by Addison Cain
There was a blended murmur of curses offered up once the soldier read the lie. It was brilliant and also painfully devious. Svana had openly just betrayed every last Follower who had sworn an oath to install her as queen of Greth Dome.
Shepherd didn’t have time to roar out his anger. Not now. “Get the first wave of transports ready to launch. Ship 7 must remain until Svana has been captured and stowed onboard. Have our men build a fire around it to keep it warm.”
A young man who had survived the torment of the Undercroft thanks to Shepherd, looked to his commander and acknowledged that he could not carry out the order. “They need another hour, sir.”
Shepherd impatiently detailed the outcome should they not get those ships in the air. “If the transport ships’ engines freeze, they will seize. Successful launch will be impossible. Svana is attempting to cut off our exit.” He had more orders to give. “Bridges linking the Citadel to the city must be destroyed. That will remove at least seven access points to our gates. That leaves only the promenade before the steps. We will funnel the citizens into that arena, and kill them before they can storm our walls.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I will return in an hour.” Shepherd looked to his COMspecialist and barked, “By that time, I expect you’ll have regained control of the communications network and disrupted the rebel’s message.”
“Yes, sir.”
Shepherd looked to leadership gathered in the Control Center and said what they were all thinking. “We fight for our brothers now. If we can hold the rabble back for twelve hours, if we can keep the Citadel and the transport pad intact, they will live the life we’ve dreamed of.”
There was a cheer, a lack of desolation. Every man in that room was more than willing to die for his brother.
Shepherd left them to carry out their orders, the expression of detachment and ruthless focus he had maintained for his men falling away the instant he was running to his mate through the underground catacombs.
Jules had sworn to him he would do his duty and gather Svana. His men would lock down the Citadel and destroy as many access points as time would allow. Now all Shepherd could manage was one hour before he had to send his mate to a future where more and more it seemed he would be unable to follow.
All he could do was buy time.
It would not be enough... not for the seventy-two hours it would take before the third round of Followers might be rescued.
The groaning of their metal door did nothing to stir the beautiful woman sleeping in her nest, and for one minute Shepherd allowed himself to just look down at her, to pretend he would get to enjoy that vision every day as they grew old together.
Long black hair streamed over pillows in what Shepherd had learned was a shade called bird’s egg blue: her favorite color. She looked so peaceful in sleep, the fan of her lashes lowered to pale cheeks, her lips gently parted, and of course, her little hand resting over their son. At the upcoming moment of his death, that was the image he would carry to the grave.
Taking a seat on the bed, he pulled Claire to his lap and cradled her. He held her in the same manner in which she would cradle their child once Collin was born. Shepherd did not miss the parallel, tracing his favorite parts of her face and trying to memorize this last peaceful moment.
There was no other time in Shepherd’s life he could recall a handful of minutes as being so precious.
Time in the Undercroft had dragged by, moved at the grating pace of skin slowly scraped over broken glass. There were days it had been almost unbearable, and it drove many prisoners mad within a few years.
Since Svana had guided him from that hell, time had taken on a quality of almost moving too fast. There was never enough of it, always so much to do, hours that needed to be dedicated to training, to planning.
All of that had changed the instant he’d seen Claire.
Time affected him differently in her presence. One soft look from her felt like an eternity—one of joy not tedium. She had breathed life into him, restoring whatever the Undercroft had claimed before Shepherd had even been the wiser he’d been deprived.
In that moment, holding her as she slowly woke from his gentle prodding, an hour was not enough.
Regret was not a sensation he was accustomed to, but as he held her on his lap and called for her to wake, to open her eyes so he might see them one last time, he intensely regretted a great many things.
“Look at me, little one.” By the fourth or fifth time he called to her, her lashes parted and glassy green, his favorite shade of green, was there for him to smile at. “I need you to wake up just for a little while.”
Her pupils seemed to focus enough to express he had her attention as she fought the drugs and whispered his name. “Shepherd...”
“Little one,” Shepherd beckoned, “Listen closely. I have to send you away, and I cannot go with you now.” The man felt pressure building behind his eyes when the look of alarm widened hers. “There is a team prepared to escort you to your new home. I will do everything in my power to follow after you, if I can. In case I cannot, an Alpha, his name is Martin, was chosen by me to act as surrogate until our son is born. He is a good man. You will approve of him.”
“NO!”
“I am sorry.” Shepherd heard his voice crack for the first time in his life. His shoulders shook, breath difficult as her tried not to frighten the pleading woman.
Drops of fluid fell from him and landed on her when she grabbed the lapel of his jacket and pulled their faces closer together. “Shepherd,” Claire knew this was not a nightmare no matter how dreamlike the drugs made it feel. She struggled not to slur as she spoke to her grieving mate. “Whatever she has done to force you, just say no. Leave with me now. Chose me, chose your son... and wash your hands of this. It’s not too late.” She sobbed in earnest, kissing him as she begged. “Please.”
“I love you, little one, but I cannot leave. I have a duty—”
“To me!” Claire cried her arms circling his neck, holding onto him with all her strength. “To our son!”
Lips at her ear he tried to explain in a rushed whisper, “Even if I were to leave and abandon my men, I would be a labeled a traitor. Before our ships might even land, you would be slaughtered. You have no idea how powerful this army is, how far each member is willing to go. The only way I can make things right, is fight here so that you and Collin can live.”
His armor was between them, dampening the purr he projected as loudly as he could. Even so, Claire kept pressing closer. Her mouth was on his mark, her tongue swiping up the salt of his sweat.
He knew what she wanted; he wanted it to.
Shepherd pulled off one of her boots, tugging her leg free from clothing so that his mate could climb to straddle him. She wrapping around his body as if she might actually possess the strength to reject his verdict and hold him there. As he caressed her bare buttocks, she reached between them to set his member free. Lowering to accept him, she begged him to stay with her, sliding her body down with no urging from his hands, until he was sheathed root to tip.
He told her he loved her so many times he lost count, brushing his lips over hers, feeling her clench as he rolled his hips up to meet her warm internal embrace. With desperation on both sides, far more wrapped up in the press of their lips, in the war of searching tongues and shared breath, than even the act of mating, each of them tried to communicate why things must be their way.
Shepherd’s hands were buried in her hair. She never once stopped kissing his face, feeling the wetness on his cheek, unsure if it came from her or him. When she came, it seemed almost too soon, and Claire tried to fight it until he murmured, “Please.”
Moaning his name against his lips, calling to her Alpha, climax rolled over her no matter the despair. “Shepherd...”
Shepherd held her tighter, his body shaking with the plea. “Please... just tell me once.”
Even as the waves of pleasure filled her with warmth in her core, even as she felt sexual g
ratification, her voice broke, and with hitched breath, she met his eyes and sobbed, “You already know I love you.”
His release came, paired with a man pulling in a breath as if it was his first. He looked at her with undying devotion, liquid iron eyes memorizing every last detail of her tender expression, of her heartbreak.
Through the entirety of the knot, Shepherd touched her as if she could not be real, kissing every part of her face. Petting, stroking, as if the memory of her flesh was something he could carry with him if he just caressed a little longer, lingered a little more.
The mating, the purrs, the worshipful touching, blended with the power drugs. Before he could leave her womb, his Claire had fallen back into the slumber of her drug-induced sedation. He embraced her so powerfully she would be bruised, so that when she woke up and he was dead, she would know he had been with her.
Aware time was short, he placed her folded portrait of him into her jacket’s inner pocket, the back of the painting covered in a hastily scribbled note. Her clothing was righted, boot returned to her foot and laced. Then there was one final thing he told her, a thing he had never once said in his life to anyone else but her, not even to Svana. He told her again that he was so very sorry. And then he whispered the name Claire had chosen for their son; he called to Collin while palming the small sign of life and said the same to him.
With not even a minute to spare, Shepherd hoisted her up and carried her to the elevator where a hand-selected team waited to escort his mate and heir out of hell. Amongst his brothers stood the Alpha surrogate Jules had suggested weeks ago: Martin, a man who had stood outside his door for months on guard... a surrogate Shepherd had approved, though he hated doing it.
Handing her over to another man, even one as respected as the Follower standing before him, was almost impossible. Not killing that man when Shepherd’s red eyes viewed Claire in his arms was even harder. Martin had read her dossier, he knew what to expect and what Shepherd’s orders were in regards to how she must be treated—like a queen.
Looking the man dead in the eye, Shepherd snarled, all traces of softness gone, “She is going to be exceptionally difficult when she wakes. If she refuses food, force feed her if you have to. Do not allow her to harm herself in her temper. Should it reach a point where she is out of your control, and it will, explain to her that I told you to call her a little Napoleon. She will be shocked, she will cry, and then she will calm down.”
The Follower nodded his understanding. “Yes, sir.”
Shepherd cocked his head, signaling that they must close the door and make their way to the Citadel’s launch pad.
As the elevator door rolled down between them, Shepherd caught it with one darting hand and leveled the full power of his intimidation on the surrogate, adding, “Under no circumstances are you ever to strike her.”
“I understand, brother,” Martin answered, stoic yet honored. There was even a spark of compassion in his eyes. “I will treat her as if she was my own.”
Shepherd dropped the door and knew it was over. As he walked back to Command, he counted down the seconds like a madman. He knew exactly how long it would be to launch, the exact amount of time before Claire would be airborne.
She’d teased him for that skill time and again.
Back at Command Center, he felt the first building tremors of the launch, video confirmation showing eleven glowing ships lighting up the pre-dawn sky over the broken glass of Thólos Dome.
Stage one of operation Exodus had been a success, and even though the men left behind stood little chance of survival, they cheered for their brothers who thrived.
Shepherd sighed and refocused on the problem at hand, unaware Claire had never made it to the ships.
Svana had made certain of it.
Chapter 11
Maryanne Cauley had everything she needed: generators, enough fuel to last her for years, food, water, clothing, medicine—everything a person might need to survive the apocalypse.
Tucked safely in her sanctuary, she could hear the wind howling like a freight train outside, and chose to ignore it. Huddling next to a heat source, she kept the lights off, so no other soul might realize she had power when they had none. There was no reason to peek out her window or unbolt her door, her COMscreen told the tale of what was going on outside. The Dome had been purposefully ruptured. The networks had gone wild, computer viruses plaguing every last corner.
She knew how to work around them.
The hacks were inexpert, yet so numerous that it took her some time to recognize that Shepherd’s men were not responsible for the disaster. In fact, she could see that they had their hands full trying to clean up the communications mess.
One dangerous message continuously rolled across her screen:
People of Thólos, the rebel forces are in possession of the virus. Storm the Citadel, destroy our enemy.
Another series of blasts went off in the distance, small little pops that made Maryanne jump.
So, who the hell was attacking the Dome? Who else did she have to contend with?
That prick, Corday, had said the resistance was going to attack the Citadel. That made sense, even if it was pointless. Why bring down the glass encasement that kept them all alive instead?
This would lead to more than a coup. The entire city would panic, there would be riots.
Shepherd would be blamed. Whoever had done this wanted to start a war that no one could win.
Between the icy wind and the unmitigated violence, between the possibility Shepherd would release the virus, everyone would die.
Wrapping her arms around her body, her knees tucked under her chin, there was a strange internal stirring Maryanne wanted to ignore. A smattering of shame knocked about in her breast.
She knew what the panicking city did not. The only thing in store for those who rose up against Shepherd was a bloodbath.
Unless...
No. It was not possible, and she owed this city nothing. The only soul she gave two fucks about was Claire. Her friend had told her to hide; Maryanne was going to listen to her.
But, maybe she could just fiddle around, take down that message, and reopen the communications network. After that, she was done, no more. Screw Thólos.
It took time to unravel the mess, to outthink whoever was responsible for hijacking the networks, the more Maryanne disrupted their work, the more she understood what they were really doing.
It was fucking horrible, sloppy even, as if there was no concern for the consequences. For that reason alone, Maryanne continued to ghost her cyber-attack right against their gates. Sneaking behind their firewall, she found something she could not wrap her head around.
The rebels were the party responsible for ruining the Dome; it was their chatter back and forth that showed units spread all over the city working in unison to stir up riots. They were using the very civilians they claimed to be fighting for as human war fodder.
For all her flaws and selfishness, even Maryanne was disgusted.
Because she felt like a salty bitch, and because she could, Maryanne seized control of the networks completely and shut the whole fucking thing down. She might not be able to save the idiots of Thólos, she didn’t even really want to, but she could offer an alternative.
She set up a new message to stream over and over.
The only safe place is underground.
Knowing what was down there, what was up here, Maryanne was not sure if she had offered mercy at all.
A nausea inducing feeling of vertigo broke through Claire’s stupor the instant a hard smack landed against her cheek. Blinking, confused at the circles of lime deposits she saw on an unfamiliar ceiling, she tried to touch her head and found her hands bound together, stretched above her body and fixed to something she could not pull away from. As she struggled, a beautiful face came into view—a beautiful face belonging to an incredibly evil woman.
Even with the drugs in her system, a feeling of terror brought ice to Claire’s veins fro
m one simple sight of those psychotic eyes looming over her again. Careful to keep her face blank, to not give the woman the pleasure of feeding off her fear, Claire nodded and said, “Hello again, Svana.”
“Hello, pretty one.” Svana gave a small, knowing smile, a facsimile of the smile that had played on her lips when her hands had circled Claire’s throat months ago. “I see you’ve been studying Jules’s art of expression.”
Claire felt a chill creep over her skin, and it was not only brought on by fear. She was cold because all her clothing had been removed, and the cot Svana had put her on was bare of blankets. Instead, it was covered in blood stains and stank of foulness.
“I can’t play with you for too long. You see I have plans to visit someone I am very much looking forward to seeing.” A long fingernail traced lightly from the valley between Claire’s breasts and down her belly, Svana insincerely admiring what was beneath her. “But the gods gave me this time with you, and I will not waste it. Martin, the others, did not even question when the elevator doors parted on the fourth floor. Why would they question their savior? I shot them so quickly, I am surprised there is not more blood on you… but, it won’t take long before you are covered in it.”
“You do realize you are giving me what I want?” Claire offered a challenging gaze, forcing her body not to tense when that nail scraped over her child. “I could not live without my mate anyway. It is fitting we die together.”
Svana purred, lightly tracing a circle over Claire’s mound. “Then I will allow you to thank me.”
Claire spat full in her face.
The look of disbelief, the instant rage that someone would dare such a thing, was something Claire was only able to enjoy for a moment before Svana reached up to wipe the wetness from her cheek with her sleeve.
“You know what I have learned, little one?” Svana giggled under her breath, her tongue darting out to lick at the spittle nearest her lips. “It’s to let the men always underestimate you. Let them think you are flawed, that you need them. Do you have any idea how many times I have stood in your room and watched him fuck you? Neither of you knowing I was near enough to touch. When your eyes were closed, when he buried his face in your neck, sometimes those fingers carding through your hair were mine.”
