Born to be Broken (Alpha's Claim Book 2) (16 page)

"Who do you think chose the location of their cozy new home? Claire?" Maryanne rolled her eyes when the man glowered. "Goddess save us, you really did think she broke them out all by herself…"

Aggressive Alpha females and dominant Beta males did not mix well, leaving the air full of tension and mistrust.

Maryanne had not come all that way to be disappointed. "I want to talk to her crazy ass. One last time,
Enforcer Corday
—that's right, I know who you are—where is Claire?"

Lip curled, shoulders tense, Corday hissed, "Claire is missing, okay? I don't know where she is!"

For a moment Maryanne looked worried, studied him as if there was more to the man's outburst. "I don't think you are lying." That left the most likely outcome. "Then she is probably dead… or Shepherd has her again."

And that was exactly why Corday felt such desolation. "I don't think Shepherd has her." If Shepherd had her then the tyrant would know of his own location, the Omegas would be gone, and Leslie's access to their communications would have been terminated.

"You make a good point," Maryanne covered her doubt with a cocky smirk, "because if he did, you and I would both be strung up from the Citadel… Unless, of course, we and her little pack of Omegas were offered in trade for compliant behavior. The little twit is stupid enough to fall for that, you know."

"She wouldn't go back to him." There was no way. Every feeling inside Corday knew better. He'd seen what the monster had done to her… what she had been forced to live through. Touching where her ring circled his pinky he walked back to the door, opening it so his
guest
might take a hint.

Before she left, Maryanne faced Corday one last time. "I know her better than anyone else in the world. I also know she wanted to kill herself… That's why I am going to pray that she did instead of considering the horrible alternative. Thank you for
nothing
, Enforcer Corday."

He slammed the door.

Corday turned towards Leslie, found the outspoken woman awfully quiet.

The strange woman's warning scratched at his composure. "If Claire is in Shepherd's possession, if she struck some reckless exchange for our lives, then he knows about you. If all this is true, then every piece of information you've uncovered is compromised… useless."

Leslie looked about ready to break something.

Claire was still sleeping, restless under the covers on the bed beside him. It had taken a great deal of effort to get her comfortable after Shepherd had found her holed up in the bathroom vomiting upon his return. Hours of soft touches, bland broth, and her agitated growls eventually turned to snores. Once Claire had finally lost consciousness the thread seemed to harmonize, leaving Shepherd able to work as he lay at her side.

Reports on Enforcer Corday's movements were less than pleasing. Svana was still holed up in his apartment, and irksome Maryanne Cauley had come calling, looking for Claire.

Neither woman's agenda was clear. Svana was toying with the resistance, for what purpose Shepherd was uncertain, but she was up to something.

In the years of their relationship, there had been no secrets, no dividing line between them. Ordering Jules to continue with her constant surveillance had been… difficult. Studying her motives as he'd studied the senators, their families, their work, for years, troubled Shepherd greatly.

This woman was not that same revolutionary he'd loved with every last fiber of his being. Worse, not knowing where she'd stashed the contagion, having had all the usual places searched, made him uneasy.

She wanted to remind Shepherd that she had the power. Knowing he was watching her flit around the Beta's apartment was her less than subtle way of reminding him she was in control.

She played her games with the resistance. Leslie Kantor wanted them to find her valuable, even passing fragmented information that could potentially undermine Shepherd's control.

Svana was taunting him.

Why?

There was more to this than her anger over Claire.

So far just Maryanne Cauley had thrown the only wrench into her plans.

…when he shot down your marriage proposal.

How did a woman like Maryanne possess information even Shepherd had never heard whispers of? Why did Svana just about reach out and break the blonde's neck?

Most importantly, why hadn't Svana noticed the immediate look of suspicion the Beta Enforcer had shot her way once those words were out in the open?

Challenging was not the right word to describe the feelings embedded in the problem. Deeply, Shepherd wanted to trust Svana as he always had. But the little black-haired Omega curled up at his side… one look at her, and Shepherd was at a loss.

Never would he trust Svana anywhere near Claire. That fact gave him pain.

And that, at its essence, was why Svana remained with the Enforcer. She knew Shepherd's abiding loyalty had been shaken and she taunted him by fostering a new champion; lightly touching the Beta at every turn, keeping herself beautiful and engaging.

Was she trying to seduce Corday, to flaunt her conquest?

Never before in his life had Shepherd struggled with so many questions. Answers had always been obvious, his course steadfast.

Now he knew he had to greatly alter the plan. He had to find the contagion and make sure it was beyond Svana's control. Stripped of her greatest advantage, he could reason with his beloved, maybe find her an Omega male so she, too, could be enlightened.

Their partnership, their rich history, need not be tarnished by his natural devotion to such a pleasing mate.

Reassured, Shepherd read the latest update again. There was something in the transcript that was intriguing. Just as Claire had explained; the once disposable minion, Maryanne Cauley,
was
fond of his mate.

In Shepherd's experience, Maryanne Cauley was very easy to control, a creature inundated in self-preservation. Shepherd could use her again, augment Jules's initial plan to win more than just Claire's complacence. She could be a valuable tool, and the selfish Alpha female would even be willing for the right price.

As Shepherd's plot developed, Claire grew restless in her dreams. Absently, Shepherd began purring, lightly tracing the furrow between the Omega's brows until it softened.

Before all could be made right, there was a list of issues that had to be remedied. The Omega was not showing any of signs of the affection she had displayed before their recent… complication. In her waking hours there were no activities of nesting, not like before. Normal habits of a pregnant Omega must be encouraged, but she no longer touched her belly like she should—never acknowledged the child he'd placed in her womb, even though it was the cause of her almost constant nausea. Only in her sleep would her hand rest above the baby, and even then she looked… troubled.

Claire also was incredibly disinterested in being touched, yet if he initiated, highly responsive to sex.

They were at square one.

Shepherd kept her in a constant state of the mating high, took her so many times her eyes remained half-dilated, almost as if in the first stages of estrous. It was necessary to keep her mending, to keep the bond fresh and unchallenged, and it soothed her. But she no longer whispered or called out his name, seemed half involved but eager for pleasure.

Pure escapism…

When the sleeping woman quieted, Shepherd went back to the latest reports. With only eight weeks before transport would carry those who'd chosen loyalty to his cause to seize Greth Dome, his new life was soon to begin. Svana's lineage and title would place her as the savior queen of what all intel confirmed was a highly repressed population. Transition would be relatively seamless. Of course, there would be turmoil and battles in those first weeks as the usurper regime was decimated, but Shepherd had a worthy supply of Followers to raise his standard, and the Greth government had no indication a nightmare would soon be crashing down upon them.

Best of all, as Shepherd thrived, as he gave Claire the things that would bring her happiness, nothing but corpses and rot would be left in a place he hated with all his heart.

Everyone left in Thólos would succumb to plague.

Toying with a strand of Claire's hair, Shepherd grinned—vindicated, in perfect alignment with the universe, until he heard her call out.

It had been only a little noise in the dark, a voice laced with fear… a call for him to help to her.

Mechanically he moved, swift to gather her close. "I am here, little one."

Shepherd could see she was not quite awake when, instead of tensing up at his touch, she gripped the fabric of his shirt and pulled him closer, urging him to surround her in his heat and strength.

Swallowing, trying to catch her breath, Claire tried not to think of the sound of screaming convicts and lingering echoed flashes of men lining up to hurt her in her dream. It had been another horrible nightmare of the Undercroft Shepherd had described from his childhood; a prison that gave birth to monsters, inhabited by demons even Maryanne had once warned still lurked down below.

Brushing the hair from her face, Shepherd encouraged her to calm. "You are allowing your brooding to affect your dreams."

Claire released her grip on the nightmare-inducing monster at once. "I'm fine."

"You would not call out for your mate if something had not frightened you."

Shepherd rolled them, holding her to his chest so Claire might rest atop him as she had slept before the complications of the last few weeks. In that position his vibrations would pass far more noticeably into her, and the hatred in her eyes would go back to the faraway stare of complacence.

"What time is it?"

Shepherd did not let her budge, but answered the question. "A little after 16:00."

God, she was so tired even after all that sleep. Too tired to protest the thick arms that came to embrace and stroke, feeling guilt she was experiencing comfort from such a thing, she complained, "I hate the hours down here… everything is backwards."

"If you had slept during the evening instead of fighting the rest you require, then you would have settled into regular rhythms."

Claire gave an annoyed groan at his pointless lecture. It was his fault she could not sleep, his fault her mind was
unstable
, his fault she'd had the nightmare, his fault she could feel again and that everything felt horrible. Unsure if she spoke simply to annoy him, or to test him, or because it was what she actually needed, Claire muttered against the fabric of his shirt, "I want to go outside."

The purring stopped.

A moment of time hung between them, the air tangible with mutual dissatisfaction. Trilling her fingers on his chest, she made it clear she was waiting for an answer and that there was only one right one.

Everything about his reply was displeased and growled with great annoyance. "You will eat and bathe first. After we have mated… I will escort you to see your sky."

How fucking romantic.

In the mood to continue being difficult, Claire said, "I want to eat fried potatoes with mayonnaise."

He threaded his fingers in her hair. "No."

"And a chocolate shake."

"No." Shepherd stroked her spine in an attempt to urge her to fall back asleep and forget her expectation of the sky.

"Raspberries, lots of raspberries."

"That you may have."

Aware he was trying to make her melt until she forgot her request, and conscious Shepherd was about to achieve his goal, Claire began to wriggle away, stretching like a cat and cracking her spine. He made her work for her escape. Even with his arm just lying across her, the damn thing weighed a ton, and he seemed far more interested in groping her ass than letting her up. In the end, she bit him and slipped out of reach.

Shepherd found it funny.

She moved into the bathroom, ignoring the light laughter coming from the giant splayed on the bed. A long shower that was blissfully alone helped to clear away the remnants of her nightmare. It was not the first time she'd dreamed she was locked in a cell, her upper body pressed to a stinking cot while a devil rutted her painfully. Beyond the bars, masses of Alphas watched and waited. Their faces contorted, they snarled and snapped, reaching through the metal bars, stretching inhumanly until they could almost touch her.

Claire did not want to think of the Undercroft, of the things that were locked in it, but the feelings of the dream seemed to linger like a stain even a scalding shower could not wash off.

She turned off the water, combed her hair before the foggy glass, and felt the woman in the blurred reflection was a ghost.

Shutting off the light, she went back into the main room of her cage and found Shepherd had created daytime by switching on every light. Once she was clothed, he left to retrieve her food. Her paints had been cleaned up days ago, his ejaculate from the floor as well, but the portrait remained on the table. She was not exactly sure why he had left it there, and she had tried to ignore it as she ignored him, but it seemed the incorrect eyes were always watching her.

Studying the thing, the rugged face of the man who hurt so many people, she could not find what about the painting had seemed to please him. Of course, she may have completely misread his reaction—the Alpha was layered in half-truths, and had no qualms about deceit if it meant he would attain his goal. But something in the cord, something on his end, had been so very satisfied at what she'd done.

Claire had wanted a reaction, she had got one. Now she had no idea what it meant or how to use it.

Absorbed in the flawed eyes, she listed the mistakes in her rendition. They were not hard enough; the silver did not hold back a tidal wave of twisted history. Shepherd just looked like a man. And how would she look if someone were to paint her? Would it be the ghostly blurred image from the mirror, or somebody completely different? Had her eyes become infected with the same thing that lingered in his?

How much time would it take for her to wake up and no longer care about the forty-three lives he held over her head, or the millions in Thólos she had to find a way to fight for? Why had she not just stomped her foot against the ice and cracked it so powerfully that they both were sucked under?

Her slender hold on composure began to slip just as the bolt on the door hissed its metallic warning Shepherd had returned. Quickly scrubbing her face of tears, Claire sat straight and prepared for the next round.

The man came in with a tray and set it down before her, noticing the redness around the eyes of the woman sitting ramrod straight.

When she saw what he had brought her, Claire began to sniff. She reached for a steaming fried potato wedge, dipped it in mayo, then dunked it again in the chocolate shake. Shoving it in her mouth, tears began to fall, her acknowledgment pathetic. "They're really good."

"There are no raspberries on premises. They will be acquired shortly," Shepherd explained, assuming she was, at last, having some sort of pregnancy moment.

Sniveling, Claire dumped the chocolate shake over the hot fries, smearing into the mess. She gorged, sniffing and frowning, devouring what to Shepherd looked absolutely disgusting as if it were manna from the heavens. By the time she had finished what had to be the unhealthiest thing on the planet, her brief blubbering was over and she felt much better.

Wiping her mouth, Claire looked to the man who'd observed her meal. It was obvious Shepherd wanted her to thank him—he had done something
nice
for her, something apparent and obvious that she had requested specifically. All those other months, she had defiantly used none of his things outside of mere necessity, never made requests aside from demands of freedom… simply to make the point that she was refusing his
hospitality
. But this meal she had blatantly stated she desired, and he had delivered it, though it was clearly something he had not thought was best for her. In his strange language it was almost as if, again, he was affirming there was a new precedent and that he was making an effort.