There was absolutely no hesitation on his end to give her what she wanted, Shepherd going so far as to crawl down as she pressed him lower, her body arching up to silently ask for his mouth. Like a greedy, self-serving woman, as soon as she had come all over his tongue she’d fallen asleep. He must have tucked her in, because when she woke she was deep in her burrow and he was gone.

She had not woken happy... Claire had woken in complete distress.

Shepherd was in a terrible mood again, but that was not her worry. It was that dream, that terrible dream of the Undercroft that seemed to come out of nowhere and wreck her mind—the prisoners foaming at the mouth as they watched through the bars as the devil fucked her.

These horrible phantoms were always reaching. Sometimes they touched her and she’d scream.

Sitting up, trying to shake off the chill that followed her out of sleep, her world fell apart. In that moment Claire was certain the gods hated her, that she was cursed. Moving her hand to her belly, she sucked in a breath, and realized there was a sensation she could never ignore or forget. It was the quickening of her baby, the small internal flutter that let her know her son was alive, and that she was a mother, even if she refused to think about him.

When Shepherd found her bawling her eyes out a few minutes later, he had rushed to her, his expression disturbed. Her reaction had been to initiate sex again, and for once he’d responded reluctantly, asking her what was wrong. She’d use her lips to kiss his neck, to mouth the claiming marks, knowing it was manipulative, knowing he would not stop such a thing, but absolutely unwilling to explain what a monster she was.

Since that mating, he’d watched her closely, sniffing her frequently, hyper vigilant. He had a good right to be. He was the father of the baby she had been determined to kill for months, a child who was going to die if she suicided—a baby who existed but did not exist until she’d felt it move.

But now... what was she going to do now?

Claire put away her thoughts and forced herself to focus on the guest waiting patiently for her to speak. Smiling sadly at Maryanne, she asked, “Do you remember the night after my mother was termed a suicide, what the government did?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I’d sat up with my dad that night. He was unusually quiet,” the unsmiling Omega began. “We were watching a film when they came banging on the door. Can you imagine how my father reacted?”

Maryanne shook her head in the negative, but watched her friend very closely.