Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 68699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
But Claire had always been a stubborn, sentimental fool.
A little fool that was clinging to her in sleep with a face so full of misery, Maryanne almost didn't recognize her. Claire was ten kinds of messed up. It was more than the scrapes and bruises, or the gross state of her feet; it was something in her makeup. The Omega female stood like a marionette missing a few strings—not at all the spirited girl she had been when they were kids. A small part of Maryanne wanted to ask what had happened. The larger, more reasonable part, was determined to wash her hands of this trouble as soon as possible. Whatever was going on between Claire and Shepherd, whatever had caused Claire to provoke a man of his size and deadliness, Maryanne did not want to get dragged into it.
Defiled, manipulated, betrayed, and broken…
Well, that happened to everyone. Apparently it was just Claire's turn. Threading her fingers into the tousled, sooty hair, Maryanne began to comb out the knots.
Claire pressed nearer, a whimper catching in her throat. "Shepherd…"
And that was the final reason Maryanne would not be able to keep her. Everything went back to that pair-bond. Claire might be fighting it, might be fueled by rage and pain, but eventually she would waver and crack. It was inevitable, a tie of souls or some such nonsense. So long as she was running wild, Shepherd would hunt her, be fixated on a rampage, and Maryanne was not going to get trampled when nothing would change the outcome. She didn't owe Claire a damn thing; in fact, the way it looked now, Claire owed her.
Maryanne closed her eyes and cursed Shepherd to hell.
When she woke, there was no need to make a complicated decision regarding her lodger; Claire had made it for her. The little black-haired Omega was gone.
It was strange to walk through Thólos.
Claire may as well have been walking through the apocalypse. Everything she saw was far worse than the nightmare where the rabid pack was chasing her through the streets. Nothing seemed alive; no stores were open, no restaurants offered food. Buildings stood in shambles, broken glass and debris scattered about. Even bodies were left in the streets to freeze.
As her stroll continued, the warmth of Maryanne's bed leached away as if Claire had never known the comfort. She wandered, confused… wishing she could unsee all of it. In less than a year the city had become a wasteland, another world that poisoned all it touched with frost, ice, and loss.
Shepherd's plan had been a success. Thólos was destroying itself, and all the man had to do was sit back and watch.
A whoosh of breath left her lungs and Claire stopped walking. Hunched against the wall was a dead child—blue, frozen—a little boy no older than nine.
Kneeling over the stiff corpse, Claire reached out and brushed back his matted hair, wondering how Shepherd could think this child's death would satisfy his plan. What great lesson would society learn by a lost life no soul would remember?
Slumping to the kid's side, mimicking the body's posture, Claire tried to find a reason for any of it. Tragedy in Thólos was nothing new; since the occupation, orphan children died all the time.
More children were orphaned every day.
This was the new norm.
And who took them in? Where were they to go?
The people failed. Claire was not even sure if she could justify it anymore, not after seeing this. Leaning her head to the side she rested her cheek on the dead boy's hair and stared forward. There was no pleasure in her freedom or her view of the sky… there had not even been a sense of victory at her success freeing the Omegas.
Even in Maryanne's company she had only played the part, falsified emotion on instinct.
Closing her eyes, she let out a breath, ruffling the stiff brown hair under her lips. There was no point in being Claire anymore; instead she would be nothing, as hollow as Thólos had allowed itself to become.
It was the sound of a sob that woke her, and for a moment she thought it was from the boy she slept against. Waking abruptly, her bleary eyes darted around and found nothing—just the same empty alley and the same piles of icy garbage. The only difference from before was the darkness, a thing her eyes adjusted to quickly after so long underground.
Oblivious to the freezing cold, Claire stood, ignoring the crack of stiff knees. Her pillow, the forgotten corpse, sat as rigid as before, the child staring forward into the same future as hers… into nothing.
Claire claimed him, and with more strength than she felt, she hoisted the boy up on her back, the corpse's limbs not easy to manage.
Not a soul disturbed her as she walked with her macabre prize through the streets of hell.