by Addison Cain
He picked up the saucer to hand to her, using his other hand to lift and turn her to sit back against the pillows. Situated with the drink in her hand, she sipped and sighed, unsurprised when Shepherd moved the curtain of her hair over her shoulder to reveal her breasts for his gaze.
"Are you enjoying your coffee?"
Shepherd had never woken her unless it was for sex, and certainly not with coffee in bed. Claire did not trust him for a moment. "I am not going to thank you." But she did take another sip and melted… hating to admit that the drink was really fucking good.
Though his expression did not change, Claire was certain he was satisfied with her reaction to his offering.
Elbow on his knee, Shepherd watched her savor her drink. "Maryanne Cauley is in the Citadel as we speak."
Cup rattled against saucer, and the moment of coffee-induced comfort was gone. "You promised me you would not hurt her."
"And I have not." Shepherd's eyebrow arched. "But I will if she is here in some attempt to steal you from me."
"Considering how you collected me, I doubt anyone even knows I am here." Claire turned belligerent. "I came with you willingly to respect my end of the bargain, and I will not attempt to leave so long as you respect yours."
The purr came and so did a pet down her hair. "That is all I wanted to hear."
Claire looked to one side, debating. "Could I speak with her?"
Of course Shepherd was going to deny the request, he knew she knew that. With a deep sigh he took her empty cup and saucer away. "I do not wish to argue with you."
"Then you may as well go back to torturing Thólos and I will sit here like a good captive and stare at the walls."
He shifted, leaned closer while Claire pressed herself further into the pillows. His lips brushed hers as he asked, "What is your connection to Miss Cauley?"
So close, Claire felt… torn. "Maryanne was my best friend when we were children."
He stroked her arm as if rewarding good behavior. "I find that difficult to believe. The woman is a thief and a prostitute."
"Like you," Claire frowned, "she too was once innocent… Though, unlike you, I think she is trying to be good now. She is just not very confident in the pursuit."
"You are the one to hold all the goodness and I will hold all the power," Shepherd purred, leaving a lingering, and ignored, kiss on her slack lips.
"As you say," Claire responded, her voice flat once he disengaged.
"Are you sore," his fingers dipped under the covers to brush over her mound, "here?"
Any second he would make the growl and she would be spread under his rutting body. "Does it matter?"
The hand left her. Shepherd brushed the pout on her lips. "You will rest today. Food will be sent. If I find out you have not eaten, one of your forty-three will pay for it."
"You do not need to threaten them." Claire did not want to play such games. "I gave you my word."
"That pleases me, little one." Shepherd was so damn confident as he shifted from the bed.
He gave her a long look while she slipped back under the covers for more rest, then left silently, turning off the light.
The next time she woke, food was waiting on the table. She showered and dressed in one of the feminine dresses Shepherd seemed to think she should wear, and looked at eggs benedict. He had a chef somewhere in the compound just to make her food. She wanted to roll her eyes at the strangeness of the long ignored gesture, but had noticed it almost from the start. Canned veggies and mass-produced meat products had transformed into satisfying cuisine only a week or so after she had first arrived. The confirmation should not have mattered, but it bothered her that he had mentioned it, and now it had to be addressed.
What bothered her more was that the chef was probably safer down there than above ground. Claire even suspected he or she had been taken from the Premier's mansion. Shepherd was a thorough man; he would only take someone renowned… a celebrity. And he had done it to please her.
Claire ate every bite of that food, though it was too rich and her stomach was bound to rebel. The vitamin followed, and all the milk was drunk. Of course she threw it all up about thirty minutes later, but that could not be helped.
Customary pacing came next, her only form of exercise. Matters needed to be sorted now that her thinking had grown sharper. Shepherd knew of the Omegas, of Corday, and of Maryanne—the Alpha female having been the only one on her list that he was not previously aware of. The real question was how had Shepherd found her, which part of the branch had been first observed? Considering when he had come, it seemed that the answer was Corday. Which meant Shepherd would undermine every move of the resistance.
The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting. - Sun Tzu
Shepherd had infiltrated the Enforcers… but it would have had to have been very recently. Otherwise she would have been collected that very first night.
Claire's bare feet stopped their limping shuffle and she stood there, worrying her lip. The grate of the deadbolt drew her attention; the door swung in and Jules, bearing a tray, entered.
The blue-eyed Beta did not seem interested in acknowledging her presence, so she spoke instead. "Hello, Jules."
The trays were swapped and he grunted, "You did well outside the Undercroft."
Surprised he was engaging, even if he was not looking at her, she grumbled, "Not well enough if I'm back here."
The male did not respond, simply walked towards the door.
From her lips came a name synonymous with Satan in her mind. "Svana. That woman will ruin you all… You know that."
The man halted and turned his head enough so that she might see his profile. "It would be wise for you to choose your topics of conversation with greater restraint."
Claire scoffed and looked at the suddenly still Beta. "You follow a madwoman."
"I follow Shepherd."
Claire actually smiled, a little wicked, and laughed at the man. "And he loves her; your point is invalid."
"The future is what matters, and your ignorant opinion matters little."
"A fact of which I am well aware."
At the door, he spoke over his shoulder. "Do not measure your worth by one minor success, Miss O'Donnell."
"I agree. I measure it by my countless failures instead."
"You fight for what you believe in, yet when you grew fragile, your answer was to seek out a meaningless death. Mine is to spend what years I have left working for a greater purpose. I will see the world altered, improved. You and I are not that different. I simply chose to be stronger and was willing to pay the price to enact change."
She had no idea where the words were coming from or why they seemed so important. "Your logic is corrupted. I chose to die before I became like you. That makes me stronger than you are."
The man faced her one last time, those striking eyes unsettling. "It does not make you stronger. It makes you a coward."
Claire felt as if he had struck her, the storm in her words unleashing nothing more than a pointless whispering breeze… because there was an undeniable fragment of truth in his words.
There was nothing else to be said between them, the man dismissing her as if she were nothing. The door closed with a thud. She must have stood there for ages, staring at the metal, half numb. Eventually, she moved towards the food, chewed and swallowed with no idea of what she ate, nor did she notice that she did not get sick.
Thinking of that stupid book, The Art of War, of Sun Tzu and all he seemed to have accomplished, Claire remembered: Thus the expert in battle moves the enemy, and is not moved by him.
Jules had just done that to her.
So, how does one move a mountain? Her words were nothing to Shepherd, arguments ended in sex, but her actions had affected him more than once. On occasion she must have caused distraction in his pursuit. The monster even said he loved her, in his own twisted fashion. That gave her influence of a sort, now she just needed to learn how to wield it.
Her green eyes went to the watercolor of poppies still resting against the wall—a mindless project that had once made her cell a little more bearable. The unwelcome cord in her chest pulsed. She needed a reaction, something small, a place to begin.
Absently, she prepared her paints, her mind full of one image, one hard truth. There was no need for much color, the world was nothing but shades of grey under a bruised sky.
Chapter 9
While still deep in her work, the door's hinges whined. Claire ignored the giant's entrance and approach, even his large hand once it rested on the table alongside her painting.
The beast leaned down with a low, displeased growl. "Throw it away."
Claire was focused on finishing the last details, the little flicks of her brush exaggerating the cracks in the Dome. "Why would I throw it away?"
She had painted her final morning of freedom; the moment denied her out on the ice.
It was stark and horrific in its implication.
His lips were at her ear, his breath fluttering her hair. "Have you done this to upset me, little one?"
The brush tip was dipped again until drenched in black paint. "No."
She felt his hand gather up her hair so he might pull her head back from where it hung over her project. Shepherd was not hurting her, or yanking, he simply unfolded the Omega, forcing her to meet his narrowed gaze.
He was stern as he searched her expression. "You will paint something else."
Claire set the brush on the table and furrowed her brow. "I like this one."
"I dislike what it suggests." He released her hair to take the offensive piece of paper, staring with rancor where Claire had painted her last moments of freedom… only to have changed the story to show the ice cracked open in a gaping hole—alluding that she had fallen through to her death.
"Fine," Claire challenged him, "I'll paint you instead."
Crushing the wet paper in his hands, Shepherd snorted. Once the painting had been thoroughly balled up and ruined, he threw it in the bin, found she still was willingly meeting his gaze, and slowly took the seat across from his mate.
He'd yet to strip off his coat or armor, looking just as he'd looked when Claire had first seen him in the Citadel—namely, intimidating and angry.
The hazy dreamlike high of estrous had made her find him attractive. Seeing Shepherd now, seeing him through her anger, disgust, and the effect of their re-established bond… it was different on every level. Already reaching for a fresh piece of paper, looking objectively at the subject of her nightmares, Claire's eyes darted over the Da'rin marks creeping up his neck and a lifetime of collected scars.
The silver of his eyes never wavered as he watched her take him in, though they grew a little hard when she squinted and leaned closer. Then her attention went to the paper and, like magic, the lines of his face began to appear.
Every few seconds, inquisitive eyes would glance back at the motionless Alpha, run over whatever part of the outline she needed to adjust, and then go back to the paper. Quickly, the line of his jaw, his closely shorn hair, were captured in shades of black. Concentrating on her work, Claire began to create his mouth, with the scar she had once called beautiful slashed across it. Had they not been marred, Claire would even admit Shepherd's lips would have been considered handsome—their fullness almost pretty. His nose, now that she looked far more closely, was not straight; there were places, small deviations, where it had been broken and reset more than once.
Tiny scars were in his stubble, all over his hairline and forehead.
Picture nearing completion, only one key feature neglected, Claire took a deep breath and made herself look into Shepherd's eyes. The silver was so familiar to her, she could have painted them a thousand times without looking, but every study would have been eyes focused on intimidation, on drawing out fear. At that moment his eyes were almost complacent, the animal aggression, the focus of a predator, contained.
As he was, it seemed to take ages to translate such an expression onto the paper. She tried, but her interpretation was never quite right.
How could anyone capture eyes like that?
"You are growing agitated," Shepherd commented, displeased when she began to glare down at the painting.
Again she tried to capture his expression. "I can't get the eyes right."
Slowly, his hand reached out and took the paintbrush from her stained fingers. The portrait was turned, Shepherd asking, "Is this how you see me?"
It seemed a strange question. Of course that was how she saw him, that was why she'd painted him that way. "I am better at painting landscapes."
His voice was odd. "You made me different."
"The eyes are wrong." Gathering up her supplies, she stood and rounded the table so she might clean her brushes. A large hand stopped her progress, pulling her closer. The paints were taken and set back on the table, his arm snaking around her middle.
Shepherd just looked up at her, regarded the dark-haired woman who'd painted him.
Holding her messy hands away so as not to smear his coat, she stood awkwardly, unsure why he was looking at her with such an expression. She had done nothing to soften him in the picture; every mar, every scar, every part of him was on that paper.
Shepherd pulled her to his lap.
Watching him as one watches a snake, Claire sat stiffly. He began to touch her face, to thread his fingers in her hair, and then those lips, the full lips she had translated perfectly, came to hers.
He was insistent even in a languorous slow kiss, even when she complained against his mouth, "I'm going to get paint on you."
Smiling into his answer, brushing his lips over hers he whispered, "Then get paint on me."
A warm tongue slipped in her mouth, Shepherd held her tightly… but she did not kiss him back.
His lips traced her jaw, tasted her neck, nibbled at her ear while her eyes were on the portrait on the table.
"Kiss me, little one," he murmured against her skin, smirking as he purred.
"No."
The monster softly laughed and retook her mouth with passion, bowing her body until the table met her back. The paints were under her, their color seeping into her dress. Shepherd didn't care; all he wanted was his mouth on her body.
Fabric tore under his hands, her dress split down the middle.
"The paints," Claire gasped, worried they were being ruined, trying to wriggle off her things.
"Are nothing compared to this." The man fumbled with his zipper, groaning as he nosed her breast.
Lips were at her nipple, his tongue flicking the bud before he moved lower and pressed his mouth to her mound. He attacked her there, tasting a place he had not enjoyed since he'd collected her from the Omegas. Claire tried to push him off, squealed as her legs kicked, but Shepherd held firm.
Leaning up on her elbows, Claire's jaw dropped, her hips jerking to escape something so intimate. He watched her every expression, all the while thrashing his tongue in her pussy and releasing his cock from his pants.
When her legs began to twitch, her breaths nothing but stifled gasps of air, he drank her up, seeming to know just where to move that tongue until Claire's face grew pained and she began to come. A shriek, short and stuttering, passed her lips as the tight winding coil the man had fostered snapped apart. In answer, Shepherd grunted into her, wove his tongue deep, stroking himself madly under the table.
Her groans grew rabid, his fist tightly gripping his burgeoning knot until seed splattered the floor. Air ripe with the smell of semen, he rode the high, tenderly kissing Claire's inner thighs and mumbling that she tasted delicious.
Falling back against the table, Claire stared blankly at the memorized grey ceiling, trying to ignore that her thighs were on his shoulders, that he was licking her clean, and that he had, once again, expertly commanded her body's response… as Svana had claimed the two of them had done to other Omegas.
That thought brought blistering heat to her chest, the painful knowledge inspiring
instant anguish.
"What is wrong, little one?" Shepherd pulled his tongue from her slit. "I did not mount you; that should not have caused you pain."
Claire answered robotically. "It didn't hurt."
More soft kisses to her inner thigh and a strong purr preceded the promise, "I will replace your paints; you need not feel distressed."
To win the war, she would have to wage a battle. Closing her eyes tight, she told herself that she could do this. "It's not the paints. I was thinking of the Omegas."
"They are safe, as per our agreement. My men watch over them from a distance." Again he tasted her center, enjoying how she bowed from even a simple kiss over her pert nub.
Gasping, Claire answered, "Not those Omegas. The ones you shared with Svana."
The man froze, hesitating before he spoke. "Why would you think of them?"
Claire forced her eyes open, lifted her head, and found Shepherd watching her very carefully. "I wonder if they were frightened or ashamed."
Each word was growled. "They were all willing."
"Somehow I think you misunderstand the meaning of that word. Estrous bends the mind." She knew that better than anyone. "Did you speak to them before or after?"
"No."
Then they were probably dead. "That makes me sad."
Large hands accompanied an almost unsteady purr, Shepherd stroking her from her knee to hip. "Do not be sad, little one."
Claire lay back, eyes once again on the ceiling. "I do not remember how to be happy."
Leslie was on his couch, working on a COMscreen when Corday returned.
Her mouth was set and she was clearly displeased. "Another rendezvous with your Claire?"
"No." Corday stripped his coat, his back to the Alpha female.
"Yet you smell of her." Leslie scooted a little closer, her tone instantly light. "How is the Omega faring?"
Tired eyes, his face lined in disappointment, Corday could not muster any enthusiasm for Leslie. "Claire has—"
A knock sounded at the door, not Claire's timid scratches but an arrogant bang. Gun already in hand, Corday motioned for Leslie to move out of sight.
