Reborn (Alpha's Claim Book 3) Page 5

  The armed soldiers at the portal kept their heads forward once they realized who’d come. Claire went to step out, to pass through the tunnel to see where the breeze was coming from.

  Shepherd did not allow her move. “I cannot guarantee your safety outside right now, little one. Breath your air, feel the cold, enjoy what you can before I must return you to our nest.”

  She had not expected him to even partially concede to her request, not after feeling the swell of unease that rolled through the male when she’d told him she needed to go outside. Shepherd was too determined to keep her quarantined underground.

  Leaning as far forward as his great arm would allow, Claire had a slender glimpse of a city blown away on the wind, all of her ideals made into some mockery with the stink of dead bodies, of smoke wafting her way. Thólos had grown so much harder to comprehend. A part of her had begun to resent it, and at moments like those—moments when Shepherd’s feelings somehow mingled with hers—Claire struggled to remind herself that she loved the city she could barely glimpse down the passageway.

  Abiding disgust for what she’d seen, run from, feared... not all of it was Shepherd’s influence. It came from her.

  It shamed her.

  Her memories of happier times were growing tarnished. She was finding flaws in them—almost as if Shepherd were whispering in her ear the darker things she’d endured and refused to acknowledge. Thólos had been dangerous her whole life. She’d hardly felt safe walking the street alone, even in broad daylight... because the city had teeth and claws.

  No one had talked about it, but Omegas out in the open had always been snatched up by predators. Thólos’s rich and powerful... the ones who made the rules… taking without permission, pretending it was all civilized, all acceptable. After all, who on earth had the power to stand up to the Senators, the Enforcers, the Judges?

  Shepherd was right. She had never once been free.

  Even in civilized Thólos, her life had been one of perpetually hiding what she was. And what of the Betas? Had they felt the pinch? Had they been tired of proletarian toil? Had they suffered oppression?

  Alphas too had fallen victim. Claire’s own father had lost all social standing with the suicide of his wife. Before the body was even cold in the ground, the government had ordered them to leave her childhood home and move to a neighborhood just above the Lower Reaches—Claire’s father publically condemned as failure undeserving of midlevel life.

  That new home had been damp and cramped. On the rare warm days, the air outside had stunk of garbage. Her father had weathered it with a smile and constant jokes. He had done everything for her, as if he’d suspected she was Omega long before puberty confirmed it—and was trying to atone.

  Never once had he told her not to use the soaps that made his daughter smell like a Beta. He’d paid for her pills without asking her what they were for, made sure she had all the time she wanted with Nona.

  Based on his personal experience, her father had known the world was unsafe for her, and he had done his best.

  He’d known Thólos was miserable and bad, and shielded her from all of it long before Shepherd’s targeted campaign had turned the city against itself.

  Her mate said what no other Alpha would dare. He’d called the leadership deceivers, the citizens swallowing every word…

  It made them worse still. Thólosens chose to bow and cede to his will out of fear, not because they took his words as gospel. It was because they were bad. Why else would they use the new paradigm to riot, rape, murder, indulging in the darkest parts of the human experience?

  Shepherd had once said that it was not his Followers responsible for the violence. If Claire was willing to admit the truth, even she had never seen them do evil on the streets. No, their evil had been openly conducted at the Citadel. It had been her neighbors —like Mr. Nelson who she’d seen stealing from her apartment. It had been her mentors like Senator Kantor, in charge of the resistance but doing nothing.

  It had been Premier Callas throwing women into the Undercroft.

  Claire’s free hand absently slipped to rest atop her belly, a poor shield over her son as if to protect him from her personal agenda, the wasteland, and her darker thoughts.

  Everything was going to get worse.

  “You’re just one man.” Troubled, Claire looked up and met Shepherd’s eyes. “There are millions under the Dome. Desperate people transform. Soon they won’t be afraid of your virus. It’s only a matter of time before they come for you.”

  Shepherd took in her hand on their child, the blankness of her expression, and knew what she was thinking.

  He scowled deeply.

  Internally the Omega was a jangled mess, yet outside Claire remained placid, her face emotionless, and Shepherd greatly disliked it. He’d rather she cry and purge, than remain blank… reinforcing her misgivings. His mouthy, strong Omega was poisoning herself.

  Shepherd called an end to their stroll. He swept her into his arms. She didn’t complain, she didn’t notice. Even marching her back into their room, where Claire was safe in a familiar place did not alter the flatness.

  Food was brought; she didn’t want to eat.

  He purred; she stared into space.

  Where was his thank you? Where was his reward? She should have been content, praising him… humming! Why was she being difficult again?

  Instead, the Omega began pacing like she used to, fretting and wringing her hands. And then she did something that pushed him beyond the pale. Claire lay down on the floor, nonverbally refusing their bed, frowning as her eyes traced the cracks in the ceiling.

  The seething mountain had had enough. Standing over her, Shepherd ordered, “If you wish for rest, you will rest in our nest.” He then pulled off his shirt, holding it out so she might get up and place it accordingly, giving her one last chance to act on her own.

  Claire waved a hand at him and made a snorting sound.

  He nudged her with his toe, eyes narrowed, growl deep. “Get up.”

  Claire shook her head and spread out further on the floor.

  He’d drag her to the nest if he had to, break her of such behavior. Leaning down, preparing to tug her up, Shepherd put his face in her line of sight. “Get. Up.”

  Claire planted her foot right on his chest and pressed him away, hissing, “Piss. Off.”

  The male froze, eyes flared in furious disbelief she’d had the audacity to physically challenge him, to look at him with such eyes... to hum out of tune on her end of their bond even though he’d given her what she wanted.

  A meaty fist wrapped around her ankle. Claire showed her teeth, and that was all it took to push the monster to react. She yipped when he yanked her leg, the Alpha falling upon her so fucking fast the Omega never stood a chance of escape. Twisting until he contained her, he toyed with his food. Allowing Claire to wiggle and slip, Shepherd made a mockery of her strength, so that she might find how utterly useless such resistance was.

  Claire wrestled with every ounce of old anger. Grunting and hissing, freeing an arm only to lose its mobility a second later, kicking a leg that was pinned in a heartbeat. Hardly aware, her nose went to his neck. Out of nowhere she groaned lowly, the strange burning thing inside her growing more satisfied by the struggle. When he moved again, when the rippling bunching flesh shifted, Claire got her arm free and instead of clawing her way out, she found her fingertips running from the hollow of Shepherd’s throat down his defined torso, the Alpha arching immediately into her touch, his ribcage expanding in a great breath.

  When Claire stretched just enough to mouth the mark she had made on his shoulder, Shepherd growled in absolutely violent bliss.

  Nails raking harshly down the male’s hard stomach, she made an impatient squeak, her voice thick with frustration, and the one thing he always craved from her, need.

  “Shepherd.” Arching up so her mouth rested against his ear, Claire’s voice thick and filthy, animalistic and dark, growled in a maddeningly filthy lure, “He
lp me.”

  With a roar, one huge hand roughly rolled her under him face down upon the concrete, and yanked her body until her saturated sex was flush with the massive erection confined painfully in his pants.

  Breathing hard under a vibrating mountain of muscle, Claire could hardly register the feeling of her skirt being tugged up, or the sound of a zipper breaking before a punishingly hard thrust filled her to the brim. Shepherd snaked his arm under her torso, gripped her by the front of the throat, and understanding dawned. His Omega felt weak from her loss of the war. She needed him to prove he was stronger—strong enough for both of them. That was their way... a relic from the Undercroft he’d taught her.

  “Scream all you want. Fight me.” Shepherd licked his lips and eyed her jerking body each time he forcefully fucked into her slippery pussy. “You won’t win.” A thumb swiped over her pulsing carotid artery. “You want to be conquered by your mate. Constrained submission calms you when you rage—when you feel lost and confused.”

  Compressed as she was, slippery and scented, Shepherd shoved in hard when she snarled, relishing the ooze of more Omega fluid and the wet music he created over the sounds of her purging anger. He began to describe the tight feeling of her cunt, how it was his to satisfy, how he would fill her and she would relish every last drop of his come, even if she fought—because he knew what she needed, and as her mate, he would give it to her.

  The Alpha’s voice was so saturated in guttural possessiveness, in greed, in the arrogant confidence that she was his to dominate; it sickeningly only made her want more. Each pounding thrust was angled to mercilessly bring friction at that raw craving inside her. The rapid smack of his balls against her, the slight burn from such a stretch, the intoxicating sounds of his loud, vicious grunts, and the almost too tight pressure of his fingers gripping her throat, fueled her urge to clench around him.

  She shuddered, felt the walls of her cunt tighten like a fist, all the while ranting out a long list of venomous nastiness. Claire blamed him for her torment, for the deaths of her friends, for all the darkness in the world. It only made him more animal, dangerously savage as he constrained her and conquered, doing exactly what he threatened to do—jamming himself deeper, filling her to the point it scraped her warring emotions blank—transforming her insides to the point that Claire began sobbing out his name over and over, begging him to stop, begging him to fuck her harder, begging for something she could not name. Her pussy seized in an overburdened release. The knot was shoved deep, she screamed into the floor, and the male roared so loud at her ear it added an edge of fear to her bursting relief, extending Claire’s frenzy and making her squeal.

  It was not until his meaty hand on her throat loosened its grip that Claire began to feel the end of her wild, shattering climax. Soothing fluid was pumped so perfectly inside her, her body greedily taking it all while her Alpha whined low in his throat with each extended gush.

  He was crushing her, her face mashed into the ground, his panting form seemingly content to continue to hold her trapped. Claire could not move, she could hardly breathe, yet his loud labored gasps were music, pressing calm to replace exercised rage.

  She began to hum brokenly between pants. Shepherd stretched, rubbing his sweaty skin against her as he began to purr in praise to her perfect response to his domination.

  Knowing to offer comfort after such a savage mating, his weight shifted so he might turn them side by side. Locked deep in his mate, knotted, and supporting the exhausted woman in his arms, Shepherd began to pleasure her gently with his hand—rubbing the labia stretched around his shaft, circling her clitoris, enjoying her twitching with each soft pluck.

  Claire did not understand what he was doing, Shepherd never having fingered her in such a way when they were fused. Melting, still so sensitive, she tried to push his hand away, but he hushed her and continued to give soft pleasure that built up into an easy cresting wave of warmth. Still full of him, stretched and possessed by the knot, she gave herself over, drowning in what he offered.

  He felt her internal reaction around his girth, the new pull that drank in the last drops of his lingering come, even though he could not climax with her. It was still very pleasing, each ripple and milking compression, the fact he had offered his mate the comfort she needed—something tender after so much necessary savagery.

  All of it for her.

  When he had drawn out every last ounce of her second orgasm, his hand left her pussy and began to trace the various angles of the exposed side of her face. Ghosting over her cheekbone, her lowered lashes, swirling around the shell of her ear, Shepherd asked, “Did I hurt you, little one?”

  All Claire could offer in response was an exhausted, unintelligible whimper.

  Shepherd pressed his lips right to her ear and purred richly. “Did I please you?”

  A grunt, almost inaudible, came out on her breath.

  Shepherd chuckled, relishing the pulse of his knot and the feel of her tight cunt still fluttering, her body speaking for her. “You pleased me, would-be Napoleon.” He stroked her from shoulder to hip. “Your submission was beautiful.”

  Petulant, Claire reached down and smacked Shepherd’s bent knee. “I am sure I will be feeling very beautiful later when I see all the bruises.”

  The nature of his growl lost all traces of tameness. “You chose the playing field. Had you not fought so savagely, I would not have restrained you while I claimed my prize.”

  She wanted to turn over, to look him in the eye, but the knot prevented more than a cursory glance over her shoulder. “Your prize?”

  The male’s deep chuckle shook her, Shepherd’s fingers dipping into the top of her dress to pull at her nipples. “All of this is mine. You offered it to me when you began to stroke my body and placed your teeth on my mark. You promised it to me when you called out my name and begged. I gave you pleasure because I am yours. And feeling you come all over my cock, knowing your body takes satisfaction from mine, it is something I love to give you.” Holding her a little tighter, Shepherd growled into the purr, lecherously fondling her breasts. “Confess that I fulfilled what you wanted. There will be no pouting or allegations.”

  Stroking upward, his big hand enclosed over her throat again, but did not squeeze, only encircled the smooth column, a possessive gesture that made her flutter down below.

  Warm words were purred at her ear. “Confess, little one.”

  Disorder came from order, fear came from courage, weakness came from strength. –Sun Tzu

  Disorder, fear, and weakness were all she’d seen wandering Thólos.

  “You’re my mate,” Claire whispered. “You wanted instincts… and I’m all out of ideals.”

  He stroked her again, Shepherd’s voice low and sincere. “I realize you are struggling to accept that everything was not as you originally believed. Growing wiser does not mean you failed. You should be proud that you possess the strength to face the truth.”

  It felt far more like losing her faith.

  Shepherd caressed her body, teasing further arousal until the knot subsided enough that he could take her to the nest and begin again—eager for his reward and her attention.

  Arms full of Omega, Shepherd lay back on the mattress, pulling Claire to straddle him. Voice velvet, he teased. “This time I will be your prize, and you can take me anyway you desire. I will even put up a fight if you want me to,” a rich heady voice flowed, a smile thick in his voice. “And I’ll let you win, little Napoleon.”

  Since they had opened the Premier’s Sector, the rebellion’s progress had been gaining almost alarming momentum. It had been too easy for the one now addressed as Lady Kantor to usurp Brigadier Dane. The resistance wanted a savior to make everything better after the Senator’s death, and it looked as if one had appeared. None of the surviving Enforcers knew Leslie Kantor; she had no reputation, no fame or infamy. But she had a name—the same name as their newly dead hero.

  All it took for the group to fall under her power was
the name Kantor, her stunning smile, and promises of freedom from Shepherd’s tyranny.

  One by one, the resistance bowed willingly—all but Brigadier Dane, who seemed vastly unsettled by what she was witnessing.

  It was not that Corday doubted Leslie; it was that he trusted Dane. Even if he didn’t like his superior officer, after watching her tirelessly fight for the suffering people of their city, seen the look in her eye each time one of their family had been reported dead, he’d come to trust her instincts implicitly.

  Brigadier Dane never openly spoke against Lady Kantor, not once she’d seen the Premier’s Sector with her own eyes. She obeyed every order, but it was her lack of communication that Corday noticed most. He knew her well enough to see the older woman discerned what was important; she knew what was at stake, and she understood the importance of unity... and the danger of what even Corday could see was a developing demagogue.

  People went missing under the Dome every day; it made Lady Kantor’s ability to swell her hidden militia simpler as the weeks passed. A small portion of those missing people, those with no surviving family, who had lost everything—those hand selected by Leslie—joined the ranks of an organized and dedicated rebellion.

  To join her cause, was to offer your life, literally.

  Leslie Kantor spoke a great deal, her speeches fiery, the flagging men and women under their banner once again alive with faith. She said there was no need to fear infiltration again; they were untouchable now, simply because those recruited to join their crusade and enter the Premier’s Sector were not permitted to leave until the day they would take back the city.

  The only souls who could pass through that secret underground door, were those charged with maintaining a charade. Brigadier Dane, Corday, a few key members of the original resistance, were ordered away to continue their lives outside the rebellion’s inner workings, to meet regularly, Leslie Kantor occasionally amongst them. In the same house where Senator Kantor had once laid out his plans, Brigadier Dane now laid out the sham of hers.