Born to be Broken (Alpha's Claim #2)(34)

And just like that, Claire was chuckling again, stepping out from under Shepherd's shadow to embrace her friend. Standing on tiptoe, Claire pecked Maryanne's lips, the close friends' customary goodbye.

And it had been a mistake.

Shepherd snarled, Claire darting back against him, begging, "Don't hurt her!"

"She's like my sister, Shepherd," Maryanne tried to pacify, failing to hide the fear in her voice. "Get your mind out of the gutter."

"You will not kiss her again." An arm came around Claire's waist, keeping her locked to his side as Shepherd shouted a stream of foreign words towards the door.

The bolts were thrown and the door opened so Ms. Cauley could be escorted out by a parade of armed Followers. Even as the door was closing, Shepherd pressed Claire to the wall. She heard his zipper, the impatience of Shepherd's growl as he lifted her skirt, and he was inside her in a quick thrust.




 

 

It was nothing but an animal claiming, both of them still dressed, but his grunts were loud, and Claire knew that Maryanne, anyone, in the halls could hear them. And that, of course, was his point. Shepherd was loudly broadcasting that she was his. She wanted to be shamed, but found her body glorying in it, her mind already slipping into the haze. It was a quick pairing, especially satisfying when he spun her about just before she came. Face to face, the knot formed, her legs around his waist, his strength supporting her fully when so much pleasure bloomed.

"You didn't say my name," he panted, eyes like molten iron.

She said it, just so he would shut up and let her enjoy the aftereffects. "Shepherd."

There was a smear of red lipstick on Claire's mouth. Holding her still, Shepherd went to rub it off. His finger hesitated, changed course, and instead spread it around until her lips took on a rosy hue. "Was Ms. Cauley's assessment correct? Are cosmetics something that you require?"

The man had just knotted, was still spilling, and he was asking stupid questions. Looking at him as if he were nuts, Claire scowled. "Nobody requires cosmetics."

"I see no problem with the length of your hair, nor is it ragged," he grumbled next, stroking in the exact same place Maryanne had, as if erasing the other Alpha's touch.

Claire rolled her eyes to the heavens and leaned her head back to the wall.

His lips went to her cheek, her ear, her neck. "I have never heard you laugh in that manner."

There was nothing she could say that would not be inflammatory, but it was clear he expected some sort of answer. "She's funny. Always has been."

Shepherd understood that it was less Maryanne's comment, and more the fact that Claire absolutely agreed with her friend's assessment. Svana had never found him wanting when it came to understanding her or her needs. She was easy to please, loved the gifts he brought her, and always thanked him profusely. Claire was disinterested in almost everything he had provided, never glanced twice at new clothing, jewels tucked into her drawer, or fine things he put in the room. He knew she enjoyed the food, though her pride kept her from expressing it …  and she found pleasure in her paints; nothing else had ever drawn a reaction.

He had hated every moment of the women's conversation, save Maryanne's wise reprimand to her friend. It was the only thing that might induce him to allow such a meeting again.

Stranger still, Claire had grown hostile, they had argued, and then it was over. No hard feelings on either side.

The Omega was growing limp, falling asleep in his arms. Still knotted, Shepherd carried her to the lounge chair and arranged them both while he waited for his member to soften. When her nose went to his neck and she began to draw in his scent, the Alpha encouraged her behavior, played with her hair, and listened to her strange musical hum-an Omega noise she had not made since …  since Svana. 

He had pleased his mate. She was even smiling against the flesh of his neck, Shepherd certain she was unaware he could enjoy such a sight by their reflection in the window. The purr deepened, her eyelashes fluttered, her fingers toying with the fabric of his shirt.

"I would provide female things if you asked for them," the man grumbled, oddly relaxed considering how annoyed he'd been only minutes earlier.

She took a deep breath, and pushed up to look him in the eye. After their conversation downstairs, she knew what was in order. "I don't know why you did it, and can only assume there was some ulterior, self-serving purpose, but at this moment I appreciate it. Thank you for arranging for me to spend time with Maryanne."

He could be so gentle, so different. Cupping her face, he looked at her with a soft expression. "My motive was simply to show you that I am keeping my end of the bargain and for you to enjoy yourself."

Shepherd was behaving properly, he was making concessions …  and he wanted her to acknowledge it. Sucking her lower lip into her mouth, she allowed herself a moment to study him up close; raised up so that his softening member slipped out, they were eye to eye. Claire touched where his neck swirled with Da'rin parasites, the arch of his eyebrows, the various scars over his face, collected over decades of brawls.

This man was her enemy.

Shepherd sought to encourage her. "You're curious … "

Having the male speak snapped her from her abstract regard. What had been a subject became a person, and Claire shrank back. "Senator Kantor told me your Da'rin marks symbolize the men you killed."

"It is a common thing underground, to threaten potential adversaries."

"He said they hurt … "

"In sunlight, yes."

They were sitting in a pool of sunlight, and though he wore long sleeves, the marks on his neck were exposed. He seemed so calm, his eyes focused but soft, that Claire doubted. "But you don't cover them."

Shepherd smirked, tried to kiss her unresponsive lips. "I can bear the pain."

Crooking a finger under his chin, eager to distract the man's more amorous intentions, Claire urged him to stretch so she could see his neck in the light. Nail scraping over the branching marks, she explored, she counted lives. "How many?"

The male began to purr, stretching, luxuriating, when Claire traced over the patterns. "Many."

Eyes sad, she confessed, "I have tried to tally them, over and over. I always lose count … "

He wanted her cuddly and content, not frightened and eager to quarrel. "This is tradition underground. You have traditions, too. Most men are in the Undercroft for a few years, maybe a decade if they are strong. I was born there. Before I gave prisoners purpose and will to survive, few lived long enough for Da'rin to spread as extensively as mine. My marks were hope to many that they, too, might endure."

For men who had been thrown into darkness in innocence, for men who had been cast down there for small infractions …  for Maryanne …  Claire could let herself understand. "The Dome is not what I thought it was, but it's not what you think it is, either."

Running his fingers through her hair, he teased, "You know so little, yet talk so big."

"Don't minimize my life." She ran a hand over her eyes. "An Alpha cannot imagine what it's like growing up Omega. Of course, dynamic is not confirmed until twelve or thirteen, but that fear, to know all your childhood prayers to be Beta went unanswered. To know you would never amount to more than an Alpha's prized possession. I had broken that circle. I'd taken such care."




 

 

The man slid his arms around her, as if they were sharing a tender moment. He even kissed her forehead. "Someday, you will thank me-surrounded by our children, happy in the life I've provided."

"You want my thanks? Well, there is something I want."

Wary, pinching down her spine vertebrae by vertebrae, he made the question a warning. "Yes?"

Hand to his chest, her warm breath at his neck, she sighed. "When I wandered Thólos, I saw Lilian and the other Omegas dangling outside the Citadel. Would you bury them properly if I asked you to?"

The tilt of his head let her know he was intrigued, that he was weighing the pros of performing such a thing for her. Turning her chin, Shepherd's eyes glittered, his strategy to get the upper hand developing. "I would be willing to grant your concession, if one was made for me in return."

Claire had been disillusioned by this man long ago. Of course he'd want something. "What do you want?"

His gaze grew liquid, like molten iron. "I think we both know what I want."

"I am not going to be tricked into something. Either be exact, or forget my request."

A soft chuckle and Shepherd said, "You have grown even cleverer, my little Omega. Kiss me and I will give you what you want."

"You would have to offer something far greater to entice me to kiss you. Instead, I will offer," Claire pursed her lips and tried to consider, ignoring the way he was moving his warm hand in small circles against her lower back, encouraging negotiation. "I will offer … " She did not really have anything to offer. "I will sing for you."

"No."

"I will paint you whatever you wish."

"No."

She had failed so many; she could at least do one thing for the dead women. Moving her hand to hover over his exposed dick, she faked resolve but her unsteady voice betrayed her. "I will initiate sex at a time of your choosing."