Now, the link was open—he could not hide from her.
“If your plan is to murder me by scaring me to death, you’re on the right track!” Claire glared over her shoulder, barking, “I should sneak up on you and see how much you like it...”
His lips were against her crown, the beast all grumbly and soothing. “You would never be successful in such an endeavor.”
One hand cupping the subtle bump of her belly, Shepherd enfolded her in his embrace, offering a treat on the palm of his other hand.
She snatched it at once, shoving a chocolate in her mouth, all the while arguing, “I might not be as sneaky as you, but I am a lot faster.”
“Yes.” Shepherd grew marginally annoyed at the reminder. “You are very fast. A good trait for an Omega. Gloating, however, is less desirable. Eat your chocolate.”
And there was that other new thing, the smirk he was learning to inspire. Claire popped another truffle between her lips, slaked and impish. “So you are trying to feed me candy until I’m fat and slow?”
Shepherd purred, enticing the Omega when he rolled his groin against her. “My mate is a glutton, but I exercise her often.”
Mouth full, Claire argued. “Sex is not exercise.”
Shepherd nestled closer, thoroughly pleased she’d engaged in a playful back and forth, and very eager to reward her. Or he was, until Claire backed away, her scent suddenly laced with sharp anxiety.
Shepherd watched her fidget and dart her eyes to every corner, he watched her waver between anger and alarm.
Distraction typically realigned his mate, and he was perfectly comfortable with manipulation when the outcome would make her calm. Maintaining the distance she’d put between them, Shepherd cocked his head. “What have you painted today?”
Claire waved towards the table so that he might look for himself before she began to sniff at the air.
Keeping his eye on the woman, Shepherd approached her work. A cursory glance went over what was splashed on the paper. He saw her point of view of the very afternoon he’d first laid eyes on her. She’d painted him to be monstrously large, herself small, draped in rags, holding a bottle of pills. Jules stood sentry, his cool-eyed disdain captured perfectly. Every detail was beautifully done. He would have told her so, but in his heart, Shepherd knew his appreciation of that moment was not what she’d hoped to encourage.
His pleasure would inspire her pain. Claire only ever wanted him to see more and be moved to change. He already was more—a great deal more.
He waited for Claire to make her speech, to offer her insight and whatever lesson she’d cooked up all the hours he was away. Instead, she ignored him, nervously toying with the bedding.
Shepherd cleared his throat. She didn’t look. He chose a neutral comment of their shared memory. “You pulled down your scarf to swallow one of those pills. You exhaled. That was the moment I first caught your scent.”
Claire stilled. Her eyes didn’t leave the nest, but she did speak. “How many hours did I stand there?”
“Six.” Shepherd set aside Claire’s painting, leaning a hip on the table. “You stood in the Citadel for approximately six hours.”
A line formed between her brows. “It felt like much longer. I’d been so sick, but I could not leave... because you would not acknowledge me.”
“Women come to the Citadel daily to offer themselves to me or my men. All are ignored.”
“I’m not sure what to make of that statement...” The idea made her skin crawl. Claire worried her lip. “You could be wrong. They might only wish to speak with you.”
Shepherd’s offering was gentle, the man crossing the room so that while he spoke he might trace her claiming marks. “You were different, little one.”
She didn’t mean to cringe. Claire knew he had not intended to insult her, but she did feel something. It was not a good feeling. Truth was, Claire understood the motivation of such women. After all, had she not done the same thing, trading her body to Shepherd? “Not in the long run.”
He absorbed her reaction, her poorly veiled shame, her misconception of injustice. Fingers burrowing into her hair, he purred all the louder. “You are my mate, Claire. Not a whore. You carry my child... There is no correlation to what those women offer and what you share with me.”
Claire looked back at the table, thinking to edge around him. “I can understand why they would offer themselves. I do not appreciate that you call them whores. They are just trying to survive.”
He could have made a snatch for her, he could have pinned his mate to the bed to show her his displeasure with her hesitation to be near him, but Shepherd let her be. It was more than her abnormal scent, she was acting very strangely.