When Claire woke the following day, Shepherd bathed her, dressed her, and brought out the handcuffs so that he could take her to see the sky. Deep down, she knew self-pity would get her nowhere. She wanted to rally, to get back to forging progress, because she owed it to those murdered black-haired women, but lost faith was a slippery slope, and she had nothing to hold on to.
Shepherd tried to give her that something.
He carried her to the room with the window. He locked the door and showed her his latest gift. Her mother’s piano rested against the wallpaper, his Followers having dragged it all the way from Claire’s ransacked apartment.
There was no bench, only a small stool he took himself, leaving her on his lap where she might frown at the scratched keys. As they were still chained, Shepherd followed where her fingers flexed, his body surrounding her like a blanket.
One aching breath and Claire closed her eyes. In a stupor, she began to play Bach just as her mother had taught her. The pedals were tricky to reach with the male serving as her seat—a man with his hand over her womb, who moved as she moved, never once hindering. They were a single creature. Even the bulky arm chained to hers followed smoothly; Shepherd never tugging the metal links, never interfering.
Breathing in time, crying softly, Claire purged. It was all there in the melody: sorrow, shame, guilt. But as the music went on, as rumbling purrs filled the air in concert, despair changed into something that hurt a little less.
Claire was no virtuoso, her fingers hit sour notes, but performing gave her pleasure. It was pleasure she allowed, that she sucked in as if starved for it. Wet eyes opened, more tears fell. Precious sound, the feeling of keys, of warmth, drowned out the pain.
But even so beautiful a distraction could not last. ‘I would never have made that flyer if I’d thought others would suffer.’
Shepherd embraced her tighter. ‘I am aware.’
It was only a whisper. ‘Thólos needed to know. They needed to see. But they have done nothing. They are doing… nothing.’
Shepherd breathed at her ear. ‘You cannot save Thólos, little one.’
Banging the keys in a mishmash of off-putting noise, Claire ended the concert. ‘I shouldn’t have to! You should not have done this!’
Hand on her belly, scarred lips at her ear, Shepherd murmured, ‘If I had not come, what kind of life would you have had, Claire?’
What she’d always pictured. ‘I would have found a husband, had kids, painted… I wouldn’t be afraid for my friends, mourning more people than I can remember. My beautiful city would not be in ruins or my home destroyed.’
Shepherd used her reasoning against her. ‘The people you care for are safe because of you. My men watch over them. You still paint. You have a mate who would see to any need you expressed to him, so long as it did not endanger you—one who requires your patience. Beyond that, will you not find pleasure in the child I have given you?’
Hot tears falling free, Claire looked to where a very little life would be snuffed out when she ended herself—a little life that was growing daily and becoming more real, which affected her and increased her dependence on the Alpha purring at her ear.
As if he knew she refused to embrace the thought of her son, Shepherd cooed in her ear, ‘You will love our baby and sing for him, paint him pictures… and he will have dark hair like yours, and maybe your eyes.’
Never once had she allowed herself to picture the child. Hearing so tempting a description, Claire could not stop the image from invading her mind, hating the male who whispered so sweetly for the cruelty of what he was doing in making her son real.
Insistence invaded Shepherd’s attempt at gentle speech. ‘You don’t have to fight it, Claire. You could forgive me, forgive yourself, and your pain would end. You could do it for your son, so that he need not suffer a disengaged mother as you did.’
Her breath caught, she automatically pressed the keys to hide in her music. Gently, Shepherd took her hands, preventing her attempted distraction until his point was made.
‘Have things not improved in these last weeks?’ He stroked the trembling Omega; he kissed her neck. ‘I know it has been painful for you to accept what you have faced between us, what you experienced in Thólos. I also know that you understand my purpose to a point, and though you may not want to admit it, you see how wrong this place is.’
‘Please stop…’
‘If you wish.’
His acquiescence was unexpected. Claire uncurled, tried to move her arms, and found Shepherd no longer held her from her goal. She began to play again, the melody slow and wretched. As her fingers roamed the keys, she thought of her mother, the woman who’d sat by her side for hours, patiently teaching her child the one thing she’d taken true joy in. It was an act of love Claire had always wanted to share with her own children, part of the fantasy the Omega had envisioned in her perfect future.
Thoughts of her dead mother led to thoughts of her dead father—to the scent of orange blossoms and remembrance of warm sunshine. Her daddy’s laughter had been Claire’s favorite sound in the world.
Another male vaguely reminded her of the man; Corday, with his silly boyish grin, his kindness, his patience.
As if Shepherd knew, as if he could tempt her thoughts back to him, he lifted Claire’s skirt and caressed her thigh. It felt good, the way Shepherd touched. It felt perfectly nice as the music stirred and her attention relaxed to alter tempo in time with the Alpha’s long warm strokes. He grew more daring, and her breath caught when his large fingers explored, teasing in exactly the right spot.
The way he could play her body, the ease with which he parted her folds, how simply her legs spread of their own volition to offer access so he might please her… sometimes it seemed pure. ‘That’s right, little one.’
And that voice, the heat of masculine rasps, why could it have not belonged to someone else?
A dexterous thumb exposed her clit, circled it as she mewed and stumbled badly through a musical phrase. When thick fingers penetrated languorous and deep, Claire whined, her breath caught, and it was the Alpha’s name she panted.
‘Shepherd.’
The bliss of his fingers slipped away, but in their place he set his member free and gently lifted his mate. He sheathed himself in a slow, deliberate entry. Cock engulfed, the Alpha remained still, set no pace—he only groaned at her ear while Claire instinctively gyrated for her own pleasure.
The heat of his hand returned, plucking at her swollen nub, drawing out whimpers and little stifled cries. Claire no longer knew what she was playing or if it made any sense musically, everything was focused on the building pressure and the comfort of a familiar body. Whatever her hips did, Shepherd’s fingers followed. Though his breath was labored and he badly craved to rear up into that tight, little passage, he let her take what she needed.
It was not long before Claire’s movements grew erratic. At the sound of the Alpha’s desperate moan, she jerked and ground down hard, climaxing so beautifully the world went white.
Shepherd followed on command, drenching her insides in warmth and her favorite scent—something that had become far more gorgeous than the smell of orange blossoms.
Claire didn’t cry, for once she did not chastise herself; she simply sat on his lap with the knot fusing their bodies, felt him still spurting in the lingering minutes of his own release, and began to play Bach again—because she had to survive herself, she had to survive to give Corday his chance no matter how badly the odds were stacked against him. And she would not survive if she could not take the comfort Shepherd offered when she was so close to breaking apart again.
The Alpha growled, contented with each exhale. Nestling closer, he held her tight, and enjoyed Claire’s pseudo-serenity.
He had won; his mate was allowing their bond to soothe her.
‘Gimme your foot,’ Maryanne barked, shaking a little bottle in her hand with quick jerks of her wrist.
Stuffed full of cake—a huge tiered thing, frosted bird’s egg blue and beautifully decorated, a cake that could feed half of Shepherd’s army… that even after their brutal attack on it could still feed half of Shepherd’s army—the friends lounged and played at girly things.
Smiling, sitting slumped in her chair, Claire picked up one bare foot and stretched it over to set in her friend’s lap. ‘Why am I not surprised the color you brought is vampy red?’
Maryanne brushed a careful line of paint over Claire’s big toe, smirking. ‘Too sexy for prudish little Claire?’
‘Says the girl who slept with every boy we knew…’
‘After I left, did you ever cave in and date that that Seymour guy? He had such a crush on you.’
Claire groaned and rolled her eyes. ‘Gods no. I had my dad chase him off when he started sniffing around the house.’
Playful eyes glanced up, Maryanne motioning for the other foot. ‘What about boys in higher academy?’
Claire shook her head. ‘I was focused on my studies.’
‘After academy?’
‘Geez, you make me sound so boring!’
‘So only Shepherd, huh?’ Maryanne pretended to focus on her work, spreading the crimson paint carefully. ‘That’s kinda too bad. I mean, think about it. If you have only slept with Shepherd you have nothing to compare it to. He could be awful and you would never know. I bet you wish you’d experimented now…’
Laughing so hard it hurt, Claire struggled to say, ‘Stop antagonizing him!’
‘That’s what he gets for eavesdropping on girl talk. There are reasons why women congregate without men… so we can make fun of them.’
Claire was still laughing, green eyes dancing while innocent Maryanne blew on her toes. ‘What other interesting things do you have in your pockets?’
‘Look who wants presents?’ the blonde sang, reaching into her coat for a tube of lipstick.
Unscrewing the lid, Maryanne made a face like an artist creating a masterpiece. Claire leaned forward, puckered, and let her stain her lips a rich berry red.
‘Well, I’m not going to lie,’ Maryanne shrugged, unimpressed. ‘It’s a little trampy on you, but Shepherd might like it.’
‘It’s the same color you’re wearing!’ Claire snorted, snatching the tube from Maryanne’s hands. ‘I had a lipstick like this once, never had a place to wear it.’
‘What do you mean place to wear it? You just wear it,’ her friend replied, settling back in her chair.
Claire’s soft smile was gently reprimanding. ‘That’s easy for you to say, Alpha. If you draw attention, being as pretty as you are, you don’t have to worry about potential complications.’
Yawning, Maryanne shrugged. ‘That is just silly, Claire—and paranoid. It’s just lipstick. And I guess you don’t have to worry about that anymore. Ain’t no one gonna to be messing with Shepherd’s old lady.’
Green eyes grew sad. ‘That’s not what I hear is going on outside…’
‘What do you mean?’
A guilt-ridden voice confessed, ‘Women who look like me… because of my flyer.’
‘You told her about that?’ Maryanne snarled at the hostile male watching from the corner. ‘What is wrong with you?’
Claire could not see his reaction to her friend’s outburst, but knew it couldn’t be good. She interjected, ‘I am not a child, Maryanne. I asked, and he told me the truth.’
Maryanne had her own harsh take on things. ‘None of that was your fault, you know. I thought the flyer was pretty ballsy, but you’ve got to get it through your thick skull, girl. Thólos is a bad place full of bad people.’
‘People can change,’ Claire breathed, knowing it had to be true.
Maryanne cocked a brow and made a hard point. ‘Do you think Shepherd can change?’
The Omega tilted her head, thinking about it before looking over her shoulder. Her eyes met Shepherd’s.
He glanced down at her stained lips, seemingly intrigued.
Standing, she walked, careless of her newly lacquered toes, and went to stand before the male. So many contradictory thoughts were running through her head. His behavior towards her had changed, was far more palatable, but all of that could easily be summed up as an insincere strategy to gain her affection. After all, she was certain there had been no change in him outside their den or in his dealings with Thólos.
When her small hand reached up and the female cupped his cheek, Shepherd allowed it, unmoving as she stood between his spread legs. His silver eyes shone, focused and pleased with her attention in front of the Alpha female.
Claire pulled in a breath as if to speak, then hesitated, pouting her red lips until he purred and the back of his warm fingers stroked over her belly.
The question was for herself. ‘Could Shepherd change?’
It was all there in her expression—how badly she wished he could change. How hard she had tried to affect something in him. Whispering, her voice as soft as the fingertips that touched the flesh of his cheek, Claire asked, ‘Could you change?’
A warm, large hand enclosed hers, gently removing her touch from his face, Shepherd admonished, ‘You are neglecting your guest, little one.’ Breathing, blinking out of her trance, Claire took a step back as the male pressed some small scissors into her hand. ‘I have given her permission to cut your hair, should you wish it.’
Looking down at the little instrument, Claire teased Maryanne. ‘I don’t trust her with these. Everything will come out cockeyed.’
From across the room, the woman blurted, ‘How hard could it be?’
Claire smirked, thinking of Maryanne’s godawful attempt ten years prior. ‘That’s what you said last time, and may I remind you, those terrible bangs took over two years to grow out.’
She moved back to Maryanne and let the blonde trim her hair, fairly certain it would be terrible, and honestly not caring at all if it was. The only thing about the interlude Claire cared about was the COMscreen Maryanne produced; full of photos of the Omegas, and even one of Corday, who was smiling his dimpled grin as he spoke to whoever was just outside the frame. On the smallest finger of his hand sat her gold ring; diminutive, but there.
Corday still had faith in her.
Making sure not to look at him too long, Claire set the COMscreen down and remained still as Maryanne snipped.
When the cut was over, dark hair tousled, Maryanne assured in a playfully thick accent, ‘Very beautiful.’
Handing her a pocket mirror, she frowned when Claire pressed it back, stating, ‘I don’t need to see.’
Maryanne shoved it back. ‘It’s not bad, Claire. Take a look.’
‘I’m sure you did fine.’
Maryanne knew what was going on, could see through the cracks in her old friend’s mask.
Holding the mirror up, making a point, she snarled once the Omega turned her head away. ‘What is wrong with you?’
Moving the mirror to Claire’s new line of sight produced the same outcome. Claire looked away. Enough was enough. Maryanne grabbed a fistful of hair and held Claire’s head still, forcing the mirror before the Omega’s face. ‘Open your eyes and look in the mirror, Claire!’
She did. Claire looked at a hated face, one with full lips that had been painted to be pretty and black hair that had been cut to frame her face. A face with green eyes and pale skin; a face she had been unable to look at for the last week without seeing dead women who looked like her. Women she had killed.
With a voice that could no long bear inflection, Claire said, ‘You’re right. The lipstick is trampy.’
‘You don’t need to do this to yourself, you idiot.’ Maryanne gave Claire’s hair a little yank. ‘There is nothing wrong with that woman in the mirror. Their deaths are not your fault.’
‘Step away from her, Ms. Cauley. Go stand near the door and do not move.’ There was nothing but the threat of murder in Shepherd’s voice, every word enunciated with chilling precision.
Maryanne darted back, the behemoth stalking forward. Watching with awe, the Alpha female saw the mountain kneel to his mate. His purr was aggressive, his hands already petting an Omega who seemed composed and patient, but was anything but.
‘She didn’t do anything wrong,’ Claire explained. ‘Everything is fine.’
Shepherd spoke in that other language, loud enough that the Followers on the other side began to unlock the door. In a flash, Maryanne was gone. Once the door was bolted, Shepherd pulled Claire to stand and drew her to the room’s luxurious bathroom.
A large mirror hung over the fine sink, and with a flick of the lights there they were, standing side by side, framed in filigreed gold.
‘Your skills at deception are abysmal,’ Shepherd explained, gesturing at her reflection. ‘So let’s not waste time, shall we? Why are you only looking at me in the mirror and not at yourself?’
Humiliated that she had allowed this situation, that she had not performed better, Claire looked straight at her reflection. ‘My stomach was upset.’
‘You are lying,’ the male roared, hating the strange feeling that was coming through the cord. ‘What is wrong?’
There were no tears, only a blank stare. ‘I just can’t look at them.’
A great hand lifted as if to grip her skull. Instead Shepherd clawed through her hair, the nearest thing to a pet an angry Alpha could manage. ‘Continue.’
In the mirror Claire was dwarfed next to the massive man, small and useless. ‘I am angry that I cannot do anything for anyone, that everything I tried only made things worse. I feel powerless, ashamed of myself for my failure and the horrible effect I had on women who look like me.’ Beseeching eyes darted to his reflection. ‘And I’m frustrated that no matter what I say to you, to a man I am pair-bonded to, that it would change nothing—even if I had the power to redeem you—because Thólos did horrible things when the people could have rallied and brought you down.’
‘The price you are exacting from yourself is not yours to pay. It is Thólos’s.’
She was getting angry. ‘I am Thólos, Shepherd. Born and raised here. I grew up here. My parents are buried here.’
‘Look at yourself in the mirror, Claire O’Donnell.’ The male reared up as he spoke. ‘You are an Omega, physically small and weak, yet incredibly intelligent. That said, however shrewd you may be, you are also foolish enough to think you must bear the burden of others’ sins… That is your true flaw. The psychological trauma you are causing yourself is both immature and pointless. It does nothing to change the scenario. And though I am honored you would consider the thought of my redemption as worthy, it is your own peace you need to focus on now. Self-pity and playing the martyr help no one.’
The woman gave a caustic snort. ‘Well, I failed at playing the hero.’
In a voice that was hard and assertive, Shepherd snarled, ‘But you didn’t, and you know it. Forty-three people are alive because you had the nerve to stand up to me. You won, Claire. No single adversary has ever beaten me before. Ever. Take your victory.’
It was not that simple, not when the world and her mind were in a constant state of turmoil. Not when she was only breathing to buy time.
In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity. – Sun Tzu
Rubbing her lips together, she felt the unfamiliar slide of lipstick and met Shepherd’s eyes again. ‘The lipstick is trampy.’
‘And your hair?’
‘Looks nice.’
‘And the dress?’
‘Is something I would never have chosen for myself in a thousand years. I look like the poster girl for a pre-plague Omega housewife—which I suppose is fitting, as I am barefoot and pregnant.’
‘Are you attempting comedy?’ For once the man actually sounded unsure.
Claire smirked and shook her head in the negative.
For days she wasted paper while the Alpha stared, watching her paint her promised portrait for him. Claire was beginning to suspect that Shepherd was trying to drive her crazy with the constant appraisal of her work. But there was a method to his madness, even Claire understood that. He was forcing her to look at herself over and over, until it was no longer quite so nausea inspiring, until it was her face on the paper and not some unknown woman Claire had conjured up.
A deep breath, the type that preceded some grand speech the bastard was going to make, passed Shepherd’s lips. Claire’s eyes shot up, blazing warning as she snarled, ‘I swear to the Gods, Shepherd, if you say one thing about this painting, I am going to scream.’
Undaunted, he cocked an eyebrow and stated, ‘I want you to paint yourself smiling more.’
Pounding her fist on the table, biting back the rising noise in her throat, Claire let out a stream of obscenities so vulgar the man began to laugh. Paint-stained hands balled up the picture, Claire throwing it right in his face. Then it was her turn to laugh at the absolute look of murder in his eyes.
Popping her lips, grinning impishly, she reached for another piece of paper and ignored the swelling, angry male. Innocently, she dipped the brush and began the outline again, painting the same smug grin she was wearing at that moment. When the basic form was drawn, she arrogantly held it up, and watched him narrow his eyes and appraise.
Before he could speak, a knock came to the door and a man whose voice Claire didn’t recognize spouted off something in their language. Shepherd’s attention focused on what he was hearing, the Alpha already standing as he replied in kind.
Shepherd immediately began pulling on his armor.
A strange anxiety twisted in her stomach, this situation not having arisen before. Watching him dress for battle at a summons and not simply because he was leaving for the day, meant something was going on—something that could be dangerous to him, to Thólos, to anyone.
‘You do not need to be concerned, little one.’ There was a smile in his voice.
When Claire’s eyes darted up to meet his, she found him collected and calm. But she felt incredibly uneasy, all humor from only a few moments ago evaporating. ‘What’s going on?’
The purr began. Shepherd pulled on his coat and came to where she sat, alarmed and stiff. Stroking the line of her jaw, he explained, ‘There is nothing. I simply lost the hour playing your game with the paints.’
He was lying; the man always knew what time it was without the presence of a clock. ‘I don’t believe you.’
Ignoring her accusation, he cracked his neck and looked down at his worried mate. ‘I will be back shortly, and when I return, I expect to receive the remaining portion of our agreement.’
She fought to maintain an impassive expression while Shepherd traced her lips with his thumb and leveled upon her a liquid gaze brimming with lust and ravenous expectation. He dipped his thumb between her lips, growled richly as if he was about to fuck her, and left her sitting in a little pool of slick.
Dazed, Claire stared at the closing door. She knew what he was calling due, what he had left sitting between them for weeks—in order to fulfill their bargain, Claire was expected to initiate sex.
Unsure whether he had chosen that moment as a means to distract her from her worry, or if it was some sort of victory celebration for whatever he was doing, she shifted uncomfortably at being left in such a state.
It was not as if she’d forgotten what she’d offered for Lilian and the others to be laid to rest, but she’d had other far more pressing things to center her thoughts upon. Besides, physical intimacy with Shepherd had taken place countless times. She knew what he liked, where to touch him to draw out a reaction… so how hard could it be to initiate it?
Hard.
Looking for a distraction, Claire showered and cleaned up the paints, expecting him back at any second. But hours passed and she began to grow anxious, worried about what might or might not be going on in Thólos.
Was it an insurrection? Corday; had he found a way to end this?
Claire was on the edge of full-blown panic when the lock finally shifted. Gritty metal whined and the door swung inwards. She stopped her customary pacing, turning with tangled relief to face the largeness of her mate.
