scare him like that?!"

"He had his hands on you, Ella," Sinclair snarled, rage still in his eyes. I smirked, pleased by his jealousy. He narrowed his eyes at the new wheelchair.

"What the hell is all this, Ella?"

"My salvation," I said, admiring the chair. "It's state-of-the-art—"

"Ella," my mate snapped, "you were ordered to stay in bed."

"This is bed-adjacent!" I retorted. "I sit up in bed, why not in a chair?"

"That's not the point," he said, angry. "You're supposed to be resting, healing."

"Dominic," I interrupted, showing my desperation. "Please. This is..." I shook my head. "It's killing me to do nothing. Please, I won't leave the house. I just need out of bed."

He paused, his eyes softening. "Ella," he said evenly, "if you were so miserable, why didn't you tell me—"

I shook my head. He knew why. He nodded, sighed, and carried me to the hall where workers were installing a stairlift.

"And what are these ones doing?" he asked.

"My stairlift!" I exclaimed, breathless with wonder. "Isn't it amazing?"

"Ella," he scolded, "what is all this even going to—"

"It's easy!" I cried, feeling genuine enthusiasm. "Your dad helped—a chair upstairs, a stairlift, a chair downstairs! I have the run of the house! Even Doctor Hank and Cora approved!"

Sinclair took a deep breath, but a smile broke through.

"All right, trouble," he murmured, placing me in the chair. "But I have a feeling this is a terrible idea."

"No! The best idea!" I cried, zooming down the hall. "It's going to be great!"

Sinclair rushed after me as I accidentally knocked over a vase. His face was terrified.

"Um," I said, biting my lip. "You didn't like that one…right?"