Born to Be Bound (16 page)

But would somebody else? The man had ways of spouting half-truths. "Shepherd." The name was spoken like a threat.

There was a smile in his voice, a hint of something dark, as well. "Yes, little one?"

"Do not give me cause to hate you more."

He was charmed by the warning, and began to twist his fingers in a long strand of midnight hair. "No more talk of hatred. You are my mate, bound, and you will devote yourself to me."

Dark brows shot up and her jaw dropped. "You cannot force that."

The pad of his thumb traced her lips. "I can."

As if in agreement with the man, the thread began to bang loudly in her chest. There was to be no more talk, she was too tired to argue. The familiar weight of his hand moved from her belly to between her legs. Ignoring how Claire turned her head away he began to stroke the little bundle of nerves, flicking it to entice it to swell.

Shepherd growled and purred as he played with her pussy. "Submit. I will be gentle and you will enjoy it. Once you are calm, you will sleep more."

#

The room was colder than the cell Nona had been locked in for the past six days. A guard, a brutish man four times her size, gestured to the empty chair across from a Beta she had seen on the premises. That Beta had led the men who'd dragged Lilian and her friends away days ago.

"My name is Jules. Take the seat, Nona French."

He had an unplaceable inflection and the startling blue eyes of a bully; she knew his type. Nona pulled out the chair.

"Your registration states you are a Beta and, according to your clearly fraudulent record, you have never been pair-bonded or conceived children," the man began, looking up from the file before him to meet the older woman's eyes. "Are you the one who taught Miss O'Donnell to live as a Beta?"

The woman had her own questions and was disinterested in the Follower's bullshit. "Where is Claire?"

The smallest of smirks came to the Beta's face. Placing his hands on the table, he took his time organizing his body into a position of subtle intimidation. "She is where she belongs; with her mate."

"The Alpha, Shepherd?" It was asked like a question, but they both knew it was a statement of disgust. She'd seen the brute carry her off, Nona spraining her wrist trying to fight free so she might save her. Her wrinkled lips turned down at the corner, and the old woman's hands mirrored his—a strangely antagonistic stance for an Omega. "He locked her in a room for five weeks. That is no proper mate."

Hard, unblinking eyes held hers. Jules clarified, "Seclusion is customary behavior when adjusting one's Omega into their new life."

She laughed right in his face. "I should not be surprised at your lack of civility, given what you are. No wonder she was too ashamed to admit who had claimed her. Does he beat her, too?"

"When you saw her, did she look beaten?" The man leered, leaning forward.

Nona answered calmly. "She looked terrified and unwell."

"How long have you known Miss O'Donnell?"

The severe-faced woman said nothing.

Jules was through playing games. "It is in your best interest to answer my questions, Ms. French."

"Or what? You'll lock me in jail so that I can be given away at my next estrous?"

"At your age, estrous would be unlikely. I would simply have you killed."

Tapping her fingers on the table, Nona smiled. "I'm old. And I lived on my terms. The threat of death does not overly concern me."

"What about torture?"

"Only one way to find out."

Jules smiled and leaned back in his chair. "I didn't say your torture. There are two Omegas in our custody too young to serve a purpose. It is them I will torture if you do not tell me what I want to know."

Nona's anxiety spiked. Lips pressed in a line, she nodded.

Looking back at the file, Jules began again. "How long have you known Miss O'Donnell?"

Her answer was vague. "We were introduced two years before her mother died."

"And you have been a surrogate parent?"

"I have been a friend," Nona grunted. "Claire is independent and did not need to be coddled."

Jules looked to her again. "So she is not aware that when her father died, you funded the endowment that allowed her to pursue art over menial labor?"

"She is not," Nona answered, her lips tight. "As far as I knew, only the bank had access to such information."

Suddenly the tenor of the conversation altered. The air grew thick and Jules spoke with no smile or intonation. "It seems you have a strong personal attachment to the girl, which makes me wonder why you allowed her to enter the courts."

A deep furrow grew between Nona's brows. "We both volunteered, but I was supposed to be the one to go to the courts."

"Explain."

"She stole the prepared clothing while I was bathing. By the time I was aware of what had happened, she was gone. Claire is very protective of the ones she loves."

"Did no one try to stop her?"

"The group agreed with her reasoning." The woman looked away, her disappointment obvious. "And many simply thought she would be more appealing as our representative. It was a very close vote."

"Is that not ironic?" Bored, the man looked her dead in the eye. "Who was her contact to Senator Kantor?"

"Since you have already questioned the women who met with her that evening, I am certain you are aware that it was never mentioned in the brief conversation we shared." Leaning on her elbows, the older woman demanded, "I want to see Claire."

"No," the Beta answered flatly.

The interrogation continued; a list of assorted questions about Claire's history, her quirks—some so precise, such as her favorite fruit, that even Nona did not know the answer. The exchange was strange, and she wondered why Shepherd did not ask Claire these questions himself.

#

There had been only exhaustion in Claire's short-lived freedom, and Shepherd had allowed her no rest upon her return. Between the eight days of insomnia and the chemical alertness of estrous, Claire was drained in a way she had never known. There was never enough sleep; her former restlessness was replaced with haunting lethargy and an unwillingness to move from the nest. When she woke, she would be burrowed, completely covered. Once or twice she snarled at the male reaching in to pluck her out from under all the covers so she might eat or he might dress her wound.

All she wanted was the dark, and to be left alone. But Shepherd would appear no matter how much she hated the sight of him, the man dragging her to stiffly lie atop him. Too tired to complain, she lay limp, knowing he would cover them both and reproduce her burrow. Once total darkness returned, she would pretend the bastard was not there... or she would try. Shepherd would only let her rest for a short time before his seeking hands more than petted the lingering soreness from her body, fondling increasingly tender breasts and playing between her legs.

Claire did not want the attention, hated that his smell did things to her, that she craved it so badly she had a need to burrow into his side of the bed when he was gone. As if he knew what kept her constantly sniffing him, yesterday's shirts began to appear in their nest. Upon waking, finding them pressed to her nose, Claire would toss them out and curse him to hell.

Shepherd would put them back when he returned.

It was almost a game. That morning, Shepherd raised the stakes. Claire threw one out and woke to find two in its place. When she realized what he'd done, she giggled, a sound that made the secret observer in the corner perk his ears, never having heard her sound for joy. Unaware she had an audience, she threw his things on the floor and burrowed deeper, still laughing.

There was a swat on her rump and she shrieked in surprise. Twisting, shoving the blankets off her head, Claire sat up, hair a mess, and found him standing over the bed, demonstrably dropping the clothing in her lap.

At the blush on her cheeks, Shepherd was the one chuckling, prowling over her to sniff at the bedraggled woman. "You think your rejection of your mate's scent in this nest is funny?"

She had not spoken to him—even to ask the hour—in days. Too tired, too confused, still angry, she frowned, unsure of his tone or intention.

"Is your protest a silent way to communicate your preference for the real thing?"

It seemed almost as if he was flirting. Claire cocked a brow, croaking, "No."

Shepherd fisted the blankets and drew them over their heads, pulling her against him as he rebuilt her burrow. Settling back, hating that he was not taking the proper position and instead looming over her, Claire felt his hand move between them. His fist was pumping, and it took her a minute to realize that he was stroking his cock. A few small grunts, a warning growl when she tried to move away, and his hand moved faster until he groaned low and long. Splashes bathed her naked belly and breasts, fluid pooling until it dripped into the nest and scented the confined space far more strongly than any used shirt.

As if she was in estrous, he rubbed it into her skin, pressed it between her resistant lips, and made sure his seed got everywhere. Something about the act, that he'd done it for his own pleasure and none of hers, left her feeling neglected. He left her as soon as his scenting was done; Claire frowning at his back. Peeking out from her burrow, it took mere minutes before she was tempted to exchange the darkness of her blankets for the subterranean dimness of her cage.

Her bare feet padded silently to the dresser, green eyes sneaking a glance at the Alpha working at his COMscreen. Dressing, oblivious she lacked an urge to wash his semen away, Claire began to do what she usually did in her waking hours underground; she paced. Her joints were stiff from so much sleeping and the walking did little to ease her black mood.

Shepherd seemed content to ignore her; she was trying to ignore him, but as the hour progressed she began unconsciously edging a little bit nearer.

Staring, Claire found his COMscreen bizarre and unreadable. Sighing, bored, she popped her lips and yipped when a great arm swooped out and snatched her out of the blue. Once she was tucked across his lap, Shepherd went right back to whatever he had been doing, trapping her in a cage of overly muscled limbs.

She had been so quiet and he had seemed so focused; it had not been her intention to invite interaction. She squirmed against his chest. "I'm hungry."

An answer came. "No you're not; you're restless and desire attention."

What she was, was irritated. "Why aren't you purring?" The jerk could at least do that. For fuck's sake, it was the only thing he was good for.

Claire could not prove it, but she was fairly certain he was laughing at her, despite his silence. "If I purred, you would not have been coaxed nearer."

Rubbing at the soreness in her shoulder, she narrowed her eyes.

Smirking, he went on, "Your mood swings are mildly amusing, little one."

"What is this?" She gestured toward the screen, unwilling to be baited, and far more willing to be aggravating.

His attention went back to his work. "If you were meant to read it, it would be in your language."

Claire simply rolled her eyes. Lesson learned. She would pointedly keep her distance to avoid this situation in the future.

"No you won't."

When he responded to private thoughts that were none of his business, she snapped, "Stop doing that!"

Ignoring her, Shepherd's finger went to the screen and tapped until something new flashed bright and pretty. Leaning forward, she eagerly reached out to take a hold without thinking. He began to purr and she to smile as she looked at an image of her family.

"Your father was an Alpha." It was clear that that was who had all her attention in the photograph, that it was his face her finger ghosted over. "Your mother was an Omega."

Obviously.
..

Claire was trying to ignore the distracting man, to focus on something worthy, seeing the patch of blue sky in the background, as they all stood together in the orange grove.

"My mother didn't like my father," she taunted, pointing out the parallel to their situation.

Shepherd mocked her right back. "And to avoid her fate you sequestered yourself away; became something unnatural."

Her dark head swung around to face the man who could not possibly understand. "There is nothing wrong with celibacy and self-control! You might think I am beneath you, but your short-sighted view of Omegas is pathetic and limiting. It shows very much what kind of mind stands behind the charisma and insane agenda. I made it
years
! Years, Shepherd. And you ruined everything."

Seeing the building fire in his eyes, Claire realize what she'd done. She grew nervous he would react to her outburst, and instinctively covered her belly to protect what was hidden inside.

His tone hissed a forced sort of neutral. "And what was this great plan you saw for yourself? How were you to find a mate when you lived in seclusion and behaved like a Beta?"

Defensive, she grumbled, "I was courted... on occasion."

Shepherd's tense physical response was clearly displeased. "Betas?"

"Betas respect my boundaries. Alphas are dangerous and take without asking."

"And you lied to them about your dynamic."

Scowling, Claire clarified, "I just didn't say anything about it. Being an Omega should not be what defines me, any more than the color of my skin or the level in which I was reared."

"Your mother's suicide had a strong impact on your thinking."

Claire shook her head and gave a cynical sigh, not at all surprised he had researched her history. "I find it funny how often in my life Alphas have tried to equate my subversive behavior with my mother's death. I am not the only Omega to feel this way—many of us do. And if you Alphas had a lick of sense, you would take time to talk to us instead of just spreading our legs for your own amusement."

"Was your father unkind to your mother?"

Claire looked back to the screen. "He doted on her, but it didn't matter. She was in love with someone else."

That stopped him at once. He began to gather her hair in his fist, pulling her head back to force her attention. "You will love no one but me."