One aching breath and Claire closed her eyes. In a stupor, she began to play Bach just as her mother had taught her. The pedals were tricky to reach with the male serving as her seat—a man with his hand over her womb, who moved as she moved, never once hindering. They were a single creature. Even the bulky arm chained to hers followed smoothly, Shepherd never tugging the metal links, never interfering.

Breathing in time, crying softly, Claire purged. It was all there in the melody: sorrow, shame, guilt. But as the music went on, as rumbling purrs filled the air in concert, despair changed into something that hurt a little less.

Claire was no virtuoso, her fingers hit sour notes, but performing gave her pleasure. It was pleasure she allowed, that she sucked in as if starved for it. Wet eyes opened, more tears fell. Precious sound, the feeling of keys, of warmth, drowned out the pain.

But even so beautiful a distraction could not last. “I would never have made that flyer if I’d thought others would suffer.”

Shepherd embraced her tighter. “I am aware.”

It was only a whisper. “Thólos needed to know. They needed to see. But they have done nothing. They are doing… nothing.”

Shepherd breathed at her ear. “You cannot save Thólos, little one.”

Banging the keys in a mishmash of off-putting noise, Claire ended the concert. “I shouldn’t have to! You should not have done this!”

Hand on her belly, scarred lips at her ear, Shepherd murmured, “If I had not come, what kind of life would you have had, Claire?”

What she’d always pictured. “I would have found a husband, had kids, painted… I wouldn’t be afraid for my friends, mourning more people than I can remember. My beautiful city would not be in ruins or my home destroyed.”

Shepherd used her reasoning against her. “The people you care for are safe because of you. My men watch over them. You still paint. You have a mate who would see to any need you expressed to him, so long as it did not endanger you—one who requires your patience. Beyond that, will you not find pleasure in the child I have given you?”

Hot tears falling free, Claire looked to where a very little life would be snuffed out when she ended herself—a little life that was growing daily and becoming more real, which affected her and increased her dependence on the Alpha purring at her ear.

As if he knew she refused to embrace the thought of her son, Shepherd cooed in her ear, “You will love our baby and sing for him, paint him pictures… and he will have dark hair like yours, and maybe your eyes.”