Born to Be Bound Read online

  She was in the kitchen when Corday returned. Looking up from the simple pasta she'd prepared for dinner, Claire offered a smile. "Welcome back."

  Good and sweaty, Corday's cockeyed smile was quickly hidden when he pulled the pungent sweater over his head. "Just let me grab a quick shower. We'll eat, then we'll go."

  Nodding, smiling in gratitude for his effort, she announced, "Dinner will be ready when you're done."

  Once Corday had disappeared behind the bathroom door, she retrieved the little white pill that had been hidden away days ago. Crushing it to a fine powder, she mixed the drug into his serving.

  Claire knew no amount of soap could wash away the pheromones lingering in the bathroom. When he took longer than usual, red up to her ears, she tried to ignore Corday's muffled grunt, ashamed she'd put him in such a position.

  Another stifled noise, an extended curse, and the sound of the water ended.

  By the time Corday emerged, her embarrassment had faded back into familiar fatigue, and she offered the dish.

  Between the run, jacking off in the shower, and the sleeping pill she'd hidden in his food, Corday was out cold in less than an hour. Claire dressed in the sweaty clothes he'd prepared for her, threw a blanket over the Beta who'd been so kind, and left to find her Omegas.

  #

  The harsher chill of the Lower Reaches was underscored by light flurries dampening Claire's clothes. The distance was far, her pace dangerous for an exhausted woman about ready to drop.

  It seemed they had been anticipating her, a small group of Omegas already at the cracked entrance, candle in hand. Doubled over once safely inside, Claire struggled to catch her breath, croaking, "Senator Kantor has a plan. He can provide food and real heat-suppressants."

  "How?" It was Lilian, the redhead, who brought the candle closer.

  "That is what we must discuss. He wishes to break us up into smaller cells, smuggle us to safe houses where armed Enforcers could stand guard. Or, should we demand it, they will bring rations here."

  "The Enforcers are hunted down in the streets." Deriding, Lillian snorted, "They'll all be dead in less than a year. Who would bring the food then, Claire?"

  Too tired to be patient, Claire stood up straight. "I'm only offering options. The group must decide for itself if they want instant slavery or difficult freedom."

  It was then Claire realized no more Omegas had come to join them. Nona was nowhere to be seen. The only faces around that candle were Lilian and two very unfriendly looking women.

  "We have already decided," Lilian snarled, swinging a rock in her fist.

  The world spun, sharp pain erupting beside Claire's ear. Broken pavement and scattered refuse scraped her legs, her listless body pulled deeper into their shelter. Trying to focus past the ringing in her skull, her unsteady eyes searched for Nona in the crowd, only to find the older woman restrained, struggling to get free.

  She called out to her, begged the Omegas not to give into fear, and felt a hand fist her hair to wrench her away. Dragged to a storage cell, Claire was shoved inside, the sound of something heavy heaved to bar her only exit.

  Disoriented, surrounded by the dark, her green eyes stared blankly at cracked walls.

  They were grey.

  Her broken laugh echoed back at her. Tasting blood in her mouth, she turned so the icy ground might cool the throbbing lump growing on her skull.

  But there was no time to rest. She had to get up.

  It took great effort to uncurl from a ball and crawl to the door. Standing hunched, Claire screamed out her story, told them not to lose themselves in desperation and panic, to think rationally and see that Shepherd would never pay a bounty, that the whole thing had been a trap just to snare her. To stop before they all made themselves slaves.

  She could not budge the rubble blocking her in; she could not scream loud enough.

  Claire only had so much voice, and as it left her, so did her ability to differentiate fantasy from reality.

  As she slid down the wall, the dream began.

  So much running, the wave of madness at her back, but Shepherd was there holding back the dark, his arm upraised. She ran straight for him, close enough to smell him before her feet skidded to a halt. There were screams, furious screams of the Omegas at her back. The wave of noise was getting closer. Terrified eyes went back to Shepherd, back to the man standing like a stone in the chaos as he crooked his finger.

  She took another step.

  The dream began again.

  Light came on in her cell, the single dangling fixture above her flickering in its sorry state. The hum of the old bulb and the filament inside drew her to her scraped knees and then wobbling feet.

  The mob; she could hear them, their shouts closing in. Any moment they would come for her. She would run, because she always ran. And she would find him, because he was always there, waiting.

  Again and again.

  Her head turned towards the door, where it seemed inevitable his large form would fill the portal, that she would see the same roughened armor, the same Da'rin markings crawling up his neck... those eyes.

  The intensity with which Shepherd stared seemed unnatural.

  Whatever he saw in her expression made the giant crouch down, as if to make himself seem smaller. The Alpha reached out a hand, slowly, so as not to frighten.

  He'd never crouched in the dream before.

  Claire closed her eyes, certain she had finally lost her mind, then that sound came... that long pined for purr, loud and confident, reassuring her that all was well.

  "Come to me, little one." Even his rough voice seemed perfect, melodic as the words passed scarred lips. Coaxing, non-threatening, he added, "You will not be punished."

  The thread was pulsating, whispering to her as it did, tempting her to step forward and take her Alpha's hand. That he was calling her. That he missed her.

  Claire had no idea what made her say the words, but they came softly, like a confession. "You've been haunting my sleep. Every time I close my eyes, you're there."

  "You've been in my dreams, as well." Shepherd crooned so deep she imagined she could feel the vibration change her on a cellular level. "You've been singing to me, little one."

  Dazed, she pulled in a breath, smelling the scent that was supposed to be with her—the familiar musk of that Alpha. "What did I sing?"

  A smile was in his eyes, the skin at the corners crinkling. His fingers flicked, beckoning her, and Claire found herself mesmerized by the movement. "Come."

  In the distance there were sounds, frightening things of the mob from her dreams. Soon she would have to run... or she could choose to end it.

  It took three weak steps before she was standing directly before him. Looking at the male who, even crouched, was at her eye-level, Claire did not take his hand. Instead she sagged against him, demanding in an exhausted voice, "Purr."

  He did, turning to study the disoriented woman resting her head on his shoulder, weighing the beauty of the extended groan that broadcasted there was nothing else in the world that had ever been so soothing as the noise rumbling from his chest.

  Massive arms wrapped around her the instant she began slipping to the floor.

  Shepherd stood.

  Claire didn't see the blue-eyed soldier take up position as guard. She didn't know Shepherd took off his coat, or feel her body being stripped of clothing that reeked of another male.

  She was laid in the heat of his coat, wrapped in the scent of the Alpha. Unfocused and uncaring, she felt his body settle between her thighs; Shepherd a furnace compared to the cold room.

  "You are lost, little one. I will bring you home."

  She mumbled a reply; her vague mind in agreement. Warm hands, callused and reassuring, ran down her stomach, spreading her legs wide. Before she could complain, the firm press of lips and the flicking dart of a tongue ran over the part of her no one had ever touched in such a way.

  Shepherd tasted her, ensuring she'd remained untainted by another..
. purely his.

  Finding her uncorrupted, the Alpha growled savagely. At the sound, her body bowed, her pussy responding with a stream of slick. Shepherd noisily sucked it all into his mouth, swallowing, lapping madly.

  There was nothing gentle in the way he scoured her clean.

  A choked cry and Claire's eyes flew open. All she could see in the haze was his face buried between her thighs, his eyes closed as if the feast were perfection. He sensed her attention, his gun-metal eyes flashing open. The lower part of his face hidden, Shepherd continued to devour her even as he growled, "You have been exceptionally disobedient; a difficult and defiant mate."

  Panting, crying out when he flicked her clit, Claire argued with the apparition, "It's your own damn fault! You're a tyrant. You expect things I don't understand. I hardly know a thing about you. You don't listen... keep me locked underground. How would you like to live in prison?"

  Shepherd chuckled evilly, gripped her hips to still her writhing, and gluttonously pulled her dripping cunt closer.

  Fighting gasps and throaty moans, she accused, "All you ever do is fuck me!"

  She felt his teeth skim her folds, his lips curling into a smile. Shepherd's answer was rich, licentious. "I greatly enjoy fucking you."

  She wished he'd disappear and the dream could end, but not until she fought her broken voice to accuse, "You force me."

  He rebutted, his teeth lightly biting the little nub his thumb exposed from its hood, causing her to twitch frantically so he might prove his point. "I always ensure you feel pleasure when we mate."

  Breathing out an unhappy moan, she whined, "That is not true."

  "I punished you once by rutting you without your gratification, and ascertained it was not the best way to discipline your bad behavior. I have not done it since." Once the words were finished, he attacked her clit with rapid flicks of his tongue, a pleased growl coming from his smiling lips when his little one began practically sobbing from the attention her trapped hips could not escape.

  When Claire was right at the cusp of falling further into delirium, Shepherd licked a trail up her body, leaving her aching pussy neglected so he might pin her down. A nipple was captured, suckled almost too hard until the bud lengthened. Distantly, she heard the grate of a zipper and then sucked in the heady smell of potent Alpha musk once his member was exposed. The bulbous head butted against her, and ever so slowly he eased into a place that was fragile and tight from neglect.

  With her distracted, Shepherd tried to take the one thing he had not been able to coax from her yet. He captured her parted, moaning lips to tempt out a kiss. It woke her from the spell, her black lashes flew open.

  It was not a dream.

  All she could see were the lust-filled silver eyes, challenging her to participate even as Shepherd dipped his tongue into her mouth; he invaded —so she might sample how perfect she tasted—and began to thrust.

  She tried to take her mouth away. To prevent it he cupped her cheek, running his lips over hers as much as he desired, knowing she recognized what he'd done, how he'd defied her last barrier, and fought for the kiss she continued to deny him.

  The feel of his cock—it was all so intoxicating, consuming, and infinitely disturbing. Claire grew frenzied once he began pounding with vigor. Borderline violent, Shepherd fucked in earnest until she was writhing and crying out, needing release, needing sleep, needing him to give her all those things and more. Turning her head to the side, his palm braced her cheek so that his lips could suck a trail down the exposed side of her throat.

  The feeling of his mouth, the rasp of warm tongue on cold flesh, and frustration blended with delusional ecstasy. The second her pussy clenched and her undoing began, he shoved in deep, his knot swelling huge, stretching her mercilessly. Claire's orgasm raged so hard it hurt, her pussy milking him desperately as Shepherd bared his teeth and bit down brutally atop the scar on her shoulder—the scar that made her his. A crunch sounded, teeth broke skin, and blood began to flow.

  Claire's throat could only offer a silent scream, her agony ignored as he ferociously tightened his jaw. With her trapped by his massive knot there was no escape, made worse when her pussy spasmed and blended pleasure into the pain with each spurt of hot come the Alpha dumped inside her.

  The Omega was sobbing when it was finished, bleeding badly, and so overcome that she no longer knew where she was.

  "Shhh," he whispered, licking at the running blood, hushing her gently while she wept. He gave her the purr she'd wanted, petting and stroking, his lips at her ear. "Now you may sleep, little one."

  Everything had been too much. Too much fear, too much heartache, too much anger, too much desire. Overwhelmed, Claire closed her eyes and gave over to the thing her body needed most. Shepherd tucked her limp arms into the sleeves of his coat. Hitching her about his waist, his knot still joining them, he walked out the door, her naked body and their joining covered by the drape of worn leather.

  Outside the waste facility, the Omegas were being herded onto transport prepared to take them to Undercroft; a few snarling, others screaming, but the majority simply scarfing down supplement bars his Followers were passing out.

  Claire missed it all in her dead slumber.

  Chapter 7

  Claire felt no warm haze, no fulfilling sense of contentment upon waking. Instead, a deep-seated ache drew her brows tight, only growing worse when she shifted. Someone had run her over with a transport rig, wrung her out... left her wasted. Confused, her lashes parted, and Claire saw nothing but subterranean gloom and walls of concrete.

  It was the smell that brought it all together, the nest of familiar, soft blankets rich with the scent of her mate.

  Not mate... Claire had to remind herself. Shepherd.

  She hated that his stink offered reassurance in her discomfort, that the thread was humming delightedly, telling her it was okay to feel weak so long as he was nearby to watch over her... that everything was back as it should be. The worm pulsed and grew warm in her chest. It was that manipulative pair-bond which had distorted her in the first place. Shepherd's influence, which had broken her apart day after day when she ignored her mate's call to return, which had led to exhaustion and hallucinations. Now it was writhing in contentment, spinning a web of the seductive lie of shelter and safety.

  It seemed stronger than before, that cord humming between them felt tighter in her chest. Was it because of his total victory over her? Or maybe because she had stumbled straight to him in her craving for sleep. Claire didn't know. All she knew was that her struggles, her denial and stubbornness, had been for nothing.

  They were bound; even in her hiding he'd exercised control.

  That grey walled room was not shelter; it was her prison. Shepherd had her in his cage, she was back under his thumb... and she would probably never leave that room again.

  Swallowing down distress, Claire recognized his great weight dipping the mattress at her side, her thigh flush to his back as if she'd pressed near while she slept. Shepherd was facing the wall, his elbows on his knees, staring forward, lost in thought.

  Licking dry lips, Claire thought to scoot away, only to fall back to the pillows with a curse. The pain was great, shooting from her shoulder so sharply it was all she could do to breathe.

  The broad expanse of bare muscled back rippled, Shepherd turning his head to look at the recaptured woman. His silver eyes were blank, the Alpha's air not one of impending punishment, nor was it one of offered comfort. He seemed static, yet those mercurial eyes were watching her as if she were troublesome and easy to crush.

  Abashed by such an expression, Claire glanced away, her attention turning to the blood-soaked gauze at her shoulder. Unsure why she felt guilty under his appraisal, why she was tempted to apologize, she focused on the task of peeking under the bandage. What she found almost made her retch. The wound may have been cleaned and dressed at some point while she slept, but it was an oozing, sluggishly bleeding mess, swollen and bruised and utterly disgusting.<
br />
  No wonder it hurt so badly. Shepherd had maimed her.

  He reached out a hand, pulling back the gauze to see the bite mark for himself. He seemed pleased. "That will scar nicely."

  It would scar horribly... twenty times worse than the last mark he'd made.

  Unforgiving silver eyes bore down on the woman, watching as she pressed back the dressing and tried to calm her breath. "Perhaps now you will remember that you have a mate," he said.

  Tired of intimidation and fear and silence, she forced her body to sit up. Ignoring the agony of an unresponsive arm, her green eyes flared, her small hand covering the dressing as if to shield it from him. Appalled, she growled, "You will not be punished? Then what is this? How would you like it if I tore a chunk out of you?"

  Shepherd raised a brow and challenged, "I am your mate. You may mark me if you wish."

  Something in his words caused a jolting craving to chomp so strong her lips peeled back from her teeth. With a snap of speed, Claire rolled out from under the blankets, her nails already digging little red moons into Shepherd's biceps as she scrambled to the position so she might sink in her teeth at the juncture of shoulder and neck.

  Somewhere in the haze of action, she recognized the beast was holding still, that no great swiping arm had sent her flying in response to her aggression. Her instinctive reaction had been so very quick, so mindless, that she only caught herself a second before punching her mark into the proper patch of skin.

  An unexpected wave of dizziness made her vision swim, overwhelming nausea snapping her out of madness.

  After a shaky breath, reason returned.

  Confused by how badly she still wished to bite, how everything inside her told her it was her right—that she needed it—Claire slumped, exhausted. Shepherd's hands were already on her waist, steadying her as she dropped her forehead to his shoulder.

  Flesh to flesh, he smelled like he was hers, the thread gratified by his proximity.

  Why did it have to feel so good when he pulled her closer, holding her so that she might find her strength?