The Lion’s Surrogate: A Paranormal Romance (Shifter Surrogate Agency Book 4)

by Layla Silver

  With one more flashed smile, Vivienne gave me a little wave and sailed off down the hall, her vintage day dress fluttering around her and her red high heels clicking on the old building’s scuffed hardwood floor.

  Slinking back inside, I shut the door and dead-bolted it. I turned around, pressed my back against the door, and slid to the floor. Pulling my knees up, I buried my head in my hands.

  I was totally, completely, and utterly screwed.

  The cafe would fix my paycheck, I was sure. Whether or not I’d manage to stay at the bar long enough to collect my first paycheck was far less certain. It was awful. Even if I did, unless I could pick up extra shifts somewhere, the combined total would barely cover what I owed Viv in rent—and that was if I didn’t spend a dime on food or anything else for the next ten days.

  I thought longingly of my accounting certificate, locked away in the Elders’ vault in the compound. For “safekeeping,” they’d said—the safekeeping of my family and me under their vile, lecherous thumbs. I felt a sob catch in my throat.

  No. I had cried enough already. I wasn’t going to let those miserable bastards make me weep again. Yes, they had all my credentials locked up out of reach. Yes, I was all alone and scraping together a living by the skin of my teeth. Yes, I was so tired and frustrated and bitter. But I was free.

  So what if I’d escaped the compound with nothing but two sets of clothes and what little bit of cash my sister and I could scrape together? So what if I got leered at and catcalled and groped at the bar every night? At least when my shift was over, I got to come home. The apartment was tiny and outdated, but it was safe. It wasn’t the compound.

  The ugly irony, of course, was that the whole reason my parents had moved us to the compound in the first place was that it was supposed to be safe. It probably really was, when they moved in. Twenty years ago, my mother insisted, the Pride of Peace commune had been everything a young family could hope for. Under the careful management of its founder, Brother Tobias, the commune had been clean, safe, and thriving. Everyone had lived like one big extended family. Surrounded by other Lion shifters and plenty of green space, parents could raise their cubs in peace and freedom. Then Brother Tobias died.

  A new set of Elders quickly rose to power in the tumult that followed, and what had been a commune became little more than a cult. My parents had stayed on, unwilling to give up the home they’d invested so much in. My father, in particular, had believed that he and a handful of others could enact change from the inside. Restore the commune to its former glory. He kept fighting, even as the noose tightened around us … right up until the Elders killed him. Over me.

  Brother Markus had been dropping hints for years that he wanted me for his fourth wife. My father had steadfastly refused. Polygamy was one thing. Handing me off to a man more than twice my age and well-known for his vicious temper was another. My parents started planning to get out.

  Two weeks later, my father died in a car accident that wasn’t an accident at all. We couldn’t prove it, of course, but we knew. It broke my mother completely. She’d sat, dazed and numb, when the Elders came the day after the funeral to inform her that I had been selected for the “honor” of becoming Brother Markus’s next wife. When they announced that the wedding date was already set, an icy resolve had settled in my gut.

  I left that night, deep in the darkness after midnight. I stole away on foot through the woods that ringed the giant property, my heart pounding nearly out of my chest with every step. I didn’t tell my mother, only Meaghan. At fifteen, she was safe even from the Elders’ lustful clutches for a few more years. It was up to me to get them all out before then—our mother, Meaghan, and our littlest sister Penny.

  I’d been so sure I could do it. Especially when I met Viv. A self-proclaimed philanthropist and social justice warrior, Vivienne came from money. An only child in her hawk shifter family, she was the apple of her father’s eye. When he’d married his third wife, who Viv did not get along with at all, she’d guilted him into giving her one of his numerous properties to run as a “learning experience.” She proceeded to rent the expensive, newly-renovated apartments on the lower floors to wealthy young professionals at outrageous prices. The top two floors of tiny, dated apartments she rented out at bargain-basement prices to the shifter charity cases she collected. Like me.

  God, I hated being a charity case! I’d discovered the hard way, however, that the Elders knew exactly how to cripple their subjects. With nearly all my documents locked up on the compound, getting a good job was next to impossible. All my references were people who I’d lived and worked with there, too—none of whom dared open their mouths in my favor now, lest they put themselves and their families at risk.

  Requesting new copies of everything from my Social Security Card to my diploma was an excruciatingly slow and expensive process. While I still held out hope that I’d be able to get a comfortable, good-paying office job once I could prove my qualifications again, I was left scrounging for whatever I could get in the meantime to keep the apartment and get my feet under me.

  Some days, after long shifts at the cafe and the bar on nothing more than a few hours’ sleep and a protein bar, only sheer determination kept me on my feet. I would not go back. I wouldn’t marry Brother Markus, and I would let the Elders marry off my sisters. I would find a way to free my family, no matter what it took.

  A trickle of fresh resolve dragged me to my feet, and I crossed the small apartment wearily. Sinking into one of the two chairs at the scratched little table that took up most of the tiny eating nook in the combination-kitchen-and-dining room, I pulled over the stack of folders Vivienne had left with me. Each one held information on local employment or entrepreneurial opportunities.

  Shuffling through them, I set aside the ones I’d already looked at. Many of them sounded great—if you were normal. Direct selling might be a fast-track to financial success if you already had a flashy laptop and a big circle of friends and family with money willing to help you get started. Or the money to buy your way in. I had none of those things. Most of the others required technology skills I didn’t have. Internet access had been almost nonexistent on the compound, leaving me tragically behind my peers in tech-savviness.

  I paused, eyeing the one folder I had automatically set aside on my first go-through. Thinking of Viv at my door and the rent I didn’t know how I’d pay, I reluctantly opened the folder and pulled out the informational packet inside. Slowly, I paged through it again, trying to push past my initial discomfort and actually consider it this time.

  Could I really have a baby for money?

  The entire concept had seemed too weird to even contemplate at first. Surrogacy was something that only happened in the Middle Ages or fantasy novels or something, wasn’t it? Wealthy nobles who didn’t want the inconvenience of pregnancy hiring some peasant girl to carry the baby instead? Surely, it wasn’t something people did now.

  But as I read the materials—really read them this time—the more I got the impression that this agency, First Class Surrogacy, wasn’t like that at all.

  Many shifter couples struggle to conceive or successfully complete a pregnancy, the packet read. Sometimes, these challenges are due to incompatible shifter natures. In other cases, they result from the same genetic anomalies and health conditions that render humans infertile. Due to the majority of shifter orphans being adopted within their home packs, full and partial surrogacy are among the only options for loving, committed shifter couples seeking to expand their families.

  Sure, it was marketing copy. It was designed to persuade, but … well, it almost made being a surrogate sound noble. Like surrogates were performing a desperately needed service to the shifter community at large. The idea was strange but oddly appealing.

  The strictly practical part of my brain couldn’t help but point out, too, that unlike every other opportunity I’d checked out, the agency required no financial investment on my part. I lived a clean life and, as far as I knew, had
a viable womb, which meant I could theoretically walk straight into this job right now.

  But who would want me for something like this? Meaghan and Penny were the beauties in the family. I was too skinny, too plain with long hair that waved instead of properly curling and dark, boring eyes.

  Still … it couldn’t hurt to call, I reasoned with myself. Worst-case scenario, they turned me down like everyone else had. Or I got all the details and decided that the whole thing creeped me out too much. At least I’d know that I’d tried. I owed it to my family to try anything and everything that might get me closer to freeing them.

  Taking a deep breath, I carried the agency’s business card to the ancient Bakelite phone mounted on the wall. Steeling myself, I dialed the number.

  The sweet voice that answered identified herself as Victoria. I fumbled my way through an explanation of why I was calling, grimacing at how inept I sounded to my own ears. Victoria didn’t seem to mind. She kindly guided me through setting up an appointment, explained what to expect, and answered my questions. The tension inside me slowly unwound as she handled the call with gentle professionalism.

  By the time I hung up, I felt almost excited about the whole thing. Almost.

  Chapter 3 – Caleb

  Parking in the employee section of the agency’s lot was unreasonably gratifying. My crossover might still look out of place in the sea of more expensive cars, but the parking sticker in the rear window said I belonged here, and it was a good feeling. Grabbing my shiny new ID from the passenger’s seat, I clipped it to the pocket of my pale blue dress shirt before getting out. Even the weather seemed to share my mood, I thought buoyantly. The morning sun was warm on my face, and the air was redolent with the mixed scents of the flowers blooming thick and bright in well-tended beds around the parking lot and sidewalks.

  I couldn’t help the bounce in my step as I headed for the main door. I hadn’t inherited the hardcore adrenaline junkie genes that ran in my family—Cayden and Conner claimed them all before I came along. But there might have been some trace of the adventure-seeking nature in me because the prospect of starting something new—especially something as meaningful and challenging as this new job promised to be—always gave me a rush.

  Stepping into the airy reception space, I headed straight to the main desk. “Good morning, Victoria.” I flashed her a smile as I plucked my ID card off my shirt and handed it over.

  “Dr. Hawthorne,” she greeted cheerfully. Her eyes flicked to her computer screen as she scanned my card. The machine beeped, and she handed the card back. “Looks like Elton is going to be your guide this morning. Let me page him for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  It only took a minute for Elton to come to collect me. “I heard you’re a Lion shifter,” he said as we stepped into the elevator. “It’s nice to have a cat on staff—my boyfriend’s one too, a cheetah shifter. I’m a dragon. We’re outnumbered by the canine species, you know.” He made a face.

  “Always,” I agreed, amused. “They’ve got the advantage, you know,” I added as the doors closed and the elevator started rising. “There’s a much higher rate of multiples—twins, triplets—among canine shifters.”

  “I’ve seen that anecdotally,” Elton said, cocking his head with interest. “I didn’t realize it was an actual statistic.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I nodded. Then I shot him a conspiratorial grin. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m here to help reverse the numbers. Promote feline shifter world domination and all that.”

  He laughed, his expression bright. “Anything you can do for the cause would be a step in the right direction,” he joked. “Here we are.” The elevator bumped to a stop, and we stepped out onto the fifth floor. “I like to start at the top and work my way down,” Elton explained, leading me toward the central nursing station. “It’s most efficient since your office is down there.”

  “Smart plan.”

  The nurse supervisor on duty was a brisk, capable woman named Judy. She joined Elton in showing me around the agency’s maternity ward, which took up the whole of the floor.

  “You won’t be on rounds here,” Judy noted, as we finished and circled back to the elevator. “We’ve got dedicated staff doctors for that, but feel free to come by now and then. We like for everyone to know all the various aspects of the operation. The more people downstairs can prepare clients for what to expect up here, the easier things are for everyone.”

  “Thank you,” I said sincerely, shaking her hand. “And if you ever end up short-handed, give me a call. Obstetrics isn’t my specialty, but I can take orders pretty well if you just need another set of qualified hands.”

  “I like him,” Judy said to Elton. “Let’s keep this one.”

  We all chuckled, and then it was down to the fourth floor so Elton could introduce me around in the legal division. I’d been on the other half of the floor last week to get all my hiring paperwork done in HR and noticed that both departments shared the same cool, neutral tones and modern decor. Clearly, the entire building had been put together by someone with good, and obviously expensive, taste.

  Like the rest of the agency, the legal department appeared to be competent and professional. I got a brief tour and kind invitations to call up or stop by if my patients or I had any questions at all. Then it was back to the elevator and down another floor.

  “Third floor is the labs,” Elton told me as we stepped out of the elevator again. “Second floor is mostly procedure rooms and their associated waiting rooms. First floor is obviously psych and medical consulting, offices for preliminary stuff like blood draws and introductory exams, and the donation rooms.”

  I barely suppressed a snort at the term “donation rooms.” It was such a polite phrase for well-outfitted cubbies in which men jerked themselves off. I was plenty familiar with them from my stint as a donor, of course, but decided not to mention that fact to Elton.

  We were halfway through the tour of the third floor when a voice I hadn’t heard in nearly two years said, “Caleb?”

  No way. Turning around, I let my eyes slide over the newcomer. She’d cut her white-blonde hair from the trendy pageboy I remembered into an even shorter pixie cut. It framed her heart-shaped face perfectly, accenting her high cheekbones, flawless ivory skin, and ice-blue eyes. “Portia.”

  She smiled, projecting a practiced sweetness she directed at both me and Elton. “You’re joining the staff? How wonderful!”

  I forced a polite look—I couldn’t quite manage a smile. Finding her here was decidedly like finding a fly in a bowl of gourmet soup I’d been thoroughly enjoying. I could see the calculating look beneath the veneer of sweetness, all but taste the poison as she licked her red-tinted lips.

  “Yeah, it’s his first day!” Elton chirped, seemingly oblivious. “Official tour and all that. You two know each other?”

  Unwilling to let Portia field that question, I responded quickly, “We were in classes together for a while. A few years ago.”

  And bed, she seemed to remind me, her eyes glinting with sharp humor. I set my jaw, a silent warning that she didn’t want to bring that up.

  “Oh, yeah,” Elton smiled easily, but the way his eyes darted between us suggested he hadn’t missed the underlying tension at all. “Lab techs do get out earlier—the whole no residency thing.”

  “It takes all kinds to make an operation run.” Portia propped a hand on her hip and shifted her weight, feigning indignation. The new posture showed off her curvy form to its best advantage, highlighting the glimpse of cleavage visible at the neckline of her silky blouse and the curve of her generous hips.

  Still can’t resist showing off, I see. “It does,” I agreed, keeping my tone reserved. I eyed Elton pointedly.

  “Right, well,” he clapped his hands together and cleared his throat. “I’m afraid we have to keep going. Schedule to stick to and all that, you know.”

  “Sure.” Portia batted her eyes at me. “Come up and visit when you’ve got time, Caleb. We’ll …
catch up.” She winked and then sauntered off.

  I resisted the urge to grind my teeth and followed Elton back into the elevator.

  “So …” he said, raising an eyebrow as the doors slid shut. “History there, I take it?”

  “An ex,” I said, shortly. “Kind of.”

  We hadn’t been properly together, after all. I’d been a stressed medical student looking to blow off some steam. Portia had been a manipulative bitch who wasn’t above using her body for a chance to play with someone else’s head and stir up a little drama for her own amusement. What she thought she’d get out of me, I’d never figured out. I hadn’t had a penny to my name, every dime I made going to pay for books and lab equipment and keeping myself fed. Portia came from money, anyway. What kind I wasn’t sure, but her daddy had kept her well-heeled, and she’d flaunted it every chance she got.

  “It didn’t end on terrific terms.” She’d been furious when I told her to get the hell out and never come back. “It won’t be a problem, though,” I assured Elton firmly, rolling my head to work the tension out of my neck. “I’m more than capable of keeping things professional.” She better be, too.

  With only the last two floors remaining, the rest of the tour didn’t take long. Elton installed me in my office, introduced me to Mary from tech support, and left the two of us to get all my equipment checked and passwords set up. Forty-five minutes later, Mary declared me all set and left me to rearrange my office however I saw fit.

  I started by configuring the furniture into a set up that aligned with Feng Shui principles. Most offices had terrible flow. I’d complained about it once at a family dinner, and that was when Miriam taught me about Feng Shui. I’d applied the principles religiously ever since, in my townhouse and every office I could get permission to rearrange. It made patients more comfortable, I’d found, even if they couldn’t articulate why.

  As I worked, I scrawled lists for myself on one of the handy notepads I found in a drawer. Stuff to bring in, questions to ask. I intended to be here for a good long time, so I might as well make myself at home.