He’d felt Claire’s panic through the pair-bond for hours, and ached that he could not comfort what he knew must have been frightening for his mate. She was calling for him through their link so loudly that Shepherd was almost certain he could hear her voice caught in the shrieking gale. More than once it had stolen his focus, but he had persevered in his duty.
The hours defending the Citadel were hard fought, but they had survived the siege through almost one day.
Looking at the battle below, Shepherd knew his men would not make it one more. There were millions tearing at the barricades, hastily constructing rudimentary brigades to reach the Follower’s sanctuary. Some had even begun attempting climbing the sides of the Citadel with ropes flung over anything that might hold the weight of a man.
There were too many.
His men were outnumbered, and though those who stood by him had superior weapons, the savages below with their kitchen knives and swinging pipes no longer seemed to care if they lived or died.
The herd was slowly breaking through the barricades, using the dead as shields as they crept closer by the minute.
There were not enough bullets, not enough men, to take them all down.
Sooner rather than later, it would all be over.
Shepherd took a deep breath and took his eyes away from the line of filthy citizens rushing his gates, turning his attention to Claire’s sky. It was a beautiful sunset, a small flurry of snow falling lightly. His mate would have enjoyed such a glorious view. He would have enjoyed standing next to her while she looked at it.
It pained him greatly that she was so distraught. Longing to feel her comforted, he tried to send her love and reassurance through their bond, a thing he had done for hours.
Shepherd wanted to give her more. But he could not.
All he could do was punish the city for ruining their future and forcing him to leave his mate and child alone in the world. All he could do was take Svana from the city she wished to rule.
He would break any who made it up the steps with his bare hands, watch them bleed, and smile.
Then he would unleash the virus and die for Claire.
The grand doors of the Citadel wide open at his back, Thólos in shambles at his feet, Shepherd tensed at the sound of running feet behind him.
Breathless from running, a Follower rushed towards him. “Svana has been collected.”
Shepherd almost closed his eyes when a wave of warm relief ran over his flesh. At last. “Report.”
“She’s dead. Jules dumped her body on the transport’s gangway and told us to pack it on ice immediately. He took a med-kit from the ship, sir, and abandoned his post.”
Shepherd had no words to match the look of incredulity that blazed in his eyes. “Where is he now?”
The Follower was grim, shaking his head. “Unaccounted for, sir.”
Shepherd’s lashes flared, the Alpha glaring. “How long before that ship can be in the air?”
“The engines are cycling now. Five minutes to launch.”
They might not have five minutes if the rumbling Shepherd could feel vibrating from the Citadel’s dirty marble floors was any indication. Too many raged outside. There was a finite number of bullets available, and it was only a matter of time before one of Svana’s bombers crept near enough to detonate. If the building was brought down before the ship was airborne, everything would be lost. “Forgo system checks. Launch immediately.”
The order was given just as the building lurched. Segments of the north ramparts began to crumble, one side of the Citadel folding in on itself. Another bomb detonated, Shepherd was thrown, a wall breaking his body’s trajectory and breaking his bones.Hours had passed since it had begun, hours in which sedation that had been a blessing dulling her panic and pain began to fade. Now that Claire dimly recognized all that had been done, she was far beyond screaming.
She no longer remembered their faces, only told them apart by the way they made her body jerk when they raped her.
Hard and fast, he was the one inside her when her child began to die, when the real blood began to flow... and he had howled like a wolf as if the gush of red fluid easing his way inside her body had pleased him. Then there was short and twitchy, he was the one who rode her the most violently, clawing his nails into her skin, marking her with little bleeding puncture wounds shaped like crescent moons.
Half aware, reeling from another blow when she refused to part her lips for the filthy cock held to her face, Claire blinked gummily and heard it again—the Undercroft prisoners were screaming for her in the halls.
She’d thrown up three times, vomited all the semen they’d shot down her throat each time one of them fucked her mouth and forced her to swallow as she choked on the gushes. She was still lying in it, face down, and it was cold, and pink. Sometimes she cried for Shepherd, when she grew lucid enough to feel the pain. Mostly she just stared at the cell’s only door, watching the feet of monsters shuffle by in their rags, terrified they would turn their attention on her and reach through the bars.