"She is not," Nona answered, her lips tight. "As far as I knew, only the bank had access to such information."

Suddenly the tenor of the conversation altered. The air grew thick and Jules spoke with no smile or intonation. "It seems you have a strong personal attachment to the girl, which makes me wonder why you allowed her to enter the Citadel."

A deep furrow grew between Nona's brows. "We both volunteered, but I was supposed to be the one to go to the Citadel."

"Explain."

"She stole the prepared clothing while I was bathing. By the time I was aware of what had happened, she was gone. Claire is very protective of the ones she loves."

"Did no one try to stop her?"

"The group agreed with her reasoning." The woman looked away, her disappointment obvious. "And many simply thought she would be more appealing as our representative. It was a very close vote."

"Is that not ironic?" Bored, the man looked her dead in the eye. "Who was her contact to Senator Kantor?"

"Since you have already questioned the women who met with her that evening, I am certain you are aware that it was never mentioned in the brief conversation we shared." Leaning on her elbows, the older woman demanded, "I want to see Claire."

"No," the Beta answered flatly.

The interrogation continued, a list of assorted questions about Claire's history, her quirks—some so precise, such as her favorite fruit, that even Nona did not know the answer. The exchange was strange, and she wondered why Shepherd did not ask Claire these questions himself.

There had been only exhaustion in Claire's short-lived freedom, and Shepherd had allowed her no rest upon her return. Between the eight days of insomnia and the chemical alertness of estrous, Claire was drained in a way she had never known. There was never enough sleep. Her former restlessness was replaced with haunting lethargy and an unwillingness to move from the nest. When she woke, she would be burrowed, completely covered. Once or twice, she snarled at the male reaching in to pluck her out from under all the covers so she might eat or he might dress her wound.

All she wanted was the dark and to be left alone. But Shepherd would appear no matter how much she hated the sight of him, the man dragging her to stiffly lie atop him. Too tired to complain, she lay limp, knowing he would cover them both and reproduce her burrow. Once total darkness returned, she would pretend the bastard was not there... or she would try. Shepherd would only let her rest for a short time before his seeking hands more than petted the lingering soreness from her body, fondling increasingly tender breasts and playing between her legs.