Surrogate for the Alpha Prince in a Coma

I had seventeen minutes before the royal escort came to take me away. My father signed me up as the Alpha Prince's surrogate candidate. Alpha Prince Grayson, the King's only heir. He'd been in a coma for months.

The King and Queen wanted a backup plan. An heir. So they'd sent word to all thirteen packs: each pack must offer at least one unmated female candidate. Virgin. Healthy. Ready to breed.

My boyfriend was supposed to save me from that.

Wait for me, he'd said. I'll knock three times. We'll be gone before anyone notices.

It was nearly two in the morning.

Calvin hadn't knocked.

I sat on the edge of my bed in my mother's old cotton dress — faded blue, two buttons missing at the collar, a coffee stain on the hem that wouldn't come out no matter how many times I scrubbed it.

My bag was packed between my boots. Two sets of clothes, the locket my mother left me before she died, every coin I'd saved from three years of kitchen work, and a photo of my brother Ronan grinning with his two front teeth missing. He was twelve now, and both teeth had grown back, but I liked the photo better this way.

That was everything I owned worth taking.

I trusted Calvin. I'd trusted him since I was fourteen, when he first called me pretty in the lunch hall — dark hair falling into his eyes, that easy future-Alpha smile already settling across his jaw. Three years of hand-holding under the table, stolen kisses behind the training yard.

He was going to be Alpha. I was going to be his Luna. That was the plan.

Most of the girls in the pack thought the Prince's surrogate program was an opportunity. They whispered about it in the kitchens with clasped hands and bright eyes. Imagine living in the palace, imagine eating royal food every day, and if the Prince ever woke up, imagine being his Luna Queen. A fairy tale with a sleeping prince, and all you had to do was lie down next to him and carry his child.

I just wanted Calvin. But my father didn't care what I wanted. He never had.

Fourteen minutes.

My wolf stirred behind my ribs. She was agitated, pacing inside me, scraping at the walls my mother had built to contain her.

My mother had given me medicine as a child. Bitter drops on the tongue every full moon to keep my wolf from developing too fast. "You're different," she'd whispered, her hand cold on my cheek, her eyes already going glassy with the sickness that would kill her three months later. "Too different. People will try to use it."

I never understood what she meant. All I knew was that my wolf was bigger than it should have been. Stronger than any Gamma girl's wolf had a right to be.

And I hid it. Wore loose dresses, hunched my shoulders, kept my voice soft. Calvin said he liked his women delicate.

So I was delicate. For him.

Ten minutes. I couldn't wait anymore.

I grabbed my bag, eased my door open, and crept into the hallway. The second floor was dark. Most of the pack was downstairs, probably toasting my departure with cheap beer.

My boots were wrapped in cloth at the soles, a trick Calvin taught me for sneaking past curfew, and the hardwood was silent under my feet.

I was halfway to the main packhouse when I heard it.

Calvin's laugh. Low and easy and unmistakable. Coming from behind my stepsister Maren's door, which was cracked open an inch, warm lamplight bleeding through the gap.

I should have kept walking. I should have told myself it meant nothing.

I looked.

Calvin was on Maren's bed. Shirtless, his back against the headboard. Maren was draped across his lap, her arms looped around his neck, her mouth trailing slow kisses along his jaw.

His hand rested on her bare thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles against her skin. Her nightgown was bunched up around her waist.

Touching.

My stomach went cold. My face caught fire.

"She probably has no idea I've been right here the whole time." Calvin sounded bored. Almost amused. "I told her to wait for my knock. She's still sitting in that room like a good little dog."

Maren giggled and nuzzled into his neck. "That's so mean."

"She's stupid, Maren." He tipped his head back and let her kiss his throat. "I stopped wanting her months ago. But what was I supposed to do — dump the Gamma's daughter in front of the whole pack? People talk. A future Alpha can't be seen tossing girls aside."

Every word hit a different part of my chest.

"So Daddy helped you work it out?" Maren traced a fingernail down the center of his chest.

"Your father came to me first, actually." Calvin shrugged like he was talking about the weather. "The King demands at least one candidate from every pack for the surrogate thing. Lillian's a virgin. She checks every box. And this way nobody can say I abandoned her. I'm sending her to serve the crown." He smirked. "Very noble of me."

My grip on the doorframe was the only thing keeping me upright.

"But what if she doesn't get chosen?" Maren sat up. She pouts, "What if she comes back? You promised me a Luna ceremony, Calvin. You promised."

Calvin's eyes went flat. For a second he didn't look like the boy who'd held my hand at the river and told me I was his world.

"She won't come back." His voice was cold. "The Prince's inner wolf is still active even in the coma. It guards the body, attacks anyone who gets close. I know people on the inside. Candidates have tried. Some of them died. The rest came out crippled." He pulled Maren against his chest and kissed her temple. "Best case, Lillian crawls back here in a wheelchair. And a cripple can't be Luna. That's basic pack law."

"So I'm Luna no matter what?" Maren's eyes lit up.

Calvin smiled. "Baby. You were always going to be my Luna."

He kissed her, slow and deep, with the same mouth that had whispered I love you against my hair just yesterday.

My mother's locket slipped from my shaking fingers. It hit the hardwood floor with a crack that split the silence in half.

The laughter stopped. Calvin's head snapped toward the gap in the door. Maren's eyes followed.

They saw me standing there in my dead mother's dress, with tears running down my face and my bag packed at my feet.

I told myself to stop crying. Not in front of him. Not in front of her.

I couldn't stop. Calvin didn't flinch.