She had gone past agitation, known moments of rage, and now… now, Claire was still as a viper ready to strike. “You want me to say what we all already know? I am aware that to Shepherd, when it comes to his mate’s friends, a person has the same worth as the pillow he tore apart this morning. Nothing but a tool he could use to make a point or destroy at will. What point is there in having a friend who he will threaten and terrify? I will not allow him to use my affections to force me to do things against my judgment.”

  “Your judgment is flawed.”

  “And you are a sycophant drunk on the punch. Shepherd is not a God. I love him as a man, but I want nothing to do with his cult.”

  “I am hearing a whole lot of excuses for ‘I’m scared to go outside, because I am a fragile Omega who can’t handle her mate.’”

  “Handle Shepherd?” Claire actually laughed. And then she laughed some more. “How many times has he threatened your life, specifically in relation to me?”

  Dr. Osin did not hesitate to answer. “Five.”

  Which was both hilarious and completely insane! “And you say it as if it were normal.”

  “It is normal. Shepherd is a king, responsible for the wellbeing of an entire Dome, caring for his recovering, difficult Omega, and beholden to his Followers—who put their lives and the lives of their families at risk so all of us might live free. Shepherd has the responsibility of the entire world upon his shoulders. And you—pretending there is no work to be done—you think a fancy nest will solve his problems? You add to his burden, Claire O’Donnell, by refusing to be the strong, worthy mate an Alpha of his stature needs at his side.”

  Oh… Dr. Osin was going to get it.

  “When I look at you, all prim and dressed in black, do you know what I see?” There was no backing down from such an insult, Claire moving closer so that, unless Dr. Osin wanted to be brushed with the scent of furious Omega, the old woman had to step back. And then she had to step back again, as Claire continued to sneer and pursue. “I see bodies hanging from trees. I smell corpses piled up on causeways. I hear children crying for their parents. I taste rot in my mouth. Go live free in Shepherd’s new world. I know my sins, and I will not repeat them. I will not inflict him on anyone else. I will stay here, and the Dome will be a safer place for everyone.”

  Having backed the Alpha female to the door of her home, Claire snarled, “Now, get out!”

  It was the first time Claire had seen an Alpha look even slightly intimidated by an Omega, and it felt good to cow the old bitch. It felt even better to slam the door in her face.

  When her COMscreen began to instantly ring, Claire lifted it up over her head and slammed it down on the floor, pleased at how broken bits of it scattered. Then she went back to her bedroom and continued cleaning up the feathers.

  No new nest was prepared. Shepherd could sleep like a Beta for all she cared.

  He arrived at dusk, just as he said he would. A new COMscreen in his hand for his mate. Claire was in her garden, sitting in the very nook where she had wanted to host a romantic moment for them. Still angry, watching the Alpha approach, hurt obvious in her tense body language and sullen stare.

  Setting the COMscreen on the wrought-iron table between them, he lowered his bulk into the adjoining chair. “You are right to believe I would use any personal attachments you formed against your wishes, if I believed it was in your best interest. But consider, our situation in Thólos was dire. You consistently placed yourself in danger. You tried to kill yourself, little one.” Gravity weighed down his voice, it weighed down the man. “And you would have continued walking forward on that ice had I not held the safety of your friends over you.”

  Claire couldn’t deny any of it. Couldn’t even summon an argument to counter.

  Gray eyes held hers, as Shepherd softly added, “I kept my word, Claire.”

  Wiping her cheek with the back of her hand, she said, “I know. Dr. Osin kindly reminded me that the Omegas trapped and dying in Thólos are thanks to my opposition to your regime.”

  “That is not what I am referring to.” His fingers drummed the table, as if the Alpha debated reaching for her hand or giving Claire her space. “Maryanne is alive. She is in Greth. And she will remain alive, because that is what I promised you.”

  Expression stunned, Claire stumbled over her words. “Why… wasn’t I⁠—”

  “You know why.” He did reach for her fingers then, gentle as he placed his hand atop hers. “The mere mention of Thólos in those first months sent you into a dangerous psychosis. You’ve come so far, little one. Your spark, I can see it inside you. The same fierce flame that walked into the dark Citadel to face down her tormentor.”

  The nervous question came from an anxious woman. One who feared the worst. “How is she?”

  “You would be surprised to see how well she’s doing. Structure and discipline have slowly turned a lackluster, selfish monster into⁠—”

  “—a Follower.” The word tasted like mud.

  Shepherd blinked but didn’t respond.

  The link felt so strained, so out of harmony, that Claire unconsciously pulled her hand from his and placed it where her sternum ached. “I want to see her.”

  “Maryanne must serve five more years of her sentence. The time is well-spent and engaging. It employs her skillset while she monitors communication feeds and the people of this Dome. The lock on her door is simple; she could have escaped into the city at any time. Yet she has chosen to stay. Meanwhile, her work has kept many good people, including yourself, safe. It has kept Greth at peace during the transition of leadership.”

  Rubbing her chest all the harder, Claire said with more force, “I want to see her.”

  Turning his hand over and offering his palm, he motioned with a cock of his head for her to take it. Claire hesitated. She hesitated, looking down at his waiting hand, frowning. But she did tentatively reach forward and lay her fingers on his.

  Only to hear him deny her.

  “No.” Trapping her with his grip, Shepherd softly repeated the word. “No.”

  Lip curled in disgust, the Omega grumbled, “You are going to force me to go see your film in exchange for Maryanne.”

  “Little one, if she is ever going to reach her potential, Maryanne needs a structured life right now that doesn’t involve you. I give you my word we will revisit this when her sentence is served, but for now, you must leave her be. More importantly, she cannot be distracted from her current task, as it involves the safety of another person you care about.”

  “You’re in danger?” Her hackles went up, Claire glancing around the courtyard as if some villain might rush forward and harm her mate.

  A brief glimmer of pleasure to hear his little one’s concern from him, flashed in Shepherd’s eyes before he explained, “Jules was sent on a diplomatic mission to a Dome in Europe called Bernard. There has been an incident. Maryanne is working day and night to assure he survives it.”

  The bottom dropped out from under her, Claire sucking in a breath as she realized just why the pair-bond hurt so much in that moment. Shepherd was…. He was melancholy. Not that he would ever show it, but grief was all around him. And she had added to it that day.

  Even if her reasons were sound, it was as Dr. Osin said. She was a burden on a man already weighed down with so much. So, she placed her other hand atop where theirs were joined, and said, “Tell me what happened.”

  He gave her fingers a squeeze, gray eyes tracking where his Omega offered comfort despite her indignation. “There isn’t enough information yet to state a hypothesis as fact. But I will say, if my suspicion is correct, he will never return to Greth.”

  What was a girl to say to a mass-murdering tyrant who lost what might be the closest thing he would ever have to a friend? “I am sorry, Shepherd.”

  In a very human gesture, the man rubbed his face, closing his eyes as he drew in a deep breath. When he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, Claire grew unnerved.

  Only once had she seen Shepherd emote on this level, the night he handed her to another Alpha so she might be transported safely away from him. The night he was going to give his life for her and their son.

  “Shepherd, whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it.”

  His lashes parted, gray eyes liquid—as if they stung. “I’m thinking that Collin would have celebrated his second birthday this month.”

  A pained sound hitched in Claire’s throat, her heart splitting right down the middle.

  But it was as if the Alpha didn’t see her grief at the mention of their dead son. He was too wrapped up in his own. “Every day, I watch Followers’ families thrive. I watch them play with their children. And I envy them. They live, and I cannot even entice my perfect Omega, my beautiful wife, to attend a film with me. I have never known normal, Claire O’Donnell. And I grasp that you will punish me for the rest of our lives for my sins. The irony is not lost.”

  With that, he left her in the garden alone. Entering their home as if he desired to be alone.

  11

  BERNARD DOME

  Wiping his lips on a snowy-white napkin, Jacques set starched fabric to the matching tablecloth. Fingers lingering over the formality, the Alpha male pensive, he said, “Brenya, I know it must appear to you that these complications are insurmountable, but I assure you they are not.”

  Brenya spun a forkful of Pâtes d'Alsace on her spoon, just as she had seen Jacques demonstrate when the pasta course arrived. The action was… soothing. The twist of the wrist, the mechanical requirement to use two utensils. Like tools fine-tuning a sprog.

  Yet somewhat exacerbating.

  Before reassignment to Central, Brenya had never participated in a meal that required more than one utensil.

  The little tools in her hand, solid gold and weightier than the sporks supplied to the masses, offered a semblance of what she missed. At least she had slowly come to grasp that she could simulate the fine detail work of her true vocation in pointless everyday exercises.

  Work within the confines of your station and situation.

  The fork, for example: gold was soft, malleable at low temperatures, a poor choice for any tool, but an excellent choice for improvising in a pinch. That was fascinating, in a sense. Each tine might be reworked to create something beyond a food-stabbing device. The curve-shaped length of the utensil was similar to that of a lever. She could pry open generally anything that didn’t require much force.

  With that fork and a strategy, she could dissect Jacques's bedroom in a day. Considering he always left the dinner course out on the patio setting, where he preferred they share their evening meal, she had access to two forks. Two knives. Two spoons.

  Gold conducted electricity extremely well. This sample in her hand was wasted on something used for food. Had she the ability to draw out the metal, enough wire could be created to build… well… lots of things.

  Outside of her specific assignment, improvising was frowned upon in Beta Sector, yet she had a knack for imagining what might be. Not that she had ever told any of her sisters or friends. Brenya saved such things for work. Like the time during an emergency descent, when she had saved an entire loose panel from crashing down the Dome. Had it fully broken free, the weighty thing would have done catastrophic damage. Yet while others braced against the glass by her side, Brenya used her suction grip bars as if they had been intended to fortify two panels and not bear her weight.

  Which was strictly forbidden when making the climb.

  Protocol, focus, process, acceptance.

  There had been no fanfare when the panel was saved. The highest praise she received for thinking on her feet was the utter lack of mention of her breach of procedure. There had been no write-up.

  George had even smiled at her when they were alone to talk over the daily status report.

  How strange it was not having him in her ear, the pair of them working as one to assure the comfort and safety of all.

  But Brenya had breathed outside air, become Omega, harmed him by association, and had no one to share such thoughts with anymore.

  It would have been better if that panel had fallen and left growing cracks all the way down the Dome. At least then, the city would know the air outside smelled sweet, that the virus had moved on. That they could go outside and see butterflies. That paranoia was unnecessary, and a new life could begin.

  The abandoned cities could be reclaimed by those with the drive to find what the world offered.

  Clearing his throat, Jacques tried again to solicit her attention. “It has been four days, mon chou, since your tea with Annette. You have had nothing to say on the topic.”

  Nothing she wanted to say to him. Why stomach hearing his reasonings for allowing such a thing? Why invite what he would do to her when she disagreed?

  The less she spoke to Jacques Bernard, the better.

  It was far better to mentally float just out of his reach, seeking respite in the emptiness Jules Havel had yet to forcibly remove her from.

  That place his bond offered, that vast nothing, had been her only sanctuary. Brenya had learned in the days since waking bonded to the male smiling at her from across the table that if she were careful not to feel anything at all, she could slip away into all Jules offered.

  He literally offered her nothing.

  Nothing was welcome.

  But it all came at a cost, day by day. Brenya worked out just how she would pay it. Because Jacques Bernard was mistaken to think he could keep the Beta caged without consequences.

  Not when Jules was so vast, so in control.

  He would get his revenge, and Brenya was ultimately frightened that many would suffer if she did not act soon.

  Responding automatically to Jacques prodding about Annette, Brenya continued to swirl a fresh bite for a stomach that starved no matter how much it ate. “The tea was a blend of ginger, turmeric, and rosehip. Honey was added. Something of a Centrist tradition to acknowledge that Alpha mates are cruel.”

  The male settled both of his hands upon the small table they shared, leaning forward, before he asked, “You believe I am cruel?”

  Focusing on her food, working to keep expression, voice, and thoughts impassive, Brenya said, “I have no perspective to make such a judgment. Ancil is the only other male in Central I have seen outside of the state dinner, at which Annette was poisoned with Beta rations. I would need more than two variables to make a reasonable assessment.” Honey eyes looked up from her work trying to gather slippery bits of carbohydrates covered in sauce to abstractly consider the Alpha watching her. “Then there is the outlying concern. If you lived in Beta Sector, you would have been put to death the day you raped me in the alley.”

  “Brenya.” It was not her first warning of the day.

  The noodles were waiting on her spoon, right there. Eating when she was so hungry seemed more relevant than conversation. After all, the Alpha had a history of forgetting she was a living thing who required water, air, and sustenance. “Have I done something wrong?”

  “Mon chou….” Lifting his glass, ice tinkling against the crystal, Jacques sipped, staring at her over the rim.

  If he was going to leave things unspoken, she was going to eat. The tiny nest of pasta went into her mouth, chewed with fascination at the strange texture. After a swallow, she immediately began to prepare another bite.

  “You seem unusually hungry.”

  It might have been the first relevant comment the Alpha made that evening. Relevant enough that she looked up from her dwindling plate and shifted a modicum of her attention from thoughts of gold forks to the symmetry of his face.

  When they were alone, Jacques wore his hair loose, blond waves cascading over broad shoulders. Brenya was very familiar with the procedure of unweaving the braid and setting it free—that being one of the duties he outlined would be hers as his mate. He’d purr and groan as she combed through those locks, her fingers systematically working through the procedure to the exact count of sixty seconds. When it was done, she would fellate him before he might decide to seek other indulgences. Just as Annette had taught her.

  Sprawled in his chair, she would begin counting, following his requests, ignoring how often he made her gag or how much her jaw might ache. And where her fingers had been in his hair, his were now tangled in hers, the Alpha moving her to whatever rhythm he favored.

  It was a race to excite him enough that he might come down her throat and save her from another mounting. His changing moods made it difficult to keep up with the uncontrolled thing he became when aroused. Desperation led her to suck harder, move faster, drool everywhere so he might finish and leave her alone.

  At least for an hour while he smirked in his chair and watched her stare out the window. That was if he didn’t drag her to his lap for a long kiss and hold her there until he was done doing whatever it was he thought to accomplish by keeping her tucked under his chin.

  Two of the last four days, she either overperformed in this act or underperformed, both times ending up stuffed full of cock and knotted by a rutting male who bruised where he gripped. Her back to his damp chest, he would place his hot palm where his seed left her belly distended and purr. The longer the knot, the more his fingers might slip down to toy with the sensitive flesh between her legs, compelling another orgasm he timed with his next gush.

  The slosh of what he left inside her body, what was plugged by his bulbous, pulsating knot. Brenya both knew relief when his member shrank enough to set the torrent free and disgust from the way his fluids would flood over her thighs.

  It was so much.

  A pool of Alpha sperm. And for some reason, it seemed as if each time she braced for his pleasure, he produced more.

  He’d want her to lay in that cooling sticky mess, touching and rumbling, saying things she ignored. He’d hold her there despite all her aches and the sting between her legs, despite the scratches and the weeping bites that seemed to bleed every time he put his hands on her with sexual intent.