"I know you're wrong. Some of those women are my friends. They are good people. Those who attacked me... I don't know them well, but I would rather show mercy than condemn desperate, starving women tempted by the lie of food you broadcasted on your leaflet."
"And that is why you are weak," it seemed almost a compliment, "and why I am strong."
"You are stronger than me," Claire acknowledged, studying the Da'rin markings on Shepherd's shoulder, unsure how many dead were represented in that patch of skin. "You're faster, have power, but you lack something great. And you will never find it in the life you live."
"Do I?" It was as if he knew what she was going to say, found her opinion juvenile and cute. "Do you speak of love?"
She shook her head, black tangled hair waving around her shoulders. "Not love. Anyone can love."
"Then what, little sage?"
"Humanity... the source of joy. You may have had it once, but whatever life you lived has eaten it away."
He hummed at her, unconcerned with her judgment. "I understand humanity at its basest level, and have far more experience in the world than you do, little one. The way the citizens are behaving—such as those women I am going to hang no matter how much you may beg or cry—proves the point that they were never good, even before starvation. Suffering merely draws out the true nature of each life festering under the Dome."
"The way you speak; you make it sound as if you believe you are offering enlightenment by knowingly crafting misery," Claire scoffed, shaking her head, surprised he had not just started fucking her to shut her mouth.
It was the same stormy fury that rolled through his eyes when her words displeased him. Claire was still afraid—afraid of the monster that could so easily crush her, afraid of the effects of the bond—but Shepherd seemed tranquil and almost willing to let her speak.
"The books you keep," she breathed softly, looking to the shelving across the room. "You have such a strange collection... a veritable training manual on how to be a dictator. But then there are soft things: poetry, writings by great spiritual leaders and virtuous human beings. Do you read them to try to seek what you are missing?"
He stated with pride, "I am the Shepherd. I lead the flock."
She whispered the words, mesmerized by the exchange, "Through terrorism?"
"Your naiveté is like that of a child. Under this Dome injustice runs rampant; Thólos is a cesspool filled with corruption, greed, apathy, and vice—a breeding ground of lies. Weakness must be purged, deceptions exposed, and punishment suffered."
Her thickly lashed green eyes went wide. "This is some kind of trial?"
"You have grown wiser, Miss O'Donnell."
The fact he had used her surname was chilling. Her end of the thread began to hum out of tune, the connection to such a creature unwanted and abhorrent. "You don't want power at all... you want the city to wallow in what your breach has inspired. You want to watch us squirm."
A conceited smirk, an evil thing, distorted scarred lips. "Continue, little one."
Slight understanding of the man and his reasoning came together. "You think you are some kind of champion... like Premier Callas, or—"
Snapping in anger, Shepherd cut her off, "Your precious Premier is no more. I ripped him apart with my bare hands, and caution you against speaking his name in my presence."
To be Premier was to be the ultimate servant of Thólos; a hereditary position held by the family that had erected the Dome, and served until death. They were immaculate, lived wisely, and led by example. Yet Shepherd's hate was personal... unexplainable. Claire had to know. Heart racing, she tempted fate and whispered, "Why?"
"Your Enforcers are dead, your Premier rots in pieces, and soon every Senator will swing outside the Citadel so that all Thólos might breathe the true stink of their corruption." Shepherd placed his lips to her neck and pulled in her scent, flexing his hips to press his growing erection between the soft legs wrapped around him. "So you see, there is no one to save you. You have only me."
At those words panic surged, her mind racing past the point of dread. If Shepherd hadn't started purring at that very instant, she might have begun to scream.
Large hands went to his belt. He felt her tremble and resist as he withdrew his member, restraining his weakened mate on his lap easily. Feeling the feminine curves nurtured by the food he'd provided, he gave a hungry growl. The instant she was remotely wet enough, he lowered her down on his straining erection.
The pace was almost languid. Her head buried against his shoulder as he lifted and lowered her, Claire's panic broken apart by distracting debauchery.
There would be no escape, all her fighting had been for nothing—these things he whispered in her ear.