Chapter 13 #2
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 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?”