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"What was that? You're supposed to execute resistance members on sight. Basic Conquest Law."

His yellow eyes study me with unreadable expression. "The mountains have their own laws. Some of us do things differently than what the Council wants."

"Differently. You mean treason against the Council."

"I mean survival." His wings shift behind him. "Their scouts report the Council movements. The Council thinks we've eliminated the mountain resistance. Both sides get what they need."

The implications stagger me. Vex isn't just an independent alpha protecting territory—he's actively working against Council control, maintaining networks that directly contradict everything I've been taught.

"Why tell me this?" I ask, suddenly aware how dangerous this knowledge is. "I could report you if I escaped."

A sound rumbles from his chest that might be amusement. "Who'd believe a claimed omega carrying a Chimeric baby? Besides," his expression turns serious, "your survival depends on knowing how things really work. Following Council rules gets you dead or locked in breeding facilities."

He's right. The world isn't divided into neat categories of resistance versus Prime enforcement. There are layers of alliance, compromise, and strategic cooperation creating survival spaces within Conquest brutality.

"So you help them, they help you," I say slowly. "Information exchange. Safe passage. Mutual defense against Council overreach."

Vex nods. "The Peaks stay contested because we work together to keep the Council from total control."

My entire understanding of mountain power dynamics shifts. The resistance isn't just doomed human rebellion—it's integral to a complex ecosystem that includes certain Primes themselves.

"Where does that leave me?" I ask quietly.

His massive hand cups my face, thumb tracing the claiming marks on my throat. "With me. Protected. Carrying the future of what we're building here."

"What are we building?"

"Something better than what came before. Something better than what the Council wants." His voice drops to that intimate register that makes my core clench with need. "Something worth fighting for."

When he kisses me, it tastes like promises I'm not sure either of us can keep. But as his tongue claims my mouth with gentle dominance, as my body responds with eager submission despite everything I've learned, I realize I want to try.

The child growing inside me represents more than just territorial marking or breeding success. It's a bridge between worlds—human and Prime, resistance and authority, captivity and partnership.

Whether that bridge leads to something better or simply new forms of destruction remains to be seen. But for the first time since my capture, I feel like I might have actual choice in the outcome.

As we return to the main den, Vex's wing brushes my shoulder in casual protection, and I find myself leaning into the contact instead of pulling away.

The resistance fighter sleeping in our den represents everything I used to be—human, free, fighting against Prime control. But the alpha beside me, the child in my womb, thecomplex web of alliances I'm only beginning to understand—they represent something I might become.

The question now is whether I'm brave enough to choose transformation over resistance, partnership over ideology, complicated survival over righteous defeat.

Looking at Vex's profile as he checks the den's defenses, feeling his child flutter in my belly, I think I might be.

CHAPTER 18

GARGOYLE SCOUTS

Amelia's POV

The afternoon air tastes like an approaching storm when Vex leaves for his daily patrol. My growing belly makes me tire easily these days, so I stay behind to organize our medical supplies. There's something comforting about sorting bandages, checking dates on medications, and counting sutures—normal tasks in our anything-but-normal life.

Fourteen weeks pregnant now. My body changes in ways that only Vex seems to notice—my scent shifting like seasons, my temperature running warmer, the small roundness beneath clothes I've had to let out at the waist. But I feel it from the inside too—tiny flutters that might be the baby moving, constant hunger that makes me crave the strangest things, and the claiming marks on my throat tingling with new sensitivity that sends heat straight to my core whenever he's near.

I'm arranging antibiotics by type when the air in the den suddenly changes.

Vex lands at the entrance with such force that small rocks scatter across the floor like scattered dice. One look at him sends my pulse racing—his massive wings stretched to their full fifteen-foot span in a display I haven't seen in weeks, scales darkas midnight with only hints of purple catching the light. Every inch of his powerful body radiates fury barely leashed.

"Gargoyles on the southern boundary," he announces, his voice deeper than usual, vibrating with tension that makes my bones ache. "Scout team with Council insignia. This isn't a regular border patrol."