Looking at the nasty bruising on her arm, Claire flexed the limb, certain it would ache for quite some time. It was worth it. Shepherd may have cornered her that morning, made her uncomfortable and bashful, but she’d had him with his back against the wall the night before, just long enough to expose that she had been correct. Pieces of it were coming together, Shepherd’s mental need to keep her all to himself, using her to ease the grief Svana caused whether he recognized that fact or not, confirmed.

That was something; it was a place to start.

Shepherd’s initial reaction had been violent, even the sex, but when they woke, he was only indulgent. It was as if the rage from the previous night, the force that had compelled him to fuck her so roughly and so long she’d become boneless, was just gone.

The man had exorcised a demon.

Even at his most dangerous, he had never looked from her face, kept much of his skin pressed to hers, ordered her to call out his name, his burning eyes almost rolling back in his skull each time she did. He communicated to her with his driving need, with the force in which he urged her climax. His fiery expressions used to frighten her, the set of his jaw, the glares… now she was beginning to understand. It was longing.

Shepherd was always watching her reaction, looking for something, some small hint as he coaxed out her sordid urges. He had some need that had been neglected. When coupled, she was tender and would stroke him, draw in his scent and smile. Perhaps that was why he mated her so often. He had a base craving for such affection. Shepherd wanted her to love him and was confused as to how to foster such a thing when she did not automatically fall into what he assumed was proper Omega behavior.

Claire did not love him, but she had offered him comfort when his side of the cord displayed the turmoil her words had stirred up. That had been instinctive, and even though she despised Shepherd, it was the right thing to do in the war she was waging. Progress would require her to serve her position as mate if she was to stand even a chance of edifying him, and petty tactics such as seduction or dishonesty would never serve her.

Claire was not foolish enough to believe she could fix him. After all, Shepherd’s thinking was warped far beyond anything she could untwist. But she could chip away at the wrongness; she could expose weakness in a man who seemed to have none.

Claire was going to bare him to himself piece by piece if it killed her.

It probably would.