Dashing the book against the wall, Claire inhaled deeply, her nose to his chest.
Wisely, Shepherd held still, let her crawl over him so she might find the limits of where the scent might linger. He’d caused this discord by unthinkingly not considering such an outcome, but he would not allow Claire to believe the worst. She smelled him everywhere, clawed her small hands into his clothes, finding every last trace. The stink was so subtle, she was surprised she’d even noticed. The man did not smell of sex or slick or a recent shower. In fact, he mostly smelled of her.
Cautiously, Shepherd offered a remedy to the issue. “Shall we bathe?”
We?...
Claire pulled away as far as his hold on her would allow. She repeated what he’d crowed only moments before, the phrase much more menacing coming from her lips. “Take note, I am being extremely indulgent of you at this moment.”
Shepherd drew breath as if to speak, but Claire held up a finger, and cut him off. “You stink of the Alpha you fucked in my nest a minute after you found her trying to murder me and your baby! Speak and I might just have to kill you.”
The Alpha kept his mouth shut—but it was not her tone or threat that stopped his lips, it was the smell of his mate’s arousal already seeping, hot and thick, into the fabric of his trousers. He watched her small hand hike up her skirt, saw her reach under to cup her sex. Once her fingers were covered in slick, she met his eyes, smearing her hand down his neck, directly over the spot where he stank of his beloved.
Gathering more of her wetness, Claire soaked the patch of his shirt until she could only smell herself.
It was not good enough.
Unable to comprehend anything beyond black rage, Claire clawed the fabric and ripped Shepherd’s shirt to threads.
Her nose went back to his exposed chest and she let out the most threatening growl an Omega could make.
If he was hushing her, or reprimanding, touching, or in shock, Claire was absolutely oblivious. Every fiber of her being demanded she stake claim, that she scratch her marks all over his body, that she leave a sign all other females would see.
She left him bloody.
Breathing hard, she reared up until eye level with the man. “Now you will fuck me, hard, in every way that pleases me. And when it is done, you will get me food, because I’m fucking hungry!”
He was on her with such force the breath was knocked from her body. Shepherd did exactly as his mate demanded, pounding into her with a fury that set her howling amidst their shredded clothing. In Shepherd’s experience, there had never been a coupling like it. She was beyond estrous, beyond fiery passion. Her angry possessiveness blended so beautifully with the lustful need to claim what was hers—but it was so much more than that. What began as violent evolved until they were more than physically joined. He had what he wanted, her covetous emotion honest and pure in the bond. Shepherd gluttonously reveled in it.
She wanted him.They had never openly discussed it, or even furtively shared whispers after the sham meetings they pantomimed week after week for Shepherd’s surveillance team. Both Brigadier Dane and Enforcer Corday had played their parts, openly quarreling at the old location, hosting meetings where nothing of value was accomplished. It was all a performance, but the continuous suffering of their people was very real.
The old resistance was dying. Their friends were dying—not just from violence, but from crushed hope. In the eyes of the Dome, Brigadier Dane and Enforcer Corday were two great failures.
The title did not disturb either of them. Both clung to what really mattered: survival.
Not their survival, both of them could see the writing on the wall. They needed their people to live; they needed to give Leslie Kantor and her growing band of rebels a chance.
At least that’s what they told themselves.
More people died, more disappeared.
Since the day Lady Kantor told him in secret exactly how she was going to take back the Dome, Corday could do nothing but nod dumbly. It sat there, that horrible knowledge, like a rock on his chest, but he could not see any other options.
Brigadier Dane had needed to know what her actions would be consigning, what the two of them were a part of.
That’s why they found their way to one another the first time they’d met in secret, how they found their way to the ruined safe house where the headless remains of Senator Kantor still lay wrapped in garbage bags on the table.
The causeways were empty, the city hollow, and cold, the two standing in a room that reeked of decay.
There was no one there to watch. Lady Kantor and her minions, Shepherd and his Followers... no soul knew who met and why.