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The implications penetrate my clearing thoughts. This isn't just ownership—it's transformation. He hasn't simply claimed me; he's changed me at fundamental level. Blood bonding creates protection beyond normal claiming, marking me not just as property but as part of his lineage, his genetic territory.

"So I'm yours now," I say bitterly, though my body still trembles with aftershocks, muscles continuing to milk his knot in responses I can't control.

He doesn't argue or offer false comfort. We both understand the reality, the power differential defining our interaction. Instead, his hand smooths sweat-dampened hair from my face in gesture that feels uncomfortable after the intensity of permanent bonding.

"Rest," he tells me, shifting us carefully to our sides without disturbing the biological lock. "When your heat breaks completely, we'll properly treat the bond sites."

As exhaustion claims consciousness, I catalog my altered reality. Blood bond marks across throat and collarbone have permanently tied me to Vex in ways I don't yet understand. Chemical bonding will influence scent, hormones, perception, perhaps even behavior. I've been fundamentally changed without consent, altered at biological level beyond simple possession.

Yet beneath these changes, beneath claiming and marking and biological bonding, something remains untouched. My mind still calculates. Still observes. Still plans. The nurse still assesses, the survivor still strategizes, the woman still resists complete surrender.

I may carry his blood bond in my veins, may bear his territorial marks on my skin, may respond to his claiming with submission my body can't resist. But in the core of identity—in the essence defining me beyond designation or biology—I remain Amelia Miller.

Blood bonds may claim flesh, but they cannot claim will. His marks may alter my body, but they do not own my mind.

I am claimed. Bonded. Changed.

But I am not broken.

CHAPTER 9

BLOOD BOND

Amelia's POV

My heat broke two days ago, consciousness returning like a diver breaking the surface after too long underwater. The fever fog lifts slowly, leaving behind scattered pieces of memory—claiming, surrender, pleasure I never wanted to feel. Now I can think clearly enough to see what's been done to me.

The changes run deeper than I expected.

The blood bond marks across my neck and collarbone have healed with impossible speed, transforming from raw wounds to raised silver scars that throb with their own heartbeat. They burn when Vex comes near, like my skin remembers his touch whether I want it to or not. Worse, my whole body has rewired itself around him—pulse racing when he enters a room, skin flushing when his scent grows stronger, responses I can't control no matter how hard I try.

The irony makes me want to laugh or scream. All those years treating omega patients, documenting how their bodies responded to their alphas, never understanding the helpless horror of feeling your own flesh betray you.

I've found a quiet spot near one of the mineral pools where spring water bubbles up from deep underground. The surfaceworks as a warped mirror, but clear enough to show what I've become. My reflection reveals the marks carved into my skin—that mountain range pattern matching Vex's maps, permanent proof of ownership written in silvered scars.

"Barbaric," I whisper, though the nurse in me understands why it works. Claiming marks tell other Primes to back off, offer protection through fear of a powerful alpha, create chemical bonds that make breeding more likely.

Understanding the science doesn't make the violation hurt less. I was taken, claimed, marked, and changed without any say in the matter. That my body welcomed it all with eager hunger only makes it worse.

I've spent two days memorizing every inch of this cave system, learning passages and chambers like I once learned hospital layouts. Knowledge keeps you alive, and knowing this territory might be my only advantage.

The cave goes deeper into the mountain than I first thought. Storage rooms hold preserved food organized by season—proof of long-term planning. Defensive spots offer cover from multiple directions. Water flows throughout, which means this place was chosen for survival as much as security.

What disturbs me most is what looks like a study—shelves carved into rock holding books wrapped in oiled cloth, mechanical devices kept in perfect condition, maps drawn on treated leather with incredible detail. This isn't some animal's lair but the workshop of a predator who studies his world like a scientist.

That discovery makes my captivity worse somehow. Animals follow patterns you can predict. Intelligence means surprises I can't plan for.

The books make my stomach clench. Medical texts I recognize from human settlements. Studies of different Primespecies with careful notes in the margins. Survival guides. These aren't trophies but reference materials, studied and used.

I flip through one with shaking hands, seeing passages marked in precise handwriting. Vex's writing—analyzing how well human omegas breed with different Prime types. Clinical notes about heat cycles, claiming methods, pregnancy rates.

My hands tremble as I close the book. He's been studying this. Studying us. Learning how to claim and breed human omegas with scientific precision.

The realization hits like ice water. This wasn't random capture or lucky opportunity. This was calculated hunting by someone who knows omega biology better than most human doctors.

A sound outside breaks through my dark thoughts—wings approaching the cave. But not Vex's rhythm. His wings beat in a pattern I've memorized: four powerful strokes, then a glide to save energy. This sound is different. Lighter. Faster. More than one flyer.

Multiple somethings heading this way.