While he was reading, Claire had glanced at the shelves, Shepherd’s windows, and glared at the spine of the baby book she avoided like the plague, wondering if there had been some suggestion on soothing pregnancy tactile aggravation with story time. She hated that book, hated that its bright white cover did not fit in with the other books, hated that she was always tempted to look inside, but had to fight herself, to keep distant, because she was afraid.
To stop the whirlwind in her thoughts, she had pressed closer to Shepherd in that confusing moment, sniffing and humming, eyes closed as her hand stroked up his thigh straight towards the distraction she wanted. She’d fondled over the fabric of his cargo pants until he was as hard as she was wet.
Claire O’Donnell had initiated sex.
There was absolutely no hesitation on his end to give her what she wanted, Shepherd going so far as to crawl down as she pressed him lower, her body arching up to silently ask for his mouth. Like a greedy, self-serving woman, as soon as she had come all over his tongue she’d fallen asleep. He must have tucked her in, because when she woke she was deep in her burrow and he was gone.
She had not woken happy... Claire had woken in complete distress.
Shepherd was in a terrible mood again, but that was not her worry. It was that dream, that terrible dream of the Undercroft that seemed to come out of nowhere and wreck her mind—the prisoners foaming at the mouth as they watched through the bars as the devil fucked her.
These horrible phantoms were always reaching; sometimes they touched her and she’d scream.
Sitting up, trying to shake off the chill that followed her out of sleep, her world fell apart. In that moment Claire was certain the gods hated her, that she was cursed. Moving her hand to her belly, she sucked in a breath, and realized there was a sensation she could never ignore or forget. It was the quickening of her baby, the small internal flutter that let her know her son was alive, and that she was a mother, even if she refused to think about him.
When Shepherd found her bawling her eyes out a few minutes later, he had rushed to her, his expression disturbed. Her reaction had been to initiate sex again, and for once he’d responded reluctantly, asking her what was wrong. She’d use her lips to kiss his neck, to mouth the claiming marks, knowing it was manipulative, knowing he would not stop such a thing, but absolutely unwilling to explain what a monster she was.
Since that mating, he’d watched her closely, sniffing her frequently, hyper vigilant. He had a good right to be. He was the father of the baby she had been determined to kill for months, a child that was going to die if she suicided—a baby that existed but did not exist until she’d felt it move.
But now... what was she going to do now?
Claire put away her thoughts and forced herself to focus on the guest waiting patiently for her to speak. Smiling sadly at Maryanne, she asked, “Do you remember the night after my mother was termed a suicide, what the government did?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I’d sat up with my dad that night. He was unusually quiet,” the unsmiling Omega began. “We were watching a film when they came banging on the door. Can you imagine how my father reacted?”
Maryanne shook her head in the negative, but watched her friend very closely.
“Our home was comfortable; my mother had flowers flourishing in the windows. I had friends, did well in school, played safely in the causeways. When they came, when orders were given, Dad grabbed me, no questions asked, both of us in our pajamas, and pushed past the Enforcers. His transport had been confiscated, so he dragged me behind him the final distance to the nearest bridge to the next sector. He pulled me so fast I did not even have time to turn around or look back. We went up the elevators, almost all the way to the top of the Dome. The Gallery Gardens... my dad took me to the orange trees before anything bad could touch me. He took me away from the sight of my house being stolen. We stayed in the highest level, for two weeks, some of that time I even forgot to miss my mother. He kept me there until his savings were depleted and we had no choice but to leave.”
“That sounds like Collin.” Maryanne nodded, unsure what the point of her story was.
“I can’t carry my baby someplace where he will be safe. There won’t be any orange groves. No playdates in the park, or family vacations.” Claire’s voice grew darker and slow tears fell down her cheeks. “I cannot even begin to imagine what there will be.”