Shepherd looked down between them where her hand was so close, but not near enough. Enticed, he purred, eyes ready to devour her. "That is a far more interesting offer. I choose all three."
Fine, then that was what he would get. "I want proof it was done."
The Alpha grinned, thoroughly smug. "Sing something now, in good faith."
She could do this. "What song would you like to hear?"
Moving her hair behind her ears, Shepherd ensured his view would be unobstructed. "The song you first sang, but no crying this time. You must also look me in the eye as you sing to me."
The ballad began and she sang it the whole way through, Shepherd caressing, purring, seemingly well-satisfied with the arrangement. Claire did not cry, far too eager to have her way.
When she had finished, he was tame … looking at her as he'd looked at Svana. "It could be like this all the time, little one."
She put a hand to his cheek and said softly with a heart hard as stone, "No, Shepherd, it couldn't."
"You will see … " Placid, Shepherd drew her back down to rest. "I will show you."
Everything was soft and warm and fluffy. Claire had no interest in shifting, even for the smell of coffee and the warm hand reaching into her burrow. Shepherd hooked her around the waist and pulled until her messy hair cleared the blue duvet and a bleary-eyed Omega emerged.
The new bed had arrived during her dinner with Maryanne-everything in her favorite shade of blue, everything fresh. Even with the effort the Alpha had made, Claire had not felt an urge to nest for many days. But he kept putting her back in it, taking her from whatever she was doing and burying them both under the covers, caressing her belly to encourage his Omega's thoughts of the baby, until at last it just clicked and she subconsciously began to sniff at him, began to press nearer.
Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Claire sulked, unhappy Shepherd had woken her. A wise man, he gave her a cappuccino and waited for her new morning ritual; his little one peeking, trying to hide her interest in discovering what the picture lay in the foam that day before she sipped and the art was spoiled.
In her cup bloomed an intricate poppy. Claire begrudgingly loved it. "Does the person who makes these have any idea who they're for?"
Shepherd answered with a question. "You ask because of the flower shape?"
"You have to admit, it's a little ridiculous they would give you a drink with flowers in it."
"It is a courtship ritual of Dome culture for the male to offer flowers to the female. I ordered it to be prepared this way."
Internally cringing, Claire sipped the drink and hated that she blushed at his attempted romantic gesture, that he was going to mistake her embarrassment for coyness, that he was already looking at her with an arrogant glow in his eyes.
There was more. "Our agreement has been fulfilled."
Claire set the cup and saucer on the bedside table, bracing herself. "And the proof?"
Shepherd brought forth his COMscreen. "May only upset you, so I am asking you to trust me and not look at the photographs."
There was no chance in hell Claire would trust such a man. "It could not be any worse than other things I have seen in this city."
She took the COMscreen, snatching it from his hands. The first image had been taken from a distance, all three bodies shown dangling, but not near enough to be graphic. The second was from the same vantage, Shepherd's Followers taking them down. Claire was tempted to stop there, to accept that as good enough, but to do so would be to show weakness in the face of her adversary. Her finger slid across the screen. Bodies side by side in an open grave, rotted faces on display, only pits remaining where eyes had once been. Each corpse was still gagged, shrunken lips exposing teeth, hanging ropes embedded in their necks.
Claire could not look away.
Shepherd gently pried the COMscreen from her hands. "Are you satisfied?"
What she was was incredibly ill. Nodding, her mouth grew sour, Claire sinking deeper into her bed in hopes he'd leave so she could run to the bathroom and puke.
Shepherd knew her every tick, knew she was unwell. Claire could either walk to the bathroom and be sick with dignity, or he was going to get involved, his scowl said as much.
Slipping out of bed, she moved past him, closing the door for privacy, and threw up everything she'd just swallowed, pretty certain it would be some time before she enjoyed a cappuccino again.
He left her in peace, waited for her to wash her face and brush her teeth, and when she came back, Claire began to dress as if nothing had happened.
Brushing her tangled hair, she turned to the man still sitting at the end of the bed. "What would you like me to paint for you?"
He took a contemplative breath, voice almost jovial when he spoke. "A portrait of yourself, little one. One I will appreciate."
With the brush mid-way through a tangle, Claire mused, unsure if Shepherd comprehended how difficult self-portraits would be. "That's out of my scope. It might not be any good."
He flicked his fingers, beckoning her closer. Apprehensive that she would be expected to perform the other requirement of their agreement at that very moment, Claire stiffened, but went to him.
Taking the brush from her hands, he set it aside and pulled her to rest on his knee. "I want you to sing for me now."
"I already sang for you."
The man smirked, sly as he spoke, "Our agreement did not stipulate a number of times. You simply said you would sing for me, and I desire you to do so again."
Claire suspected it was far more for her benefit than his, a distraction that would shift her thinking in a more settling direction. "If you set this precedent and begin bending the rules, it's only going to backfire eventually."
He touched a finger to her nose; Shepherd squinted, and the man cooed, "Please."
She sang the first thing that came to mind, a relic anthem about war … a song that was poignant, sad, and far too expressive of the plight of Thólos.
"Do you still feel ill?" Shepherd asked, aware of her little musical mutiny as he gently touched her belly.
Claire did not usually feel well upon waking, especially after being dragged out of bed to see pictures of victims Shepherd had murdered, and she told him so.
"The punishment meted out to those women was earned." The man was unmoved by her declaration. "If your death would have brought them gain, they would not have hesitated to kill you. You were kind enough to see them buried. Do not mourn them further."
"Do you not wish to be mourned when you die?" Claire asked, non-threatening, only interested in his answer.
Stroking over the baby, the tiny thing that had yet to distort her figure, Shepherd asked, "Would you not mourn me, little one? Or would you relish the death of your mate?"
Claire was not inhuman. She had natural feelings and felt a discord in the link, the sudden uneasy throb in her chest that seemed saddened by the mere thought of the bearer of the bond's death. Deeper still, she suspected his death would not equate to her freedom-too much had been done. She would languish as she had when the bond had been damaged. She would die. Unsure how to answer his question, she rubbed her hand over her face and refused to respond.
"The thought upsets you." Again it was the gentle, manipulative voice and the soft touches of a man she knew pretended to be something he was not. "You need not fear. You would always be cared for."
Sometimes it seemed as if Shepherd could read her very thoughts. Other times it seemed he was so far off base it was as if they lived on separate planets.
Claire had to get off his lap, she needed to think. Shepherd allowed it.
Smoothing back her hair, she thought to press on another subject. "I cannot make myself understand. What is it you want from Thólos? You are king with a list of ambitions, but you let your lands decay. You rule everything under the Dome, but hate your subjects."
Shepherd put his elbows on his knees, spoke with acumen as the Omega paced. "My number of loyal Followers have swelled beyond even what I imagined. Hardship distills the soul."
The things she had seen in the streets of Thólos, the depravity-it made the truth of his words sting. "Those who joined since the breach are traitors who chose your doctrine out of a misguided sense of survival."
"True, but the majority of the terrorism in Thólos was perpetrated by its own citizens. I did not get involved."
Swallowing, Claire wrung her hands, looking for something she could use. "I know. I asked for help … remember? You didn't help me."
The shine of approval lit Shepherd's eyes. "But I did."
Claire thought she might lose her cool. "I will not have this fight with you."
"Think of your assault of the Undercroft," the giant reminded her. "Think of what you accomplished for the Omegas. What occurs in Thólos defines character. You are exceptional."
That was far from true. Ashamed, Claire turned her eyes to the floor and confessed, "Did Maryanne tell you what I had to do to convince her to help me?"
"I have not discussed such things with Ms. Cauley. What was done is forgiven and your motivation understood."
"I threatened her," Claire admitted, certain he must see how his occupation had affected even her. "I threatened her with you."