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"Look at me, Isla Morgan," he commands, using my full name for the first time. "See the truth of what you've become."

Exhausted and still hazy from the aphrodisiac, I meet his gaze. In the golden depths of his eyes, I see not just the predator who has claimed me, but the future stretching before us—more heat cycles, more claimings, my body adapting to his alien biology until pregnancy takes hold.

"This is merely the beginning," he promises, his knot still firmly locked inside me. "By the time I'm finished, the ghost smuggler will exist only in memory. In her place will be my breeding mate, carrying my offspring, bound to me in ways you cannot yet comprehend."

The worst part is that my omega biology, freed from chemical suppression for the first time in a decade, responds to these words with a pulse of arousal so strong that even Neros feels it, his satisfied rumble vibrating through both our bodies.

I close my eyes against this final humiliation, but cannot escape the truth. The defiant smuggler who commanded respectthroughout the resistance has been reduced to a claimed omega, her body conquered and her will under siege. And somewhere deep inside, beneath layers of pride and resistance, a primitive part of me—the omega nature I've denied for so long—whispers that this is exactly where I belong.

The ghost smuggler is officially out of business, and apparently, I'm about to start a new career in being the universe's most reluctant breeding experiment.

CHAPTER 7

BARGAIN'S PRICE

ISLA'S POV

Pain wakesme like an overly enthusiastic alarm clock that's decided subtlety is for quitters—sharp, throbbing, and everywhere at once. My thighs burn. My nipples sting. Between my legs feels raw and swollen like I've been thoroughly acquainted with something that definitely didn't come with operating instructions. I blink awake in a room that isn't the claiming chamber, some kind of recovery space with dimmer lights and warmer water that feels like the universe's half-hearted attempt at an apology.

I move and wince. My fingers drift to my inner thighs where evidence of last night still clings—his seed, that unnatural glowing blue, mixed with my body's betraying wetness. The mixture forms crusted patterns on my skin, marking me as thoroughly as any brand and about as dignified as a cosmic practical joke.

"Fuck," I whisper, the events of last night crashing back in waves of memory that would make a tsunami jealous—his massive cock stretching me open, the platform angling my body for his use like some kind of biological vise, the way my traitorbody responded to his claiming despite everything my brain had to say about the matter.

I try to sit up and my muscles scream in protest with the enthusiasm of a very unhappy protest rally. Not just between my legs but everywhere—arms, shoulders, back, all bearing witness to how thoroughly he used me. My skin feels different too, like someone's been redecorating my nervous system without consulting the original blueprints. I look down and freeze at the sight of faint luminescent patterns spreading beneath my skin like glowing blue veins that definitely weren't there yesterday.

"The marking indicates successful claiming." Neros' deep voice comes from the entrance with the timing of someone who's been waiting for exactly this moment of horrified self-discovery.

I jerk the thin covering over my naked body, a useless gesture after what he's already taken, but apparently my dignity is making one last desperate stand. He moves into the room with predatory grace, his massive form somehow elegant in the water like a very large, very dangerous ballet dancer. His golden eyes track over my body, and I feel each glance like a physical touch that my skin has apparently decided to enjoy.

"Fuck you," I spit, needing to fight back somehow, even if only with words that carry about as much weight as tissue paper in a hurricane.

His lips curve in a smile that holds no humor and all the warmth of a tax audit. "You already have."

Heat flares through me at his words, my body instantly responding like a trained animal that's learned exactly which tricks get rewarded. Between my legs, slick gathers instantly, and my nipples tighten to painful points against the thin covering. The reaction is instantaneous and humiliating, like my body's decided to become a very enthusiastic traitor with excellent timing.

"You drugged me," I accuse, voice rough from screaming like I've been practicing for a particularly intense opera audition. "You're still drugging me."

Neros moves closer, and my body responds with another pulse of unwanted arousal that makes me question every life choice that led to this moment. "Your heat accelerates because I'm a compatible alpha. Your body knows what it needs, even if your mind fights it with admirable stubbornness."

He settles near my recovery platform, water currents shifting around his massive form like the ocean itself is paying attention. The movement carries his scent to me—salt and ocean depths and something uniquely male that makes my omega hindbrain whimper with need like a very needy puppy.

I grip the platform edge until my knuckles whiten with the determination of someone hanging onto the last shreds of their dignity. "Our bargain. Information for their safety."

His eyes narrow with something that might be approval or possibly just mild surprise that I can still form coherent thoughts. "Yes. Shall we begin?"

I force myself to focus, to remember who I am beyond this heat-drunk omega my body wants me to be. The bargain is all I have left—the only way to make this violation mean something beyond my own degradation, which honestly feels like a pretty low bar for meaning but here we are.

"The resistance uses fishing buoys with red markings to signal pickup points," I say carefully, revealing information I've prepared in advance like a very careful poker player with a really terrible hand. "The pattern shifts weekly with moon phases."

As I speak, I watch his reactions, measuring exactly how much to give away like I'm negotiating the world's most uncomfortable business deal. I tell him about a safe house we'd already marked for abandonment, communication codes scheduled for rotation within days, smuggling routes that canbe sacrificed without destroying the entire network. Strategic information bleeding—controlled, calculated, survivable.

"The coastal village near Stone Point serves as a waystation," I continue, my voice steadier now that I'm back in familiar territory of secrets and lies. "They hide omegas in underwater caves during inspections."

Neros records everything, asking questions that reveal disturbing insight into resistance operations. His mind works with strategic precision that would be impressive if it weren't being used to dismantle everything I've built, making connections I hadn't intended to reveal like a very dedicated detective with access to my worst nightmares.

"These coordinates," he says, indicating a coastal section I've mentioned. "They match unusual thermal patterns we've detected. Temperature variations that mask scent trails."

My heart thuds against my ribs like it's trying to escape through sheer force of will. He's accidentally identified our largest extraction point with its underwater thermal masking system—the crown jewel of our entire operation. I keep my face neutral through years of practice at lying to people who could kill me.