Chapter 5 #2
“Yeah, well… she ain’t exactly committed to her mate, either. He made that easy enough by allowing some psycho female to unhinge the pair-bond.” Corday scoffed at the irony. “Well, now it seems he woke the beast. The Alpha monster and his lover unleashed a storm.”
Leslie’s voice grew lower. “What are you talking about?”
“Claire broke Shepherd’s Omega prisoners out of Undercroft two nights ago.” Corday grinned, proud to the bone. “I’m starting to think the bastard doesn’t stand a chance.”
“What of the woman? Shepherd’s lover?”
Corday cut a glance at his guest, frowning deeply. “I didn’t say it was Shepherd.”
Leslie blinked, the picture of naiveté. “Not in so many words…”
“All I know is that the woman behaved like your run-of-the-mill sex offender.” Reaching for his COMscreen, Corday grit his teeth and growled. “Sounds to me like Shepherd and the Alpha bitch are a match made in heaven—or maybe hell is more appropriate.”
Even with the popped collar of the leather jacket Claire had stolen from Maryanne, it felt as if the cold constantly cut right through her.
Cold was the only thing she could feel.
The Omegas were beginning to stir, the shuffling sound of movements soothing.
Claire was glad to observe the group adjusting to freedom, even if it was in a reeking dump, even if she was not a welcome part of it.
The women had maintained a respectful verbal distance, had asked very few questions, and had been as comforting as they were able.
That did not stop the troubled glances, though. To them, she was contaminated.
They could not have been more correct.
It was unsurprising that wariness should come from the knowledge that she had been claimed by the biggest monster of them all.
There was only one there who kept to Claire’s side.
“Did they discover who you really are, Nona?”
The old woman wrinkled her brow. “I don’t think so. Even if they did, they had little interest in me. Interrogations were only about you.”
“That seems rather pointless.” From the sound of it, Followers had compiled a file packed with random inaccurate information.
Most of these women hardly knew her, and would have probably said anything they thought Shepherd wanted to hear.
Staring dull-eyed at the fire, Claire murmured, “You need to make sure Corday doesn’t find out. ”
“It’s not exactly like he can put me in prison, dearest,” the woman whispered, pulling Claire to rest her head in her lap.
“But when the city is free…”
“We have other things to worry about now.”
Claire sighed. “I wonder what happened to the others, the Omegas who were bonded?” Were they locked underground as she had been? Were they frightened? “I never saw anyone else. I don’t know where they are. I can’t help them.”
“Shepherd told me that all had settled into their new place. You were the only one having difficulties.” It was a subject that disturbed Nona as much as it troubled Claire.
“Did you know he came to speak with me a little over a week ago? Your mate claimed you were withdrawn and demanded I tell him how to end your depression.”
Hearing such a thing, Claire turned green, doubling over to vomit. That was the end of any mention of Shepherd.
Nona was a modicum of comfort, but Claire felt adrift—isolated even in the companionship of her kind. It led her to stand, to wipe her mouth, and to leave the Omegas’ sanctuary without another word.
Though it was obvious she wanted to, the old woman did nothing to stop her.
Just like the last two days, from dawn to dusk Claire wandered Thólos like a wraith.
Her absences were hardly commented upon, but Nona was always there with a portion of rations she pressed Claire to eat. Once she had her dark-haired friend warming by the fire, she would talk nonsense; she would make Claire communicate, until the exhausted Omega forgot to keep answering.
For two nights straight, Corday failed to return.
If Claire noticed, if she was relieved or saddened, she said nothing.
Nona was not even sure her friend had any concept of time passing.
Claire was too beyond herself, too detached.
But when she walked, the city seemed to open up to her—every path leading to some new awful landscape.
The buildings were hollow because the dead were piled in the street.
Marks of violence were everywhere, roving bands of looters still pillaging as if there were treasure to be found in the decay.
That was reality—exposed reality.
Half cognizant, Claire almost found her wandering had taken her right to the Citadel.
The black specks of Followers in the distance startled her out of her stupor. She drew back with such speed, she slipped on an unseen patch of ice. Heart in her throat, Claire fell into the gutter, scampering blindly until she zigzagged through the first open door in her path.
It took almost an hour to snap out of her panic, to look around at the wreck of a stranger’s home and recognize why every frigid draught filled the room with whispers.
It was paper bowing in the wind. Overturned shelves, fallen books scattered over the floor.
Under her hand lay the words:
He who does not know the evils of war cannot appreciate its benefits.
Disgusted, Claire snapped the worn book closed to find Sun Tzu’s The Art of War.
She wanted to throw it, to rip every last page from the spine, but instead found her eyes drawn back to the dog-eared pages.
Sprawled on a pile of some dead soul’s ransacked things, she read until it was too dark to continue.
Then she slept, passing another night free of Shepherd, utterly lost, and broken inside.
When morning came and she woke stiff, Claire rose from her makeshift burrow and walked out the door as if she’d never been there. It was not until she was back at the Omegas’ haven that she realized her bloodless fingers were still gripping Sun Tzu’s masterpiece to the point they’d gone white.
She was staring at it like it owed her an explanation for being there.
Nona crept nearer to see. “What is that?”
Eyes on the book, the green-eyed waif muttered, “Sun Tzu said to appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.” Claire began stripping off her clothes. “Go get the COMscreen. I need you to make me look strong.”
In a building opposite the generic apartment Enforcer Corday dwelled in sat a seething Alpha—one on the verge of snapping.
Shepherd prided himself on his steadiness, his focus and dedication to purpose, but at that moment, after bombardment, accusations and indignity, he was not at his best. Where the pair-bond connected, Shepherd felt some strange pulse.
The force that burned and stole his focus condemned his rage.
The sensation had denounced his actions often over the past months, brought with it severe discomfort.
It was discomfort he bore, knowing that the final result made what were sometimes reprehensible deeds necessary for his mate.
He could tolerate the pain of the bond just as he tolerated the pain of such extensive Da’rin infection. Tolerating being challenged by a subordinate, even if it was a man he respected, was not quite so easy.
No one questioned him. He ruled the Undercroft, had toppled the Dome’s disgusting government, and controlled an entire puppet population.
His Followers recognized and bowed to such greatness, and no puny Beta had the right to dictate what was best…
as if to share wisdom… as if to say that what he demanded was impossible!
Jules’ insinuations looped on repeat in Shepherd’s thoughts, the Alpha dissecting each word, finding the flaws in the other man’s argument… determined to prove he was right and Jules was mistaken.
Shepherd would have his Claire on his terms. Everything would be as nature intended, Jules’ idea of consequences be damned.
But there was a deeper message between the words, a sly list of allegations Jules would have to be corrected for.
‘Infidelity...’
‘You allowed Svana to manipulate you into dishonoring your pregnant mate…’
All this implied a breach in code: castigation. Jules had inferred Shepherd was corruptible and that Svana pulled his strings. His second-in-command’s gall was unspeakable.
Even aware of his simmering wrath, the blue-eyed Beta stood vigilant at his side.
Stuffing down bitter rage, unwilling to be seen as less than perfectly calm, Shepherd continued his surveillance and kept his growling to a minimum.
Jules would be dealt with for his failure once Claire was returned.
As Alpha—the creator of the bond—Shepherd would prove to the lesser Beta that his Omega would come to heel without pointless negotiation or bribery. That was the natural order of things.
Claire would be found, and she would submit. In time, she would love him.
But the bond whispered that she wanted to die, that she would find a way soon. And that possibility was the tiny mustard seed of doubt cracking his obstinacy.
In hindsight, Shepherd recognized that he should have coddled her after Claire’s tantrum all those weeks ago.
But he wanted his mate to see why she’d suffered the meltdown.
She had to admit she desired him, responded to his presence, that things had improved.
Shepherd had given her the space to consider such weighty insight—left her to feel the loss of the mate she needed—so that she would know without question what her true, natural feelings were.
So she would behave and adore him.
Even Shepherd had to admit that his attempt to condition, his rejection of her presence, must have made his mating with Svana seem deliberate—another punishment.
The feelings inside Claire once it began, the degradation, it could not have been worse.