Born to Be Bound Read online

  She darted down a random causeway, winding in and out of alleys, climbing to higher terraces, her body steaming in the chilled lower region's weather. She came to a crossroads, heaved, and spat bile on the ground. Before her sat a broken bridge between two quarters, a massive, unscalable gap separating her from the nearest escape. The temptation to jump and end it all was so tempting. No more Thólos, no more Shepherd, no more falling into rapturous pieces when he fucked her, then hating herself afterwards.

  But there were still the other Omegas... and she had let them down. They needed to know about the little blue pills, needed to know that Shepherd would not help them. It was that feeling alone that moved her feet again.

  Claire ran for miles, ran in a crazy pattern that would make no sense to any who could smell her, ran until she vomited and fell in a pile against iron girders. Then she saw him, and he might have just been the most beautiful thing her eyes had ever beheld. A Beta, a stranger, was reaching down to help her... leading her sobbing body away from all the cold and pain.

  He told her his name was Corday.

  Chapter 4

  Claire woke on an unfamiliar couch with actual sun on her face. Head aching, she sat up and looked around. The Beta's one room accommodation was small, sparse like hers, with little more than necessities and only a single, wilted, air-scrubber plant.

  Corday himself was standing in the kitchen; frying eggs from the smell of it.

  "Do you like coffee, Miss?"

  God, she had not had access to coffee in months. Already salivating, she nodded, her green eyes so wide it made him chuckle. The young man walked over with a lopsided grin, handing her a plate and the steaming beverage. "Sorry, I don't have sugar or milk."

  She couldn't care less. The mug went to her lips, Claire sipping with a contented sigh. "Thank you."

  "Just eat up. When you're finished, you can shower and—not to make this awkward—but you might want to put on some of my dirty clothes to mask your scent."

  After all the running, all the sweat, she reeked of Omega. His offer was extraordinarily kind, assuming he was not just cornering her like the last man had.

  Reading the troubled look on the woman's face, Corday added, "I'm not going to hurt you."

  Suspicious, she asked, "Why are you helping me?"

  "I'm an Enforcer."

  She shook her head. "All the Enforcers are dead. I saw the Interdome Broadcast; the security footage at the gates of Judicial Sector. Shepherd's contagion killed them."

  There was little Dome-humans feared more than the disease that had reduced billions down to a few million in one generation. That had forced skirmishes for supplies. The Red Consumption had destroyed global culture and left life safe only under the careful management of the Domes. Knowing Thólossens had seen his brothers and sisters-in-arms die coughing up blood, knowing that a pile of unconsecrated corpses waited in a section under lockdown, knowing potential Judicial Sector survivors would have been burned alive once quarantine procedure began, drained his smile away. Corday grew sad, his face suddenly seeming so very young. "Not all of us, Miss. Some were on patrol outside the Judicial Sector before quarantine lockdown."

  Her lower lip started to tremble. "My name is Claire."

  "Are you okay, Claire?" Corday asked carefully, looking at a woman who showed all the reactive signs of abuse.

  God, it was so nice to hear someone say her name. Whispering, she shook her head, "I'm not okay."

  Skirting the couch, he sat as far from the shaken woman as the sofa would allow. With his hands on his knees and brown eyes soft, he suggested, "Tell me what happened to you."

  She knew that the second she said the name Shepherd, Corday would kick her ass out on the street. She hated to lie, but she needed a shower and warm clothing to survive in the Lower Reaches.

  But maybe she didn't have to lie. Maybe all she needed to do was start at the beginning. "The chem pushers are selling counterfeit heat-suppressants. They look just like the little blue pills... but they are not heat-suppressants. They're fertility drugs. They cause us to go into estrous unexpectedly, where we are unprepared and exposed."

  "And this happened to you?" Corday asked, gently urging her to continue.

  Claire didn't say yes or no, she didn't have to; the huge tears dripping down her cheeks were answer enough.

  Realizing she was close to falling to pieces, Corday nodded and promised, "I'll look into it. Now finish your lunch." His boyish grin returned and he backed off to return to his stove, teasing, "I had to fight six Alpha females to get those eggs."

  She forced a laugh at the joke, the coffee going back to her lips. But it was hard to enjoy. The unshakable paranoia that Shepherd would burst through the door at any moment made her stomach churn. Or worse yet, Corday could be lying, waiting for an Alpha he could sell her to.

  With her mind running in circles, she watched the young man. There was no projection of attraction; he was not sexually aroused. He was just a guy cooking eggs in his kitchen. He seemed genuine and harmless... he even smelled acceptable. But no one in Thólos could be trusted, not after the breach had unleashed chaos and the citizens became like animals.

  The invaders had just come from the ground like ants—spewing from the Undercroft, from sentences for crimes deemed inexcusable—all of it so precise that Thólos's government fell within hours. All of it easy because the population was terrified of the transmission which looped on Interdome Broadcast.

  Everyone watched accelerated signs of Red Contagion, the symptoms of that great plague known even to the youngest, decimate the very men and women sworn to protect Thólos citizens.

  Shepherd threatened to infect them all should any resist.

  The city turned on each other; once peaceful men and women dragged anyone they found questionable to the Citadel to be disposed of. And there she was, forcing cold eggs down her throat, terrified Corday would turn on her.

  She didn't approach him to give back the plate, just set it at the edge of his counter before scampering toward the lavatory to bathe. Under unheated water, Claire scrubbed every bit of Shepherd off of her body, knowing Corday had smelled the Alpha scent she was saturated in... mortified the little string in her chest seemed to twang as if pulled taut by a demanding pair-bond.

  She closed her eyes and could practically hear Shepherd raging, his angry breath coming in long roars. Then something far more disturbing ran under her skin; if she felt his fury, he felt her abject terror. Because of the tie, Shepherd was still with her, there even at that moment in the shower, sensing her though the link. Hyperventilating, Claire mentally repeated, only instincts, and forced her eyes open to prove that nothing but discolored tiles surrounded her.

  Shepherd wasn't there. He wasn't watching her, ready to rip out her throat.

  Turning off the spray, Claire dried with a towel saturated in another man's scent—a man who had not once tried to hurt her... at least not yet. From his laundry, she pulled out the most pungent pieces, dressing in a sweater he must have exercised in and a pair of sweatpants that, knowing guys, probably had not been washed in weeks.

  Standing at the mirror, she found queer green eyes in the reflection and wished she understood why the face looking back at her was filled with regret. Disgusted with that woman, Claire turned around and returned to the living room. Corday was still standing in the kitchen, eating his own meal. He nodded, his mouth full.

  "I have no way to barter or repay you for the clothes right now. But when I can, I will." Her voice sounded nothing like her, it was the voice of a stranger.

  When Corday saw her move toward the door, he swallowed quickly and approached with caution. "Ma'am, you're in shock. I don't think it's a good idea for you to be wandering the Dome. What you need is to rest, get your bearings. You will be safe here, if you need a place to regroup."

  Everything he said seemed so sensible, even the weight of his hand on her shoulder, steering her back to the couch. Mechanically, Claire lay down. He covered her with a b
lanket and sleep hit her hard, a corner of her mind still marveling at the feeling of sun on her face.

  #

  Bad dreams began that very first night. Claire was running through Thólos, through smoke and evil. The buildings she climbed were ruins, many burning. Everything was decimated, just like the photos of Pre-Reformation War cities on visual in the Archives. No matter which direction she turned, she could not escape the mob at her back. The jeering faces of raging Alphas, violent Betas... they wanted to rip her to pieces because everything was her fault. She had sent the monster into a rage; she was the reason Thólos would know even more suffering.

  Hands began to grip her clothes but she pressed forward, lungs burning as she tried to find any path through the smoke. She took a wrong turn, found herself trapped atop a broken viaduct, hounded and petrified. But then he was there in the darkness, waiting for her. Standing like a mountain, Shepherd reached out, beckoning her to him with the flick of his fingers.

  With the dogs at her back and the devil before her, she did not know where to turn. All she could do was jump to her death.

  Claire woke screaming.

  Corday rushed from his bed, clicking on a torch to offer something besides the enforced dark of Thólos curfew.

  "It's okay. You're safe, Claire." His voice came out soothing.

  She threw her arms around the stranger and held on for dear life. "He'll find me here," she whispered, trembling. "He's already looking."

  "He won't find you here. Do you understand? It was just a bad dream. Whoever he was cannot force you anymore. You're free, you get to choose."

  I get to choose?

  The words resonated, and she began to calm. Leaning back, wiping the snot and tears from her face, Claire fought to pull it together.

  Illuminated by the small light, Corday asked, "Would you like me to sit up with you?"

  Shaking her head, she answered in an unsteady voice, "No... I feel better now. Thank you."

  She was lying, of course.

  There was no more sleep that night; she simply sat on the couch and started at shadows. It was only when the sun came up, when she could feel the light, that Claire found the courage to shut her eyes.

  #

  Corday left a note on the coffee table notifying the sleeping girl that he'd gone to garner provisions. With so many dead, it did not take long to find forgotten shoes for feminine feet in a closet where neighbors dwelled no longer.

  On the causeways, Shepherd's Followers marched, hyper-vigilant. Corday made sure to keep his head down, to bypass all screening. Several people were pulled aside at random. That was nothing new, but that day Shepherd's men seemed only to target women; pulling off scarves, exposing covered hair, sniffing them up close. A few Alpha females grew riled; as it continued, even Betas began to show their teeth.

  Messing with women was a sure way to start another round of riots. The females alone, Alphas especially, would react instinctively. If their children were near, they might be even more aggressive. Then there were their mates; Alpha or Beta, no one liked to see their woman harassed.

  The air was tense as he passed by mob after mob; Corday eager to return to the skittish Omega with his freshly gathered supplies.

  She was awake, her head turning toward the door the instant she heard his key in the lock. When it was only the Enforcer offering a calming smile, Claire let out a breath and shook her head, as if she felt her reaction had been foolish.

  Showing his worn catch, Corday said, "I found some shoes that might fit you."

  "Those aren't very pretty," she tried to banter, but her voice came out flat, and what should have been funny was unnerving. Claire tried again, forcing inflection and a smile. "Thank you."

  "It's Thursday. The power will be on in this zone tonight." He locked the door and set the shoes on the floor near the woman. "Rather than just watching the paint peel, I have a collection of old films. If you like, we can watch one."

  "Okay."

  While Claire pulled the new shoes over borrowed, stinking socks, Corday took a seat at the far end of the couch, the pair of them like mismatched bookends. He lifted the remote. When the screen came to life, all that played was the Thólos Interdome Broadcast. Unfamiliar correspondents looped every five minutes, detailing which sectors would receive fresh rations the following day, locations of supply pick up points, faces of wanted criminals.

  Claire heard nothing, the entirety of her attention was on the date stamped at the corner of the screen. "Five weeks..."

  Corday didn't need to be a genius to grasp what the woman had muttered. Five weeks, that was how long she'd been trapped.

  She was trying to hide her horror, so Corday inserted the stick that held his precious films and chose something lighthearted most people would recognize. It worked. Thirty minutes in and Claire's shoulders lost their rigidness.

  "I used to watch this with my dad when I was a kid," she offered, glancing at him with a small, half-felt smirk. "He loved this movie."

  Corday gave her a crooked grin. "Your dad sounds like he has excellent taste."

  "He did," Claire agreed, her face less tragic. "He was a really funny guy. Sooo Alpha, though."

  They both snickered, knowing exactly what that meant. Alpha parents were fanatical about their children. Over-involved, bragging constantly... generally an embarrassing pain in the ass.

  "What about your mom?"

  "An uptight Omega with no sense of humor... she left when I was twelve."

  That was very unusual; children typically made Omegas incredibly dedicated parents. Besides, the pair-bond would have compelled her to return to her Alpha. Corday wanted to ask, it was all over his face, so Claire just spit it out—it was old news, after all. "She found a quiet place near the Gallery Gardens and took a bottle of pills—overdosed. She couldn't stand a life tied to someone she didn't like."

  "I'm sorry."

  Shaking her head, her dark hair swaying, Claire said, "Don't be. In the end, she got her choice. I respect that." Looking back to the screen she asked, "What about you? What are your parents like?"

  "Both Betas. Dad was sent to the Undercroft when I was a kid. He, uh, stole things. Mom raised me. She died the day Thólos was breached."

  Green eyes looked back at the man on the couch, at the one who had been kind to her. The lines between his brows spoke of grief. "I'm sorry."

  There seemed to be an understanding between them. "Me too."

  Both looked back to the projection, laughing at all the right parts, neither one-hundred percent sure if the other was faking. When the credits rolled, Corday made them dinner, surprised to find the kitchen had been scrubbed clean in his absence. He watched the back of her head, saw her nervously play with her hair, and wondered how on earth the world had become what it was.

  #

  If Claire sat on the floor just right and angled her head, there was a thin patch of sky the surrounding structures did not block. Direct, delicious sun warmed her skin, but something in all of it was hollow. Corday had not told her to leave, and she had to admit she was terrified of even stepping outside. It seemed so ironic that all she had wanted was to breathe fresh air, and now that she could... she could not. But she could look out that window, crouched down low so not a soul but the birds flying overhead could see her.

  Eyes on the clouds, Claire felt her mind slowly grow quiet, sighed deeply, and enjoyed the warm rumble of ambient noise. It took almost an hour before she was startled out of her daydream, to panic at a sound that shouldn't be there.

  Shepherd's purr was all around her.

  Certain that the behemoth was standing behind her, her head flew around, her eyes frantically searching the small studio apartment. No one was there.

  But he was...

  Claire knew—logically—she was alone, but she could practically smell him in the air. Heart racing, she pulled her knees under her chin and went back to her view, determined to control her mind. The harder she fought, the warmer the worm in her chest grew. O
ver and over, a soft little tug came to the thread. It was the strangest sensation, as if the beast was utterly calm now, calling to her almost gently.

  Claire didn't trust it for a second.

  Shepherd was an aggressive man; in conversation, in behavior, in bed. There was no 'gentle' unless it served him. And the kindness she'd received was always calculating. He had no feelings—or if he did, they were so twisted up in megalomania they didn't really count. Whatever he thought he might gain by trying to lure her with something as elusive as a soft invitation through the bond, she was not going to comply. Claire was going to keep that window and that little slice of sky, rejecting darkness and isolation.

  A few hours later she was back on the couch, reading a book she had pulled from Corday's small collection. It was the first time her eyes had met paper in ages. Underground, she had never once touched Shepherd's books—as if his forbidden texts might infect her with his warped view and evil.

  It felt good to do something normal.

  At dusk, Corday returned. They exchanged customary pleasantries, Claire waiting for him to show her the door. Once again, he seemed unconcerned that an interloper was sitting quietly in his apartment's only room. Corday attended to his own things, she went back to the book, and before she knew it the lights were out and she was lying back on the couch, prepared to face a night awake in the terrifying dark.

  Should she sleep, vivid dreams plagued and tormented; the same scene over and over. In every nightmare, Shepherd lurked in the dark, violent strangers' hands reaching to grasp and hurt her if she didn't run toward him, if she didn't climb higher up the wrecked tower.

  The viaduct that could carry her to a better zone, the thing she had raced toward—it was always broken. There was no escape. To her left stood her great nightmare, to her right, blurred faces of the ones eager to watch her bleed. She could feel it in that towering damaged causeway; the icy air rushing up from the lower reaches, the sweat on her face from the run. Then there were the mercurial eyes. Steady eyes. Determined eyes.