Corday still had faith in her.

Making sure not to look at him too long, Claire set the COMscreen down and remained still as Maryanne snipped.

When the cut was over, dark hair tousled, Maryanne assured in a playfully thick accent, “Very beautiful.”

Handing her a pocket mirror, she frowned when Claire pressed it back, stating, “I don’t need to see.”

Maryanne shoved it back. “It’s not bad, Claire. Take a look.”

“I’m sure you did fine.”

Maryanne knew what was going on, could see through the cracks in her old friend’s mask.

Holding the mirror up, making a point, she snarled once the Omega turned her head away. “What is wrong with you?”

Moving the mirror to Claire’s new line of sight produced the same outcome. Claire looked away. Enough was enough. Maryanne grabbed a fistful of hair and held Claire’s head still, forcing the mirror before the Omega’s face. “Open your eyes and look in the mirror, Claire!”

She did. Claire looked at a hated face, one with full lips that had been painted to be pretty and black hair that had been cut to frame her face. A face with green eyes and pale skin; a face she had been unable to look at for the last week without seeing dead women who looked like her. Women she had killed.

With a voice that could no long bear inflection, Claire said, “You’re right. The lipstick is trampy.”

“You don’t need to do this to yourself, you idiot.” Maryanne gave Claire’s hair a little yank. “There is nothing wrong with that woman in the mirror. Their deaths are not your fault.”

“Step away from her, Ms. Cauley. Go stand near the door and do not move.” There was nothing but the threat of murder in Shepherd’s voice, every word enunciated with chilling precision.

Maryanne darted back, the behemoth stalking forward. Watching with awe, the Alpha female saw the mountain kneel to his mate. His purr was aggressive, his hands already petting an Omega who seemed composed and patient, but was anything but.

“She didn’t do anything wrong,” Claire explained. “Everything is fine.”

Shepherd spoke in that other language, loud enough that the Followers on the other side began to unlock the door. In a flash, Maryanne was gone. Once the door was bolted, Shepherd pulled Claire to stand and drew her to the room’s luxurious bathroom.

A large mirror hung over the fine sink, and with a flick of the lights there they were, standing side by side, framed in filigreed gold.

“Your skills at deception are abysmal,” Shepherd explained, gesturing at her reflection. “So let’s not waste time, shall we? Why are you only looking at me in the mirror and not at yourself?”

Humiliated that she had allowed this situation, that she had not performed better, Claire looked straight at her reflection. “My stomach was upset.”