Chapter 6
The other Omegas probably thought she was insane, and maybe she was. At this point it didn’t matter anymore. Claire knew her time was almost up, that the group was starting to chafe at her presence, that her behavior was a threat to them.
Claire understood exactly what was happening; that was the very reason why it was so important she hurry.
With the city’s shops stripped clean of valuables, it wasn’t hard to find the ‘nonessentials’ useful for her ploy. With Shepherd in power, COMscreens and networks were beyond Claire’s reach but, like the book in her back pocket, paper had power.
A printed leaflet embossed with her image stared up at her; reproduced over and over again until no more paper could be found.
Nona had been brave enough to join her. To find the machines and make the copies… Through the madness, the old woman had not left her side, not once. Her friend had even helped as Claire created what would ruin her in the eyes of the world.
Senator Kantor had warned Claire of the consequences should anyone learn who she was to Shepherd—of the potential outcome should the resistance get their hands on her. The conversation had been burned into her memory, had carried her away again and again over the silent hours she walked the city.
There was no great hero to stand for what had once been Claire O’Donnell; even her own people found her useful only as a commodity.
So be it. If that was what she was to be, she would make them all eat it. She would sell herself, choose how to manipulate the product, before she was out of steam.
Claire was not a leader of men or a great orator.
She was an Omega who enjoyed painting pictures for children, who once believed she had a future full of promise.
Now she knew there would never be a loving mate or smiling children.
Distorted and ruined, she was just a faceless statistic in a city full of nightmares and indifference.
Well, not anymore. She had nothing left and nothing to hide.
So Claire created the voice she’d lost, the last piece of resistance she could manage—something horrific from her weakness that could give others strength.
Nona had captured the brutality of the image perfectly.
Though the flyer was black and white, something about those large, enthralling eyes pierced brilliantly as the girl on the flyer stared forward.
It was the profound expression of pain, the tracks of tears, the defiance, all balanced with the set of her mouth and the obvious cut in her lower lip.
Claire stared out at the viewer over her shoulder, displaying the violence of her scabbed claiming mark—the grotesque thing still bruised like a rotting flower.
Her chin was cocked high, her black hair pulled back so the damage to her throat was exposed.
She was absolutely naked, the fullness of one breast round above thin ribs, the nipple just covered by the arm clasping her hair.
The world would see her as she was: captivating and beautifully tragic.
It was her handwriting, the feminine script her final statement to Thólos:
I am Claire O’Donnell.
I am your mother, I am your sister, I am your daughter.
Look at me.
I am what you have done to yourselves.
I was pair-bonded to Shepherd against my will. I carry his child.
I fought back.
I fought back for you.
Each Thólosen who does nothing stands with evil. There are no excuses. Confront the abuse perpetrated on the streets, stand up to rape and violence.
Do not turn a blind eye again.
Do not make me stand alone.
Claire fled the warehouse as soon as the dark gave her cover, racing her own shadow like a wild thing. For a body that was strangely listless, she flew through the streets, sheaves of paper clasped to her breast.
It took all the dark hours of the night, multiple trips back and forth to gather more stacks of paper Nona handed off to her.
The flyers were placed on the tops of buildings to blow in the icy wind like garbage through the streets, to continuously rain down on common areas where in only a few hours citizens would congregate.
Her portrait was like a virus, almost unnoticeable as it infected Shepherd’s system, her image blowing about like leaves.
When her body gave out and her vision began to blur, Claire dropped the last armful of flyers from the highest causeway she could reach. Once it was done, she crawled like a wounded animal into the nearest building. In a dark corner she collapsed, oblivious of where she was, and uncaring.
It was simple enough for a man of Jules’ skill to enter the apartment of the sleeping Enforcer.
Svana was collected, and from the monitor in Shepherd’s hand, it was clear that Jules’ appearance had been somewhat surprising to her.
When he crooked his finger, she swept from the room with her customary air of superiority, head held high like the royalty she was.
Shepherd kept her waiting, entering Corday’s domicile, finding it typical, small, and full of the trappings of city life.
The Beta was asleep on his bed, snoring just loud enough to make the continued assurance of his slumber simple, the Enforcer completely unaware that the very terror of Thólos slipped through the darkness like a demon to stand over him.
Claire’s scent was rich in the room. Even, to Shepherd’s extreme antagonism, rising from the bedsheets.
Watching the handsome Beta, his lips parted in sleep, the predator awakened.
The beast licked his chops, ready to tear out the throat of his prey.
But the giant needed the na?ve young Enforcer alive long enough that the fool might lead him to Claire.
Once that mission was accomplished, he would personally tear Corday limb from limb, relishing each scream.
Staring down at the Beta, Shepherd could already imagine the tactile pleasure…
feel the warmth of blood running through his fingers.
Moving away before he could give in to the temptation to carry out such a punishment before its due time, Shepherd forced himself to ignore the other traces of Claire lingering on the bed: the long dark hairs on the pillow and smears of her blood on the sheets.
In the bathroom, Shepherd found the dress she’d worn when Claire refused to eat, ripped and ruined, stained from wounds accumulated from a highly dangerous fall—a fall that could have easily killed her.
Shepherd did not know how long he stood in that dark cluttered space clutching that dress, wanting to rip at the fabric just as badly as he wanted to take it with him.
But no sign of his visit could be left behind.
Stuffing it back into the laundry container, he noticed the waste basket brimming with wrappings and white paper of used bandages, blood soaked cotton balls, all the signs that the Beta had tended her wounds.
It made him want to squeeze the man’s neck until he felt his vertebrae pop apart.
The very air in the apartment was offensive.
Corday’s smell had scented his female once before.
It was clearly his sweaty clothing she had been wearing when the Omegas had turned her in.
Worse was the odor of Svana’s musk, picking apart Claire’s sweetness in a gross reminder of what had been created in his den when all his weeks of dedicated exertion to draw out his Omega were spoiled by an action as rudimentary as sex.
Through his inspection, his ire only grew, and Shepherd knew he had to leave before the stink of his outrage escaped his carefully buttoned coat and high collar.
Vanishing like a phantom, he moved at last to confront his beloved, finding her unaware of his entrance into the dark apartment chosen for their private meeting.
Closing the door to face down the subject of his anger, Shepherd addressed her with a blank expression. “Greetings, Svana.”
Svana purred over her shoulder, her voice full of the richness of their shared history. “Must I remind you, Shepherd, that you do not summon me and leave me waiting.”
Ignoring the lack of subtlety in the reprimand, Shepherd stepped closer. “How very beautiful you are this evening.”
She smiled, her lips curving up like a cat lapping milk. “Am I not beautiful every evening?”
The warmth of his hand came to her shoulder. “Enforcer Corday is a fortunate acquisition. Exactly when did you infiltrate the resistance?”
“My love?” Svana’s hands were already slipping up to cup his neck, to press to the small amount of warm exposed flesh so that nothing might be between them. “Are you not pleased at how easily they trust me? I can control them… mislead them.”
The feel of her body under Shepherd’s palms was familiar. “Nothing but ourselves could stand in the way of our success.”
At once the soft, luring quality of Svana’s blue eyes went sharp and narrow. “It is unlike you to make such a reference, especially towards myself.”
Shepherd hissed. “Your undiscussed appearance amidst the resistance was unsanctioned.”
At once, Svana moved out of the comfort of his touch. “I am not a child to be corrected, Shepherd. Remember to whom you are speaking.”
Watching Svana in the dark, the shine of moonlight over the perfection of her face, did not bring him peace.
Instead he found himself growing aggravated that there had still been no outright mention of Claire.
Did she think he didn’t know? That she would keep knowledge from him, purposefully, again…
that she would presume not to admit her doings…
it did not sit well in his gut. “Equivocation does not suit you. Let us speak plainly on the subject and be done with it.”
The way she stood, with the city backlighting her silhouette, the silken tone of her voice, all of it was to allure. “Can it be that you are displeased with me?”