The Alpha's Surrogate Luna

“You want me to spare a traitor, Emerald? Crawl across this glass and tell me you belong to me instead,” Alpha Zion whispered, his boot on my father’s bloodied neck.

The hall stank of blood and storm. No one moved. Every lord, elder, and warrior watched me—the disgraced daughter of the Kirby bloodline—kneeling on shattered stained glass.

Shards cut through my tunic and into my knees. I didn’t flinch or make a sound.

Beneath Zion’s boot, my father groaned. Elder Marcus Kirby had once commanded the northern territories. Now he was beaten, stripped of his crest, and waiting for the axe at dawn.

“I asked you a question, girl,” Zion snarled and I looked up.

Alpha Zion Pattinson was six-foot-four, broad, and lethal. His black eyes held no mercy. Dark veins pulsed along his jaw. He had taken the throne by force, and everyone in the pack knew it.

“Stop…” my father rasped. “Emerald… don’t crawl to him… Let me die…”

“Silence the traitor,” Elder Silas barked from the dais, his hand on the ceremonial pack seal. “The Council has reached its verdict. Execution by public beheading at sunrise.”

“I am speaking to his daughter,” Zion said without looking back. Elder Silas stopped.

My wolf screamed at me to run, but I stayed. If my father died tonight, the Kirby bloodline would be erased and our hidden heritage would die with him.

I put my hands flat on the stone.

A glass shard sliced my palm. Pain shot up my arm. I bit my lip until I tasted blood, then dragged myself forward one inch. Then another.

Gasps moved through the nobles.

'Look at the proud Kirby princess,' someone whispered. 'Kneeling like a beggar for a traitor.'

I heard every word and memorized their faces. I dragged my bleeding knees over the glass and stopped inches from Zion’s boots. My hands shook as I lifted my chin and looked straight into his eyes.

“I am not begging for mercy, Alpha Zion,” I said. “I am proposing an exchange.”

Zion smiled without warmth. “An exchange? Your land is seized. Your titles are stripped. Your father’s life is forfeit.”

“You need an heir,” I said.

The hall went quiet. Elder Silas stepped forward, but Zion raised one finger and the old man froze.

“Go on,” Zion said.

“The Council gave you ninety days to present a pregnant mate, or they invoke the Succession Mandate and strip your title,” I said. “Sylvia Sterling’s bloodline is toxic to your wolf. Your body rejects her. You’ve spent six months searching for an Omega strong enough to carry your line without dying from your Alpha aura. You haven’t found one.”

Zion’s eyes narrowed. “And you think you can survive me?”

“I know I can,” I said. “My father’s life for my body. Exile instead of execution. Banish him to the outer wastes. In exchange, I will sign the Surrogate Blood-Pact tonight. I will bear your heir.”

“Preposterous!” Elder Silas roared. “She is the daughter of a condemned traitor! Her womb is polluted! Alpha, order her head taken with her father’s!”

“Step back, Silas,” Zion said.

Zion lifted his boot from my father’s neck. My father gasped and coughed into the stone. Zion didn’t look at him. He grabbed my jaw and lifted me until my feet barely touched the floor.

His fingers locked around my face. His scent was cedar and pine. Up close, his Alpha power pressed against me.

“You think this is strategy, little wolf?” Zion whispered. “You come into my hall, bleed on my floor, and think you can manipulate my Council? If you sign any contract, you are not a princess. You are my captive with no rights, no title and no freedom until that child takes its first breath.”

“Do we have a deal, Alpha?” I asked. “Or do I bleed out on your shoes?”

No one dared to breathe.

Zion stared into my eyes, searching for fear. When he found none,, a cruel smile spread across his face.

“Bring the parchment,” he said.

Sylvia Sterling gasped near the throne pillars. “Zion, no! You cannot accept a deal from this trash!”

Zion ignored her. A scribe rushed forward, trembling, and placed the parchment and a silver ritual dagger in Zion’s hand. Zion sliced open his palm and let his blood pool into the silver bowl. Then he seized my bleeding hand and pressed his raw palm against mine.

A jolt tore through me and my wolf howled. The contract burned through my veins and bound me to him. I bit my tongue and refused to scream.

“The deal is struck,” Zion declared. “Marcus Kirby is banished to the northern border at first light. If he sets foot in Ironfang territory again, he dies.”

He tossed the dagger onto the stone, making it clatter loudly.

Zion pulled me against his chest and leaned down, his lips brushing my ear.

“You think you saved a traitor today, little wolf?” he murmured. “You just sold your soul to a monster. And I never let my property go.”