Sitting like an overgrown hulk at the small desk, Shepherd accessed his COMscreen and ignored her. Claire began her ritual pacing, a caged animal denied the room to run. Darting a glance at the back of his hated head, she suspected his inattention was some ruse. That, at any moment, he would turn around and pull out his cock.

But the exclusion continued—as if he were trying to break her down, confuse her... doing it subtly until she just cracked.

Breathing irregularly, her fists clenched in her hair, pulling black locks, she repeated over and over inside her skull. "I am Claire."

"Come here." The order was issued in a moderate voice, Shepherd having not even turned his head in her direction.

The last time she ignored a summons, he'd fucked her three times in a row, even as she begged him to stop—left her spent and replete until she could do nothing but lie still and stare at the wall. Moving to stand at his side, her hair wild, Claire did as she was told.

A large hand enveloped the entirety of her hip, pulling her a few inches closer before the mountain turned. "Your brooding is making you upset."

Why was she being reprimanded for having feelings? Normal humans who were not psychopathic murderers had feelings. And normal people did not do well for weeks on end in the same fucking room with only a monster for company!

Working his massive thumb into the hollow below her hip bone, Shepherd took in her disturbed expression. "Sing something for me."

"Uhhh…" What? Sing? Claire did not want to mate, and that was the probable outcome if she refused. Scowling, she rubbed her lips together and tried to slow down her thoughts long enough to think of a song. Nothing came to mind. "What kind of song?"

"Something soothing."

He was trying to get her to self-soothe. Well, he could go fuck himself. After a minute or two of deliberation, with the same steady pressure of his thumb moving against her skin, Claire settled on a well-known ballad older than the time of the domes. It was sappy and portrayed romance in a totally untrue light, but she had always liked it.

Though now she knew better. There was no such thing as true love—of that Claire was certain—only indoctrination, chemicals, and bastards who kept you locked in rooms.

By the time she neared the end, her voice had grown desolate. The brooding had been replaced with despair. There was never going to be a hero. The growing cord of the bond made it clear that she would only ever have the large Alpha seated before her. A man whose face she hated with her whole heart.

"Kneel."