Five days after Mal submitted his application to be a participant in the clinical trial, he received a call from a number he didn’t recognize.

“Mr. Collins?” the young man on the phone asked.

“Speaking.”

“This is Jeremy Lythe, calling from Synecta’s clinical trials division. We recently received communication from you expressing interest in participating in study I-047231—phase one of the clomiphene phylacetate clinical trials.”

“That’s right.” Mal licked his lips. He’d been in the kitchen, searching listlessly through the fridge for something to eat, when the call had come in. He migrated from the fridge to the couch and settled, unsure what news he was about to receive. Good or bad, he needed to be braced for it, and the couch would do just fine for either.

“Upon careful consideration of your application, we’d like to invite you to join the trial.”

Mal squeezed his eyes shut and held back a cry of delight. This was what he needed. This was the chance he was waiting for. “I’d be honored.”

“If you have a moment, I’ll set you up with an initial appointment to sign the paperwork and review what to expect so you’ll be prepared for the start of the trial on the sixteenth.”

“Of course.”

It was an offer to live the life he wanted—a chance he’d thought he might never have. For something like that, Mal had all the time in the world.

The sixteenth of March arrived much like every other two-week wait had—sluggishly, and to great anticipation. The odd jobs Mal took to supplement his settlement earnings occupied too little of his time, and more than once he’d found himself wandering the open space of his apartment, itching for time to pass. Now that the day had come, that excitement had fizzled out, and his nerves had taken over. In the small, sterile room in a medical building not all that far from Aurora’s downtown core, there was little to distract him from what he was about to do.

The release forms were signed, and his questions and concerns had been addressed by the medical professional on staff. All that was left to do was meet the core team of doctors who’d be administering the treatment and monitoring him through the trial. Starting today, Mal would receive the medication—clomiphene phylacetate—that might change his life.

If it took…

Mal glanced at the clock hanging on the opposite wall. Ten minutes had elapsed since he’d arrived, and in those ten minutes, he’d run through the gamut of emotions. He was ready to grow his family—he’d been ready for months now—but the finality the clinical trial embodied was as frightening as it was invigorating. Traditional IVF wasn’t an option for him anymore, and finding a partner…

Mal thought back to the night he’d spent with Vincent.

Finding an alpha wasn’t an option.

If he couldn’t ask the nicest man he’d ever met to take his heat unprotected, then he’d never be able to approach a stranger. At his age, it might not have made much of a difference, anyway. In a few years—maybe even a few months—he’d no longer be of reproductive age. His heats would stop, and there was no coming back from that.

“Mr. Collins?” a friendly voice asked from the door near the reception desk. Mal looked up, pulled from thoughts of his night with Vincent.

A young man with light brown hair stood in the doorway, dressed in a smart pair of gray slacks and a lab coat. Straight, manicured brows framed hazel eyes—the striations around the pupil burst outward in a stunning amber-brown that was set on otherwise green irises. For a doctor, he looked young—his skin was smooth and shone with health, and his pink lips were full and worry-free. Strong cheekbones and a lithe body lent him elegance Mal seldom saw in men, and as Mal stood in anticipation of meeting the newcomer, he noticed why that was. The young man wore foundation and had contoured his face. If Mal hadn’t been so on edge and jittery, hyper-focused on the situation and all its details, he never would have noticed. The application was so flawless and natural that his painted perfection looked inherent.

The young man in the doorway smiled. “We’re ready to see you now. If you’ll follow me back to the examination room, I’ll introduce you to the doctors who’ll be monitoring you during your time on I-047231, and through the resulting pregnancy, should one arise.”

“And who are you?” Mal asked.

The man laughed. “I’m Dr. Biernacki from the Science and Ethics Advisory Group. I’m going to be standing by while the trial takes place. It’s no big deal—I’ll pretty much be a ghost standing on the outskirts, making sure everything that happens during the trial is aboveboard. Standard procedure. You’re in good hands.”

“Great.” Mal smiled, but it was uneasy.

“Synecta is a fantastic pharmaceutical company,” Dr. Biernacki said as he turned and proceeded down the hallway, deeper into the clinic. Mal followed him, letting the door close behind him. “I’m always very pleased with the work they do. It’s thorough and detailed, and for the most part, they stick to a stricter code than is mandated by law. It’s very commendable.”

Mal watched Dr. Biernacki’s lab coat swish around his slacks as he walked. Ethics were fine, but Mal was less concerned with them than the study’s results.

“And we’re here.” Dr. Biernacki knocked on the second to last door to the right, then twisted the knob and entered the room. Mal followed him inside, but stopped abruptly a few paces into the room. His eyes had fallen on the doctor hunched over a counter across the room—the one with brown hair that was long on the top and short on the sides, whose body was leanly muscular.

“Your attending physicians,” Dr. Biernacki announced joyfully. “Dr. Peterman, our esteemed pharmakineticist, and Dr. Heaney, the overseeing medical officer.” But Mal couldn’t bring himself to focus on the other doctors in the room—not when his heart was in his throat, and his thoughts ran themselves in circles, unable to comprehend what was going on. “And, of course, the man of the hour—the talented reproductive endocrinologist and IVF specialist, Dr. Rhyne.”

Dr. Rhyne looked up from the counter he’d been hunched over, and his kind brown eyes met Mal’s. The color drained from his handsome face, and his lips tightened into a thin, emotionless line.

Mal stared back.

Vincent Wasserman, the man Mal had spent his heat with at Alex and Laurence’s wedding, stood no more than six feet away. He was the doctor who would monitor Mal’s progress, retrieve his eggs, the one who’d fertilize them, and the one who’d implant them back in Mal’s body.

Vincent.

Mal’s knees went weak.

The man who’d called him Daddy was going to make him one.