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"I can extract the accumulated venom," he continues, his voice carrying notes of something that might be gentleness if it came from anything else. "Neutralize the immediate toxicity. Provide your body the time it requires to heal from years of self-imposed chemical warfare."

"And in exchange?"

"You become what you were always biologically intended to be. My mate. My omega. The mother of my offspring."

The words should horrify me, but the failing suppressants allow other responses to emerge from the biochemical ruins of my resistance. My skin flushes despite the cool water temperature, and my breathing quickens beyond what fear alone could cause. The biological recognition I've spent ten years fighting suddenly has room to unfold in my bloodstream like a really unwelcome flower blooming at the worst possible time.

Alpha. Mate. Protection.

I bite my tongue until fresh copper floods my mouth, using pain to anchor myself in human consciousness rather than the omega biology trying to colonize my thoughts like an invasive species with very specific ideas about my future.

"You're insane if you think I'll agree to that."

"Agree?" His laugh resonates through the water, carrying harmonics that make something deep in my core clench with unwanted awareness. "My dear Isla, this isn't negotiation. This is biological inevitability with the illusion of choice."

One tentacle extends toward me, moving with liquid grace until the tip hovers inches from my throat. The sensory nodes pulse with their own bioluminescent language, tasting my scent in the water, analyzing my pheromones, reading my body's responses like an open book written in molecules and electrical impulses.

"Your biology has already reached its decision," he says, those golden eyes fixed on mine with terrible intensity. "The question is whether you'll accept salvation with dignity, or force me to save you despite yourself."

And as if summoned by his words, the first wave of genuine heat begins building in my core—ten years of suppressed omega biology finally breaking free of its chemical chains like a prisoner who's just realized the door was never actually locked.

Well. This is about to get interesting.

CHAPTER 4

THE CLAIMING CHAMBER

ISLA'S POV

He carriesme through passages that breathe. That's the only way to describe the tunnels carved into this underwater mountain—they pulse and contract around us like we're moving through the throat of something vast and alive. The walls glow with patterns that shift when I look at them, bioluminescent veins that seem to recognize my presence and respond with increasing brightness.

My body floats in this impossible air bubble, suspended between water and breath, between consciousness and the heat crawling up my spine like molten metal. The venom in my blood doesn't burn anymore—it sings. Harmonizes with whatever alien frequency pulses through these living walls. Like it's been waiting for this reunion, this homecoming I never asked for.

"Welcome to my domain," Neros says, and his voice does something to my bones. Makes them vibrate at frequencies that shoot straight to the growing ache between my thighs. "Few humans survive seeing these depths. None have experienced them as you will."

The chamber opens before us like the inside of a heart. Not the crude prison I expected, but something that makes my breath catch with its terrible beauty. Water flows into air without boundaries, the elements dancing together in ways that shouldn't be possible. And everywhere, everywhere, the walls pulse with light that matches my heartbeat.

It's reading me. This entire space is alive and it's reading me like a book written in pheromones and fear.

At the center stands a platform that makes my mouth go dry. Not metal restraints or crude chains, but something organic that shifts and curves like it's waiting. Like it knows exactly what shape my body will take when I'm stretched across it, what angles will make me scream.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" He circles me like a shark, and I watch his body change as he moves. More tentacles emerge from hidden sheaths along his torso, his skin darkening to midnight blue, those patterns under his flesh glowing brighter until he looks like a constellation of stars I want to touch. Want to taste.

No. Not want. That's the heat talking. The suppressants failing and letting things surface that should stay buried.

"Every surface designed for pleasure," he continues, tentacles creating currents that carry his scent straight to my nose. Salt and deep ocean and something else, something that makes my empty core clench with need. "Every angle calculated to maximize sensation while you learn to accept what you are."

My skin flushes hot despite the cool water. This isn't just a breeding chamber—it's a laboratory for breaking omegas. For taking women like me and transforming them into something else entirely. The worst part isn't the physical threat. It's how my body responds to his voice, his scent, his presence like it's been waiting for this moment my entire life.

"The lights respond to your body," he says, moving closer. Close enough that I can see the individual scales along hisshoulders, each one catching the bioluminescent glow like scattered jewels. "They read your pleasure, your fear, your arousal. They'll show me exactly when your resistance breaks."

I want to spit in his face. Want to scream that I'll never break, never submit, never become what he wants me to be. But the words die in my throat as another wave of heat crashes through me, stronger this time. My thighs clench together, trying to ease the growing ache, and I see him notice. See satisfaction flicker across those alien features.

"You're damaged," he says, circling behind me now where I can't see him but can feel his presence like heat against my back. "Years of poison in your blood, your body eating itself from the inside. But I can fix you. Remake you. Make you perfect for what you were born to be."

Perfect. The word makes me shudder, and not entirely with revulsion. There's a part of me, growing stronger with each passing moment, that wants to know what perfect would feel like. What it would be like to stop fighting, stop hurting, stop carrying the weight of everyone I couldn't save.

"I have an offer," he says, and his tentacles create patterns in the water that make my vision blur. The lights pulse in rhythm with whatever display he's making, and I feel my heartbeat trying to match the tempo. "Your body. Your submission. Complete intelligence about your smuggling network. In exchange, those six omegas reach safety."