Born to be Broken (Alpha's Claim #2)(22)

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.