Shepherd nestled closer, thoroughly pleased she’d engaged in a playful back and forth, and very eager to reward her. Or he was, until Claire backed away, her scent suddenly laced with sharp anxiety.

Shepherd watched her fidget and dart her eyes to every corner, he watched her waver between anger and alarm.

Distraction typically realigned his mate, and he was perfectly comfortable with manipulation when the outcome would make her calm. Maintaining the distance she’d put between them, Shepherd cocked his head. “What have you painted today?”

Claire waved towards the table so that he might look for himself before she began to sniff at the air.

Keeping his eye on the woman, Shepherd approached her work. A cursory glance went over what was splashed on the paper. He saw her point of view of the very afternoon he’d first laid eyes on her. She’d painted him to be monstrously large, herself small, draped in rags, holding a bottle of pills. Jules stood sentry, his cool-eyed disdain captured perfectly. Every detail was beautifully done. He would have told her so, but in his heart, Shepherd knew his appreciation of that moment was not what she’d hoped to encourage.

His pleasure would inspire her pain. Claire only ever wanted him to see more and be moved to change. He already was more—a great deal more.

He waited for Claire to make her speech, to offer her insight and whatever lesson she’d cooked up all the hours he was away. Instead, she ignored him, nervously toying with the bedding.

Shepherd cleared his throat. She didn’t look. He chose a neutral comment of their shared memory. “You pulled down your scarf to swallow one of those pills. You exhaled. That was the moment I first caught your scent.”

Claire stilled. Her eyes didn’t leave the nest, but she did speak. “How many hours did I stand there?”

“Six.” Shepherd set aside Claire’s painting, leaning a hip on the table. “You stood in the Citadel for approximately six hours.”

A line formed between her brows. “It felt like much longer. I’d been so sick, but I could not leave... because you would not acknowledge me.”

“Women come to the Citadel daily to offer themselves to me or my men. All are ignored.”

“I’m not sure what to make of that statement...” The idea made her skin crawl. Claire worried her lip. “You could be wrong. They might only wish to speak with you.”

Shepherd’s offering was gentle, the man crossing the room so that while he spoke, he might trace her claiming marks. “You were different, little one.”