Light came on in her cell, the single dangling fixture above her flickering in its sorry state. The hum of the old bulb and the filament inside drew her to her scraped knees and then wobbling feet.

The mob. She could hear them, their shouts closing in. Any moment they would come for her. She would run, because she always ran. And she would find him, because he was always there, waiting.

Again and again.

Her head turned towards the door, where it seemed inevitable his large form would fill the portal, that she would see the same roughened armor, the same Da'rin markings crawling up his neck... those eyes.

The intensity with which Shepherd stared seemed unnatural.

Whatever he saw in her expression made the giant crouch down, as if to make himself seem smaller. The Alpha reached out a hand, slowly, so as not to frighten.

He'd never crouched in the dream before.

Claire closed her eyes, certain she had finally lost her mind, then that sound came... that long pined for purr, loud and confident, reassuring her that all was well.

"Come to me, little one." Even his rough voice seemed perfect, melodic as the words passed scarred lips. Coaxing, non-threatening, he added, "You will not be punished."

The thread was pulsating, whispering to her as it did, tempting her to step forward and take her Alpha's hand. That he was calling her. That he missed her.

Claire had no idea what made her say the words, but they came softly, like a confession. "You've been haunting my sleep. Every time I close my eyes, you're there."

"You've been in my dreams, as well." Shepherd crooned so deep she imagined she could feel the vibration change her on a cellular level. "You've been singing to me, little one."

Dazed, she pulled in a breath, smelling the scent that was supposed to be with her—the familiar musk of that Alpha. "What did I sing?"

A smile was in his eyes, the skin at the corners crinkling. His fingers flicked, beckoning her, and Claire found herself mesmerized by the movement. "Come."

In the distance, there were sounds, frightening things of the mob from her dreams. Soon she would have to run... or she could choose to end it.

It took three weak steps before she was standing directly before him. Looking at the male who, even crouched, was at her eye-level, Claire did not take his hand. Instead she sagged against him, demanding in an exhausted voice, "Purr."

He did, turning to study the disoriented woman resting her head on his shoulder, weighing the beauty of her extended groan broadcasting that there was nothing else in the world that had ever been so soothing as the noise rumbling from his chest.

Massive arms wrapped around her the instant she began slipping to the floor.

Shepherd stood.