Page 63 of Born to be Broken

“No.”

“I will paint you whatever you wish.”

“No.”

She had failed so many; she could at least do one thing for the dead women. Moving her hand to hover over his exposed dick, she faked resolve but her unsteady voice betrayed her. “I will initiate sex at a time of your choosing.”

Shepherd looked down between them where her hand was so close, but not near enough. Enticed, he purred, eyes ready to devour her. “That is a far more interesting offer. I choose all three.”

Fine, then that was what he would get. “I want proof it was done.”

The Alpha grinned, thoroughly smug. “Sing something now, in good faith.”

She could do this. “What song would you like to hear?”

Moving her hair behind her ears, Shepherd ensured his view would be unobstructed. “The song you first sang, but no crying this time. You must also look me in the eye as you sing to me.”

The ballad began and she sang it the whole way through, Shepherd caressing, purring, seemingly well-satisfied with the arrangement. Claire did not cry, far too eager to have her way.

When she had finished, he was tame… looking at her as he’d looked at Svana. “It could be like this all the time, little one.”

She put a hand to his cheek and said softly with a heart hard as stone, “No, Shepherd, it couldn’t.”

“You will see…” Placid, Shepherd drew her back down to rest. “I will show you.”

Everything was soft and warm and fluffy. Claire had no interest in shifting, even for the smell of coffee and the warm hand reaching into her burrow. Shepherd hooked her around the waist and pulled until her messy hair cleared the blue duvet and a bleary-eyed Omega emerged.

The new bed had arrived during her dinner with Maryanne—everything in her favorite shade of blue, everything fresh. Even with the effort the Alpha had made, Claire had not felt an urge to nest for many days. But he kept putting her back in it, taking her from whatever she was doing and burying them both under the covers, caressing her belly to encourage his Omega’s thoughts of the baby, until at last it just clicked and she subconsciously began to sniff at him, began to press nearer.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Claire sulked, unhappy Shepherd had woken her. A wise man, he gave her a cappuccino and waited for her new morning ritual, his little one peeking, trying to hide her interest in discovering what picture lay in the foam that day before she sipped and the art was spoiled.

In her cup bloomed an intricate poppy. Claire begrudgingly loved it. “Does the person who makes these have any idea who they’re for?”

Shepherd answered with a question. “You ask because of the flower shape?”

“You have to admit, it’s a little ridiculous they would give you a drink with flowers in it.”

“It is a courtship ritual of Dome culture for the male to offer flowers to the female. I ordered it to be prepared this way.”

Internally cringing, Claire sipped the drink and hated that she blushed at his attempted romantic gesture, that he was going to mistake her embarrassment for coyness, that he was already looking at her with an arrogant glow in his eyes.

There was more. “Our agreement has been fulfilled.”

Claire set the cup and saucer on the bedside table, bracing herself. “And the proof?”

Shepherd brought forth his COMscreen. “May only upset you, so I am asking you to trust me and not look at the photographs.”

There was no chance in hell Claire would trust such a man. “It could not be any worse than other things I have seen in this city.”

She took the COMscreen, snatching it from his hands. The first image had been taken from a distance, all three bodies shown dangling, but not near enough to be graphic. The second was from the same vantage, Shepherd’s Followers taking them down. Claire was tempted to stop there, to accept that as good enough, but to do so would be to show weakness in the face of her adversary. Her finger slid across the screen. Bodies side by side in an open grave, rotted faces on display, only pits remaining where eyes had once been. Each corpse was still gagged, shrunken lips exposing teeth, hanging ropes embedded in their necks.

Claire could not look away.

Shepherd gently pried the COMscreen from her hands. “Are you satisfied?”

What she was was incredibly ill. Nodding, her mouth grew sour, Claire sank deeper into her bed in hopes he’d leave so she could run to the bathroom and puke.

Shepherd knew her every tick, knew she was unwell. Claire could either walk to the bathroom and be sick with dignity, or he was going to get involved, his scowl said as much.