Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 63920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
She had to, or she would turn into Shepherd—a man who had buried such anger as if it might just disappear. The link was slowly assuring that such a demise would be inevitable... his personality was just too strong.
Svana’s was a face Claire could never forget. That beautiful, frightful image carved into her.
It was as if someone had shattered a window, light pierced the darkness in her mind. The wide eyes and soft lips... she’d seen them before. Claire had never paid much attention to high society or politics. Of course she, like everyone under the Dome, recognized the key players: Premier Callas, Senator Kantor...
But Claire had seen her somewhere before.
The woman had been dressed differently underground, less glamor, less makeup, but still radiant—incredibly beautiful.
The magazine...
Claire had had it on her coffee table for months. The woman on the cover of The Thólosite was dressed in a gown and smiling like the princess of the city. Claire had bought it for an article on cooking, but the woman on the cover had also inspired the purchase, Claire thinking the softly waved hairstyle was something she might try herself.
What was her name? Why was Claire suddenly sick to her stomach?
It had been printed in big block letters.
There was a soft intake of breath when Claire came to terms with her blindness. How could she have not recognized such a thing when the knowledge might have been useful to Corday?
Her voice shook, her veins turning to ice. “Her name is Leslie Kantor...”
“You will not think of her, Claire.”
“She was important enough to be on the cover of the The Thólosite. I cut my hair to look like hers... I am a little copy of your beloved, just like she said.”
Shepherd narrowed his eyes. “You are nothing like Svana.”
A rough snap came from Shepherd’s end of the thread, as if the male demanded she stop the direction of her thoughts. Claire ignored it and opened her mind to stutter though everything that flooded in.
Leslie Kantor, Svana, had been underground only a few days ago. She had touched Shepherd, communicated with Shepherd... and she was out there, in Thólos working to destroy the city. That was why, that horrible day months ago, the woman implied she saw Shepherd rarely.
Muttering under her breath, impatient and equally horrified, Claire said, “Kantor is a very powerful name.”
Shepherd removed his hand from her nape, laying his arms stiffly at his sides, where the mountain’s fists clenched until his knuckles became white. Idly hushing him, petting his flank, Claire hummed, deep in thought, her actions merely instinctive as she stroked the angry Alpha sweetly. Shutting her eyes, turning her face to nestle in the musculature of his chest, she shut everything but what she saw in her mate. Her mind fought to piece it together, feeling as if she was on a precipice, that the moment held a great value that she needed, that Thólos needed, that Shepherd needed.
She felt physically ill, plagued by all the anger bearing down on her from the male. The link was aflame, her eyes pricking. When she could bear no more, Claire leaned up, her humming ended, and she put her fingers to Shepherd’s chin. His face was turned away, the man pointedly looking elsewhere. Silver eyes were boring a hole into the wall instead, and even Shepherd’s scent was full of the warning musk of imminent violence. So Claire sat up and began to sing to him, a soft song in a pre-Dome language she suspected he would find pleasure in.
The fire of his eyes jerked in his skull and settled on the little thing straddling his chest. He growled at her, not sexually, but with immense threat. Her voice did not waver, the song continued, and with strength of purpose she lured him. The beast continued to watch, to follow the movement of her mouth, and Claire saw his neck twitch, saw him swallow and fractionally relax.
The last refrain passed her lips, the music ended, and she did not start again.
With a voice grainy and dark, Shepherd demanded lowly, “Do you know the meaning of those words?”
“I have a general idea.”
“You sang that you loved me, that I was the one you longed for—that you would grow old in my arms.”
“It was just a song, Shepherd, sung for a man who was angry and needed to take a breath.”
Bitter eyes watched so very carefully. “And so you are offering your mate comfort.”
Claire had touched him, she had petted him, she had done it all for that very reason. “You once told me that bruised emotions would not serve me. They will not serve you either.”
One hand unfisted, meaty fingers reaching up to twist around a strand of midnight hair hanging over her breast. “You are far too clever, little one.”
Not clever enough to have failed to notice something so important sooner. “I want to know about Svana.”