Hard, unblinking eyes held hers. Jules clarified, "Seclusion is customary behavior when adjusting one's Omega into their new life."
She laughed right in his face. "I should not be surprised at your lack of civility, given what you are. No wonder she was too ashamed to admit who had claimed her. Does he beat her, too?"
"When you saw her, did she look beaten?" The man leered, leaning forward.
Nona answered calmly. "She looked terrified and unwell."
"How long have you known Miss O'Donnell?"
The severe-faced woman said nothing.
Jules was through playing games. "It is in your best interest to answer my questions, Ms. French."
"Or what? You'll lock me in jail so that I can be given away at my next estrous?"
"At your age, estrous would be unlikely. I would simply have you killed."
Tapping her fingers on the table, Nona smiled. "I'm old. And I lived on my terms. The threat of death does not overly concern me."
"What about torture?"
"Only one way to find out."
Jules smiled and leaned back in his chair. "I didn't say your torture. There are two Omegas in our custody too young to serve a purpose. It is them I will torture if you do not tell me what I want to know."
Nona's anxiety spiked. Lips pressed in a line, she nodded.
Looking back at the file, Jules began again. "How long have you known Miss O'Donnell?"
Her answer was vague. "We were introduced two years before her mother died."
"And you have been a surrogate parent?"
"I have been a friend," Nona grunted. "Claire is independent and did not need to be coddled."
Jules looked to her again. "So she is not aware that when her father died, you funded the endowment that allowed her to pursue art over menial labor?"
"She is not," Nona answered, her lips tight. "As far as I knew, only the bank had access to such information."
Suddenly the tenor of the conversation altered. The air grew thick and Jules spoke with no smile or intonation. "It seems you have a strong personal attachment to the girl, which makes me wonder why you allowed her to enter the courts."
A deep furrow grew between Nona's brows. "We both volunteered, but I was supposed to be the one to go to the courts."
"Explain."
"She stole the prepared clothing while I was bathing. By the time I was aware of what had happened, she was gone. Claire is very protective of the ones she loves."
"Did no one try to stop her?"
"The group agreed with her reasoning." The woman looked away, her disappointment obvious. "And many simply thought she would be more appealing as our representative. It was a very close vote."
"Is that not ironic?" Bored, the man looked her dead in the eye. "Who was her contact to Senator Kantor?"
"Since you have already questioned the women who met with her that evening, I am certain you are aware that it was never mentioned in the brief conversation we shared." Leaning on her elbows, the older woman demanded, "I want to see Claire."
"No," the Beta answered flatly.
The interrogation continued; a list of assorted questions about Claire's history, her quirks—some so precise, such as her favorite fruit, that even Nona did not know the answer. The exchange was strange, and she wondered why Shepherd did not ask Claire these questions himself.
#
There had been only exhaustion in Claire's short-lived freedom, and Shepherd had allowed her no rest upon her return. Between the eight days of insomnia and the chemical alertness of estrous, Claire was drained in a way she had never known. There was never enough sleep; her former restlessness was replaced with haunting lethargy and an unwillingness to move from the nest. When she woke, she would be burrowed, completely covered. Once or twice she snarled at the male reaching in to pluck her out from under all the covers so she might eat or he might dress her wound.
All she wanted was the dark, and to be left alone. But Shepherd would appear no matter how much she hated the sight of him, the man dragging her to stiffly lie atop him. Too tired to complain, she lay limp, knowing he would cover them both and reproduce her burrow. Once total darkness returned, she would pretend the bastard was not there... or she would try. Shepherd would only let her rest for a short time before his seeking hands more than petted the lingering soreness from her body, fondling increasingly tender breasts and playing between her legs.
Claire did not want the attention, hated that his smell did things to her, that she craved it so badly she had a need to burrow into his side of the bed when he was gone. As if he knew what kept her constantly sniffing him, yesterday's shirts began to appear in their nest. Upon waking, finding them pressed to her nose, Claire would toss them out and curse him to hell.