Reborn (Alpha's Claim Book 3) (10 page)

It was only one silent drop of salt water, yet it must have cost him greatly. Claire brushed it away in the kiss he wanted, soothing him as he had done for her each time he’d brought her to tears—only she did something he never did, she felt remorse at another’s suffering and offered with trembling lips, “I am so sorry, Shepherd.”

Her words made the man screw his eyes shut. When Claire tried to shift, to move away and leave him in peace, his arms snapped around her, squeezing, holding as if she might vanish to a place he might never reach her.

Claire settled closer and asked softly, “Would you like me to sing you another song?”

He nodded once.

When her song had finished, Shepherd held her where he could look at her, the man staring for hours. It made her uncomfortable, the intensity of his scrutiny, but each time she turned her head away he would gently bring it back so that the green of her eyes was not denied to him.

Their cards were on the table. Claire had proclaimed Svana did not love him, and in doing so proclaimed he was a self-deluded pawn. The revelation cutting him deeply, though she suspected it was something he already knew and laboriously struggled to accept. Shepherd had accused her of harboring thoughts of killing their child before Svana or Shepherd might ruin him. She did, and it made her hate herself for all the doubt that flourished inside her, how every day her resolve weakened.

Neither was at peace, each of them raw from battle. But Shepherd was still bigger and he would not let her move.

Between them the thread was... a nameless sort of discord. And it kept changing, evolving. A part of Claire wanted to continue the assault, to demand that Shepherd stop this madness in Thólos now that he must accept Svana for what she was. The wiser part kept her silent.

When you surround an army, leave an outlet free. Do not press a desperate foe too hard. –Sun Tzu

Confronting him about Svana, it may have been Claire’s greatest victory against Shepherd yet, but she took no joy in the deep-set anguish she sensed in the Alpha. Nor did she feel content in the confessions she’d made to get what she wanted. She may have brought him to his knees for a moment, she may have bluntly torn at his delusion, but for some reason, she wondered if she had not given him, an unscrupulous man, more reason to fight.

Thólos was a plaything for Svana, an entertainment and ploy for some endgame Claire could not grasp. Thólos was a mission to Shepherd, a man who had been a lifelong inmate in one sense or another—a man who truly believed in the cause. Following through on the mission, Shepherd wanted to do it to save them all; to even save Claire from herself.

Maybe that’s why Shepherd was looking at her; maybe he was afraid for her. Or maybe he had finally seen the purity he seemed to adore was gone. Perhaps now that he knew everything, now that he realized the truth, he would kill her. A part of her wanted him to. Watching his eyes, the unending stare, the hardness and calculation, Claire felt her bottom lip tremble just enough to give her wretchedness away.

Flexing her muscles, sick of his game, Claire found again he would not allow her to retreat. Just like with each other time she fussed, Shepherd’s answer was to place the weight of his palm on her chest and increase the incessant purr only long enough for her to still again. All the while those eyes were moderately narrowed, heavy upon her, communicating something she could not even begin to fathom.

It seemed like hours passed before the mass of the Alpha finally lifted and set her free. At once, she left the nest, locked herself in the bathroom, and tried to find solace in the solitude. There was no comfort there, not in the haunted face of the green-eyed woman staring back at her from the mirror.

She bathed and attended to the needs of her body, stretching out the time, hoping that when she left the steam filled room, Shepherd would be gone.

Claire was not so lucky.

He was there waiting for her, still naked, standing proudly near the nest.

Stern, his brows drawn low into a scowl, a large hand came forward. He flicked his fingers, still silent after so many hours, and beckoned her forward.

Claire shook her head in the negative, feeling exposed and awkward. The man did not hesitate to approach, to take her by the shoulders, but it was not with a harsh, punishing grip. Shepherd was holding softly, rubbing her chilled skin with his thumbs.

When he leaned over, when their faces were only an inch apart, Shepherd let one hand slide down her arm to take her fingers in his and bring them up to touch his face, placing her palm over his scar spattered stubble.

Shepherd was calling forth the debt.

The timing could not have been worse. Claire did not want to kiss him; she didn’t want to touch him. All she wanted was to hide from those eyes and burrow in her nest. Her cowardice made her feel weak, and she was tired of feeling weak. That was why she forced herself to draw his head down the final distance so she could touch her mouth to his and be done with it.

The sensation was strange. Shepherd’s plump lips were not foreign to her, he’d pressed them uninvited to hers many times, but something about applying pressure back... about actually kissing him... it made the experience completely different.

The slow extended moment of a simple kiss, Claire still heartsick over their conversation, knowing he was too, the almost cautious fusing of their lips felt... it made her feel a little better.

In the past, living as a Beta, there had always been an issue of growing aroused. Slick was an aroma no soap or pill could cover. That was the reason she’d never really kissed a boy, not even after the end of a date. Just a quick peck if anything... similar to the platonic way she kissed Maryanne. Yet standing with him at that moment, hardly moving, hardly touching, Shepherd’s kiss was utterly different. It was decadent and soft, the feather light slide of his mouth on hers pleasurable.

And he seemed so patient.

Claire suspected that he was giving her time to feel it out, as if he knew she was a novice. When it seemed the natural time to stop, she let her heels hit the floor, and looked at his mouth, rubbing her lips together as she wondered if it had been done right.

“Yes.” Shepherd said it softly.

Claire hardly had time to address the fact that he had answered her thoughts before a low rumbling throat noise came from the Alpha. He backed her against the wall, and with a breathy groan, retook her mouth.

Shepherd feasted, grunting the second she hesitated—a damn bully, until she followed his lead and ended up breathless and dizzy.

Where there had been silence, an aggressive purr filled the air. Where there had been discomfiture, there was loss of sadness. Claire had never known kissing could be so consuming, so fulfilling, that the act could be so very intimate.

Between the assertive purr, the strength of his hands roving all over her body, and the long forbidden enjoyment of his mouth and tongue, Claire felt the transformation from ragged to something reconciled. Everything was different, but it wasn’t, but it was. Every breath in her lungs came from him, air they shared, and when he made the growl, it was not because he needed to call forth the slick, for she was pooling with it. It was simply because he was an Alpha calling to his Omega mate.

Reaching down he hooked her legs over his arms, lifted her against the wall. He opened her up, without ever breaking the contact of their mouths. The first spearing thrust of possession was almost enough to draw out her climax. Claire felt him smile against her lips, and whined when he pressed biting kisses down her jaw, her mouth tingling and hungry for more attention.

Brimming with Shepherd heavy and thick inside her, the Alpha tasting every inch he could reach, Claire found herself mirroring his movement. She kissed his neck, bit his ear as he often had done to her, lapping at the shell. When her actions brought the man to slam his fist against the wall, it didn’t frighten her. Deep, under layers of complications, worry faded, because she felt safe. Fear disappeared, because she felt loved. And the link sang that so long as she remained in that room, so long as she was bound to the Alpha adoring her with his mouth and body, she could be both those things.

Her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, the Omega climbing a thrusting mountain, until she claimed his lips again. He seemed almost surprised, the flash of silver between his lashes only thrilling to her. The rut turned far more aggressive, a part of Claire wondering if he even realized how desperately he moaned as he jerked against her body.

She could almost hear his thoughts:
Take your victory...

That’s what this was. She’d made him vulnerable, she had the power, and that was why he had stared... gauging if she knew. It was rare for him to be the one to lose control, yet there he was, mumbling something against her skin, something soft and breathy, a sound very much like, “love me,” over and over.

And god help her, she wanted to.

Shepherd’s hips rocked, angled so he could hit that fleshy spot inside her, groaning when Claire keened appreciatively from his effort.

“Love me,” he said it again, demanding and loud, absolutely unashamed.

The sensitive flesh of her swelling breast was fondled, a nipple toyed with as he surged. He smelled so perfect, tasted even better, Claire’s tongue dancing with his, relishing Shepherd, mimicking the penetration of his cock. The feeling of him smiling against her mouth again was all it took in the end, a taste of his joy so much more exquisite than any sexual gratification. The swell of pleasure crested, broke through her as she held him tighter, Shepherd’s name passing from her lips.

The saturation of the groan he made once the rippling strangle on his cock began, it wrecked her. She shivered, feeling him grind deeply to knot. They were both panting when their mouths broke apart, each gazing at the other, expressions opposite of the distrust and suspicion from before.

Watching his kiss-swollen lips form his declaration, “I love you, little one,” was captivating.

Glancing from his mouth to his liquid silver eyes, Claire gave him the only olive branch she could. She took a deep breath, and claimed, “Your son is making me hungry.”

Shepherd laughed, the rich sound that came out was beautiful when suspicion did not alter the tone. For just a moment, she was struck by the splendor of his smile. He kissed her long and deep. “Then I shall feed you. I will care for my mate and our child.”

“I want raspberries.”

The nature of his arms around her grew gentle. “I always make sure there are raspberries on the premises for you.”

“I know you do.”

Walking through the door with a scowl and bruised jaw was not exactly the picture Corday wanted to present to Leslie Kantor. She did not respond with favor to perceived weakness, and he needed her to keep him in her counsel. Brigadier Dane had been right. Leslie’s talk of saving Claire had diminished. But, there had been a spark in her the second Corday handed over his analyzed maps of the Citadel, his notes, and tested her. “You might be right. Claire may have betrayed us. If your rebels can find her, there should be a trial.”

He did this because he loved Claire. He did it because he knew Brigadier Dane was the only soldier who might actually care if the Omega lived.

Leslie’s subtle hints had done their work. Around the Premier’s Sector, the name Claire O’Donnell had become a whispered curse. He’d seen their contempt when the few rebels chosen for the rescue mission absorbed their orders. He felt it every time Leslie spoke of Shepherd’s mate.

Day by day, he trusted Lady Kantor less. Day by day, he silently prayed for Claire.

Today, his prayers were answered. The morning had started simply enough. Scrounging for supplies was second nature at this point. Corday knew what to watch for, who not to look in the eye while he scuttled through the causeways.

Armed with Callas’s data cubes, the rebels now knew exactly how to craft explosives, where certain chemicals were stored, and likely locations of other supplies the rebellion’s growing numbers might use.

Once Leslie’s list of necessities had been acquired, Corday began the journey back to the Premier’s Sector, aware he was a target the second his hands were full of anything that could be deemed useful to another.

When the thugs came, Corday simply offered the box of random items to the three unwashed men, unable to reach his gun with his hands full. Before his supplies had even hit the ground, a boney fist connected with his jaw. He’d hit the snow, somewhat surprised a man so skinny packed such a punch. Another got him with a cheap shot to the kidney just as Corday saw the third pull a knife.

A shot was fired… but not from Corday’s gun.

A woman old enough to be his grandmother stood on a stoop with a haggard face, aimed, and fired again. Two of the thugs had been hit—one dead, the other howling from a bullet to the leg. Asshole number three grabbed Corday’s box and ran off, abandoning his bleeding cohort to whatever fate awaited him.