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The loss of his touch leaves me cold and aching, my body demanding contact I know I shouldn't want. As he moves away to continue our lesson, I catch the bulge in his pants that tells me I'm not the only one affected by our proximity.

We spend the remaining hours of daylight working through emergency protocols—escape routes, cache locations, survival priorities if separated. But underneath every instruction runs the current of tension that makes my skin feel electrified.

When he corrects my stance for better crossbow accuracy, his hands linger on my waist longer than necessary. When I demonstrate field medicine techniques, he watches with focus that has nothing to do with medical knowledge. When we practice moving silently through underbrush, he follows close enough that his scent surrounds me like a living thing.

By the time we head back toward the den, my entire body hums with unfulfilled need. Every step reminds me of the slick coating my inner thighs, evidence of how thoroughly he's affected me without even trying.

"Tomorrow we work on cold weather survival," he says as we navigate the final climb to the cave entrance.

"More lessons in submission?" I ask before I can stop myself.

His rumbling laugh follows us into the den. "Every lesson teaches submission, omega. The question is whether you're finally ready to learn."

As we settle into our evening routine—him checking perimeter defenses while I prepare our meal—I find myself watching his every movement with new awareness. The fluid grace of his walking, the careful way he handles tools designed for claws, the unconscious dominance in every gesture.

When he stretches his wings to their full span, I don't look away this time. When he catches me staring, I don't deny what he sees in my expression.

"Tomorrow," he says quietly, folding his wings as he approaches where I'm tending the cooking fire.

"What about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow you stop fighting what you want." His hand touches my shoulder briefly, just enough to send heat spiraling through me. "Tomorrow you learn what it means to choose submission instead of having it forced on you."

The promise hangs between us as we eat in charged silence, and I know that whatever happens next will change everything between us.

Whether that change leads to freedom or deeper captivity remains to be seen. But as I catch him watching me across the firelight, pupils dilated with want that matches my own, I realize I'm no longer sure which outcome I'm hoping for.

CHAPTER 15

THE SEED TAKES ROOT

Amelia's POV

I wake before dawn with my stomach churning like a storm-tossed sea.

For a moment, I lie perfectly still on the sleeping furs, hoping the nausea will pass if I don't move. The den remains shrouded in darkness except for the soft blue glow of bioluminescent fungi Vex cultivates along the ceiling. Their ethereal light casts dancing shadows on the stone walls, creating patterns that shift like living things.

When another wave of sickness hits—stronger this time, more insistent—I have no choice but to move. I slip from beneath the heavy furs as carefully as possible, trying not to disturb Vex's massive sleeping form beside me. His dark wings twitch slightly in sleep, but he doesn't wake. Small mercies.

The cold stone beneath my bare feet sends shivers racing up my spine as I pad silently toward the small chamber he's carved out for sanitation. It's primitive compared to the medical facility where I used to work, but impressively functional for something hewn from living rock. A natural spring diverted through carved channels provides fresh water, while deeper channels carry waste away through the mountain's underground river system.

I barely make it to the waste channel before my body rebels completely. Kneeling on the smooth stone floor, I empty my stomach with violent heaves that leave me shaking and weak. Even after there's nothing left to bring up, the spasms continue, my body wracked with dry retching that makes my ribs ache.

When the worst passes, I rinse my mouth with spring water so cold it makes my teeth hurt. The metallic taste speaks of high mineral content that would normally fascinate my scientific mind. Today, it just tastes like evidence.

I've been tracking symptoms with clinical precision for the past two weeks. Missing my period. Breasts so tender that even the softest fur feels like sandpaper against my nipples. The way certain smells—Vex's musky alpha scent, the cooking meat, even the stone dust—swing wildly between comforting and nauseating depending on the hour. Bone-deep exhaustion that no amount of sleep seems to cure.

As head nurse at the settlement, I supervised care for dozens of pregnant women, including several carrying Prime hybrid offspring. I know these signs too well to deny them anymore.

With trembling hands, I reach for the small basket hidden behind a rocky outcrop. Among the medical supplies I've salvaged during our "training expeditions" is a simple pregnancy test—reactive strips that change color when exposed to elevated hormone levels.

I follow the procedure with detached precision, as if conducting the test for someone else instead of confirming what my body already knows. The chemical reactions occur in real time, molecules binding and shifting until the indicator strip shows an unmistakable positive result.

Pregnant. With Vex's child. A Chimeric hybrid growing inside me.

The tears come without warning, hot and bitter as they track down my cheeks. I press my palms against my still-flatbelly, trying to process the reality of what's happening inside me. Prime fertility rates with compatible omegas approach 90% during heat cycles. After the brutal intensity of my claiming, this outcome was almost inevitable.

"Amelia."