Born to be Broken (Alpha's Claim Book 2) (24 page)

When her small hand reached up and the female cupped his cheek, Shepherd allowed it, unmoving as she stood between his spread legs. His silver eyes shone, focused and pleased with her attention in front of the Alpha female.

Claire pulled in a breath as if to speak, then hesitated, pouting her red lips until he purred and the back of his warm fingers stroked over her belly.

The question was for herself. "Could Shepherd change?"

It was all there in her expression—how badly she wished he could change. How hard she had tried to affect something in him. Whispering, her voice as soft as the fingertips that touched the flesh of his cheek, Claire asked, "Could you change?"

A warm, large hand enclosed hers, gently removing her touch from his face, Shepherd admonished, "You are neglecting your guest, little one." Breathing, blinking out of her trance, Claire took a step back as the male pressed some small scissors into her hand. "I have given her permission to cut your hair, should you wish it."

Looking down at the little instrument, Claire teased Maryanne. "I don't trust her with these. Everything will come out cockeyed."

From across the room, the woman blurted, "How hard could it be?"

Claire smirked, thinking of Maryanne's godawful attempt ten years prior. "That's what you said last time, and may I remind you, those terrible bangs took over two years to grow out."

She moved back to Maryanne and let the blonde trim her hair, fairly certain it would be terrible, and honestly not caring at all if it was. The only thing about the interlude Claire cared about was the COMscreen Maryanne produced; full of photos of the Omegas, and even one of Corday, who was smiling his dimpled grin as he spoke to whoever was just outside the frame. On the smallest finger of his hand sat her gold ring; diminutive, but there.

Corday still had faith in her.

Making sure not to look at him too long, Claire set the COMscreen down and remained still as Maryanne snipped.

When the cut was over, dark hair tousled, Maryanne assured in a playfully thick accent, "Very beautiful."

Handing her a pocket mirror, she frowned when Claire pressed it back, stating, "I don't need to see."

Maryanne shoved it back. "It's not bad, Claire. Take a look."

"I'm sure you did fine."

Maryanne knew what was going on, could see through the cracks in her old friend's mask.

Holding the mirror up, making a point, she snarled once the Omega turned her head away. "What is wrong with you?"

Moving the mirror to Claire's new line of sight produced the same outcome. Claire looked away. Enough was enough. Maryanne grabbed a fistful of hair and held Claire's head still, forcing the mirror before the Omega's face. "Open your eyes and look in the mirror, Claire!"

She did. Claire looked at a hated face, one with full lips that had been painted to be pretty and black hair that had been cut to frame her face. A face with green eyes and pale skin; a face she had been unable to look at for the last week without seeing dead women who looked like her. Women she had killed.

With a voice that could no long bear inflection, Claire said, "You're right. The lipstick is trampy."

"You don't need to do this to yourself, you idiot." Maryanne gave Claire's hair a little yank. "There is nothing wrong with that woman in the mirror. Their deaths are not your fault."

"Step away from her, Ms. Cauley. Go stand near the door and do not move." There was nothing but the threat of murder in Shepherd's voice, every word enunciated with chilling precision.

Maryanne darted back, the behemoth stalking forward. Watching with awe, the Alpha female saw the mountain kneel to his mate. His purr was aggressive, his hands already petting an Omega who seemed composed and patient, but was anything but.

"She didn't do anything wrong," Claire explained. "Everything is fine."

Shepherd spoke in that other language, loud enough that the Followers on the other side began to unlock the door. In a flash, Maryanne was gone. Once the door was bolted, Shepherd pulled Claire to stand and drew her to the room's luxurious bathroom.

A large mirror hung over the fine sink, and with a flick of the lights there they were, standing side by side, framed in filigreed gold.

"Your skills at deception are abysmal," Shepherd explained, gesturing at her reflection. "So let's not waste time, shall we? Why are you only looking at me in the mirror and not at yourself?"

Humiliated that she had allowed this situation, that she had not performed better, Claire looked straight at her reflection. "My stomach was upset."

"You are lying," the male roared, hating the strange feeling that was coming through the cord. "What is wrong?"

There were no tears, only a blank stare. "I just can't look at them."

A great hand lifted as if to grip her skull. Instead Shepherd clawed through her hair, the nearest thing to a pet an angry Alpha could manage. "Continue."

In the mirror Claire was dwarfed next to the massive man, small and useless. "I am angry that I cannot do anything for anyone, that everything I tried only made things worse. I feel powerless, ashamed of myself for my failure and the horrible effect I had on women who look like me." Beseeching eyes darted to his reflection. "And I'm frustrated that no matter what I say to you, to a man I am pair-bonded to, that it would change nothing—even if I had the power to redeem you—because Thólos did horrible things when the people could have rallied and brought you down."

"The price you are exacting from yourself is not yours to pay. It is Thólos's."

She was getting angry. "I
am
Thólos, Shepherd. Born and raised here. I grew up here. My parents are buried here."

"Look at yourself in the mirror, Claire O'Donnell." The male reared up as he spoke. "You are an Omega, physically small and weak, yet incredibly intelligent. That said, however shrewd you may be, you are also foolish enough to think you must bear the burden of others' sins… That is your true flaw. The psychological trauma you are causing yourself is both immature and pointless. It does nothing to change the scenario. And though I am honored you would consider the thought of my redemption as worthy, it is your own peace you need to focus on now. Self-pity and playing the martyr help no one."

The woman gave a caustic snort. "Well, I failed at playing the hero."

In a voice that was hard and assertive, Shepherd snarled, "But you didn't, and you know it. Forty-three people are alive because you had the nerve to stand up to me. You won, Claire. No single adversary has ever beaten me before. Ever. Take your victory."

It was not that simple, not when the world and her mind were in a constant state of turmoil. Not when she was only breathing to buy time.

In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity. - Sun Tzu

Rubbing her lips together, she felt the unfamiliar slide of lipstick and met Shepherd's eyes again. "The lipstick
is
trampy."

"And your hair?"

"Looks nice."

"And the dress?"

"Is something I would never have chosen for myself in a thousand years. I look like the poster girl for a pre-plague Omega housewife—which I suppose is fitting, as I am barefoot and pregnant."

"Are you attempting comedy?" For once the man actually sounded unsure.

Claire smirked and shook her head in the negative.

For days she wasted paper while the Alpha stared, watching her paint her promised portrait for him. Claire was beginning to suspect that Shepherd was trying to drive her crazy with the constant appraisal of her work. But there was a method to his madness, even Claire understood that. He was forcing her to look at herself over and over, until it was no longer quite so nausea inspiring, until it was her face on the paper and not some unknown woman Claire had conjured up.

A deep breath, the type that preceded some grand speech the bastard was going to make, passed Shepherd's lips. Claire's eyes shot up, blazing warning as she snarled, "I swear to the Gods, Shepherd, if you say one thing about this painting, I am going to scream."

Undaunted, he cocked an eyebrow and stated, "I want you to paint yourself smiling more."

Pounding her fist on the table, biting back the rising noise in her throat, Claire let out a stream of obscenities so vulgar the man began to laugh. Paint-stained hands balled up the picture, Claire throwing it right in his face. Then it was her turn to laugh at the absolute look of murder in his eyes.

Popping her lips, grinning impishly, she reached for another piece of paper and ignored the swelling, angry male. Innocently, she dipped the brush and began the outline again, painting the same smug grin she was wearing at that moment. When the basic form was drawn, she arrogantly held it up, and watched him narrow his eyes and appraise.

Before he could speak, a knock came to the door and a man whose voice Claire didn't recognize spouted off something in their language. Shepherd's attention focused on what he was hearing, the Alpha already standing as he replied in kind.

Shepherd immediately began pulling on his armor.

A strange anxiety twisted in her stomach, this situation not having arisen before. Watching him dress for battle at a summons and not simply because he was leaving for the day, meant something was going on—something that could be dangerous to him, to Thólos, to anyone.

"You do not need to be concerned, little one." There was a smile in his voice.

When Claire's eyes darted up to meet his, she found him collected and calm. But
she
felt incredibly uneasy, all humor from only a few moments ago evaporating. "What's going on?"

The purr began. Shepherd pulled on his coat and came to where she sat, alarmed and stiff. Stroking the line of her jaw, he explained, "There is nothing. I simply lost the hour playing your game with the paints."

He was lying; the man always knew what time it was without the presence of a clock. "I don't believe you."

Ignoring her accusation, he cracked his neck and looked down at his worried mate. "I will be back shortly, and when I return, I expect to receive the remaining portion of our agreement."

She fought to maintain an impassive expression while Shepherd traced her lips with his thumb and leveled upon her a liquid gaze brimming with lust and ravenous expectation. He dipped his thumb between her lips, growled richly as if he was about to fuck her, and left her sitting in a little pool of slick.

Dazed, Claire stared at the closing door. She knew what he was calling due, what he had left sitting between them for weeks—in order to fulfill their bargain, Claire was expected to initiate sex.

Unsure whether he had chosen that moment as a means to distract her from her worry, or if it was some sort of victory celebration for whatever he was doing, she shifted uncomfortably at being left in such a state.

It was not as if she'd forgotten what she'd offered for Lilian and the others to be laid to rest, but she'd had other far more pressing things to center her thoughts upon. Besides, physical intimacy with Shepherd had taken place countless times. She knew what he liked, where to touch him to draw out a reaction… so how hard could it be to initiate it?

Hard.

Looking for a distraction, Claire showered and cleaned up the paints, expecting him back at any second. But hours passed and she began to grow anxious, worried about what might or might not be going on in Thólos.

Was it an insurrection? Corday; had he found a way to end this?

Claire was on the edge of full-blown panic when the lock finally shifted. Gritty metal whined and the door swung inwards. She stopped her customary pacing, turning with tangled relief to face the largeness of her mate.

The severed head of Senator Kantor still lay on the table, wrecked and unmoved from the place it had been dropped once Jules had pulled it from the pike outside the Citadel and brought the repugnant thing to Shepherd. There was no clean cut where neck had been severed from shoulders; just a torn stump of muscle and tendon. Around it lay a splatter of blood, leaking fluids, and the fingers of a man gripping the table so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

Before Shepherd had left, they'd argued, the Alpha's bulging arms crossed over his chest while he'd stared down his second-in-command. "You went against my orders and killed him while he was still useful to us?"

"No…"

Svana.

She had done this. She had murdered her uncle. Who else could move with the stealth to slip right under the noses of trained Followers? Who else would stick the head on a pike outside the Citadel as if to taunt not only Shepherd but the city she sought to destroy? Who else would gain by this?

It was a delicate thing, tormenting a population just enough to keep them miserable; Shepherd having exercised caution not to press millions past the point of desperation. Hanging a traitor as part of a public trial and execution spread the blame on all who watched. It made the population impotent and held Thólos responsible. This… the Champion of the People and leader of the resistance's head had been mutilated for show, loudly broadcasting the wrong sentiment.

That was what had earned Shepherd's anger, not Jules' accusations that Svana had done this to undermine them all.

Riots had already begun to bloom, Followers acting in mercenary fashion.

Even faced with this kind of proof of Svana's treachery, Shepherd did not see an imprudent mistake—yes, Svana could be difficult, but she would not break rank, not when she stood to gain the most from their great plan's success. If she had done this, it had been for good reason.

Jules had lost his temper, he'd smashed his fist against the table and roared.

Shepherd had only put a hand on his friend's shoulder, both as comfort and as warning. "Do not allow this complication to cloud your thinking. Patrols must be immediately increased to counter potential uprising, rioters dealt with quietly. We cannot continue shooting citizens in broad daylight, to do so would only encourage more unrest. I need you in the field."

Jules swallowed, lips tight. "She seeks to control the rebellion."

Squeezing the smaller man's shoulder, Shepherd growled, "Brother, if what you believe is true, it would only benefit our cause to have Svana at the helm of our enemy's forces."

There was some stinging truth in his leader's words. Had the woman in question been anyone but Svana, Jules may have even agreed. The Beta would not allow her to stir up animosity, having seen years of her manipulations and spite. He would not give her the pleasure; the best course was to follow orders. "Understood."

Shepherd had left him; to oversee the sedation of potential riots, to be seen in the Citadel.

Alone, for an hour, Jules crouched, eye level with the severed head of Senator Kantor.

Up close, Kantor's eyes displayed the hazy film of developing cataracts. Between lids half drooping, retinas mismatched in the direction they pointed, and the gaping mouth, the Alpha finally looked as monstrous on the outside as Jules knew he'd been on the inside.

The Champion of the People… had been the vilest of men.

Jules' lips parted and from his mouth flowed malice. "You murdered my children. You took my Rebecca from me."

He spat fully across the corpse's bloodied face.

"And I have watched you be lauded and adored for a decade. I have watched you lie and pollute, and I have bided my time so that you might know true suffering." Raw fury twisted through Jules's hiss. "Your death was
mine
, and I will make her pay for stealing my vengeance. Svana will bleed for this."

To be continued
… Reborn, Book 3 of the Alpha's Claim series available Summer 2016 from Blushing Books. Please keep reading for a sample from the first chapter…