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The claiming bite comes without warning—his teeth sinking into the junction of my neck and shoulder with surgical precision. The pain is sharp, immediate, followed by a rush of sensation I don't recognize. Something changes in mybiochemistry, some fundamental shift that rewrites the basic parameters of my existence.

"Mine," he states, voice muffled against my throat as he tastes the blood he's drawn. "Marked. Claimed. Bred."

Hot seed floods me in powerful pulses, each surge accompanied by another wave of expansion as his knot swells to its full size. The volume is overwhelming—far more than human anatomy could produce, filling me beyond capacity until my abdomen distends visibly. I feel each pulse like a separate invasion, my body registering the claiming on a cellular level.

The secondary organ continues its relentless attention throughout his climax, the suction changing patterns to match his release. Pleasure builds against my will, a tidal wave I can't outrun. My first orgasm crashes through me with devastating intensity, every nerve ending firing at once while my muscles clench helplessly around his knot.

"That's it," he encourages, grinding deeper as my body convulses around him. "Come on my knot like a good omega."

The praise, the physical stimulation, the flood of his seed—it all combines to create responses I can't control or predict. My second climax follows before the first has fully ended, sharp and electric as the suction organ works my oversensitized flesh with mechanical precision.

Time fragments as we remain locked together, his massive frame keeping me pinned while aftershocks ripple through my hypersensitive system. Each tiny movement sends renewed sparks of sensation radiating outward. His wings fold around us, creating an enclosed space that concentrates our mingled scents and enhances the biological responses neither of us can fully escape.

"Breeding takes time," he explains when my breathing finally steadies. "My knot will keep us tied for an hour at least. Ensures proper seed placement."

An hour. The information penetrates the haze of endorphins still flooding my system. An hour locked together while his alien biology pumps more seed into me, while his knot ensures none escapes, while that secondary organ continues its intermittent assault on my sanity.

Time becomes a physical weight pressing down on me. His massive frame keeps me pinned in the presenting position, my knees grinding into the stone platform through the furs, my arms shaking from supporting my upper body while his bulk looms over me. The size difference is overwhelming—I'm completely dwarfed beneath him, his wings creating a canopy that blocks out everything except the reality of our joining.

The knot pulses regularly, swelling larger with each surge of seed he pumps into me. My abdomen distends visibly as the volume increases, the pressure building until I feel like I might burst from the sheer amount. Each pulse brings fresh heat, fresh fullness, fresh proof of how thoroughly he's claimed me.

"Take it all," he growls against my neck, his weight pressing me deeper into the furs. "Every drop belongs inside you."

The secondary organ never stops its torment, alternating between gentle suction and demanding pulls that drag unwanted pleasure from my oversensitized flesh. Just when I think I've adapted to the sensation, it changes rhythm, sending fresh jolts of electricity through my core. The combination of his knot stretching me impossibly wide and that alien mouth working my clit creates a feedback loop of sensation I can't escape.

Minutes crawl by like hours. My body shudders through smaller orgasms I can neither prevent nor control, each one wringing fresh sounds from my throat—omega cries that echo off the cave walls and shame me with their neediness. His seed continues flowing in steady pulses, so much that it beginsleaking around his knot despite the tight seal, running down my thighs in warm streams.

"Look how well you take my knot," he murmurs, shifting his weight but never allowing me to change position. "Such a perfect little breeding vessel. Made for this."

The praise sends another unwanted wave of pleasure through my system, my traitorous body responding to his dominance even as my mind rails against the captivity. I can't move, can't escape, can't do anything but endure the endless claiming while his massive form keeps me exactly where he wants me.

By the time his knot finally begins to recede, I'm trembling with exhaustion, my body wrung out from an hour of continuous stimulation. When he finally withdraws, the absence feels almost worse than the invasion—a hollow emptiness that my omega biology immediately mourns.

Seed pours from me in a rush, far more than my body can contain, pooling beneath me on the furs. The loss triggers another whimper I can't suppress, some primitive part of my brain recognizing the waste of valuable alpha essence.

I collapse forward onto my elbows, finally able to escape the presenting position that held me captive for so long. My legs shake uncontrollably, muscles cramped from maintaining the pose while supporting his claiming. When I try to move, fresh seed leaks from my abused body, a constant reminder of how thoroughly he's marked me inside and out.

I take inventory of my new reality, my body fundamentally altered—not just by the claiming, but by the bite that still throbs at my throat. His scent clings to my skin, marking me as claimed property to any alpha within miles. The volume of seed he's deposited ensures my scent will carry his signature for days.

"You have a name?" he asks, the question absurdly normal given our circumstances.

I consider refusing, but information can be a weapon too. "Amelia," I answer, voice hoarse from sounds I couldn't suppress. "Amelia Miller."

"Vex," he offers in return, settling beside me on the platform with casual possession. "Welcome to my territory, Amelia Miller."

The formality feels significant somehow—an acknowledgment that I'm more than just a claimed body, that some part of my identity survives the biological imperative that brought us together.

I am still Amelia Miller. The claiming has taken my body but not my mind, not my will, not my determination to find freedom when opportunity allows. For now, I'll recover, observe, learn the patterns of this mountain and its apex predator.

The heat has been temporarily satisfied, but it will return. And when it does, I'll face the same choice again: submission or death.

At least now I know what survival costs.

CHAPTER 6

FLIGHT CLAIMING

Amelia's POV