Entering the room with her window, Claire was wary the second her feet touched the floor. The setup had changed; a small table held two trays of food… as if Shepherd were going to eat with her—which would not only be odd, but a domestic act she was in no mood to engage in with him.
Like an iron bar around her waist, Shepherd’s arm held her flush to his body, the uncomfortable handcuff still in place. They were not moving deeper into the room, just standing awkwardly as he leaned down to possessively sniff her.
‘I would have preferred to mate you before this, yet forewent the experience because you desired to converse. I am also going to allow you a short time without the handcuffs,’ Shepherd said, unlocking the metal at her wrist while still maintaining a stiff hold on her body. ‘Should you disappoint my trust, this coming moment will not happen again. It would be in your best interest to behave.’
Before Claire could reply, the numerous locks on the door began to hiss and her body was shifted so there was no view but that of Shepherd’s chest. The door was opened and closed, and only then did Shepherd turn them so that she might see.
Instantly panicked, Claire eyeballed the stunning blonde and rushed to throw her body between Maryanne and Shepherd. ‘What the fuck is she doing here? You promised me!’
‘Claire, calm down before you give yourself an aneurism,’ Maryanne teased, throwing an arm around her shoulders. ‘I was invited for dinner.’
Bull-Fucking-Shit. There was a catch, there was always a catch, and cold dread settled over the Omega. Her attention darted towards the folding table, back to her massive mate, then over her shoulder towards Maryanne.
Claire was scared.
The Alpha female herded her forward, smiling and bouncing her eyebrows as if possessing no care in the world. ‘It was impossible to say no once he told me steak was on the menu… Don’t think for a moment that I came to see you.’
Claire’s nervous laugh did not sound the least bit reassured. The women sat, Shepherd moved towards a third chair in the corner to watch like a warden observing a convict’s last meal.
Enthusiastic, Maryanne dug into the food, made pointless inane chatter, smiling as Claire worked through the knot in her stomach and prayed the food would stay down. With the passing of half an hour, the tense situation calmed. Shepherd’s soft purr from the corner, and the approving look in his eye every time Claire looked over at him, helped to settle her.
Just having Maryanne near was extraordinary, and for a moment, Claire felt… comfortable.
‘Maryanne,’ swallowing the last bite of steak, Claire looked at her pretty friend and teased, ‘I think you may be the only woman in Thólos who’s still wearing lipstick.’
Full red lips curved up in a decedent smirk, Maryanne was proud as a peacock. ‘I have standards.’ The woman eyeballed Claire’s hair, frowning. ‘And you have been slack in yours. You need a haircut.’
‘As you must have noticed from the pre-cut steak, I’m not allowed access to sharp objects. I am also pretty certain salon services are not part of Shepherd’s philosophy.’
Maryanne cocked a snarky eyebrow and purred, ‘But gourmet food is?’
Claire looked down at their finished plates, frowning.
Maryanne ran a pet down Claire’s hair so she might show her the ragged ends. ‘You know, Claire, if it comes to girly things, you’re going to have to outright tell him if you need something. Your Alpha seems dense as a boulder in regards to women.’
Before she could stop it, the Omega burst into uproarious laughter. Hand pressed to her mouth, she imagined Shepherd’s expression behind her, and laughed even harder.
It took a minute before she could chide her cocky, smirking friend. ‘For fuck’s sake, Maryanne. He’s never going to let you come back now.’
‘Oh.’ Maryanne lounged back in her chair like a well-fed cat. ‘I think he will.’
While Claire composed herself, Maryanne began her duty. ‘I have visited your Omegas. They are blissfully unaware of your situation.’
And that was why Maryanne had come. Claire ran a hand through her hair, worried. ‘Do they think I killed myself?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s good. They would fret if they thought I was still alive.’
‘Only because they’d fear you might cause them trouble.’
‘Maryanne…’ Claire warned, ‘that is not fair.’
With an arrogant smirk, Maryanne waggled a finger. ‘Life ain’t fair, sugar pie.’
‘Life is what we make it.’
‘Says the woman with scraggly hair and chapped lips. You clearly have not been making yours that great.’
Irritated that Maryanne thought to scold, Claire leaned forward and snarled, ‘And what the fuck is your point?’
‘That after one good look at you, I can see you’ve been playing the victim instead of trying to live.’ There was no more frisky tone in Maryanne’s voice, no more playful looks. ‘Yeah your situation sucks; yeah it’s not what you wanted. But it is what it is. And I know you… I can just see you stagnating instead of adapting, all stubborn to the point it hurts. He might not be Prince Charming, but it’s safe here. He feeds you. You have it better than almost everyone else under the Dome.’
Looking to be near the brink of ripping off her guest’s head, Claire hissed, ‘Did he tell you to say that?’
‘Do I look like I’d do anything he tells me to?’
‘Of course you do.’ Narrowing her eyes, Claire mouthed, ‘You needed friends once… that’s your friend sitting in the corner now.’
For a second Maryanne looked stricken, and then grew coldly composed. ‘You don’t know what it was like down there, Claire. Even you would have done anything to get out. And no, he didn’t tell me to say that. It’s my own opinion.’
‘Well, from your life decisions, it’s clear your judgment isn’t always the best.’
‘That look in your eye,’ the blonde settled back, just as unhappy as her friend, ‘I know what it means. You know I’m right. And yeah, I’ve fucked up. I am what I am. But you still love me.’
‘I do, you cunt.’
Sudden heavy warmth settled on Claire’s nape. She tensed, unaware Shepherd had silently come up behind her. His thumb stroking her spine, he spoke, ‘That will be enough for today.’
Claire stood to say goodbye, Shepherd maintaining his hold on her neck. ‘I’m sorry I snapped at you, Maryanne.’
‘You shouldn’t be.’ Maryanne smiled softly. ‘You’re allowed to be bitchy; you’re pregnant. Before you know it, you’ll also be fat.’
And just like that, Claire was chuckling again, stepping out from under Shepherd’s shadow to embrace her friend. Standing on tiptoe, Claire pecked Maryanne’s lips, the close friends’ customary goodbye.
And it had been a mistake.
Shepherd snarled, Claire darting back against him, begging, ‘Don’t hurt her!’
‘She’s like my sister, Shepherd,’ Maryanne tried to pacify, failing to hide the fear in her voice. ‘Get your mind out of the gutter.’
‘You will not kiss her again.’ An arm came around Claire’s waist, keeping her locked to his side as Shepherd shouted a stream of foreign words towards the door.
The bolts were thrown and the door opened so Ms. Cauley could be escorted out by a parade of armed Followers. Even as the door was closing, Shepherd pressed Claire to the wall. She heard his zipper, the impatience of Shepherd’s growl as he lifted her skirt, and he was inside her in a quick thrust.
It was nothing but an animal claiming, both of them still dressed, but his grunts were loud, and Claire knew that Maryanne, anyone, in the halls could hear them. And that, of course, was his point. Shepherd was loudly broadcasting that she was his. She wanted to be shamed, but found her body glorying in it, her mind already slipping into the haze. It was a quick pairing, especially satisfying when he spun her about just before she came. Face to face, the knot formed, her legs around his waist, his strength supporting her fully when so much pleasure bloomed.
‘You didn’t say my name,’ he panted, eyes like molten iron.
She said it, just so he would shut up and let her enjoy the aftereffects. ‘Shepherd.’
There was a smear of red lipstick on Claire’s mouth. Holding her still, Shepherd went to rub it off. His finger hesitated, changed course, and instead spread it around until her lips took on a rosy hue. ‘Was Ms. Cauley’s assessment correct? Are cosmetics something that you require?’
The man had just knotted, was still spilling, and he was asking stupid questions. Looking at him as if he were nuts, Claire scowled. ‘Nobody requires cosmetics.’
‘I see no problem with the length of your hair, nor is it ragged,’ he grumbled next, stroking in the exact same place Maryanne had, as if erasing the other Alpha’s touch.
Claire rolled her eyes to the heavens and leaned her head back to the wall.
His lips went to her cheek, her ear, her neck. ‘I have never heard you laugh in that manner.’
There was nothing she could say that would not be inflammatory, but it was clear he expected some sort of answer. ‘She’s funny. Always has been.’
Shepherd understood that it was less Maryanne’s comment, and more the fact that Claire absolutely agreed with her friend’s assessment. Svana had never found him wanting when it came to understanding her or her needs. She was easy to please, loved the gifts he brought her, and always thanked him profusely. Claire was disinterested in almost everything he had provided, never glanced twice at new clothing, jewels tucked into her drawer, or fine things he put in the room. He knew she enjoyed the food, though her pride kept her from expressing it… and she found pleasure in her paints; nothing else had ever drawn a reaction.
He had hated every moment of the women’s conversation, save Maryanne’s wise reprimand to her friend. It was the only thing that might induce him to allow such a meeting again.
Stranger still, Claire had grown hostile, they had argued, and then it was over. No hard feelings on either side.
The Omega was growing limp, falling asleep in his arms. Still knotted, Shepherd carried her to the lounge chair and arranged them both while he waited for his member to soften. When her nose went to his neck and she began to draw in his scent, the Alpha encouraged her behavior, played with her hair, and listened to her strange musical hum—an Omega noise she had not made since… since Svana.
He had pleased his mate. She was even smiling against the flesh of his neck, Shepherd certain she was unaware he could enjoy such a sight by their reflection in the window. The purr deepened, her eyelashes fluttered, her fingers toying with the fabric of his shirt.
‘I would provide female things if you asked for them,’ the man grumbled, oddly relaxed considering how annoyed he’d been only minutes earlier.
She took a deep breath, and pushed up to look him in the eye. After their conversation downstairs, she knew what was in order. ‘I don’t know why you did it, and can only assume there was some ulterior, self-serving purpose, but at this moment I appreciate it. Thank you for arranging for me to spend time with Maryanne.’
He could be so gentle, so different. Cupping her face, he looked at her with a soft expression. ‘My motive was simply to show you that I am keeping my end of the bargain and for you to enjoy yourself.’
Shepherd was behaving properly, he was making concessions… and he wanted her to acknowledge it. Sucking her lower lip into her mouth, she allowed herself a moment to study him up close; raised up so that his softening member slipped out, they were eye to eye. Claire touched where his neck swirled with Da’rin parasites, the arch of his eyebrows, the various scars over his face, collected over decades of brawls.
This man was her enemy.
Shepherd sought to encourage her. ‘You’re curious…’
Having the male speak snapped her from her abstract regard. What had been a subject became a person, and Claire shrank back. ‘Senator Kantor told me your Da’rin marks symbolize the men you killed.’
‘It is a common thing underground, to threaten potential adversaries.’
‘He said they hurt…’
‘In sunlight, yes.’
They were sitting in a pool of sunlight, and though he wore long sleeves, the marks on his neck were exposed. He seemed so calm, his eyes focused but soft, that Claire doubted. ‘But you don’t cover them.’
Shepherd smirked, tried to kiss her unresponsive lips. ‘I can bear the pain.’
Crooking a finger under his chin, eager to distract the man’s more amorous intentions, Claire urged him to stretch so she could see his neck in the light. Nail scraping over the branching marks, she explored, she counted lives. ‘How many?’
The male began to purr, stretching, luxuriating, when Claire traced over the patterns. ‘Many.’
Eyes sad, she confessed, ‘I have tried to tally them, over and over. I always lose count…’
He wanted her cuddly and content, not frightened and eager to quarrel. ‘This is tradition underground. You have traditions, too. Most men are in the Undercroft for a few years, maybe a decade if they are strong. I was born there. Before I gave prisoners purpose and will to survive, few lived long enough for Da’rin to spread as extensively as mine. My marks were hope to many that they, too, might endure.’
For men who had been thrown into darkness in innocence, for men who had been cast down there for small infractions… for Maryanne… Claire could let herself understand. ‘The Dome is not what I thought it was, but it’s not what you think it is, either.’
Running his fingers through her hair, he teased, ‘You know so little, yet talk so big.’
‘Don’t minimize my life.’ She ran a hand over her eyes. ‘An Alpha cannot imagine what it’s like growing up Omega. Of course, dynamic is not confirmed until twelve or thirteen, but that fear, to know all your childhood prayers to be Beta went unanswered. To know you would never amount to more than an Alpha’s prized possession. I had broken that circle. I’d taken such care.’
The man slid his arms around her, as if they were sharing a tender moment. He even kissed her forehead. ‘Someday, you will thank me—surrounded by our children, happy in the life I’ve provided.’
‘You want my thanks? Well, there is something I want.’
Wary, pinching down her spine vertebrae by vertebrae, he made the question a warning. ‘Yes?’
Hand to his chest, her warm breath at his neck, she sighed. ‘When I wandered Thólos, I saw Lilian and the other Omegas dangling outside the Citadel. Would you bury them properly if I asked you to?’
The tilt of his head let her know he was intrigued, that he was weighing the pros of performing such a thing for her. Turning her chin, Shepherd’s eyes glittered, his strategy to get the upper hand developing. ‘I would be willing to grant your concession, if one was made for me in return.’
Claire had been disillusioned by this man long ago. Of course he’d want something. ‘What do you want?’
His gaze grew liquid, like molten iron. ‘I think we both know what I want.’
‘I am not going to be tricked into something. Either be exact, or forget my request.’
A soft chuckle and Shepherd said, ‘You have grown even cleverer, my little Omega. Kiss me and I will give you what you want.’
‘You would have to offer something far greater to entice me to kiss you. Instead, I will offer,’ Claire pursed her lips and tried to consider, ignoring the way he was moving his warm hand in small circles against her lower back, encouraging negotiation. ‘I will offer…’ She did not really have anything to offer. ‘I will sing for you.’
‘No.’
‘I will paint you whatever you wish.’
‘No.’
She had failed so many; she could at least do one thing for the dead women. Moving her hand to hover over his exposed dick, she faked resolve but her unsteady voice betrayed her. ‘I will initiate sex at a time of your choosing.’
Shepherd looked down between them where her hand was so close, but not near enough. Enticed, he purred, eyes ready to devour her. ‘That is a far more interesting offer. I choose all three.’
Fine, then that was what he would get. ‘I want proof it was done.’
The Alpha grinned, thoroughly smug. ‘Sing something now, in good faith.’
She could do this. ‘What song would you like to hear?’
Moving her hair behind her ears, Shepherd ensured his view would be unobstructed. ‘The song you first sang, but no crying this time. You must also look me in the eye as you sing to me.’
The ballad began and she sang it the whole way through, Shepherd caressing, purring, seemingly well-satisfied with the arrangement. Claire did not cry, far too eager to have her way.
When she had finished, he was tame… looking at her as he’d looked at Svana. ‘It could be like this all the time, little one.’
She put a hand to his cheek and said softly with a heart hard as stone, ‘No, Shepherd, it couldn’t.’
‘You will see…’ Placid, Shepherd drew her back down to rest. ‘I will show you.’
Everything was soft and warm and fluffy. Claire had no interest in shifting, even for the smell of coffee and the warm hand reaching into her burrow. Shepherd hooked her around the waist and pulled until her messy hair cleared the blue duvet and a bleary-eyed Omega emerged.
The new bed had arrived during her dinner with Maryanne—everything in her favorite shade of blue, everything fresh. Even with the effort the Alpha had made, Claire had not felt an urge to nest for many days. But he kept putting her back in it, taking her from whatever she was doing and burying them both under the covers, caressing her belly to encourage his Omega’s thoughts of the baby, until at last it just clicked and she subconsciously began to sniff at him, began to press nearer.
Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Claire sulked, unhappy Shepherd had woken her. A wise man, he gave her a cappuccino and waited for her new morning ritual; his little one peeking, trying to hide her interest in discovering what the picture lay in the foam that day before she sipped and the art was spoiled.
In her cup bloomed an intricate poppy. Claire begrudgingly loved it. ‘Does the person who makes these have any idea who they’re for?’
Shepherd answered with a question. ‘You ask because of the flower shape?’
‘You have to admit, it’s a little ridiculous they would give you a drink with flowers in it.’
‘It is a courtship ritual of Dome culture for the male to offer flowers to the female. I ordered it to be prepared this way.’
Internally cringing, Claire sipped the drink and hated that she blushed at his attempted romantic gesture, that he was going to mistake her embarrassment for coyness, that he was already looking at her with an arrogant glow in his eyes.
There was more. ‘Our agreement has been fulfilled.’
Claire set the cup and saucer on the bedside table, bracing herself. ‘And the proof?’
Shepherd brought forth his COMscreen. ‘May only upset you, so I am asking you to trust me and not look at the photographs.’
There was no chance in hell Claire would trust such a man. ‘It could not be any worse than other things I have seen in this city.’
She took the COMscreen, snatching it from his hands. The first image had been taken from a distance, all three bodies shown dangling, but not near enough to be graphic. The second was from the same vantage, Shepherd’s Followers taking them down. Claire was tempted to stop there, to accept that as good enough, but to do so would be to show weakness in the face of her adversary. Her finger slid across the screen. Bodies side by side in an open grave, rotted faces on display, only pits remaining where eyes had once been. Each corpse was still gagged, shrunken lips exposing teeth, hanging ropes embedded in their necks.
Claire could not look away.
Shepherd gently pried the COMscreen from her hands. ‘Are you satisfied?’
What she was was incredibly ill. Nodding, her mouth grew sour, Claire sinking deeper into her bed in hopes he’d leave so she could run to the bathroom and puke.
Shepherd knew her every tick, knew she was unwell. Claire could either walk to the bathroom and be sick with dignity, or he was going to get involved, his scowl said as much.
Slipping out of bed, she moved past him, closing the door for privacy, and threw up everything she’d just swallowed, pretty certain it would be some time before she enjoyed a cappuccino again.
He left her in peace, waited for her to wash her face and brush her teeth, and when she came back, Claire began to dress as if nothing had happened.
Brushing her tangled hair, she turned to the man still sitting at the end of the bed. ‘What would you like me to paint for you?’
He took a contemplative breath, voice almost jovial when he spoke. ‘A portrait of yourself, little one. One I will appreciate.’
With the brush mid-way through a tangle, Claire mused, unsure if Shepherd comprehended how difficult self-portraits would be. ‘That’s out of my scope. It might not be any good.’
He flicked his fingers, beckoning her closer. Apprehensive that she would be expected to perform the other requirement of their agreement at that very moment, Claire stiffened, but went to him.
Taking the brush from her hands, he set it aside and pulled her to rest on his knee. ‘I want you to sing for me now.’
‘I already sang for you.’
The man smirked, sly as he spoke, ‘Our agreement did not stipulate a number of times. You simply said you would sing for me, and I desire you to do so again.’
Claire suspected it was far more for her benefit than his, a distraction that would shift her thinking in a more settling direction. ‘If you set this precedent and begin bending the rules, it’s only going to backfire eventually.’
He touched a finger to her nose; Shepherd squinted, and the man cooed, ‘Please.’
She sang the first thing that came to mind, a relic anthem about war… a song that was poignant, sad, and far too expressive of the plight of Thólos.
‘Do you still feel ill?’ Shepherd asked, aware of her little musical mutiny as he gently touched her belly.
Claire did not usually feel well upon waking, especially after being dragged out of bed to see pictures of victims Shepherd had murdered, and she told him so.
‘The punishment meted out to those women was earned.’ The man was unmoved by her declaration. ‘If your death would have brought them gain, they would not have hesitated to kill you. You were kind enough to see them buried. Do not mourn them further.’
‘Do you not wish to be mourned when you die?’ Claire asked, non-threatening, only interested in his answer.
Stroking over the baby, the tiny thing that had yet to distort her figure, Shepherd asked, ‘Would you not mourn me, little one? Or would you relish the death of your mate?’
Claire was not inhuman. She had natural feelings and felt a discord in the link, the sudden uneasy throb in her chest that seemed saddened by the mere thought of the bearer of the bond’s death. Deeper still, she suspected his death would not equate to her freedom—too much had been done. She would languish as she had when the bond had been damaged. She would die. Unsure how to answer his question, she rubbed her hand over her face and refused to respond.
‘The thought upsets you.’ Again it was the gentle, manipulative voice and the soft touches of a man she knew pretended to be something he was not. ‘You need not fear. You would always be cared for.’
Sometimes it seemed as if Shepherd could read her very thoughts. Other times it seemed he was so far off base it was as if they lived on separate planets.
Claire had to get off his lap, she needed to think. Shepherd allowed it.
Smoothing back her hair, she thought to press on another subject. ‘I cannot make myself understand. What is it you want from Thólos? You are king with a list of ambitions, but you let your lands decay. You rule everything under the Dome, but hate your subjects.’
Shepherd put his elbows on his knees, spoke with acumen as the Omega paced. ‘My number of loyal Followers have swelled beyond even what I imagined. Hardship distills the soul.’
The things she had seen in the streets of Thólos, the depravity—it made the truth of his words sting. ‘Those who joined since the breach are traitors who chose your doctrine out of a misguided sense of survival.’
‘True, but the majority of the terrorism in Thólos was perpetrated by its own citizens. I did not get involved.’
Swallowing, Claire wrung her hands, looking for something she could use. ‘I know. I asked for help… remember? You didn’t help me.’
The shine of approval lit Shepherd’s eyes. ‘But I did.’
Claire thought she might lose her cool. ‘I will not have this fight with you.’
‘Think of your assault of the Undercroft,’ the giant reminded her. ‘Think of what you accomplished for the Omegas. What occurs in Thólos defines character. You are exceptional.’
That was far from true. Ashamed, Claire turned her eyes to the floor and confessed, ‘Did Maryanne tell you what I had to do to convince her to help me?’
‘I have not discussed such things with Ms. Cauley. What was done is forgiven and your motivation understood.’
‘I threatened her,’ Claire admitted, certain he must see how his occupation had affected even her. ‘I threatened her with you.’
Shepherd could not help but laugh outright. ‘How charming you are. Do not trouble yourself. You would never have followed through on the threat. We both know that.’
But she had still done wrong to her friend. ‘I hated doing it, Shepherd.’
The man nodded, entirely self-satisfied. ‘But it was necessary.’
He was twisting her words, using the opportunity to influence. He remained unreactive, patient, and Claire wondered why he seemed pleased at her question of, ‘Where will it end?’
Shepherd answered like a father educating a child. ‘In a cultivated Utopia.’
Fighting not to grit her teeth, Claire went back to the topic at hand. ‘Full of damaged people? How will Shanice enjoy the world that inspired her rape?’
‘Had you not interfered, she would have been safe, separated from the dangers of Thólos, and cared for by her mate—who would have provided all she needed. Charles was a good man, one deserving of the gift of an Omega’s love.’
She was not going to beat a dead horse. ‘In this utopia, where is justice for my dead boy? The children suffering and dying are innocent…’
‘Children are being neglected and destroyed by their own people. My Followers do not harm them.’
‘But they don’t help them, they perpetuate the suffering. I don’t understand how you cannot see what I see,’ Claire, green eyes wide and beseeching, said. ‘Shepherd, you set convicts free; you inspired brutality. You are more dangerous an infection than the Red Consumption.’
‘Less than twenty-thousand men were set free in a city of millions… a city of people who chose to embrace violence rather than stand honorably—a people who are easily corrupted. I never told them to pillage, rape, or murder. Thólos is responsible for its actions.’
‘You manipulate us all with a skill that is terrible, yet could be redirected.’ Stamping her foot in frustration, Claire demanded, ‘Why not inspire goodness, why not try to change the world through nonviolence?’
‘It would be pointless in a place so immoral and corrupt. You cannot reason with these types of people, little one. You cannot explain or educate. They are absolutely aware of what they do. They don’t care about you, your goodness, or anything beyond their own insatiable desires. After all, what do you know of Senator Kantor, the champion of the people? That man would do anything for power, manipulate anyone for wealth. He knows secrets that, were he to divulge them to the resistance, they would slit his throat.’
Fighting not to lose ground or be distracted, Claire growled, ‘You are bitter because he is still free, because he fights.’
Crossing his great arms over his chest, Shepherd said, ‘What makes you think I don’t know where he is at this very moment?’
She took a deep breath, she made herself look passive. ‘There is no resistance.’
‘There never will be.’ Creased skin around his eyes exaggerated Shepherd’s smile. ‘Thólossens will never rise up at the cost of their dwindling comfort.’
Knowing the question would irritate him, Claire asked bluntly, ‘Has my flyer had an effect?’
‘Yes.’ Silver eyes lost their mirth, their shifty furtiveness, and narrowed in disapproval.
That was something, that inspired hope. ‘So you’re wrong.’
Shepherd developed a hooded expression, answered as if reluctant. ‘Your picture has led to a rash of violent murders of black-haired women who look like you. My men find more every day.’
Claire’s voice hitched, the sliver of hope she’d had shattered. ‘You’re lying!’ But she was already crumbling, because it was just too fucking believable.
Gently, Shepherd asked, ‘Now do you understand just what the citizens of this city are?’
Head in her hands, Claire began to weep, the responsibility for each unknown woman’s death carved into her forever.
He had outmaneuvered her again; he had won.
Even scooped into circling arms, wracked with sobs, hating herself for what her flyer had inspired and how utterly stupid she was for not recognizing what it could lead to, Claire sagged to the floor. He was inside her in seconds, purring and petting, holding her tightly so she would not hurt herself by fighting back. She cried the entire time, tears running even as she climaxed, even as he told her sweet, soothing things. When that didn’t work, Shepherd proclaimed it was not her fault, that she was good, and even he knew that she could not have suspected such an outcome—she was free of guilt, she was pure, her ideals were noble… the city did not deserve her.
He told her he loved her.
She quieted a little.
The following twenty-four hours, Claire could hardly bear to leave the nest. Shepherd left her in peace so long as she ate everything he brought her, including fried potato wedges with mayonnaise and a chocolate shake.
