Born to be Broken (Alpha's Claim Book 2)

by Addison Cain

  Meeting his stare in the reflection, Claire admitted, "Men have been put to death for touching the Dome."

  Shepherd answered, "Or they are thrown in the Undercroft for daring to look outside."

  Why would they look, there was nothing but snow outside. Yet Claire found herself taken with the view, all that white, of distant mountains and jutting ice. The land beyond the Dome was glorious.

  Shepherd's body was warm, the purr soft and continuous; the perfect recipe for her to ignore him, relax, and just saturate herself in something other than four concrete walls.

  The man did not ruin her comfort by speaking or making demands, and Claire was grateful for it. He was deep in thought, staring at the setting sun, his Omega held hostage on his lap.

  The dark came, bright moonlight on glittering snow, and Claire fell into a dreamless slumber—the first she'd had in many weeks.

  The whole night passed before intruding light set the backs of her eyelids glowing red. She woke comfortable with only beauty before her. It was almost as if Thólos did not exist. She could sit there and pretend; she could forget the man cuddling her was evil through and through.

  But the truth could not be ignored. Though she was warm and safe, her people were waking up with nothing to eat, with no power, with no heat. Outside of that beautiful room, behind that grand view, the world was falling to pieces.

  Shepherd stretched, his large hand cupped over the place where his child grew. "You enjoy this room and the view; you are comfortable here."

  Looking away from the window, she surveyed the empty room. "Why did you have the furniture removed?"

  "I did not want you to wrongly cultivate hope that I might allow you to remain."

  There was logic to his rationale. Had there been a bed and other objects for comfort, she would have longed for more than just his lap on that oversized chair. She may have even grown upset when he'd demanded that they leave. "I see…"

  "As I promised, I will bring you here." He took a breath of her hair, kissed a trail down her neck. "And as you promised, you will live as my willing mate."

  When they came back from her sky, Shepherd set her hand free. The handcuff had not been tight, but once he removed it she felt an ache in its wake. He took her wrist and used his big thumbs to rub the skin, as if he understood the feeling and why she had cradled the offended limb in her hand.

  Claire watched his caress, finding it peculiar that with paws that could crush her, Shepherd seemed to know just how much pressure was appropriate. As the odd touching continued, she worried her lip and found him once again watching her carefully. When the silence stretched and his big thumb continued to rub, she grew nervous.

  Unwilling to act without specific orders, unwilling to be tricked or manipulated, she thought to withdraw her hand.

  Shepherd trapped her wrist in circling fingers that seemed far more binding than the handcuff had been. "How will you fill your hours while I am gone today?"

  "Are you mocking me?"

  "What did you do with your free time before I claimed you as my mate?"

  That was easy to answer. "I spent every waking hour trying to find food for the Omegas."

  The giant smirked, using his grip on her wrist to pull her nearer. "Before Thólos became mine."

  "Thólos is not yours."

  The bastard smiled at her. "Answer me, little one."

  With a huff, she began to list off activities. "Aside from painting, I played my mom's old piano. I spent time with my friends… read stories, took cooking classes when I could afford to."

  Her response satisfied the man. Shepherd released her arm, the drag of his callused hands against her fingers extended.

  Claire used the opportunity to put distance between them, heading towards the bathroom, a place where he generally left her in peace.

  When she emerged from her shower, she found Shepherd had brought her tray of breakfast. Scrunching up her face at the offering, she made a noise that displayed her reluctance to eat it. Apparently the junk food of her last meal was off the menu. In its place was some kind of green fluid that smelled heavily of bitter ginger. She drank it, hating it, and then sat in stupefaction when after twenty minutes, nothing seemed eager to come back up.

  The Alpha seemed pleased, then he left.

  Alone, Claire chewed her lip and found again that the painting of Shepherd was watching her. It was still there, left out in such an obvious position, still waiting for someone to do something with it. Wiping her hands, she reached for it, aware that even in the hours she had been free of him, his face still plagued her.

  It struck her then that the Alpha had hardly left her side in her waking hours, or even physically left her touch in days. Whatever had happened between her arrival and the night spent in slumber on his lap must have left him content that she was established back in his power completely.

  He was right.

  Claire would remain a slave—for Corday, for Nona, the Omegas… for Maryanne. She would do as he wished to give them all a chance, and she would continue to engage, stomach the bond, and play the good captive as she looked for a way to help Thólos by the singularity of her situation.

  But it was strange to be alone in that cell, wide awake, and alone for more than just a fleeting hour. Looking back at that damn portrait, at the face of the man on the page, the hard set of his jaw, even the beauty of his lips, she grew uneasy at the apparent change in him. She had verbally attacked him when he could not use his normal recourse—already knotted, he could not fuck her, and had seemed astonished at the amount of malice he felt burning through the thread. Yet Shepherd had not yelled, or punished. Instead he had admitted his wrongdoing, and when their bodies were untied the man had even supplied what she had demanded before she'd lost her temper—he took her to see her sky, let her wake in the sunshine… then asked her personal questions.

  The thread hummed: Is your mate not trying? Are you not pleased?

  She was not pleased, she was suspicious.

  The wave of instant soothing reassurance was immediate from that warm, worming cord. It sang to her that there was no need to panic. Even Claire had to agree. The nightmare would end with his regime's demise before the baby was born, or she would go back on a hunger strike. Or she could break the mirror in the bathroom and slit her wrists. She could just refuse to breathe.

  She still got to choose.

  A wave of apathy broke, all good feelings from the view swept into ennui. Claire needed to think objectively, she needed to not feel. A finger began to trace the outline of the portrait's jaw. She made herself remember.

  Svana… Shepherd's beloved.

  Claire had accused him on the ice of being twisted by Svana, but that could not be completely accurate. They had twisted each other in their sick, unbalanced relationship. The man Svana sought out in the Undercroft had earned her attention because he already had darkness in him.

  Shepherd had suffered; his mother had been raped until she died. How many children suffered, how many people had been raped in this siege? What did he really expect to accomplish here?

  Furthermore, why had he captured her if he had a lover that had been his for ages? It was more than the legacy he claimed to desire from his mate. Otherwise Shepherd would have reproduced with Svana. Why not couple with his beloved?

  There was some upheaval, some key beyond simply wanting a child that Shepherd had been unwilling to share. Recreating the timeline in her head Claire worked through his actions, her reactions, and the consequences of her escape attempts. He had impregnated her as a result of her first escape, injected his fertility drugs into her before she had even regained consciousness. It was such an extreme response, and the more she allowed herself to think about it objectively, to see past her feelings, the clearer it became. It wasn't just the baby; he wanted her devotion, was willing to force it by any means he could. Shepherd had done everything in his power to keep her just for himself, obsessed over it, and hid her away to the point of paranoia. He even
thought he loved her.

  Shepherd didn't even know her, his love was based off something she could not put her finger on.

  What more do you want from me, Shepherd?

  I want everything.

  The image of Svana, of the expression on her face and the subtle flaring of her frightening blue eyes… The Alpha female had been displeased with her existence, Claire was certain of that. The woman had also been surprised to find her pregnant. Yet to his face, Svana had numbly accepted that Shepherd would have a toy… one the crazy Alpha female thought should have looked like her, as if every Omega she claimed they shared had been facsimiles of her exotic beauty.

  Why would his consort, one Shepherd admitted he loved, not know he'd taken a mate, or that he had created a baby? Why had those eyes looked at Claire almost as if she were a mere nuisance, an aggravating rebound?

  Rebound…

  Svana was my lover and I thought she was also equivalently my mate. I learned I was wrong.

  Holy shit. Svana had been unfaithful to Shepherd's devotion.

  Understanding dawned and Claire's jaw dropped; she was a rebound. Her skin began to buzz as if overstimulated, her mind flew into a thousand directions at once. Shepherd's whole world had been shaken and his mutilated reaction had been to take an Omega—to continue his dedication to the woman who'd freed him from the Undercroft, but ease his own troubled heartache by forcing another to love him as he longed for Svana to love him.

  "Why are you crying?"

  Startled, Claire looked up to see the blue-eyed Beta had come with a new tray. Turning the paper pinched in her fingers towards the intruder, she ignored his question and just showed him the rendition of Shepherd in watercolor.

  With brows drawn low, Jules looked at her painting, then looked away immediately. "You do not lack talent."

  "So I've been told," wiping tears off her face, Claire conceded. "Does he know that you talk to me?"

  "No."

  "I'm glad that you do."

  Such startling eyes in such an expressionless face, it was an odd sort of imbalance. "I know."

  With a sorry smile, Claire pushed the painting of Shepherd aside. "You asked why I was crying. I was crying because I just sorted out… why he took me. I am not sure if I feel worse for my own ruined life, or for a man who is so fucking clueless. Shepherd may think brushing aside his pain over Svana's infidelity will make it go away, that by taking a mate he might fill that void… but love does not work that way."

  Jules stiffened. "Your assessment is incorrect; do not think of it again. Such thoughts are unhealthy for your son."

  "Why do you say son? How do you know it's not a girl?"

  He sniffed the air but did not alter his expression. "I had two sons once… the subtlety of the scent is specific."

  She echoed, "Had two sons?"

  His voice never wavered. "My children were murdered when my wife was taken from me."

  Everything in his statement was exactly what was wrong with this whole damn situation. "Children are dying in Thólos now; others' sons and daughters!"

  Jules answered blandly, "It is unfortunate your people prey on the weak, but what we allow is necessary."

  Claire stood, she railed at the Beta. "Necessary? Explain it to me, then! Explain yourself to the woman your master has ruined because he didn't know how to handle his hurt feelings!"

  "Discuss it with Shepherd." Face blank, Jules left, locking her back in her cage.

  Discuss what part with Shepherd? The part about how she was superfluous and he just had not figured it out yet, or the dead babies part? Lying back on her space of concrete, Claire stared at the ceiling and felt like she was drowning in all the fucked up mess of things, the twisted histories, and the pathetic chain that was forged by a man with the emotional intelligence of an adolescent.

  She would talk to him all right; she would make him look straight at what a hypocrite he was. She would show Shepherd what she'd discovered, the truth of what he was doing through her eyes… not his distorted vision. The Gods had even directed her to the signpost of what a sad joke everything seemed to be. That boy. That curled up child she had rested on, the corpse with no name and nothing in his pockets. He would be her mascot, and Shepherd would have to look at him and answer to her.

  Claire mixed her paints and began to recreate that lonely moment in the alley. There were hours to spend on the work, hours wherein she detailed the brick, the cold, the withered child, and herself… fast asleep against the cadaver's stiffness.

  She had never painted herself before, used the memory of her black hair on her cheek to mask most of her face, but it was her. The same curled up slender form, the bone structure that screamed Omega, all in the clothes she'd stolen from Maryanne.

  Mindless tears were falling on the painting as she worked, mixing the colors as her hand moved in a frenzy. Shepherd was sitting across from her, she blithely recognized the fact that he had arrived, but ignored him in her fervor to remember her boy perfectly—to not miss a detail of the grotesqueness of his withered face and milky, shriveled eyes. It was not until the hand holding the brush started to shake that he reached forward and stilled her. The brush was taken from her fingers, the painting turned so Shepherd could see. With his hand encasing hers, he viewed what had eaten up the hours of her day.

  His rich voice stated fact. "This is you."

  Stuck in the artist's haze, that blurry moment where one knows they are creating something monstrous but still mentally indistinct, she muttered, "I was tired and alone. I had been wandering Thólos for hours because I needed to see what had happened, what had been taken when you locked me in this room. I found this boy who'd died alone and sat at his side, feeling as dead as he was… I couldn't go any further so I leaned against him and fell asleep."

  Shepherd tightened his grip on her hand, growling, "You could have frozen to death."

  Claire nodded. "As that child did. That boy died with no one to care for him… alone and frightened in a trash strewn alley."

  The hand on hers suddenly withdrew. The behemoth stood from the chair and moved something new into her line of sight. "You did not eat your lunch."

  Claire looked at the cold plate of fish and knew better than to argue. Reaching for the fork, she started to push trout past her lips. After shoveling down half the meal without tasting what was probably a divine recipe, she looked at the looming Alpha. "I carried that boy's corpse on my back all the way to Lower Reaches… So I could bury him with the Omegas. So he would not have to be alone."

  Shepherd sighed, fisted his hands at his sides. "You are upset over the child you carried back to the others."

  With an open expression, Claire admitted, "I am confused as to how you went from a boy dedicated to a mother who loved you no matter the circumstances, to a terrorist who is the cause of the death of thousands of innocent children in Thólos. Why did you change? What justified this, Shepherd?"

  He pulled her to stand, and moved them both towards the bed. "You are tired and I suspect you did not nap as your body requires. We will lie down."

  Her words were not slung in cruelty, but curiosity. "Do you not have an answer? No long-winded explanation of legends and greatness to make up for the death of that nameless boy?"

  He took her dress, put her in the bed, and followed as soon as his own clothing was shed. Pulling Claire above him, to the place she could feel the purr the strongest, a place that was minorly dominant for the Omega, Shepherd arranged her for sleep. "There is no answer I could give that you would find satisfactory."

  But that in itself was an answer.

  When her eyes were falling closed and the purr was moving her to stillness, the male shared his frustration. "Did you never wonder that I may have kept you segregated so that you would not have to be exposed to what is taking place outside these walls?"

  Half asleep, Claire hummed. "I am a grown woman, pregnant with your son… a baby no different than that little boy who died because of what you inspired here."
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  Fingers rubbed her scalp and he reminded her, "A baby you almost murdered by attempting suicide. A baby you no longer nest for or touch."

  Putting her chin to his chest, knowing the words were true, she did not balk. "After what I witnessed and learned of your nature… the things she said you've done… did you never wonder that I would rather kill myself and the unborn child than allow the likes of you and Svana to ruin him as you ruined one another?"

  Shepherd's chest swelled, and it was clear from his expression that the man was incredibly pissed off. Rolling her onto her back, looming over her, his large hand closed over her lower belly. "I am not at all happy with your current mindset or accusations."

  Placing her hand atop his, Claire held his angry gaze and asked, "Do you suppose you are some paragon worthy of this child? You fucked Svana—"

  His anger was growing dangerous. "I was trying to keep you safe."

  "Stop lying to yourself. Have you ever told her no, or do you do anything she wants just to please her? You enable her… and she thinks of herself as beyond reproach… because you worship her. I saw it myself! And for that perversion, she crafted you into what you are. A thing she owns; her unquestioning disciple."

  The villain roared right in her face. "Svana loves me!"

  Claire was on some sort of high, past caring for the consequences of her words. "The same way you claim you love me… the kind of love that justifies infidelity and cruelty."

  The pain did not register, not at first, and considering the size of the Alpha it could have been a thousand times worse. The grip he had on her arm, the way he bent it back to remove it from his body, Claire ignored, reaching for his shoulder again, wanting him to hurt her.

  The room moved, and a great crushing weight made it difficult to draw breath. His grip on her forearms left her hands almost purple, but green eyes held silver as she fought for the short stuttering breaths his mass would allow.