THE ALPHA’S HUMAN SURROGATE 2

chapter 10

CATRIONA

I shifted him gently in my arms, brushing a soft kiss over his temple. “Abriel,” I whispered, “can you look at me?”

His only response was to tighten his grip on me, burying his face deeper into my chest like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go.

“Alright,” I said softly, cupping the back of his head. “You don’t want to talk, that’s okay. Let’s sleep. We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

He didn’t answer. But his small body slowly relaxed into mine.

It didn’t take long before his breathing evened out, his lashes still wet from earlier. Still clutching Mr. Patches, his favourite bear, like it could guard him from every shadow in the world.

And I stayed awake.

Two hours.

Eyes wide open in the dim light of our room while the sun began to stretch over the horizon, casting a quiet gold across the walls. I didn’t move. I didn’t blink much either.

My mind wouldn’t shut off.

The guardians. Or whatever they were.

Feeding lies into my son’s dreams—telling him Gabriel was his father. Turning his heart confused, twisted. For what? Some ancient prophecy? A “path” he’s supposed to follow?

Why him?

Wasn’t once enough? Hadn’t they broken me enough the first time around? When they ripped into my life, filled my head with voices, visions,—only to leave me with scars I never asked for and a grief I couldn’t heal? Just in the name of protection.

And now they were whispering to my son.

Through dreams.

Through silence.

And the worst part?

They only ever show up when they feel like it.

Never when I need answers.

My jaw clenched as I carefully slid out from Abriel’s arms, laying him down gently beside me. He didn’t stir.

I moved into the bathroom and quietly shut the door.

The mirror greeted me with dark circles under my eyes and a hollow ache deep in my chest.

I turned on the water and washed my face slowly, letting the cold sting bring me back to centre. Then I changed into a soft grey fitted knit dress—one I always wore on days I needed to feel like I wasn’t falling apart. Something simple, something warm.

When I stepped back into the room, I checked on Abriel again—still sleeping, curled around his bear.

But I didn’t move to wake him.

My eyes drifted to the small table by the window, where two photo frames sat. One caught the light just enough to pull me toward it.

I crossed the room and picked it up.

The three of us—me, Jayden, and Abriel—on his first birthday.

Jayden’s arm wrapped around us both. Abriel smashing cake in his mouth. Me laughing through the mess.

A perfect moment. A stolen piece of peace.

But it was the second frame that made my breath catch.

A soft photo. Almost ethereal.

A baby girl—so small, so perfect—wrapped in a pale pink blanket, asleep on my chest. My lips pressed to her tiny forehead.

Our daughter.

Gone before the world ever really had her.

Five days.

Five days on earth.

And then nothing but silence.

I blinked hard, but the tears came anyway. Hot, bitter, uninvited.

“I’m trying,” I whispered into the quiet. “I’m doing my best. But why do you keep coming for the things I love?”

The photo frame trembled slightly in my hands.

Or maybe it was just me.

I wiped my cheeks and set the photo down gently.

There was no time to fall apart today.

I had two boys to feed.

I walked back to the bed to check on Abriel one more time. He was still sleeping, curled into a soft puddle of warmth and curls and that bear clutched tightly in his arms. Mr. Patches had been through more than most people. And I had a feeling Abriel would drag him through another war if needed.

I leaned down, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “I’ll be downstairs.”

Then I slipped out.

The halls were quiet this early—only the occasional footstep or voice from the lower levels. The pack was always up before the sun, but this time of morning had a sacred hush to it. Like the calm before everything started spinning.

Down in the kitchen, I found a few of the pack members already moving with purpose. Some were chopping vegetables. Others were laying out ingredients, prepping for the breakfast rush that would soon hit full speed.

It smelled like butter, flour, and warm spices.

I stepped in, tying my hair up as I crossed the threshold.

Heads turned.

“Catriona,” one of them greeted with a warm smile. “You’re up early.”

“Good morning,” I said softly, returning the smile.

A few others echoed the greeting.

There was no stiffness, no awkwardness. These were my people. They knew I didn’t just carry a title—I carried the scars that earned it. And they also knew, no matter how many chefs we had, Abriel wouldn’t touch breakfast unless I made it.

It wasn’t about the food.

It was about me.

I slipped on one of the aprons hanging near the door, grabbed a clean towel for my shoulder, and made my way to a counter tucked by the back window.

They gave me space.

They always did.

I started with the one who needed the most convincing to eat.

Abriel.

His favourites were simple but had to be just right. Cinnamon pancakes—thin, fluffy, stacked with honey, and a little smiley face made from sliced banana and berries. He liked them in sets of three. Not two. Not four. Just three.

I mixed the batter carefully, whisking until it was light and airy, pouring it into the hot pan with practised ease. The cinnamon hit the heat and rose through the air like home.

I added apple slices on the side—grilled lightly in butter and dusted with powdered sugar. And a mug of warm milk with a dash of vanilla.

For Jayden, I kept it clean.

He didn’t like big meals in the morning—just enough to refuel without dragging him down before his work. I buttered a toasted sourdough roll, fried two medium eggs, added a slice of avocado, and sprinkled black pepper over it. Two strips of smoked bacon on the side. Black coffee—strong as f**k, no sugar. And as for me, I always eat with the pack members.

I prepared it all quietly, moving on muscle memory, letting the sounds and smells soften the restlessness clinging to my bones.

As I plated the meals, one of the women behind me Emma spoke up gently, “You want us to take it up for you?”

I turned and smiled, “Thank you—but no. They won’t eat it if they don’t see me bring it.”

The kitchen chuckled in that low, familiar way. No judgment. Just warmth.

These were the few pieces of peace I had left—early mornings, gentle routines, food made with hands that had seen too much but never stopped giving.

And for now… it was enough.

The plates balanced perfectly on the tray, warm beneath my fingers. I padded quietly up the stairs, careful with each step, the soft scent of cinnamon and coffee drifting up ahead of me.

When I reached our room, I nudged the door open with my hip—and froze in the best kind of surprise.

Jayden was already there, fresh from a shower, his hair damp and pushed back. He wore a clean black T-shirt and grey sweatpants, arms folded loosely as he sat near the edge of the bed.

But it was Abriel who made my heart squeeze.

He was sitting beside him.

Not tucked away in a corner.

Not hiding behind a wall of silence or fear.

Just… there. Near his father.

The two of them looked awkward, like neither quite knew what to do with their hands, but they sat close. The space between them wasn’t miles anymore. It was just a moment.

I smiled, feeling warmth bloom in my chest like sunlight through a cold window.

“Well, don’t you two look like you’re up to something,” I said with a grin as I stepped in.

Jayden gave me a nod, but it was Abriel’s reaction that made my breath catch.

He smiled.

And didn’t look away.

I set the tray gently on the small table near the window, turning my head just slightly as I said, “I made your favourites—because I happen to be in love with the two most handsome boys in this entire pack.”

I didn’t even wait.

I spun on my heel and rushed toward the bed with an exaggerated gasp.

“YOU!” I cried dramatically, pointing at Abriel. “Have you been hiding from your mother all night?!”

He flinched—but not from fear.

From laughter.

I tackled him gently into the pillows, smothering his face in kisses as he squealed under me.

“Where is my little boy?!” I gasped between kisses. “Is he under here? No—he’s here! I SEE HIS BELLY! TICKLE TICKLE!”

He giggled.

Not just a small chuckle.

A real, bubbling, belly-deep giggle.

I froze.

Jayden looked up sharply too.

Abriel never giggled.

He smiled, he smirked on rare days—but laughter like that?

Not once.

I blinked at him, stunned.

Then launched right back into the tickles. “Oh no! We’ve unlocked a new sound! I’m keeping it! This laugh is mine!”

He laughed harder, little hands pushing at me, and for the first time in what felt like forever—there was no tension in the room. Just joy.

“What about me?” Jayden said dryly behind us. “Did you not even see me when you walked in? I’m the bigger one. Taller. More majestic.”

I turned to him with a look. “Oh, I saw you.”

“And?” he asked, eyes playful.

I looked back at Abriel. “Baby… what should I do to your father?”

Abriel looked between us, lips pursed like he was thinking very hard.

Then he leaned close to me and whispered behind his bear, “Poke his nose. He talks too much.”

I grinned like the devil.

Jayden frowned. “What did he say?”

“Oh,” I said sweetly as I walked toward him, “your son has spoken.”

I leaned down and with one finger, boop, tapped his nose.

He blinked.

“Are you serious?”

“Very,” I said, fluffing his hair like he was a grumpy pup. “And that's straight from your heir.”

Jayden stared between me and our son, then gave a low laugh and shook his head. “This house is turning on me.”

“Get used to it,” I said smugly. “Now come on, breakfast is getting cold.”

Jayden rubbed his nose once more, mumbling something about mutiny under his breath as he stood and stretched. He walked over to the table by the window, pulled out a chair, and sat down with that quiet grace only he had—powerful, relaxed, but always alert.

He took one look at his plate and said, “Perfect. You really do love me.”

“Don’t push it,” I said, teasing as I turned toward the bed. “Abriel, baby, come eat. Mummy made your favourite.”

Nothing.

I glanced back at him.

Still sitting where I left him. Mr. Patches clutched in his arms, eyes staring ahead.

“Baby?”

Still no movement.

Not even a blink.

My smile faded.

I walked over, crouching to his level. His lips were parted slightly, breath slow—but his gaze was locked on something. Not me. Not Jayden. Just… somewhere.

Like he wasn’t in the room anymore.

“Abriel?” I said, more carefully now.

I reached for his hand and gave it a soft squeeze.

It was cold.

Jayden looked up from the table, his brow tightening. “What’s wrong?”

“I… I don’t know,” I said, brushing his curls from his face. “He was just laughing a second ago.”

Abriel blinked.

Just once.

And then whispered something so soft, so distant, I wasn’t sure if I imagined it.

> “He’s coming.”

My heart stopped.

“What?” I asked, kneeling fully now. “Who’s coming, Abriel?”

He blinked again.

> “He’s not happy.