Chosen To Be The Alpha's Surrogate

**I Malachi I**

Fire burns through my veins.

The silver they've injected courses through my bloodstream like liquid metal, turning each heartbeat into agony. I press my back against the cold stone wall of my cell, using the discomfort to anchor myself to consciousness. The guards warned me an hour ago that I'd be having visitors. Told me to "clean myself up" as much as possible in this shit hole.

Visitors.

Even in my silver-addled state, I know it can only be one person. Since Jackson was moved to another part of the fortress three days ago, there's only one visitor I could possibly have.

*Penelope.*

My mate. My little rabbit. The mother of my child—a child I haven't even seen.

I force myself to stand, ignoring the way my legs threaten to buckle beneath me. The silver makes my movements clumsy, my reflexes dulled. But I'll be damned if I'll let her see me huddled on the floor like a beaten dog.

Keys rattle in the lock, and I straighten my spine, squaring my shoulders. Sweat beads on my forehead from the effort, but I hold myself upright through sheer force of will. The door swings open, and the scent hits me first-honey and lavender, that sweet, familiar fragrance that's haunted my dreams since she was taken.

And beneath it, something new. Something perfect. My child.

But there's another scent too, one that makes my wolf surge against the silver suppressants, hackles raised.noveldrama

*Jax.*

He enters first-of course he does his body positioned in a way that tells me he's ready to intervene if needed. As if I could be a threat to anyone in this state. The insult burns almost as much as the silver.

Then she's there, stepping into my cell, and everything else fades away.

*Penelope.*

Her face is thinner than I remember, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion. But God, she's beautiful. More beautiful than I remembered, even in my most vivid dreams. And in her arms, wrapped in a soft blue blanket-

Our son.

My throat closes up, a sudden pressure building in my chest that has nothing to do with the silver. She approaches slowly, her eyes wary, uncertain. As if she doesn't know what to expect from me. The thought cuts deeper than any knife.

"Malachi," she whispers, her voice catching. "I-I've been asking to see you since I arrived. They finally agreed."

I don't answer. I can't answer. My eyes are fixed on the tiny bundle in her arms. From here, I can just make out a shock of dark hair, a tiny fist curled against the blanket. "Do you want to meet your son?" she asks, taking another step closer.

*My son.*

Two words that change everything. I nod, not trusting my voice.

She comes closer, until she's standing right in front of me. Close enough that I could touch her if I dared. She adjusts the blanket, tilting the baby so I can see his face.

And there he is. Perfect. Tiny features that somehow manage to look like both of us at once. My coloring, her nose. Dark hair like mine, but I can already see it will have her

waves.

"His name is Elio," Penelope says softly. "It means light. But-but if you don't like it, we can change it. I know we never got to discuss names, and-"

"Elio," I repeat, cutting her off. The name feels right on my tongue. Strong but gentle. Like the boy himself will be someday. "It's perfect."

Relief flashes across her face, and for a moment-just a moment-it feels like nothing has changed between us. Like we're still us, just with this miracle added to our lives. "Do you want to hold him?" she asks.

I hesitate, glancing down at my trembling hands. The silver makes my coordination unpredictable. "I don't know if I can."

"Here," she says, stepping even closer. "Sit down. I'll help you."

I sink onto the narrow cot, and she carefully places our son in my arms, adjusting my hold until his head is properly supported. The weight of him is nothing, yet somehow it's the heaviest, most significant burden I've ever carried.

Elio's eyes open, looking up at me with an awareness that seems impossible for a newborn. They're the warm brown I catch glimpses of in the mirror, but there's a different quality to them-a hint of something ancient, something powerful that goes beyond mere genetics.

"His eyes are like mine," I murmur, unable to look away from my son's face. "But there's something... different."

"They change," Penelope says, her voice careful. "When he's calm, they look like yours. But when he's upset or...or responding to something about my bloodline, they shift to amber-gold."

I look back down at my son, counting his tiny fingers one by one. Ten perfect miniature digits. "Does he have all his toes too?"

A small smile touches Penelope's lips. "Ten fingers, ten toes. He's perfect, Mal."

*Mal.*

The nickname twists in my chest like a knife. The effect comes from hearing it fall from her lips. Only *her* lips.

Elio squirms in my arms, making a small mewling sound that tugs at something primal inside me. My son. My flesh and blood. A flood of protective instinct surges through me, temporarily burning away the silver-induced fog.

I pull the blanket back slightly, examining every inch of him that I can see. His tiny chest rising and falling. The delicate curve of his ear. The strong line of his jaw that somehow already resembles mine.

"I've missed so much," I say, the words torn from somewhere deep and raw. "His birth, his first cry."

"I know," Penelope says, her voice thick with emotion. "I wanted you there. I begged them "

"But Jax was there instead," I cut in, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. "Playing the role of father to my son."

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Her expression tightens. "That's not fair. I didn't want him there. I wanted you."

But my mind is elsewhere, replaying memories of Julia-my so-called true mate and how easily she betrayed me. How she left me thinking I couldn't give her a child.

"Does he respond to him?" I demand, my eyes still fixed on Elio's perfect face. "To Jax?"

Penelope hesitates, and that hesitation is all the confirmation I need.

"Tell me the truth," I press, looking up at her now. "Does my son respond to that man as if he were his father?"

She doesn't answer immediately, but when she does, she hesitates. "I-It's complicated," she begins, and rage burns through me, hotter than the silver in my

veins.

"It's a simple question," I growl. "Does my son recognize that man as his father?"

"No," Penelope says firmly. "He knows you're his father, Malachi. But there's something about the marking that created a connection-"

"A connection," I repeat, the words tasting like ash. "Like the one you now have with him? The true mate bond you formed with him?"

"I'm resisting it," she snaps, her eyes flashing with sudden anger. "Every day, every minute. I'm choosing *you*, Malachi. I've always chosen you."

But I'm too far gone in my spiral of paranoia and hurt to hear the truth in her words.

All I can think about is Julia, all those years, making similar promises while secretly planning to leave me.

"You're wearing his mark," I say, my voice dropping dangerously low. Elio stirs in my arms, as if sensing my growing anger.

"Not by choice," she insists. "I tried to fight it, but the bond-"

"There's *always* a choice," I cut her off. "Just like there was a choice for you to come

to me the first time we talked after you'd been taken. A choice to meet me in our dreams. Instead, I felt you pulling away."

Her eyes widen. "You felt that? Mal, I didn't know—"

"It doesn't matter," I say, forcing coldness into my voice to mask the pain. "What matters is that my son won't be raised by another man. He won't grow up calling Jax 'father'."

"No one is suggesting that," Penelope says, her voice rising with frustration. "Malachi, you're not listening to me. I'm telling you I choose you. That Elio is *your* son, no one else's."

"Then why does he smell like Jax?" I challenge. "Why do you both smell like you're part of his pack, not mine?"

Jax steps forward then, his patience apparently at its end. "Because they're living under

my protection while you've been locked up," he says, his voice level in a way that

makes me want to tear his throat out. "No one is trying to replace you." "Aren't you?" I laugh, the sound harsh and bitter. "You marked my mate. You're playing happy family with my son."

"That's not what's happening," Penelope insists, placing a hand on my arm. "Mal, please. We're trying to tell you what's really going on, but —"

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"We?" I cut her off. "There's a 'we' now?"

Penelope's eyes widen, tears filling them quickly. Before she can respond, I snap. "How long after I was gone, Penelope? How long before you let him claim what was mine?" Her face pales. "That's not fair. I didn't want this. You think I *chose* this? Mal... I—” But I can't listen. Not when the silver is burning through my veins, not when memories of betrayal cloud my judgment, not when another man's scent clings to my mate and child.

"When I get out of here and I *will* get out, make no mistake—I'm taking my son with me," I say, the words falling from my lips before I can stop them.

Tears fall from her eyes, her lips parting in disbelief. She shakes her head, asking though she knows exactly what I mean. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I won't share him," I continue, a cold determination replacing the hot rage of moments before. "I won't let another man raise my child."

"No one is trying to take your place!" Penelope's voice breaks, her frustration edged with desperation. "Malachi, this is me *your* Penny. I would never do that to you." Elio begins to cry, his little face scrunching up as he senses the tension. Penelope reaches for him, and I find myself hesitating before letting her take him. The momentary reluctance to hand over my own child horrifies me, but I can't help it. Some primal part of me is screaming that if I let him go, I'll never get him back.

"You say that now," I say as she takes Elio, my voice dropping to a dangerous register that makes the guards by the door shift nervously. "But how long before you give in to the true mate bond? How long before Jax is the father in every way that matters, and I'm just a memory?"

"That won't happen," she insists, bouncing Elio gently as he continues to cry. "I know what happened with Julia hurt you. I know you have trouble trusting. But I'm not her, Malachi. I've never been her."

The mention of Julia's name is like gasoline on fire. "Don't bring her into this," I snarl. "This has nothing to do with her."

"Doesn't it?" she challenges, a flicker of the fierce woman I fell in love with shining

through her exhaustion. "You're so convinced I'll betray you that you can't even hear me telling you I won't."

"Actions speak louder than words," I say coldly. "And your actions tell me everything I need to know."

Jax moves closer to Penelope, his body positioned protectively. "I think this visit is over," he says, his tone making it clear it's not a suggestion.

Something about the way he says it so authoritative, while standing between me and what's mine-snaps what little control I have left.

With a roar that doesn't sound human, I lunge toward him, silver be damned.

I see the surprise in his eyes he didn't think I'd be capable of movement that fast, not with the silver still in my system. For a brief, satisfying moment, I have the upper hand, my momentum carrying me forward as my fingers curve into claws.

Then Penelope screams, clutching Elio to her chest as she backs against the wall. The

sound cuts through me, momentarily slowing my attack.

It's all the opening Jax needs.

His fist connects with my jaw with crushing force, and I feel bone crack beneath the impact. Before I can recover, his knee drives into my sternum, expelling all the air from my lungs. As I double over, gasping, his elbow comes down on the back of my neck.

The world tilts, then darkens at the edges. I'm vaguely aware of hitting the stone floor,

of Penelope's voice calling my name, of Elio's frightened cries. The last awareness before consciousness leaves me is my son's face perfect and innocent, now twisted in fear because of me.