What good was freedom now?
No, the nest was best. Whatever the bedding was made of she could not say, but it felt like velvet and there was enough to burrow as deep as she wanted. If she was careful, if it was dark enough, and Shepherd was beside her to hold on to, there would be no bad dreams in that nest.
She told herself this, and she lied.
They had arrived only the night before, the pitch black showing her little of her new home. Shepherd carried her because he preferred it, because the nearness of armed and uniformed Alpha strangers made her nervous once they had disembarked from the transport ship. There were gates with high walls, a new Dome that did not smell of rotting flesh.
He took her into a stately fortress; an elevator swept them to the top. There were courtyards, fountains, green things… security, privacy, a mansion if she’d ever seen one. Once inside, Shepherd had to pry her off so he might bathe her, rubbing where her fingers had grown swollen because she’d held him so hard.
The shower was far grander than the one they’d shared before, but Claire noticed little, severely uncomfortable with the idea of Shepherd seeing her naked once he began to tug at her dirty nightgown.
She knew these feelings were foolish.
But she cowered and clung to the fabric. He stopped and removed his own clothing first. He stood before her, stripped bare and still beautiful, the perfect Alpha specimen. But she was sickly, scarred, and she didn’t want him to see.
Her reprieve was short lived. Shepherd tugged at her simple sheath, tore it, giving her no chance to refuse. Once naked, if silver eyes caught where another’s cruel nails had marred her skin, if that weighty gaze ran over bites from men who were not her mate or stitch marks from closed incisions, she didn’t see. Claire kept her eyes screwed shut, her arms tight around her middle, and she cried.
But then there was warm water washing the smell of the sweat from her hair, warm hands massaging in shampoo just like she remembered, and she grew pliant. The man’s understanding of the human body could be a wondrous thing. Shepherd knew where to knead, which bones to press, and just how to draw a hum from a broken Omega.
He was happy. She felt it sing through the link.
She was empty, so she let his emotion fill her up.
Her arm slipped about his waist, her face to his chest so the Alpha could finish a ritual he had always enjoyed.
There had been moments like that in the past that had been theirs no matter what was going on beyond them. In Thólos, Claire had chosen to disregard them, to ignore them out of anger. After Thólos, she had fought to remember each nugget of secret peace, clinging to them like a life raft.
It was surreal to be living it, to stand in the comfort of the shower where there was no need to feel guilt for enjoying warm water over chilled skin.
“I like this.”
Shepherd was very pleased. “I can see that, little one.”
The shower had been nice; the nest was better. Everything smelled of Shepherd. She could rest there. She was safe.
The usual torture of searching for sleep was driven off by it. He was there, she wasn’t lonely. He purred and petted. Nightmares only woke her twice.
That’s how she knew it was real. Even with Shepherd there beside her, she was terrified when horrid memories stormed in.
When he asked her about them, she lied.The question of sex was a complicated one. The act of fucking was healthy for Alphas and Omegas, essential to the bond—some would even argue chemically necessary. She had slept almost two days upon arrival, waking only when forced so Shepherd could press her to eat and swallow medication. A firm schedule was important, and he knew Claire had a tendency toward escapism should he not enforce it.
He’d held her, let her sleep, and had not tried to initiate penetration again no matter how hard he was or how much he ached to pump seed into her belly. She had been skittish, hadn’t really enjoyed the first time beyond the compelled orgasm, and needed a reminder that physical pleasure was permissible.
Shepherd gave her forty-eight hours. When her time was up, there was one more daily injection and when she was smiling through the drug’s high, Shepherd burrowed under soft covers. She hardly moved. But, when his tongue swiped right between her legs, exactly the way he knew she loved best, his Claire woke with a stifled cry. He delved deeper, lapped and sucked, flicking about inside her as she squirmed.
“You are perfect here.”
He gave her no time to think on his words, Shepherd moving to tongue her swelling nub so his fingers might explore where she seeped slick. It was almost easy to gorge himself, swallowing up all she offered, nipping just enough for her thighs to spread obscenely. Over and over he met her eyes, watched her pant for him as her hips jerked. He let her come that way, where she was stuffed full of only his fingers, his tongue frantically licking at her clit.