by Layla Silver
The Lion’s Surrogate
A Paranormal Romance
Shifter Surrogate Agency Book 4
Layla Silver
Copyright © 2020 by Layla Silver.
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of the book only. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form, including recording, without prior written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1 - Caleb
Chapter 2 – Gemma
Chapter 3 – Caleb
Chapter 4 – Gemma
Chapter 5 – Caleb
Chapter 6 – Gemma
Chapter 7 – Caleb
Chapter 8 – Gemma
Chapter 9 – Caleb
Chapter 10 – Gemma
Chapter 11 – Caleb
Chapter 12 – Gemma
Chapter 13 – Caleb
Chapter 14 – Gemma
Chapter 15 – Caleb
Chapter 16 – Gemma
Chapter 17 – Caleb
Chapter 18 – Gemma
Epilogue – Caleb
About the Author
Books by Layla Silver
Chapter 1 - Caleb
Sunlight spilled over my resume where it was spread out across the massive, immaculately organized wooden desk. Across from me, Dr. Carlton leaned over the pages, her person just as neat and orderly as her desk. I imagined she could appear severe to some people. Intimidating, with her steel-gray hair tucked back into a strict bun and keen gray eyes behind fashionable frames. I knew better.
I’d done a psych residency two years ago as part of my medical training, and, while it had only lasted six months, I’d come away with an excellent judge of people. Every instinct told me now that Dr. Carlton was the type of person who was firm but fair. Exactly the kind of boss I wanted to work for.
She was also the type who would notice if I fidgeted, so I very purposely kept my posture loose and comfortable as I waited for her to finish reviewing my paperwork. There was no reason to fidget anyway, aside from the fact that I was used to constantly being on the go. All the odds were in favor today. I had a freshly minted medical degree, stellar references, and I was wearing my blue suit. Freshly pressed, I knew full well that it set off the unique blue-gray of my eyes and my sandy blond hair, which I’d carefully spiked into a casually-ruffled-but-not unprofessional do before leaving the house.
I wasn’t generally vain about my appearance, but I’d worked damn hard for everything I’d ever gotten in life. I’d learned the value of projecting the right appearance for the situation along the way, and I wasn’t embarrassed to make it work for me now. I wanted this job.
“You’re a Lion shifter,” Dr. Carlton said, looking up and peering over her glasses at me with interest. “That’s not something people usually include in the ‘other information’ portion of their applications.”
“It seemed pretty relevant in this case, ma’am.” I smiled and cocked my head slightly, employing everything I knew about body language to my advantage. “I did my homework. I know the agency specifically serves the shifter community—quietly, of course. That’s part of why I’d like to work here.”
“You want to work with other shifters?”
“I want to help other shifters start families,” I clarified. I couldn’t help the way I learned forward, or the earnestness of my tone—this subject always got me fired up. “Birth rates among shifters have been dropping for the last two decades—particularly among Lions, but across all shifter species. Families used to routinely have six or seven cubs. Now they’re struggling to have one or two. It’s devastating packs and prides everywhere. Places like this,” I gestured, indicating the beautiful, high-tech clinic in which we sat, “are part of the solution, and I want to be part of that.”
Dr. Carlton beamed at me, radiating warmth and pleasure. “You’re very well informed, Dr. Hawthorne.” She glanced at my resume again, then back up at me. “I must say, it’s not often we get new graduates of your caliber knocking on our doors.”
It was equal part comment and question, and I readily accepted the prompt. “I’m pretty sure most of my classmates had never heard of surrogacy agencies,” I told her, chuckling.
Why would they? Most of them had been young and sheltered. The hazard of doing to a prestigious medical school, I’d discovered right away, was that most of the people there had been born into wealth and power—and the ignorance that came with it. They’d been prepared for very little outside their narrow worlds of private schools, polo clubs, and the latest dramas being enacted by their socialite mothers. Those of us there on full scholarships had found ourselves doing a lot of explaining about how the real world worked.
“I started med school late,” I confided without shame. “I had to pay my own way through my whole education. I found you guys when I was struggling to scrape together enough extra money for lab equipment as an undergrad. I never had an unprofessional experience. When I saw you were hiring …” I spread my hands, palms up, and shrugged. “I’d like to work with the best, and that’s definitely you.”
Dr. Carlton all but glowed with pride. “I’m very pleased to hear that,” she said sincerely. “We pride ourselves on making all aspects of the surrogacy process welcoming for every participant, regardless of their role.” Her smile slid toward a more pensive look, and she tapped her pen distractedly on the desk, eyeing me almost regretfully. “You understand that if you enter our employment, whatever remaining samples of yours we have will need to be destroyed. Ethically, we can’t allow surrogates to be implanted with DNA provided by employees, regardless of their status at the time the sample was donated.”
“I understand,” I assured her.
“You are also aware, I’m sure, that although employment here would give you the opportunity to see what became of former samples you provided, any interaction with those clients would also be a violation of our ethical policy.”
I shook my head firmly. “Any children created from material I provided belong to the parents they were made for. I trust the agency to have made sure they went to good homes, and I have no interest in digging around in the past or getting involved.” I held her eyes and added decisively, “I’m here because I want to help build the future, Dr. Carlton. The future of the agency and the shifter community.”
“Well.” She shuffled the papers on her desk together and tapped them into a neat stack, brimming with satisfaction. “It’s rare to find someone of your training and caliber so dedicated to exactly the same goals that we have,” she said. Standing, she walked briskly around the desk and stuck out her hand. “We’d love to have you on staff, Dr. Hawthorne. Can you start Monday?”
***
I grinned like an idiot all the way out to the parking lot. Two weeks out of medical school, and I’d already landed a job. A good job, doing medicine in a way that mattered. It only took a dozen years’ hard work to get here, I thought wryly, fishing my keys out of my pocket and thumbing the remote.
My burnt-orange Hyundai crossover stood out in the sea of Audis and BMWs, and, with 163,000 miles on the odometer, it didn’t owe me anything. Still, the benefit of having two brothers who were wizards with cars—and who had all the toys, because they owned their own mechanics’ shop—was that I likely wouldn’t have to replace it any time soon. I could put the very generous salary the First Class Surrogacy agency had just offered me into other things. Savings. Investments. A house. It was a good fee
ling.
Pulling out onto the main road, I checked the time on the dashboard clock. The family party to celebrate Clay’s birthday had started a couple of hours ago, but I’d warned them I’d be late. It was a gorgeous day, and I rolled the windows down as I took the next turn-off, enjoying the scent of freshly cut grass and flowers on the breeze. Cranking up the music, I basked in success and June sunshine all the way to my brother’s.
I parked on the side of the street two houses down. It was one of the hazards of having a large family. No driveway was ever big enough when we got together. I shrugged off my suit jacket, then tugged off my tie and dress shirt, hanging them all up on a hangar and sticking it on a hook in the backseat. No point in getting them rumpled and having to take them to the cleaners again if I didn’t have to. Pulling on a favorite t-shirt—soft with long wear and emblazoned with the logo of a now-defunct death metal band—I headed for the front door.
Maggie was already pushing the door open when I mounted the steps to the porch. Unruly red hair curled free of her ponytail, and her green eyes sparkled as she planted her hands on her hips. “Well? How did it go?”
“I start next week.”
“Aahh!!!” She squealed with joy and, despite being nearly a foot shorter than I was, grabbed me up in a fierce hug. “I knew they’d snap you up!”
“Thanks, Mags.” I hugged her back tightly. I’d been all of 10 years old when Maggie took up with Clay, and I’d loved her as the sister I’d never had from the instant we met.
“You go tell Clay right now,” she ordered, releasing me. “And grab that platter of burgers on your way through the kitchen.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Laughing, I paused inside the door just long enough to strip off my shoes and socks and add them to pile. As a rule, feline shifters avoided shoes as much as possible. Piles of discarded footwear were ubiquitous whenever we got together.
Maneuvering around the children’s toys that littered the floor, I swung through the kitchen to collect the platter of burgers as instructed, then let myself out through the French doors to the shady back patio that overlooked the broad, sunlight yard and the giant in-ground pool where half a dozen of my nieces and nephews splashed and shrieked.
“Hey, Kid.” Cody took a swipe at my hair as I emerged, but I ducked out of the way with a snort.
“That’s Dr. Kid to you,” I snarked over my shoulder, ferrying the burgers to where Clay was manning the grill. The smell of sizzling meat was mouthwatering. “Happy birthday, man.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Clay cheerfully relieved me of the burgers and produced a plate with a perfectly grilled sausage from the other side of the grill with a flourish. “Here. Phoebe made homemade bratwurst. I had to fight tooth and claw to save you some.”
“You’re the best.” I crossed the patio to where Phoebe sat on the wide teak bench that ringed the patio. Dropping down beside her, I pecked a kiss to her cheek. “And so are you.”
“So I’ve heard,” she batted her eyelashes at me, teasingly. “Save room. I brought cake, too.”
“If it’s that lemon chiffon stuff, I’ll kiss you again,” I promised, taking a huge bite of the sausage and sighing in pleasure at the burst of spicy heat across my tongue. A professional chef, Phoebe was as talented as she was gorgeous. Her lemon cake was a personal favorite.
“Keep your lips off my wife,” Corbin pretended to grouse, snaking an arm around Phoebe. The twinkle in his eye ruined whatever gruffness he was trying to conjure, and I smirked unrepentantly at him as I swallowed the rest of my first link of sausage.
“How did the interview go?” Phoebe asked, stealing her Corbin’s beer and taking a sip.
“Almost as good as this sausage.”
“Yeah?” Corbin raised an eyebrow. “Musta been pretty damn good.” He winked at his wife, who rolled her eyes and nudged him with her shoulder. Both ten years older than me, they still flirted like teenagers.
“He starts next week,” Maggie announced gleefully, emerging through the French doors with Miriam and Nadia on her heels.
“Congratulations, Caleb!” Nadia flashed me a quick smile. As tall and slender as Maggie was petite and curvy, Nadia had the bearing of an Ethiopian queen. Before I could offer proper thanks, however, her lips twisted into a frown, and she stalked past me toward the pool. “Samuel Joshua Hawthorne! Put that down right now!”
If there was mischief to be found, my nephew Sam was usually right in the middle of it. I saw Cody’s eyes follow her, narrowing on whatever the hubbub was, but he kept his spot on the patio, confident his wife would have things sorted in a hurry.
Beside him, Miriam settled onto Chas’s lap, his permanently grease-stained fingers sliding around to rest on the swell of her heavily pregnant belly. Fine-boned and delicate like her Japanese mother, Miriam looked tiny but comfortable leaning back against her hulk of a husband. Chas propped his chin on her shoulder and waggled his eyebrows at me. “So, now that you’ve got a job, you’ve got no more excuses for putting off getting a mate.”
“Yeah,” I said dryly, licking my fingers. “I’ll get right on that.”
“Chas,” Phoebe chastised, stealing my plate and reaching over to scoop a healthy portion of hot German potato salad onto it. “You know perfectly well that isn’t how it works. You can’t just pick someone. He has to find her.”
“Can’t find one if you’re not looking,” Clay opined sagely, flipping a burger and sending up a fresh round of sizzling from the grill.
“Says the man who literally ran into his,” Cody snorted, cracking open a fresh beer and passing it to his wife as Nadia returned from bringing order to the pool.
I dug into the hot, creamy potatoes and let the conversation flow around me, happy just to be surrounded by my loud, crazy family. There were eight of us Hawthorne boys, all golden-haired and brawny. Only the three youngest of us didn’t yet have mates. Finding them was a regular topic of conversation, but it was always lighthearted.
Every single one of my brothers so far had found his mate entirely by chance. All five of them had been smacked upside the head by love without a hint of warning, and, for all their teasing, we all knew the last three of us would be no different. For better or worse, our mates would find us … most likely when we were least expecting it. Until then, there was nothing to do but wait.
Chapter 2 – Gemma
Vivienne’s smile was as bright and cheerful as her bubblegum pink lipstick, but seeing her through the peephole made my stomach twist and my pulse pound in my ears. My cheeks and the tips of my ears burned with humiliation, and I swallowed down the panic that threatened to rise as I pulled the door open and struggled for a weak smile of my own.
“Hey, Gemma!” Viv chirped. Her perfectly coiffed chestnut curls bounced against her shoulders as she flicked her hair back breezily. “Did I wake you? I hope I didn’t wake you. You’re keeping such weird hours that it’s hard to know when to catch you.”
“No, it’s okay.” Juggling two jobs, I was keeping bizarre hours. “You’re here for the rent.”
“It was due two days ago,” Vivienne agreed. “I just wanted to check, in case there were crossed wires or something.”
“No, I know.” I swallowed back the tears that stung the back of my eyes. They never seemed far from the surface these days, and exhaustion just made it harder to keep them at bay. “I’m so sorry, Viv. I should have stopped to talk to you, only I’ve barely been home and only at crazy hours. I will pay it, I swear, it’s just that I don’t get paid until I’ve been at the bar a full two weeks, and that’s not until next Friday, and there was some kind of mix-up, so I only got paid half what I was supposed to from the café, and I just don’t have it yet.”
The words poured out in a horrible rush, and the embarrassment of babbling on top of being late with my rent made me wish the floor would open up and swallow me. I’m not like this, I wanted to tell her, desperately. I’m smart and capable and punctual. I am!
The words wouldn’t come, lodged behind the l
ump in my throat from the tears I was trying so hard not to shed.
“Oh, honey, it’s okay!” Vivienne’s jade-green eyes softened, her whole expression crumpling a little in sympathy. “Billing screwups are just the worst, aren’t they?”
I nodded and swallowed, torn between ridiculous hope that she would let it go and feeling terrible because she’d already been so generous in letting me rent from her in the first place.
“Look, don’t worry about it, okay?” She said, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ll just extend the due date until the 15th of this month, so everybody else can get caught up on what they owe you, and then you can pay me, all right?”
“Yes,” I promised instantly. The word sounded like a croak, and my knees went weak with relief. I leaned on the doorframe a little and gave her the best smile I could manage. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Honestly, it’s fine.”
She shook her head, then tilted it at me, her expression narrowing into one of motherly interest. For all that Vivienne was only a few years older than I was, she had a strong, if erratic, mother hen streak in her. It was probably why she’d let me rent from her in the first place, despite my lack of references and questionable income.
“Have you had a chance to look through the flyers I gave you?” she asked.
My stomach knotted again, fresh anxiety washing through me. I did my best to cover it up and answered quickly, “yes! Well, I started to. I’m working on them—between shifts.”
“Great!” All smiles again, Vivienne patted my shoulder with a neatly manicured hand, bangle bracelets jangling on her wrist. “Don’t worry. Adjusting is hard, but I’m sure you’ll find just the thing soon.” Her lips pursed as her eyes traveled over my face again. “Get some sleep, okay? You look tired.”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding as if that was absolutely an indulgence I had time for right now. “I think I will. Thanks again.”
