“‘Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.’ You should spend more time studying your favorite philosopher if you want to outwit me, Mrs. O'Donnell.”
One hand held the screen, the other tore at her hair. “The fact that you see our marriage as a war tells me that you need to be the one talking to Dr. Osin, not me.”
“I’m at war with your neurosis, Claire O’Donnell.” Utterly calm, as if he had prepared his answers to her anger weeks ahead of time, he said, “You reek of fear at the thought of leaving our home. You refuse the company of others. Your self-imposed solitude is over. I am ordering you to make a friend.”
“You are completely insane!”
“You claimed I am tense lately. Perhaps I would be less tense if my mate were more well.”
Her feelings stung at the barb, Claire aware that even if his COM did not show a visual, he was absolutely watching her. That he saw how her lip shook before she could stop it. “I am not one of your Followers. You don’t get to order me to do anything.”
Darkness promising so many things purred over the line. “Then I shall continue to outwit you. Have fun cleaning up the feathers. I love you, and I will see you at dusk.”
The connection terminated.
Fuming, Claire looked around the wreckage of their bedroom and screamed. Hating that she knew he was still watching her. That he would be watching her all day.
“Wow.” Maryanne leaned back in her chair, baffled and grossed out. Also not entirely sure it would be a good idea to tell Shepherd he had a small white feather in his hair. “You guys sound so normal.”
Tucking away his COMscreen, Shepherd poured such a look on Maryanne that her moxy fled.
Throwing her hands up, she said, “I know you ordered me not to speak, but she’s not on the line anymore. And it’s strange, you know? I have not heard my best friend’s voice in over a year.” Unsure why she had a death wish, Maryanne added, “Why doesn’t she have friends? Claire was always popular. A total teacher’s pet too. Everyone loves Claire, they always have.”
“If you do not report on Jules in the next ten seconds, I will break your neck and replace you.”
Rolling her eyes, Maryanne flicked the screen that held a breakdown of her daily report, including segments of video footage for Shepherd to absorb.
“As you can see, Jules remains in a cell. He receives two meals a day, which he refuses to eat. Despite standard intimidation and bribery, he has also refused to interact with his visitors: identified as Commodore Jacques Bernard and Ancil Vox, Head of Bernard Dome Security—which was ridiculously easy to infiltrate. Whoever is supervising their communications network, they are not reacting to my invasion as a professional would. I don’t think they even know I’m there. I think it’s also relevant to note that Jules has not signaled.”
His cold “You have access to everything?” was not the gold star she felt she earned.
Maryanne should have known better than to expect Shepherd to offer praise for a job well done. “So far. Including the Commodore’s bedchambers. Those videos will give you nightmares.”
Crossing his arms in a way that stretched his suit coat, Shepherd studied the monitors. “Tell me about the woman.”
“The scarred Omega? Her name’s Brenya Perin, the new mate of Commodore Bernard. As noted in previous reports, most surveillance of them are… of a sexual nature.”
“Show me.”
Several monitors filled with recorded examples of the Omega heaving under her Alpha. In all of them, she appeared unresponsive—until the bloom of Alpha coercion manipulated her physiology into an empty shell that stopped resisting and climaxed from the pressure of a knot.
To be honest, Maryanne found it… disturbingly familiar.
Years ago, Claire had come to Maryanne in such a state. Battered, frightened, but there was a clear difference between the two Omegas. Claire had refused surrender. Brenya Perin was the embodiment of defeat.
Glancing at her boss from the corner of her eye, Maryanne knew Shepherd saw it too. His jaw ticking as his unwavering stare catalogued everything.
“Do you want to know what I think, Shepherd?”
Eyes that could see right down to her rotten soul turned from the screen and weighed her down with one unbroken glare.
Her throat bobbed in a swallow, the icy fingers of impending death scratching at her spine. “I think you need to watch this.”
Flicking the controls, the screens went black, the grunts and sounds of sex snuffed out. All that was left was a single monitor offering a cheery, sun-drenched nursery.
“The runtime is one hour, five minutes, and twenty-seven seconds.” Glancing back at the Alpha monstrosity, Maryanne added, “You might want to take a seat.”