Chapter 13 #4
“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.