The Dragon’s Surrogate: A Paranormal Romance (Shifter Surrogate Agency Book 5) Read online

  The Dragon’s Surrogate

  A Paranormal Romance

  Shifter Surrogate Agency Book 5

  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 – Will

  Chapter 2 – Maia

  Chapter 3 – Maia

  Chapter 4 - Will

  Chapter 5 – Maia

  Chapter 6 – Will

  Chapter 7 – Maia

  Chapter 8 – Will

  Chapter 9 – Maia

  Chapter 10 – Will

  Chapter 11 – Maia

  Chapter 12 – Will

  Chapter 13 – Will

  Chapter 14 – Maia

  Chapter 15 – Will

  About the Author

  Books by Layla Silver

  Chapter 1 – Will

  The Fig Tree’s parking lot was packed. Weaving through the irregular lot at a crawl, I headed straight for the back corner. An hour into my parents’ 175th-anniversary party, I knew there was no point in wasting time looking for anything closer to the building. My parents had a lot of friends. They also knew how to throw a party. Everybody and their brother would be there. Including, hopefully, my brother.

  I tried to think when I’d talked to Elton last. It had been a holiday. Easter? No. Maybe Christmas. Some days it felt like the older I got, the less well I seemed to keep track of time. In the last decade or so, I’d finally come to understand why dragon shifters like my parents invested so much time and energy in humans. The pace of their lives was so different. If you didn’t keep some humans around to keep you grounded, you could lose half a century without noticing much.

  I spotted an empty parking space, slid my coupe into it, and shut it off. Climbing out, I looked myself over. Clean, tailored black jeans and boots? Check. Stylish, absurdly expensive gray sweater my mother had given me for my birthday? Check. Ancient, incredibly soft t-shirt underneath that read, “you can’t scare me. I’m an engineer”? Also, check. Deciding I would pass inspection, I locked the car, stuffed my keys in my pocket, and headed toward the restaurant.

  As I walked, I thought bemusedly of how much fashion had changed. Fifty years ago, my mother would have had my head if I’d come to a party in anything less than a full, neatly-pressed suit. But times changed.

  At the door, a pretty hostess in a tasteful black mini dress showed me straight back to the private room where the party was being hosted. They couldn’t hold a party this big at the house, of course. My parents’ home was sprawling and beautiful, but it had its limits. The priceless artwork and endless knickknacks, for example, made it more than a little nerve-wracking to have small children about. So while smaller—small being a strictly relative term—fetes were held at home, big parties were always held “out” somewhere.

  Recently, the Fig Tree had become a favorite. Once an industrial warehouse, the restaurant was cavernous and fluid. The interior could be rearranged at will—and was, regularly, compliments of the otter-shifter owner’s changeable moods. The proclivity for novelty was a trait we dragon-shifters shared with otter-shifters, and the appeal of the often glittery and usually boisterous space was undeniable.

  Thanking the hostess, I walked into the event room and broke into a grin. The theme, apparently, was “ocean wonderland,” and the space sparkled with blue and silver from one end to the other. People of every age and description milled about, and music carefully curated by the city’s most sought-after DJ thrummed through hidden speakers.

  Glancing around, I quickly spotted at least a dozen other dragon shifters from my mother’s illustrious family, as well as an equal number of my father’s colleagues in the fine jewelry trade. Dragons were always easy to identify in a crowd. Just look for the gems.

  Noticeably absent, though no one would be crude enough to bring it up, was any hint of family on my father’s side. He’d come from a strong thunder, as abundant and powerful as it was depraved. I’d still been young by dragon standards when I stood with him and two other thunders against my kin. It had been a vicious and ugly fight, and I still bore a few scars from it even decades later. I had locked those memories far away from my conscious mind, but I never regretted my part in the affair. My father’s family had spread suffering far and wide among shifters and humans alike, resisting every effort to curb their sins until they left us with no choice but to put them down.

  They weren’t missed. Whatever places they might have held at festivities like this were more than filled by friends, both shifter and human. My parents’ chosen family abounded throughout the room, a bright cacophony of life and energy. Adults wandered leisurely or gathered in gossipy knots, champagne flutes and cocktail glasses in hand. Children shrieked with joy from a ball pit and bounce house set up in one corner.

  Their laughter stabbed under my ribs and spread like an ache through my bones. I’d be 100 years old this year, and my biological clock had started to tick. Loudly.

  Biting back frustration with myself and with the gods who had yet to see fit to send me my mate, I strode further into the room. I tried to ignore the nagging awareness of how progressively dissatisfied I was becoming with my life. It was ridiculous, really. I had my house, and it was a more than impressive lair for a dragon of my age. It was well-feathered, as the saying went, and bejeweled with treasures I truly enjoyed. I had a thriving business and well-stocked bank accounts. Arguably, I was the picture of success. I had everything I could want. Everything except a mate to share my bed and children to fill my life with laughter. The more effort I made to ignore the lack, the more unbearable it became.

  “William!”

  My mother’s warm, cultured voice pulled me from my thoughts, and I smiled. “Mother. Happy Anniversary.”

  “Oh, darling, you’re wearing the sweater!” My mother beamed, holding her champagne flute to one side as she leaned in to hug me. Her scarlet curls were soft against my skin when we embraced, and her lips brushed each of my cheeks before she pulled back.

  “Of course, I am.” I offered her my arm, and she took it regally. “No one has a taste like yours.”

  “Hmm,” she purred happily. “I must confess I worried all that time around those engineers would ruin you.”

  I stifled a snort. My mother didn’t disapprove of my latest set of friends, exactly, but their lack of fashion acumen routinely scandalized her beauty-loving heart.

  “Never,” I promised, patting her hand. A tuxedoed server came around with a tray, and I snagged a flute of golden bubbly for myself. “You’ve outdone yourself this time, I think,” I complimented, motioning with the glass to the effervescent decor around us.

  “Oh, Corey helped.” My mother smiled indulgently. “He’s very good with design, you know.”

  I swallowed my smile and nodded solemnly. Corey had been my brother Elton’s partner for the better part of a decade. A freelance graphic designer, he was immensely talented and always in high demand. To the rest of the world, his relationship with Elton was remarkably well established. To my ancient parents, it still felt fresh and new.

  One of my uncles intercepted us, stalling our progress across the floor. As usual, he was effusive about his beloved bonsai garden. My mother was more than adept at holding her own as the c
onversation devolved into a long, detailed discussion about a highly specialized technique. I simply nodded along politely until I could extract myself and escape. Intensive gardening might have been a green dragon’s delight, but it did nothing for me.

  “Will!”

  Hearing my name again, I turned. Corey waved from the bar, and I happily headed in his direction. His red hair stuck up in all directions, as it was prone to, but the way his slim-cut blue suit set off his heavily muscled frame to its best advantage more than made up for it. He’d catch plenty of eyes tonight, I was sure.

  “I hear you’re to thank for the decor tonight,” I praised as soon as I was close enough to be heard over the background noise. “It looks great!”

  “I might’ve done some of it.” Corey preened like the feline shifter he was and shoved a squat glass at me. “Here, drink with me. There’s too much champagne around here.”

  Chuckling, I sniffed the glass. The rich aromas of dark-roasted coffee and creamy caramel Bailey’s filled my nose. “Oh, nice.”

  “Yeah,” Corey agreed, sipping his own. “It’s decaf, of course.” He grinned. “I know better than to give a dragon coffee.”

  I feigned indignation. “Just because Elton can’t hold his …”

  “I can, too!” Elton appeared beside us, casting an exasperated look at me. “I hold my coffee perfectly well—like a normal being. Just because you lump heads have done multiple rounds of college and spent too many years living on the stuff …”

  “It’s the food of the gods,” I drawled, winking at Corey.

  “It’s a drink,” Elton shot back.

  Corey laughed and slung an arm around Elton’s waist, pulling him back to lean against him with enviably casual ease. “It’s both,” he allowed, nuzzling a kiss to Elton’s throat.

  My brother huffed but leaned into the touch, radiating satisfaction.

  “How’s the job?” I asked him, propping an elbow on the heavily polished bar and savoring another slug of the rich coffee drink. Eying my glass and deciding it wouldn’t go very far, I signaled the bartender for another round before turning my attention back to my brother.

  “Really good,” Elton chirped happily. “You know I got promoted.” His brow furrowed. “Did I mention that at Christmas? I can’t remember. Actually, it was a while ago, but I haven’t seen you.”

  “Traveling,” I apologized, shrugging one shoulder. I waved at Corey. “We can’t all work remotely all the time like your man.”

  “Hmph. I guess not,” Elton allowed. “But anyway, they moved me up to Head Guide. I do all the tours and initial orientations for new clients and staff. It doesn’t sound like much,” he hedged, a little defensively, “but it matters.”

  “Don’t have to tell me twice,” I reminded him, watching with approval as Corey’s arm tightened around him. Elton had a heart of gold, and I’d never met anyone who didn’t love him. But he was an outlier in our family; the rest of us tended toward mathematics and finance. Being different left its mark. “It’s a surrogacy agency, right?”

  “Yeah,” he relaxed, warming to his subject again. “For humans and shifters. It’s such a good place, Will,” he said earnestly. “Everything’s top-notch. They can help anybody.” He started gesturing as he talked, always an indicator of extra passion in my naturally enthusiastic little brother. “You should see their faces, Will. These couples come in. All they want is a baby. They’ve just tried everything, and nothing works.”

  Corey murmured something, a sly look on his face that made me guess it was filthy. I stifled a smirk as Elton shot him a sour look that quickly softened to hopeless infatuation when Corey waggled his eyebrows. They really were a perfect couple. I tried not to be jealous.

  Elton elbowed his mate none too gently and turned pointedly back to me. “Single guys, too, who’ve lost their mates or can’t find them,” he picked up his thread. “We get them whatever they need, and when their babies are born …” He sighed dramatically. “It’s just beautiful to be a part of that, you know?”

  “I can imagine,” I said, honestly, nodding my thanks at the bartender when he slid fresh drinks across the bar to us. “They can’t do better than you, that’s for sure.”

  “What about you?” Elton asked.

  “Me?” I snorted, purposely misinterpreting the question. “I could help them engineer their building for success, but beyond that, I’d be no good to them at all.”

  “That’s not what I meant!” Elton smacked the back of his hand against my arm, his eyes narrowing. “You know that.”

  Glancing around and finding no one else in a position to eavesdrop, I shrugged and swirled my new cup of coffee. The rich toffee color was warm and attractive, and I let the appeal of it ease the sting of my words a little.

  “Yeah, I want a kid. A houseful of them, like Father describes growing up in—without the evil bastards part, of course. I want a mate. Want it so badly, it hurts sometimes.” I lifted one shoulder in a resigned shrug. “But you can’t make a mate happen, you know?”

  “Oh, Will.” Elton’s voice was soft.

  “Doesn’t have to be,” Corey pointed out. His tone was matter-of-fact, but I could see the sympathy in his pale green eyes. He poked Elton. “He could fix you up. Or his agency, yeah? Find you a surrogate, get you some cubs—sorry, hatchlings—to keep you busy till your mate finds their way around.”

  “We could!” Elton pressed his hands together gleefully.

  “I don’t think so,” I declined hastily.

  “You could at least come take a tour,” Elton wheedled. “See what you think. Check out surrogate profiles. Give it a chance.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t doubt you or your agency, little brother, but I don’t think I’ve got it in me to have a baby with someone I don’t know.” I grimaced and gestured shortly. “You know how I am. Got all the possessive genes in freaking spades.”

  Elton made a face and sighed. “Yeah, I know. But think about it, maybe?” he added, hopefully. “You know, just leave your options open. Maybe it will grow on you.”

  To please him, I made myself smile and toasted him with my drink. “That I can do.”

  He smiled brightly, but before he could say anything else, the music changed. Elton’s eyes darted sideways to lock with Corey’s as his mate put his drink down. “That’s our dance, Love.”

  They looked at me, and I waved them away, genuinely smiling now. “Have at it. I’ll watch the drinks.”

  Hands clasped, they headed for the dance floor. I lifted my coffee again, but the flavor seemed to have dulled on my tongue. It was me that was the problem, of course, not any failing of the expensive French-press coffee. No, it was definitely me. Me and my unquenchable longing for the one person I couldn’t have.

  Though I ostensibly watched the party around me, my mind’s eye saw only Maia. Unruly hair the texture of silk that couldn’t quite decide if it wanted to be blonde or brown. Peaches-and-cream skin and dusky pink lips that never needed the cosmetics she faithfully applied anyway. Eyes the color of a robin’s egg. She was willowy, my Maia, with sinfully long legs. The scent of herbs and earth always clung to her, no matter how many hours she’d put in at the office or gym. It was maddeningly distracting.

  She was brilliant, too. Quick and clever. She had an eye for finding the most unique things in unexpected places. She was unfailingly kind but didn’t take anyone’s crap, either. She was comfort and intrigue wrapped in a single flawless package.

  We’d met the first day of our freshman year in college—my third round, her first. From the instant I’d laid eyes on her, I hadn’t been able to stay away. I knew how to charm a woman, but the connection between us went far deeper than that. By the end of the first semester, we’d been best friends. By the end of the second, I knew I couldn’t live without her. But therein lay the rub.

  Maia didn’t want me that way. She adored me; I knew that. But as a friend. A confidant. Someone she trusted. Asking her for anything more would betray that trust a
nd drive her away. The dragon in me understood her as a gem kept behind glass. She was tantalizing and alluring but the kind of treasure one worshipped from afar. Much as I ached to touch her, it was better to have her safely and securely at arm’s length than to let her slip through my claws entirely.

  Sighing, I banished the mental image of her and downed the rest of my coffee. I rose and brushed at my jeans out of habit, then set off to find my father. I had to at least wish him a Happy Anniversary before I could sneak away and find some work to distract myself with. The sooner I got started, the better.

  Chapter 2 – Maia

  I snagged my niece’s soft green-and-yellow striped blanket and tossed it over my shoulder. Then I leaned over my sister-in-law and scooped Moss out of her mother’s arms. She was warm and smelled of baby powder and the special detergent Jenny washed her onesies in. She fussed as I cradled her to my chest, and I cooed at her soothingly as I turned away from the table. Carrying her to the counter, I eased her onto her back and retrieved the bottle I’d just finished preparing. It was heavy-tempered glass—goddess forbid anyone bring plastic into my mother’s house—and I supported some of its weight with one hand while my niece wrapped her tiny fingers around it and shoved the nipple into her little rosebud mouth.

  I smiled at her, watching her chubby cheeks puff out as she greedily sucked at the bottle. Just like her daddy, I thought, indulgently. Dune was the baby of the family, and he’d always been able to seemingly eat his weight in whatever was available. We’d joked growing up that he had a bottomless cast-iron stomach. At six months old, Moss was perpetually ravenous, too. Careful to keep my hold on the bottle, I glanced behind me.

  “Entitled bastards,” Ford spit, his dark eyes flashing. “They’ve got their manicured claws in everything, you know.”

  Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I crossed the kitchen and nudged the screen door open with my hip. I caught it with my foot as it closed behind me so it wouldn’t slam, then slipped out onto the porch-cum-greenhouse that abutted my parent’s giant farmhouse kitchen. This time of year, the storm door and the long bank of windows that separated the greenhouse and kitchen were never shut. While the house benefitted from the fresh air and the scent of my mother’s plants, the openness meant I could only distance myself from the conversation with my pacing, not escape it.