Accidental Surrogate for Alpha-Chapter 309
Posted on February 08, 2025 · 1 mins read
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I sighed and stretched out against Sinclair, tracing the lines of his body beneath his clothes. I closed my eyes, relaxing, letting myself feel his warmth, basking in the joy of having him safe, healthy, and near, and knowing our baby boy was asleep in the other room.

"You do agree with me, though, right?" I asked quietly. "All jokes aside?"

Sinclair considered for a moment, then nodded, his eyes still closed. "I think they should sort it out themselves," he answered quietly. "But I agree, Ella—if he's not willing to take her, whether or not she can give him children...he should let her find someone who will."

"Thank you, Dominic," I whispered, a genuine pulse of gratitude flowing through our bond. He sent love back.

Then we both relaxed, our breathing deepening, drifting toward sleep.

Sleep, suddenly interrupted by the doorbell.

I groaned, lifting my head from Sinclair's chest. "Who the hell could that be?"

"Probably someone who forgot a purse. Or a shoe. Or…whatever," Sinclair mumbled, sitting up. I rose, too, smiling at my sleepy mate whose words were slurred with tiredness.

He sighed, standing, and I rose with him.

"Stay," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder, gesturing toward the bed.

"No," I sighed. "I'll come with you. It's probably for me, anyway. A package or something." I regretted, suddenly, that we'd let the staff have the day off after the long night. It would have been nice to have someone else answer the door…

…but then I realized that was horribly selfish and privileged, and I took my mate's hand, pulling him toward the door and grabbing the baby monitor, switching it on. Who had I become, that I was disdainful of answering my own door?

Considering some of the conditions I'd lived in, I should be grateful to even have a door.

Frustrated with myself, I hurried downstairs, Sinclair following steadily.

When I opened the door, however, no one was there. Frowning, I looked around, then down at the doormat, where a small folded piece of paper lay.

"What's this?" I asked, bending to pick it up; the baby monitor crackled in my left hand.

I held it up between Sinclair and me as he frowned, quickly scanning the neighborhood before closing the door, clearly on alert.

"Is it addressed to anyone?" he asked quietly, suspiciously.

"No," I said, my curiosity growing. I quickly turned the envelope over and started to slip my finger under the seal when Sinclair grabbed my hand.

"Ella," he said, his voice harsh with worry. "Don't."

"What?" I asked, looking up at him, suddenly worried. "Why?"

He shook his head. "It's…strange. Let's…treat it carefully. All right?"

"Okay," I said. He held out his hand, and I placed the letter in his palm.

"Come on," he said, taking my hand and heading for the kitchen. I followed eagerly, desperate to know, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach.

In the kitchen, Sinclair put a hand on my shoulder, guiding me backward until my back was against the pantry door. "Stay here," he murmured, still looking at the letter, then swiftly crossed to the butcher block.

"Sinclair," I called, clutching the baby monitor. "Why—"

"Precautions," he responded, concentrating on the note. He carefully placed it on the butcher block, grabbed a knife, and moved as far away as possible as he began carefully slicing the sticky seal.

"What," I said, laughing nervously, trying to lighten the mood, hoping he was overreacting, "do you think it's going to explode or something?"

He didn't answer, just slowly finished slicing the seal. When nothing happened, he stood up straight.

"What is it?" I whispered, my anxiety mounting. My heart raced.

"Just one more minute, Ella," Sinclair murmured, holding up a hand. I couldn't take my eyes off him as he approached the envelope, holding it carefully, turning it upside down, shaking it to see what fell out.

Only a piece of paper fell out, clattering lightly against the wood. Sinclair prodded the paper with his knife, flipping it over, ensuring nothing was amiss, then stood and stepped closer to the butcher block, his shoulders relaxing.

"It's just a note," he said, looking at me, confused.

"Oh my god," I breathed, relieved, rushing to his side. "You had me going crazy, Dominic," I said, glaring at him slightly as I hugged him and peered at the note. "What does it say?"

He shrugged and opened the note, revealing a hurried scrawl—just a few lines. We both read it quickly.

Then I blinked, the blood draining from my face as I reread it, horror seizing me.

I'm sorry – This is coming too late – but I had to do what is right

They are coming for him for the little baby –

The ones who made him, who planned for him to be born –

They’re coming

I’m sorry

My face shot up to Sinclair's; my breathing was shallow; panic seized me. Sinclair's face was grim as he reread the note, then crumpled it in his fist, slamming it on the butcher block.

"Oh my god," I whispered, my whole body shaking. "Dominic—who—"

"The baby," he growled, spinning toward the door.

I gasped, looking down at the monitor, clicking the buttons—hearing only static—seeing nothing.

"Oh my god," I wheezed, my breath catching. "The baby—"

My mate tore away, launching himself toward the stairs.

I scrambled after him, taking the steps two at a time—

But he was too fast, quickly outpacing me as he pounded up the stairs, a snarl on his lips, murderous intent toward anything—anyone—threatening our child.

I was halfway up the stairs when Sinclair burst into our room, a roar escaping him. Arriving, gasping, I slammed into the doorframe, unable to move as I watched my mate dash to the bassinet.

If anything, anyone has hurt my baby—

I held my breath, watching my mate bend over the little white basket, searching for our son.