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The face-to-face position allows me to watch every expression cross his features as he comes—the way his eyes roll back, the way his mouth opens in a silent roar, the way his entire body trembles with the force of his release. It's the most intimate moment we've shared, more connected than we've ever been.

As the pleasure slowly recedes, I collapse against his chest, my body boneless and trembling. His arms wrap around me immediately, wings folding to create a protective cocoon as we remain locked together.

"My brave omega," he murmurs against my hair, voice filled with satisfaction and something that might be affection. "Carrying my child, taking my knot so beautifully."

One hand rests protectively over my belly where our child grows, the gesture both possessive and tender. "Our future," he says quietly. "Everything changes now."

I should resist the implications of partnership in his words. Should maintain emotional distance from the alpha who claimed me by force. But locked together in this intimate embrace, his seed marking me inside and out, I find myself sinking into the illusion of safety it provides.

"What happens now?" I whisper against his chest.

His answer rumbles through his ribs. "Now we protect what we've created."

Before I can respond, his entire body goes rigid. His wings snap wide as his head turns sharply toward the den entrance, nostrils flaring.

"Multiple approaches from the eastern ridge," he growls, protective instincts immediately overriding post-orgasmic contentment. "Enforcement patterns."

Reality crashes back with brutal force. I am a claimed omega carrying a Prime child, living in territory with Council forces closing in. My feelings about this pregnancy matter far less than our immediate survival.

As we wait for his knot to subside, his hold on me tightens—protection rather than possession. Whatever comes next, everything has changed. Not just my body, but the fundamental nature of what exists between us.

The seed has taken root in more ways than either of us expected.

CHAPTER 17

THE INJURED RESISTANCE FIGHTER

Amelia's POV

The crash of falling rock jerks me from sleep like a gunshot.

I bolt upright, heart hammering against my ribs as the sound reverberates through the den—not from the main entrance, but from the smaller passage carved into the eastern wall that Vex rarely uses. My body still hums with satisfaction from our earlier claiming, inner thighs sticky with his seed, the claiming marks on my throat pulsing with residual heat.

Vex moves like liquid death, his massive frame crossing the chamber before I've fully processed the noise. His wings fold tight against his back for maneuverability, muscles coiled with predatory tension as he pauses at the corridor entrance.

"Stay here," he commands, yellow eyes flashing with dangerous light.

I should listen. The smart choice is to remain safely in the sleeping chamber while he investigates whatever triggered the Council forces he detected earlier. But something about that crash—not deliberate attack but accidental collapse—sends my medical instincts screaming.

I follow him despite his orders, bare feet silent on cold stone.

The secondary passage narrows as it winds deeper into the mountain, rough walls still bearing the claw marks where Vex carved through solid rock. The air grows cooler, carrying mineral scents and the promise of open sky beyond.

Another sound reaches us—labored breathing, the unmistakable rasp of someone fighting for life. Vex's pace quickens, and I struggle to keep up with his longer strides, my body still tender from being stretched around his knot.

The passage opens into a small chamber that serves as the secondary entrance. That's where we find him—a human man slumped against the wall, blood soaking through makeshift bandages wrapped around his thigh. His face is gray with blood loss, features drawn tight with agony as weakening hands press against the wound.

What catches my attention immediately is his clothing—standard mountain gear, but with distinctive pattern-breaks sewn into the seams. Asymmetrical stitching at the shoulders, deliberately misaligned panels at the waist. Resistance gear, designed to disrupt Prime visual tracking.

My heart stops.

Vex's growl reverberates through the chamber, raising every hair on my body. "Resistance." The word emerges as accusation and death sentence combined.

The man looks up, terror flooding his features as he registers the massive Chimeric alpha filling the entrance. His hand moves weakly toward his boot where a blade is probably hidden, but the movement sends fresh blood pumping between his fingers.

"He's injured," I say, medical training overriding self-preservation. The dark red flow and pulsing pattern tell me everything I need to know. "Severely."

"Injured resistance on Prime territory means execution," Vex states, advancing with lethal intent. Claws extend from hisfingertips, gleaming like obsidian daggers in the dim light. His tail lashes behind him with deadly precision.