The first stab pierced her cheek. Though painless, the tug and pull of suturing flesh was unpleasant. Yet Jules Havel proceeded quickly, as if he had sewn skin to skin many times in the past. Knotting his second stitch, he asked, “What did Jacques whisper in your ear?”

  Jules had been watching? No soul had noticed him before he had spoken. Not even her… and she noticed everything. “That I was to lie back… and think of him.”

  “What else?”

  “That this would be a short-lived inconvenience.”

  With a dry laugh, the man began another suture. The hooked needle delved back into her skin, her wound pulled shut.

  Trying to remain still so he might continue, a nervous Brenya asked, “Will it be?”

  “That depends on your definition of inconvenience.” The final knot was tied. “You are my wife as of me stamping my claim as Commodore upon the contracts⁠—”

  “First wife,” she corrected. If he was like Ancil, he could claim a Beta as well.

  Finished assessing his work, those terrible eyes bore into hers. “I will not be taking another wife.”

  She had no response.

  His touch trailed under her wound, gentle as he said, “I own you in the eyes of Bernard law, Brenya Havel. But I possess you in a manner far beyond what any contract might outline. Signatures were merely a formality, recordkeeping for the historians, and a public statement from the new Commodore.”

  Havel? In less than a year, she had gone from being Unit 17C, to mon chou, to Brenya Perin, to Brenya Havel, losing a bit more of herself each time. “I understand.”

  “No. You do not.” A trace of amusement flared in his gaze, the most minute of smirks tugging up the corner of his lips. “Do you believe in fate, Brenya?”

  She shook her head.

  “The Gods?”

  She knew the stories and the lessons of the Beta God, but his compassion could not be real. Either that, or God just didn’t love her. “I know my prayers.”

  “When the Gods abandoned me, I found that will was a far more valuable companion. It is my religion now; not even Shepherd’s will can rival mine. I am capable of things you cannot imagine, and regret died within me long ago. Yet, I found you intriguing when we first met, tempting in your innocence and goodness. Fascinated by the workings of your mind, and your little ticks. I watched you whenever the moment presented itself. I cannot even recall the last time I desired a woman, and I am not speaking of pheromones or estrous.”

  Trailing his touch down her cheek, skimming her throat to stroke near his claiming mark, Jules purred. “I am talking about desire for a person. Who they are. And I willed myself to leave you alone, because I know who I am, and I am not a man of goodness or innocence. I am a walking amalgamation of waking revenge. So maybe fate is real, and maybe the Gods do have a hand in this, because even my will could not resist taking you the moment that fool presented a chance.”

  The vast, reaching darkness within him, the quiet and calm, slipped over the line that separated them for the first time. It was not the soft strokes or invitations he'd offered in the past; it was not a call for her to come into him to find peace from whatever hell Jacques was inflicting on her.

  This was a slow, gentle, yet unyielding invasion surrounding the light of her in a black cocoon, wrapping her so fully in his covetous self that Jacques’s bloodlust faded almost to nothing.

  There couldn’t possibly be anything more intimate than the way he began to move inside her. How he filled up every corner with bleak emptiness. The way he caressed her psyche with his darkness, as if she were a tiny kitten trapped in the cupped hands of a God.

  Staring at him, eyes wide and lips parted, Brenya had no words, felt him moving under her skin, through her thoughts, pouring more and more and more shadow straight into her very being.

  Yet through it all, as he filled her, her light was sheltered in his care. He didn’t bash or force. He didn’t yank or try to change the make-up of her being.

  She was frightened; he let her be frightened. She was curious; he didn’t encourage or deny it.

  Surrounded all the same, an island in the middle of a fathomless sea.

  “The pair-bond is misunderstood by the fools of Bernard Dome. Ours is unique, Brenya, intricate, and far more physical than any I have witnessed in the past. I feel how much your shoulder aches right now, the stings and bruises each time they are rubbed raw under your clothes. Every time he raped you, I felt that too. All the shame, disgust, confusion, hatred… even the hope. There is nothing of yourself you would ever be able to hide from me.”

  What was she to say to such things? “I… I knew you were starving. I didn’t understand it at first, but I ate and ate, and nothing satisfied.”

  Voice low, he seemed almost touched. “And so you brought your mate food.”

  She did not think of him as a mate. Mates swallowed her feelings and forced her to experience their own. They didn’t surround the vulnerable parts of her in a protective empty cavern and vast ocean.

  Whatever Jules was—however he might wield this far greater power against her—he was something else entirely.

  Drawing in a deep breath, filling his lungs with her scent, the male seemingly indulged himself now that she was fully in his control. An appreciative hum left him, then Jules said, “I find myself taken with all that you are, and I am disinterested in setting you free. You are now mine in all ways, which means I cannot kill Jacques Bernard.”

  It was almost as if he apologized for the inconvenience.

  “What happens to me if Jacques Bernard dies?” What was that vast, black ocean, still as glass, hiding in its depths?

  His answer was direct and equally uninformative. “You will discover that for yourself the next time you see Lucia.”

  Daybreak began to glow in the sky over a city still dark from lockdown. Through the Red Room’s wall of impenetrable glass, its light invaded their quiet moment, adding warmth to Jules’s face when there was none in his heart.

  Humanizing something that was anything but.

  Iodine was blotted on her cheek, the man blunt in his declaration. “There are other injuries that require my attention.”

  Something about letting him see the state of her body had Brenya fisting the material at her chest, covering the buttons before he might think to undo them. “Lucia took care of everything before I was brought to you.”

  In his impatience, Jacques would have torn the dress, laughing at her if she’d tried to cover her nudity. Jules took her hand instead, placing it back on the red coverlet.

  Reaching around her neck to unclasp the diamond necklace, he tossed it to the side as if it were nothing but rocks on a string.

  Male fingers, deft in their dexterity, opened the trail of buttons down the front of her gown, one by one, all the way to her navel. It was perfunctory, not at all sexual, yet it made this all the harder for her when he opened the fabric, helping her pull her sore arms from fitted sleeves.

  It was not her chest he looked to when her dress pooled at her waist. It was the subtle swelling of her shoulders, the scratches from an Alpha who preferred to tear clothing from her skin, the fingerprints and bruises.

  Bare-breasted, battered, swollen, and ugly, she sat before him. Still as he inspected every last inch of flesh.

  Including the infected claiming mark.

  His expertise in such things went beyond popping an abscess with his fingers as Lucia had. With the doctor’s tools and a fresh syringe of anesthetic, he worked over his mark on her throat with unwavering focus.

  Once she'd been carefully numbed, incisions were made, more fluid was drained, all was rinsed, bubbling medication was applied, and a fresh bandage was placed over the mess.

  Something about the act was soothing, Brenya going lax, shoulders slumping, so very tempted to lie back on the bed and shut her eyes.

  Cupping her swollen shoulder in his palm, palpating flesh, the focused Beta murmured, “What you are feeling is the sensation of Jacques being sedated. I can’t have him running wild, murdering my people in a tantrum over losing his favorite toy.”

  It was an apropos comparison. A yawn came, an uncomfortable reminder that her jaw was bruised. “He told me you would give me back after you were done.”

  That subtle smirk was back. “Did he?”

  “Yes.” And she was hoping they might get it over with so she could curl up somewhere and attempt to process everything that had happened in their horrible night. “When you use me, I would like to be excused from taking you down my throat. My jaw is sore, and I’m not sure I can open it wide enough.”

  Still as that black lake, he ceased his movements over her shoulder, staring at her in silence.

  A blush warming her face, Brenya tried to mollify before he might grow angry. “Would you prefer that I brace on all fours? Or lie on my back? I was told earlier that I am expected to touch the male inside me, and I will strive to do so, if that is what you wish.”

  He was ignoring her, focusing instead on testing the mobility of her shoulder and scowling when it was clear the tendon was inflamed. “I have yet to see the footage of how you reached my cell, but once I have, I believe we are going to have a discussion. This injury may require surgery.”

  “It’s an old wound. I dislocated that shoulder when I fell down the Dome. It… um…. Jacques….” Why waste time explaining that Jacques was less than gentle with her? “I had to climb the outside of the palace to access a maintenance shaft, and then through the building... to reach you. That’s why it’s swollen.”

  “Hmm.” The Beta took a step back, surveying her torso in another sweep. “Stand. I’ll help you remove your skirt.”

  Nodding, nervous yet eager to get this over with, she obeyed. Male hands pulled at the gossamer fabric wrapped around her hips, easing it over sore places as he kneeled before her, so she might step from the gown, one leg at a time, and be free of it.

  His face at the level of her sex, focusing between her legs, he ordered her to sit back and spread.

  Cold, suffering the trembling aftereffects of shock, Brenya obeyed. Bottom to the edge of the bed, she lay back, thighs open, and stared at the canopy. It held a mirror at the center of dark, heavy wood, the polished surface surrounded by crimson bunting.

  In that reflection, she knew the universe was laughing at her, making her watch all he did.

  Gloved fingertips gently pulled her labia apart, traveling lower to do the same to her buttocks.

  She knew what he saw, why he asked, “How long ago did he do this?”

  “Hours ago.”

  “Did you bleed?”

  “No. He made sure I saw that I had not.”

  “I see.” His touch evaporated, the male rising to stand between her spread thighs. “Any vaginal complaint?”

  None that would impede whatever Jules Havel intended to do to her. “I was stretched with the pliarator earlier today. There should be nothing to prevent you from…”

  “From what, Brenya Havel?”

  Standing over her, the dangerous male made her feel small, as insignificant as her little island of light in his ocean of black. So her answer was a mere utterance of, “Penetration.”

  His fingers moving to undo the buttons of his dark shirt, he took in her body laid out like a sacrifice before him. Vibrant blue eyes drank her down, no longer clinical in their appraisal but hungry.

  So hungry that waves began to churn in that ocean of nothing, disrupting the glassy surface to stir up a storm.

  Fabric parted over his chest, toned muscle flexing as he displayed all that had been hidden underneath.

  Black swirling designs waved over tan skin, forming patterns more intricate than anything she might have found decorating a fancy teacup. His painted chest rose with each breath, bunching muscles displaying earned strength as he pulled the shirt down well-developed arms.

  Had Brenya not been struggling to control her breath, to hold still and submit, she would have been mesmerized by such patterns. Hypnotized.

  But she was visibly trembling as he leaned over her. In order to survive what was coming, Brenya screwed her eyes shut, fisting the coverlet as if it might save her.

  “Come,” he said softly, his hand delving between her body and the bed, a warm palm cupping her nape so he might draw her into oblivion. “I am well-versed in the keeping of an Omega and know exactly what you need.”

  22

  GRETH DOME

  Despite her previous urges to deny Shepherd a proper nest, Claire built one around him as he snored. Nimbly arranging the wonderfully soft new things he’d provided. Gifts brought before he had come to her in need of comfort only a mate might provide. Creating a wonder for him to wake in.

  Since coming to Greth, she had never seen him so exhausted. Nor had there ever been a situation in which her subtle movements had not instantly jarred him from sleep. For crying out loud, she practically slept like a corpse so the Alpha would get the rest he so clearly needed.

  But she refused to worry. Emotions could be controlled and explored later. Right now, she needed to take care of him.

  So he could take care of everyone else.

  Jules had a new wife now. Shepherd had shown Claire a projection of a woman standing on a balcony, the wind dancing through her hair as she stared into the distance.

  A scar dragged down one of the Omega’s eyelids, puckered the flesh of her cheek.

  An engaging scar on the face of an interesting woman.

  Smiling at the picture, Claire told Shepherd she’d chosen a friend… so he could stop grousing.

  “Brenya Havel does not speak your language, and she needs time, little one.” Yet it was clear Shepherd was pleased by her declaration. “You come on strong, and the last year of her life has not been easy. Let’s not overwhelm her.”

  “Then I will send a gift. A painting.” She smiled, already knowing exactly which view of her garden to capture. “We can exchange letters.”

  It was so rare to catch Shepherd in an open act of contemplation. Which left Claire grinning as he looked to the side and pondered. “You could prepare for her your favorite Omega information.”

  “Omega information?” Chuckling before she nipped his chest, Claire hummed in the exact pitch that would make his eyes heavy. “Sure. I’ll put together a manual.”

  It was meant to be a joke, but the way Shepherd looked at her….

  Serious, her mate said, “She was the first Omega in Bernard Dome in generations. It would be a kindness to give her some perspective.”

  Claire reeled, trying to imagine what life might have been like without a sisterhood of Omegas to guide her. A mother, Nona, all the women she had met with in secret because their lives required safety in numbers and vigilance.

  “The Alpha who forged the bond. He hurt her,” Claire whispered. Because of course he did. He wouldn’t know what to do any more than Brenya might.

  It was a situation that almost deserved pity for the male.

  “A letter—some advice from the wife of Jules’s friend.” Yawning, Shepherd finished with, “Articles you enjoy could be translated.”

  Increasing the volume of her hum, Claire watched her mate’s eyes close. Snores were instant.

  His COM? She stole it. He could have it back after he slept more than three hours straight.

  One of the most beautiful nests an Omega might create came to life. Claire humming so loud that she would be hoarse later just so he might sleep.

  He needed this.

  The man had been away for almost two full days. She knew he had not found rest, that his focus had been on the situation with Jules.

  The sun rose, Claire tucked to the side of a sleeping giant. No tutors dared interrupt. Together, they dreamed until dusk.

  She bathed. The time spent on her unruly hair… she recognized how badly she needed a trim. How long had it been since she’d cut her hair? Ends crunching between her fingertips, she frowned.

  Thólos.

  She could think of that place now without vomiting, not that it didn’t sour her stomach all the same.

  Making a mess of it, Claire tried to tidy up the split ends by herself. Even with jagged edges, she looked in the mirror and saw something that mattered.

  She saw herself.

  Green eyes. Scars that would be covered by a pretty dress. Black hair. Pale skin. Cowardice.

  “My name is Claire O’Donnell. I am the wife of Shepherd O’Donnell. Our son’s name is Collin. And he would have been two this month.”

  Sucking in a deep breath, she looked herself in the eye and stated, “I am going to a movie. Everything will be okay.”

  When Shepherd woke, she was already in the kitchen. Trying out another concoction that might make his green sludge taste less like rotting garbage.

  Smiling at a man with his hair sticking in every direction, Claire circled the counter to press a kiss to his lips. “Shepherd O’Donnell, would you like to take in a film with me tonight?”

  The man’s agitation… Claire was used to it. She even smirked when he accused, “You took my COM.”

  With obnoxiously wide eyes, Claire teased, “I called Dr. Osin and enacted Project Baker.”

  Rumbling, Shepherd narrowed his eyes. “You should not go through my COM.”

  “Is that really what date night was called?” Cackling from the look on his face, tears came to Claire’s eyes. “I was joking!”

  Handing him a large glass filled with the most unappetizing shade of green Claire might imagine, she said, “Bottoms up. We are expected within the hour.”

  Because it needed to be said, Claire explained to the man chugging down a meal that no blend of fruit or herbs might ever make palatable, “And to be clear, I am not talking to anyone but you.”

  One stiff hand hosted a chilled coupe sparkling with a pink drink. Claire’s other palm gripped tightly to Shepherd’s, their fingers interlaced. Sweating profusely, she hid her body behind her mate’s mass and peered around him to soak up the quaint cobblestone courtyard.

  Pruned shrubbery outlined the formal shape of the space. Wrought-iron tables displayed an array of snacks. Cushioned chairs had been prepared for relaxing.