by Addison Cain
After a minute she clumsily unhooked her claws from his arm, back in control of her urges, stubborn and resolute to resist. But her head was still spinning when she glanced up. Liquid mercury watched as he always watched her, like a wolf licking his chops. She made a move to climb off his lap and return to the warmth of the bed but his arms held her firm, settling her body where she straddled his thighs.
A finger traced down her spine, a reminder she was naked... a state he had seen her in so many times there was little shame in it.
"There are topics that must be discussed." It was said conversationally, but his expression was daring argument. "To begin, you will tell me where you have been for the last eight days."
Her voice seemed to catch, worn from screaming at her sister Omegas so that this very scenario might be prevented. "I was offered shelter after I collapsed in the street, by a man who was kind to me, who listened, and who tried to help."
The heat of his massive palms kneaded deeply into her lower back, pressing her closer. "Who was this man?"
Claire shook her head, frowning and bracing herself to receive punishment for the words she was about to speak. "I won't let you kill him because he was noble."
There was the slightest of squints above a warning smirk. Shepherd's voice crooned, oddly complacent, and a total lie. "Perhaps I wish to reward the Beta whose stench saturated your clothing. After all, he tended to my runaway, foolish mate."
"No. You wish to know how to reach Senator Kantor so you might string him up from the Citadel." Claire knew the Omegas he'd captured would spill every word she had told them in their fear. They might have lost themselves in despair and starvation, but Claire had been made stronger by being fed as Shepherd's pet, and she would not give the Alpha information to help hunt down anyone who might resist his occupation.
Threading large fingers into her hair, Shepherd began to comb out the tangles. "Do you know where he is?"
"I do not. He came to me. But even if I had learned his location, I would not tell you."
"Do you think that your loyalty to those men will save them?"
She straightened her spine and fought to keep sadness from weakening her voice. "They were the only ones who offered to actually help, who wanted nothing in return, respected me as a person—not an object... I will not say a word that might help you hurt them." After a sniff, she raised her chin, all defiance and haughty determination. "You may have the Omegas under your control, you may have me back in this room, but you will never claim my integrity or honor."
A finger traced the line of her jaw, his silver eyes almost soft as they searched her face. "You are still so defiant."
"I am still Claire."
Unexpectedly the purr rumbled, soaking into her, soothing her rankled belligerence. When Shepherd spoke it was indulgent. "You are... wayward and foolishly noble... I find it is not disappointing."
Why was he looking at her gently? Why was he saying nice things? Narrowing her eyes, suspicious even as the purr made it all better, Claire tensed.
Shepherd's thumb brushed her lips. "Did you miss me, little one?"
The dark fan of her lashes lowered, Claire was unwilling to answer. She had missed him. Missed his smell and the purr, missed the calm he cultivated with precision. But her desire for such things were only the result of the bond. She had not missed the constant feeling of being trapped—watching day by day as more pieces of herself were peeled away.
"Answer me, little one." He used that power he had, making the thread knock about in her chest.
Looking lost, her emerald eyes met his. "You have invaded my mind."
"And your body," he added, holding her a little firmer.
"And my body," Claire agreed, her expression brokenly resigned. "Is that what you want to hear?"
Pinching her chin so she could not look away, he warned, "You will not run again."
The pair-bond had grown so overwhelming that even if she did, there was no chance for true freedom. The dreams, the waking hallucinations; Shepherd would be with her no matter where she tried to hide. But knowing that and accepting it were not the same thing. Claire wanted freedom, she wanted to choose.
"Shepherd," she spoke his name, a thing that was rare unless in the throes of passion. "I needed to breathe fresh air. I needed to see the sky."
His purring ceased.
"The sky," Shepherd spat the word as if the idea were overrated; a deep breath rattled in his chest. "You think you know what prison is, little one. You do not. In prison, one is surrounded by the worst possible breed of men. If I wanted food or water, I had to kill for it. Shelter, supplies... everything was hard earned. What you call rape is nothing compared to what the dregs indulge in. You live in safety and comfort; I tend to you and soothe—see to your needs." His voice grew utterly disgusted. "And still you pine for your sky."
Shepherd had never once shared personal opinion. Intrigued at the strangeness of such a statement, Claire's brows furrowed and she said, "I can't decipher which of your Da'rin markings explains what crime put you in the Undercroft."
Ignoring her hinted question, Shepherd smirked. "That term you use for it—the Undercroft—I find it amusing. A poetic word used to describe a place of darkness, filled with the pleas of thousands scraping at the doors to get out. And as for crimes... crime is irrelevant. I was never condemned to your Undercroft. I was born there."
Shepherd was a man who remorselessly created suffering—one who understood the dark workings of the human mind as if they were second nature—but such a monstrous history could not be true. Claire stared, looking for the flaw, for the lie.
Tight words betrayed his irritation, "You claimed to know nothing of me; now I have spoken and you are mute."
She inched her face a little closer, a line growing between her brows. "Females are not sentenced to the Undercroft, they labor on the farm levels, segregated from men until rehabilitated. What you claim cannot be true. Such an act is against our laws."
Shepherd laughed dryly. "Your laws? What do you know of the cage you live in and the false histories you've been trained to recite?"
Cheeks flaming from his mockery, Claire shrank back. "So in isolating me from the world, your goal is to make me deranged like you?"
The question seemed to momentarily confuse him. After a brief pause, he answered, "I want you to become amenable, to stop resisting, and to look objectively instead of with bruised emotions that will never serve you."
"And I am just supposed to forget what you've done?" Hurt sat in her eyes; Claire listing his sins. "You took me against my will, offered no help to my cause... only seized for your own. You have captured the Omegas and even now hold them captive so you might give them away to strangers. You see us as objects. How can you not understand why I feel so resistant, why I am afraid?"
He purred, almost inaudibly, once she claimed to feel fear. So intent on her expression, so very concentrated in his regard, his hand cupped her cheek. Large thumb stroking soft skin, he explained, "Your own kind betrayed you. Do not waste your thoughts on those who are unworthy."
She could feel her eyes well, knew he would not let her look away, and forced herself to ask, "Were any of them hurt?"
"No wounds of consequence. Three will be hanged."
Horrified, Claire whispered, "For what reason?"
Shepherd hardened his expression, flexing the arm that chained her to his lap. "They attacked my mate and tried to sell you to me... thought to barter a life I already own to ensure their comfort. Do not imagine they had any regard for the others either; those women had no intention of returning to share the spoils."
Claire clutched at the hand he held to her face, pleading. "Please don't kill them. Lilian and the others were starving, afraid, and desperate."
"So were you," his narrowed eyes flared, "more afraid than they were. And you were, and are still, trying to be their champion."
Looking down, full of sadness, Claire muttered, "I am a piss-poor champion."
"You did fairly well considering the odds," he acknowledged quietly. "Your flaw was assuming there is good in Thólos, when there is not. That is why you lost."
"I know you're wrong. Some of those women are my friends. They are good people. Those who attacked me... I don't know them well, but I would rather show mercy than condemn desperate, starving women tempted by the lie of food you broadcasted on your leaflet."
"And that is why you are weak," it seemed almost a compliment, "and why I am strong."
"You are stronger than me," Claire acknowledged, studying the Da'rin markings on Shepherd's shoulder, unsure how many dead were represented in that patch of skin. "You're faster, have power, but you lack something great. And you will never find it in the life you live."
"Do I?" It was as if he knew what she was going to say, found her opinion juvenile and cute. "Do you speak of love?"
She shook her head, black tangled hair waving around her shoulders. "Not love. Anyone can love."
"Then what, little sage?"
"Humanity... the source of joy. You may have had it once, but whatever life you lived has eaten it away."
He hummed at her, unconcerned with her judgment. "I understand humanity at its basest level, and have far more experience in the world than you do, little one. The way the citizens are behaving—such as those women I am going to hang no matter how much you may beg or cry—proves the point that they were never good, even before starvation. Suffering merely draws out the true nature of each life festering under the Dome."
"The way you speak; you make it sound as if you believe you are offering enlightenment by knowingly crafting misery," Claire scoffed, shaking her head, surprised he had not just started fucking her to shut her mouth.
It was the same stormy fury that rolled through his eyes when her words displeased him. Claire was still afraid—afraid of the monster that could so easily crush her, afraid of the effects of the bond—but Shepherd seemed tranquil and almost willing to let her speak.
"The books you keep," she breathed softly, looking to the shelving across the room. "You have such a strange collection... a veritable training manual on how to be a dictator. But then there are soft things: poetry, writings by great spiritual leaders and virtuous human beings. Do you read them to try to seek what you are missing?"
He stated with pride, "I am the Shepherd. I lead the flock."
She whispered the words, mesmerized by the exchange, "Through terrorism?"
"Your naiveté is like that of a child. Under this Dome injustice runs rampant; Thólos is a cesspool filled with corruption, greed, apathy, and vice—a breeding ground of lies. Weakness must be purged, deceptions exposed, and punishment suffered."
Her thickly lashed green eyes went wide. "This is some kind of trial?"
"You have grown wiser, Miss O'Donnell."
The fact he had used her surname was chilling. Her end of the thread began to hum out of tune, the connection to such a creature unwanted and abhorrent. "You don't want power at all... you want the city to wallow in what your breach has inspired. You want to watch us squirm."
A conceited smirk, an evil thing, distorted scarred lips. "Continue, little one."
Slight understanding of the man and his reasoning came together. "You think you are some kind of champion... like Premier Callas, or—"
Snapping in anger, Shepherd cut her off, "Your precious Premier is no more. I ripped him apart with my bare hands, and caution you against speaking his name in my presence."
To be Premier was to be the ultimate servant of Thólos; a hereditary position held by the family that had erected the Dome, and served until death. They were immaculate, lived wisely, and led by example. Yet Shepherd's hate was personal... unexplainable. Claire had to know. Heart racing, she tempted fate and whispered, "Why?"
"Your Enforcers are dead, your Premier rots in pieces, and soon every Senator will swing outside the Citadel so that all Thólos might breathe the true stink of their corruption." Shepherd placed his lips to her neck and pulled in her scent, flexing his hips to press his growing erection between the soft legs wrapped around him. "So you see, there is no one to save you. You have only me."
At those words panic surged, her mind racing past the point of dread. If Shepherd hadn't started purring at that very instant, she might have begun to scream.
Large hands went to his belt. He felt her tremble and resist as he withdrew his member, restraining his weakened mate on his lap easily. Feeling the feminine curves nurtured by the food he'd provided, he gave a hungry growl. The instant she was remotely wet enough, he lowered her down on his straining erection.
The pace was almost languid. Her head buried against his shoulder as he lifted and lowered her, Claire's panic broken apart by distracting debauchery.
There would be no escape, all her fighting had been for nothing—these things he whispered in her ear.
She would not show her face, or her silent tears—her only view the sight of his thick cock, shiny with slick, infiltrating her body, just as his taunts penetrated her mind.
Shepherd stroked a hand up to grip her neck, pulled her closer until her breasts were flush to his chest, the location of their bond in contact. He held her so wet, green eyes were compelled to meet his. "Kiss me."
Claire felt it begin all over again. "No."
It was his show, it was always his show. Her life was his, her body too; but her lips were her own.
Her defiance only excited Shepherd more. With a low, animal growl, what had been unhurried became an all-out carnal attack. He turned them about, bouncing her on the mattress to pound the scented, pretty hole that sheathed him so perfectly. She screamed, filled the air with sobbed moans of his name. Shepherd held her by the nape, felt the strength of her climax lock on to his cock as he swelled and secured her to him. And though his hips were trapped by the knot, it did not stop the pad of his thumb from grinding against Claire's swollen clit.
He was merciless, pushed her past pleasure and to a point of overburdened sensation.
She tried to writhe away from his finger, the friction too strong, but could do nothing, pinned as she was. Begging in breathless catches of sound, Claire panted, "Shepherd, please stop."
Watching her lips form the words, dissecting the tortured desire and uncontrolled pleasure, he rubbed even faster. Snarling like a beast, still painting her womb with spurts of cream, he demanded, "Who do you belong to?"
There were tears leaking from eyes squeezed shut as she jerked and twitched from his abuse of her clit and the cramping orgasm, prolonged too far. "Pleeease, please stop... I can't..."
"WHO DO YOU BELONG TO?"
She was going to die, it was too much, the sensation so great it was agony. Everything went white, as if the world was made of nothing but blinding, horrid light that stripped her bare. Back arching, she sucked in air, like the first gasping breath of a newborn, and felt another wave of devastating contractions in her core. With a face full of pained pleasure, Claire gasped, "I belong to you!"
"That's right, little one," came a voice as if leagues away. The pinch on her nerves abated and she sobbed when the over-strong, extended climax began to abate. More waves of hot semen burned her from the inside when Shepherd purred, "You belong only to me."
The punishment had been brutal and it took him almost an hour to soothe her trembling muscles and ragged breath. Eyes shut tight, Claire burrowed into him, pressing hard, worried that should the contact vanish she might cease to exist.
With a stroke down her hip and back up again, the monster explained in a low, soft rumble. "If I ever smell another man's scent saturating you again, I will hunt down the male and rip off his limbs while you watch... then I will fuck you in the pool of his blood."
Her fingers simply clawed where she clung, digging in deep. "When you speak that way it frightens me."
Strangely, he hushed her as if comforting a child, gathering her tighter in his embrace.
Chapter 8
He just couldn't believe it. Shakin
g his head, hurting for her, Corday fought boiling anger. Rumors had spread like wildfire, varying stories of how an enclave of Omegas had been rescued.
That was the term Dome Broadcast used to describe it. Rescued.
And Claire was gone. Deep in his gut, Corday felt responsible—that he should have known the Omega would do what she felt was best—and hated himself for not seeing the signs.
Waking up on that lumpy couch, a crick in his neck from the odd angle, he'd realized at once what she'd done. Leaping to his feet, cursing up a storm, Corday had run out the door.
There had been no need to search, his hours racing through the city wasted. Had he simply turned on his COMscreen, a distorted version of the story—including footage of emaciated women accepting food—would have played on repeat. There had been no shot of Claire, or even Shepherd for that matter. But a short Beta known to be Shepherd's second-in-command was featured, offering blankets to the Omegas and directing Followers to see them to safety.
A lie.
Corday didn't know how Shepherd had found them, but after seeing the flyer and the outrageous bounty, he suspected that one of Claire's friends had betrayed her.
The thought broke his heart.
The Enforcer knew Thólos, understood what she was up against. Innocent Claire was too idealistic, too sweet, and no matter how willful she was, still Omega. She saw the world through the eyes of a caretaker, a nurturer—not a warrior.
From the look of the icy grounds surrounding the capture, from the steam of starving women's exhaled breath, it was the freezing Lower Reaches that had sheltered Claire's group—a dangerous place where more than just the subzero weather could kill you.
Corday had made his way into the mist to see for himself, disguised as a looter to pick through the warren, blending in with the rest of the vultures already poaching the meager goods left behind.
Claire's smell lingered in the air, heady with anxiety, powerful from the sweat she must have worked up when she ran to her friends. Corday followed it, ignoring the deserted personal items scattered around the rooms, the garbage. The trail ended at a closet, where—once the door was pushed open—he found trapped air that reeked of sex. Shepherd had fucked her the moment he'd found her; that was clear not only from the smell, but the sight of the discarded sweater and pants Claire had been wearing. His clothes—the ones Corday had specially prepared for her earlier that day.