She had never actually seen the man look desperate. The sound of his breath caught, a quick suck of distorted air preceded his confession, “I cannot stop it. I will not chance an uprising of the scum of this city who may muster, build transport, and threaten our family. Nothing can stop the inevitable.” He was already wrapping his arms around her. “Please do not cry.”

But she couldn’t stop. Nor could she stop how she clung to him as she wept, seeing in the bond the motivation for his deception. It was a pure emotion, acts made from the only good he knew—his absolute love for her. It was the very reason he had inflicted every last horrible thing on his mate, including pulling a syringe out of his pocket and driving a needle into her flesh at that very moment.

9

Four precious hours had been wasted in the pursuit and pointless questioning of Maryanne Cauley. Corday had nothing to show for it, no further progress made on his dilemma. On the long walk back to his apartment, outside temperatures grew uncomfortably cold, but the pain of numb fingers was welcome—anything was welcome that might make him feel as wretched as he should.

Hands shaking from the chill, he unlocked his door, his eyes on the spot where Claire had once propped herself up, knocking in the night so he might give her shelter. The smears of blood on her pale skin, the torn flesh, the look of unbearable pain in her eyes, he hated the memory. That’s not how he wanted to recall her. Corday wanted to remember her cautious smiles, the spark that would come into her eye on the rare times his jokes chased away the cloud of fear storming inside her.

Had they the fortune of meeting before the breech, Corday was certain they would have been friends, lovers even. Sometimes you just see a person and know... and he’d lost her before she had ever been his.

She’d felt the pull between them too. After all, she had come to him after she’d leapt from the Citadel’s roof, ran through the dark and the cold, to reach him. He wanted to be there for her, but there was so much she belligerently carried out on her own.

Claire had fought her pair-bond.

Claire had stormed against her mate to free the Omegas.

Through her flyer, Claire made herself a beacon and a movement.

She did it with no support. She did it knowing it would cost her her life.

Releasing a shaking breath, Corday sat back upon his couch, put his head in his hands and, muttered to himself, “Claire...”