“Yes, sedated, so he wouldn’t cry in your arms.” Looking down at her child, Annette reached out a hand to gently rock his cradle. “The tiny thing cries constantly, since he’s been denied my breast. I can’t risk it, you see.”

  Because of the Beta rations...

  Staring down at her son, Annette smiled. “I told you. Wives find purpose in our children. I have never seen anything more perfect than my son.”

  And Central females must find their joy in motherhood. So, would that not be true of Annette’s own mother? The very one she had not an hour before described as loving? “Jacques told me that your parents held important positions and⁠—”

  Still rocking the cradle, Annette confirmed what Jacques shared. “They have very important positions, positions that could petition parliament and be heard. Which is precisely why I have forbidden them from entering this room. Neither my mother nor father may touch my son. Because I know what they will say.” The cradle continued to sway, Annette’s focus completely on her sleeping child.

  Something was very wrong here, Brenya wishing she understood the subtle hints Annette had been offering all along. “What will they say, Annette?”

  “To forget he was born. To allow my son to slip away.” The cradle continued to rock. “They would make promises that my marriage contract might be dissolved and a new husband provided. Yet Ancil would never bear an unwanted complication to restrict his Omega’s offspring’s legacy. If I leave this room, my son will be murdered.”

  But perhaps the most powerful Omega under the Dome might prevent what seemed inevitable, now that it had been spoken aloud.

  This was what Annette had been trying to convey from the beginning, but Brenya had been too focused on her own suffering to fully understand. And now that she’d had to say it straight, there would be so many consequences for everyone who had sipped honey-laced tea. “So, you are working within the confines of your station and situation, which is why you ate the Beta rations and told me not to interfere.”

  So much love radiated from the Beta as she smiled down at her doomed baby. “His name is Matthieu, and I refuse to forget him.”

  8

  GRETH DOME

  There was nothing that had ever existed or that might ever exist like the feel of his Omega’s cunt choking his cock for seed. Vocal—because it was safe to fully let go in this home he had prepared for them—Shepherd let out a guttural groan, praising her, in harmony with her cries of pleasure.

  Like the sucking kiss of the best-trained whore. The rippling grip of soft hands squeezing the life from the neck of their prey. A slick-drenched sleeve that had been shaped to accept a cock he knew was intimidating in size. The woman who possessed such powers drained his tightly drawn balls until there was not a drop left to wring out.

  While she screamed his name. While she bit, scratched, undulated, and prayed.

  Her body stripped him bare, forced his climax, drank his seed. Her body craved.

  At long last, his little one craved.

  The way they fucked in the mornings now, it wasn’t perfunctory. It wasn’t out of a sense of her fear or his duty to remind her of who she was. It wasn’t because he pressured her to enjoy sex. It was because his little one woke hungry. And Shepherd had the bite marks to prove it.

  His mate was starved.

  For him, for his company, for his affection, as if the cloud was finally lifting. She could see him; he could embrace her. They even… played.

  He had never played before.

  Men like him had not been designed for such things, yet he gave that experience to her, no matter how foreign or unlikely it might be. After all, he had not destroyed Thólos and conquered Greth—he had not carved out a new world—intending to sit on the side and watch others experience freedom while he did not.

  Shepherd was going to take this life by the throat and know its pleasures, train himself to understand them. With the help of a rambunctious Omega. A healing female who had defeated her addiction to the flood of narcotics she was given in Thólos—powerful drugs he had seen strong men fall to. And she had done it unaware of what she swallowed or why.

  She wanted to feel “normal,” she had told him, so that she could feel his love. It was worth more to her than a perpetual high or the false safety of chemically induced apathy.

  Claire O’Donnell, who fought daily to face her demons and gain ground against them.

  Who was finding joy… with him.

  Knowing the Gods truly favored him—that, beyond all likelihood, his Omega had been delivered to his lap on the brink of estrous. Never would Shepherd regret a single moment of forcing their bond, of taking what the world owed him.

  He possessed the perfect woman, because when the opportunity presented itself, he acted.

  And stole her from the world.

  Once he had her, he learned—as all mated Alphas must—that he knew nothing of what a pair-bond truly signified.

  No wonder Alphas sold their souls to possess such a thing. No wonder they stole. No wonder they rose up from the Undercroft, foaming at the mouth in their craving to gather their mates.

  Claire might always resent how it was done, begrudge the fact that the females matched to his Followers had no choice in the matter.

  Such things were kept from her eyes now. And the violence of Thólos had evolved into the cunning of Greth. Here, Omegas were plentiful. They registered proudly and were flagrant with their freedoms. Chosen by unbonded Followers as simply as browsing a catalog.

  Rarely were they taken by force, not when they could be wooed openly and competed for. There had been four registered fights to the death between his men. The victor claimed the Omega—who was blissfully unaware of the goings-on between the males.

  One of those situations had gone wrong. The Omega preferred the dead rival and found herself unexpectedly bonded to the other. Mistakes had been made with the Follower’s keeping of her, which required diligence and effort to correct.

  Shepherd understood, perhaps better than any other, and offered counsel that—had she heard it—would have left Claire weeping in rage.

  Ultimately, Shepherd was correct, and the dissatisfied Omega was learning there was more to a match than the beauty of her partner.

  A thriving pair-bond required an Alpha willing to invest the effort. To affect diligence in cultivating their mate. They required an Alpha willing to both adapt from mistakes and compel resistant Omegas.

  Fuck her until she couldn’t remember her name. Watch her mannerisms and learn who secretly lived behind the façade. Feed her well. Dedicate time to the attention she may not want but her dynamic craved. At the slightest hint of progress, double down. Overwhelm her.

  Claire was thriving under such ministrations. She bloomed when Shepherd obliterated her boundaries.

  As her therapy progressed, the more he unleashed—teasing out her primal possessiveness, using her body, her chemistry, her pheromones against her until she was forced to meet a side of herself that she tried to forget.

  The warrior who had dared defy him in Thólos.

  The girl who had shared images of her naked body with her people in an attempt to incite insurrection.

  The indomitable, determined adversary she conveniently tried to tuck away, now that the world had made her wiser.

  Claire’s self-enforced seclusion was unnatural to her healing spirit.

  Just as dancing with her to the music of his new kingdom was unnatural to Shepherd’s entire life experience. Yet he did it, pulling her to him. Drawing out her giggles as they stumbled through steps, bodies touching in a way that if she ever did with another male, that male would be a very dead man.

  He told her so. She was only permitted to dance with him. And that had made her laugh all the harder.

  It had made her run her hands down the sides of her body, turn, and flash him a coquettish smirk. He could not be held responsible for the rug burn on her knees. Or the ruins of her clothes.

  His little one knew she was toying with fire.

  She was testing herself too.

  Yes, there had been a great deal of fear in the air when he took her down and stole her wind. Feral, he had ripped apart her clothes, roaring until he uncovered a nipple and fell upon it.

  She had told him to stop, and he had fucked her twice as hard to drive home a monumental point.

  If she tempted, he would devour.

  There would be no more cautious couplings. Not when he knew what she could take.

  And she could take it all.

  Down her throat, stuffed in her cunt, the most obscene things he might imagine. He’d danced with her, then indulged the wanton Omega slut Claire pretended didn’t live behind fluttering lashes and soft conversation.

  The nest was no longer just her place to hide. It was his to defile. She wanted it tidy; he purposefully disrupted her design as he threw her body about and rutted until her outrage at his rudeness had been fucked right out of her.

  Claire had thought to argue with him about it over breakfast.

  Shepherd responded by hiking her up under his arm in the exact manner he had the first time they met in the Citadel, dragging his spitting mate back to her freshly made nest, and destroyed it over a series of hours while he fucked her until her pupils were so blown she could do nothing but gush slick. A mighty knot had sent her into a tailspin of excitement, irritation, desire, pleasure, and anger, and while he had her pinned where there was no escape, he lifted the nearest pillow and ripped it right down the middle until a shower of feathers had left the room coated in downy white.

  It was her only warning. It was his victory. And it was a sign it was time to overwhelm her. “We do not politely couple in bed, little one. We make love, and our love is not soft, nor gentle, nor sweet. It is vicious, eternal. It has teeth and claws. When I fuck you, at no time will my attention be on the placement of your pillows—unless I put that pillow under your hips so I can fuck you even deeper. You want a pretty nest like you see on COMscreen articles? Build it, knowing I will leave it in ruins as I do things to you in it that will leave you screaming my name.”

  The flush in her cheeks after his statement, the tightness of her nipples—she hated that his vulgarity excited her. Because it wasn’t done out of cruelty or disregard. It was done because, to him, nothing mattered more than her ultimate pleasure. If she was distracted by silk and satin, then she was wasting thought that should be on them.

  Her only focus when she dared tease him with a wicked lick of her lips should be taking the pleasure her beast would give her.

  A little line grew between her brows. An expression Shepherd could read like a book. Just as he knew she was about to look to the side and sigh before she spoke.

  “Sometimes, I want you to be soft.”

  Rolling to his back, despite the feathers, he laid her on his chest in the position she loved best. And Shepherd gave her soft in the way she really desired it. With gentle touches and luxurious purrs. He soothed all her aches. When the knot diminished, he pulled her body up so she might straddle his face, and contentedly lapped between her legs—a shiver going down his spine to feel her little hands burrow into his hair as she took her pleasure.

  A shiver. A sensation he had never felt before Claire. Before Greth.

  That shiver… he would go to any length to know that shiver under her touch.

  She came with his tongue strumming her clit, his fingers buried deep and rubbing the nerves that sought a knot. Eyes glowing, jaw loose, and breath shallow, Claire let go.

  And he considered the lesson complete.

  The sleepy, sex-drugged smile that followed left the link singing in the perfect pitch of Omega joy.

  And it lasted a few seconds longer each day.

  “I love you.”

  Tucking herself against his side as if she might tempt him to laze about with her all day, she offered a contented murmur. “I know you do, Shepherd.”

  Carding his fingers through silken black hair, he purred. “And you love me.”

  It was not a question, nor did it require an answer. It was fact.

  Snickering, she put a hand to her cheek and closed her eyes.

  There was little he loved more than her natural laugh. “What is funny?”

  Still snickering, she said, “This morning, I added a banana to your green sludge and some local spice I can’t pronounce. According to my COMscreen, beyond its excellent flavor, it is favored by wives to calm their overly sexual men.”

  Cocking a dangerous brow, he took her chin and met wickedly dancing green eyes. “You want me to be less sexual?”

  She bit her lip, playful, before she teased, “I wanted you to stop destroying my nests. I suppose next time I should double the dose.”

  Such cheek earned her a light swat on her ass, which only turned her giggles into outright laughter.

  “The room will be cleaned and fresh bedding provided. Fluff your pillows to your heart’s content after your language lesson.”

  “I build the nests for you.” Letting her fingers trace the definition of his abs, she hummed, content in his arms. “I can tell you’ve been tense lately, and I’ve made an extra effort to create somewhere comfortable for you to relax. Which makes me wonder… why don’t I plan a fun distraction, since my nest genius hasn’t hit the mark? There’s this film….”

  The predatory kind of stillness came over the Alpha. “I’m listening.”

  “Beyond my love of nest design”—she gave him a little poke—“and, yes, I know you’ve been spying on my COMscreen history, creep, I have been watching local films to work on my language skills. Which I know you also know, as every one of my instructors tells you everything I do.”

  There was no point in denying it. “They do.”

  “Very cute, Shepherd. Now, hear me out. From my lessons on the culture here, I learned it’s considered a pleasure to watch the films outside, projected on a wall. Fresh air, cocktails… a common community event.”

  His hands stopped petting her back, Shepherd’s focus exact. “You wish to be outside, in a crowd, at night?”

  She leaned up to meet his gaze, black hair spilling over his broad chest. “I was thinking something more intimate. There is a wall in our garden. That nook in the corner where I like to read? I can make us a nice dinner and set up a place for us to relax and try this Greth experience.”

  “No, little one.”

  She gave up with no bluster, a blend of disappointment and relief on her face. “You’re right. It was a silly idea. It’s not safe to be outside when it’s dark.”

  “Your film will need to be displayed at another location.”

  Her eyes widened. “Wait. What?”

  Cupping her cheek, he purred and stroked… made a show of deliberation. Yet there was no deliberation; this move on the board had been orchestrated over weeks. Every last article or fragment of information allowed on her COMscreen was hand-selected by him for a series of potential outcomes. Bait to draw her out of their home. “There are others who might enjoy this film and festivity. You are correct. We should embrace the Greth custom.”

  Lips lightly pursed, shallow breaths a clear sign of anxiety, Claire stammered, “That… no. That is not⁠—”

  Untangling their limbs, he began to stand up and make ready for the day. “What film is it you wish to see, little one?”

  It was clear she didn’t fully grasp how greatly she had been outplayed. “It’s about a baker. I can’t remember what it’s called.”

  The very film he had chosen for her and assured popped up in “advertisements” as she scrolled through her articles on local nesting styles.

  Pleased with himself, yet above gloating, Shepherd declared, “I will ask my men if they have heard of a popular film about a baker. And I will also have subtitles prepared. You are not the only one still learning the language.”

  Slipping from the bed as if to chase him down through all the feathers before he might escape, she said, “That sounds like an awful lot of work. It was a silly idea. I know you are busy. We should stay here where it’s quiet.”

  It was time to make his intentions clear. “I want to see this film about a baker and try this Greth custom. I want to do this with you.”

  “In front of other people?” Pinging suspicion knocked from her side of the link, Claire trying to intimidate him with the idea of normalcy in an effort to escape it herself. “You would dance with me and laugh and relax in front of your men?”

  Towering over her as he pulled on his shirt, Shepherd shot her a smirk. “I came here to have a life, Claire. Many would relish an opportunity for some simple entertainment with their partners.”

  And now his perfect Omega, who had been making such progress, was pacing.

  “Claire, look at me.” Shepherd caught her arm to put an end to her anxious behavior.

  Chewing her cuticle, concerned green eyes met his.

  “I would not allow you to be anywhere I did not know you would be perfectly safe. Remember that when you have your tantrum after I leave.”

  9

  High-handed, unconcerned with the liberties he took… Shepherd had made his move. Claire saw that now, frustrated her clarity only struck in the wake of his ploys. He wanted her angry, mentioned her impending tantrum especially so she might snarl in indignation.

  An angry Claire was not an anxious Claire. And she was angry.

  Very angry, now that it all sank in.

  It was more than just the mess he had made of her nest… again. It was a never-ending pull.

  He wanted a tantrum so she would perform per his strategy, yet he was the one who’d left feathers everywhere. Nests were sacred to Omegas; they were art. Alphas were to admire them and relish the efforts of their mates.

  In Thólos, he had respected her nest, encouraged it. Invaded on his whim. Now, they were taken for granted in his pursuit to… what? Annoy her?