Page 6

THE FIRST CLAIMING

Amelia's POV

The cave system swallows us whole, tunnels branching through living rock like arteries through a massive body.

Vex navigates the darkness with predatory confidence while I memorize every turn, every junction—left, right, descending passage, fork left.

Knowledge remains the one weapon they can never strip from me completely.

The air grows warmer as we descend, carrying scents that speak to careful habitation: wood smoke, preserved meat, the metallic tang of weapons maintenance.

This isn't some primitive shelter but an established territory, maintained with methodical precision that contradicts everything I've been taught about Prime intelligence.

Heat builds in relentless waves, each surge stronger than the last. My skin feels like it's burning from the inside out, hypersensitive to every brush of his scales against my flesh.

The wetness between my thighs increases with humiliating consistency, my body preparing for what my mind still rejects.

A whimper escapes before I can stop it—high, needy, the unmistakable omega call that makes me hate my own voice.

"Listen to those pretty sounds," Vex growls, his pace quickening as his own scent sharpens with territorial satisfaction. "Your body knows what's coming."

His musk intensifies, becoming richer, more potent—the distinctive signature of an alpha entering rut.

My treacherous biology responds instantly, another flood of arousal dampening my thighs despite the fear coursing through my veins.

My head tilts sideways without conscious direction, exposing the vulnerable line of my throat in instinctive submission.

"Stop," I hiss through gritted teeth, fighting against biological imperatives that feel stronger than conscious will. "I'm not just some breeding vessel."

"Your cunt disagrees," he rumbles, breathing deep of the scent trail I'm leaving. "It's practically weeping for my knot."

The passage widens suddenly, opening into a chamber that destroys my assumptions about Chimeric living conditions.

Stone walls rise into shadows that speak of significant height, while carved recesses hold an organized array of supplies—weapons hung with military precision, preserved foods in sealed containers, even books wrapped in protective cloth.

Water trickles down natural formations into collection pools that reflect dim light from phosphorescent moss growing in careful clusters.

A raised platform dominates one wall, covered with furs that look suspiciously well-maintained for a monster's lair.

The air carries layered scents—his territorial marking, yes, but also leather oil, metal polish, the faint medicinal smell of healing herbs.

This den speaks to intelligence, planning, long-term habitation.

He throws me onto the platform with casual strength, the impact driving breath from my lungs.

His wings spread to their full intimidating span—not for balance but for psychological dominance, blocking light and making the space feel smaller, more contained.

The display triggers something primal in my omega hindbrain, and despite every rational thought, my back arches, hips tilting upward in textbook presentation posture.

"Already showing me where you need it," he observes, satisfaction darkening his voice to that rumble that seems to vibrate through my bones. "Such an eager little omega."

"It's not—" I start, forcing my body back to a neutral position, but another wave of heat crashes over me with devastating force.

My vision blurs at the edges as biology overwhelms conscious control.

The keening whine that builds in my throat is pure omega distress—a sound that bypasses rational thought and goes straight to alpha claiming instincts.

Vex's response is immediate and terrifying.

His pupils contract to knife-thin slits in those predatory eyes.

The scales across his shoulders and spine darken from black to deeper midnight with purple undertones that seem to absorb light.

His breathing deepens, chest expanding with each inhale like a bellows feeding some internal fire.

His tail lashes behind him, striking stone with enough force to chip the rock.

"Your heat scent," he growls, voice dropping to registers that barely sound human. "Like lightning and desperation. Perfect."

When he sheds his leather harness, my medical training fails me completely.

The anatomy revealed defies everything I know about mammalian reproduction—or any earthly biology.

His primary shaft emerges from its protective sheath, already impressively thick and growing more so as I watch in horrified fascination.

Ridges spiral along its length like some organic screw thread, each one pronounced enough to promise friction that would drive me insane.

But it's the secondary organ that stops my breath entirely.

Nestled at the base of his abdomen, just above his emerging cock, a smaller appendage pulses with its own alien rhythm.

The opening at its center contracts and expands like some hungry mouth, obviously designed for purposes I can't begin to fathom.

"What the hell are you?" I whisper, genuine terror cutting through heat-driven need.

"Evolution perfected," he states with terrifying confidence, stalking toward me with fluid predatory grace. "Chimeric anatomy adapted for omega pleasure. You'll understand soon enough."

I scramble backward across the platform, rational thought warring with biological imperative as another omega whimper escapes my lips. My inner thighs glisten with arousal I can't control, the evidence of my body's betrayal glistening in the dim cave light.

He doesn't allow retreat. With frightening speed, he lunges forward, pinning me beneath his massive frame.

The heat radiating from his skin feels like being pressed against a furnace, his temperature running far hotter than human normal.

One hand captures both my wrists, forcing them above my head with casual strength that makes resistance pointless.

His tail coils around my throat—not tight enough to choke, but a clear reminder of exactly how helpless I am.

"I can smell how desperately you need this," he growls, his face inches from mine, pupils fully dilated with rut-driven hunger. "Your omega cunt is begging for claiming."

The crude words should disgust me, but my body responds with another humiliating flood of wetness, omega biology reacting to alpha dominance with mindless enthusiasm. My hips buck upward without permission, seeking contact I consciously reject while my mind screams in protest.

"Don't," I manage, though the word lacks any real conviction.

"Your mouth lies," he says, free hand moving to my torn uniform, claws extending to their full lethal length. "But your body tells the truth."

He shreds what remains of my clothing with methodical violence, each slash of his claws coming within millimeters of my skin.

I flinch with every tear, waiting for the moment those weapons turn on my flesh, but he maintains perfect control.

The display is psychological—showing me exactly how easily those claws could part skin if I displease him.

Cool air hits my overheated skin, drawing another involuntary whimper.

My nipples harden instantly, my body arching toward his heat despite my conscious resistance.

When the last shred of fabric falls away, I'm left naked and trembling—from fear, from cold, from the heat burning through my veins like acid.

"Present," he commands, voice dropping to that alpha register that bypasses conscious thought and triggers hindbrain responses coded into omega DNA.

My body obeys before my mind can interfere—back arching into a perfect curve, hips rising, thighs parting to display my most vulnerable places.

The position exposes everything to his predatory gaze, every secret part of me slick and swollen with unwanted arousal.

Worse, I can't see him from this angle—can only feel his presence looming behind me, a predator studying his helpless prey.

The logical part of my brain catalogs the response with clinical detachment: alpha voice triggering autonomic submission, standard omega heat behavior, evolutionary programming overriding conscious will. The woman in me screams with rage at this betrayal from within my own flesh.

"Good girl," he purrs, the praise sending another wave of unwanted pleasure through my system. His hand leaves my wrists to grip my hips, holding me in the presenting position when I try to straighten. "Already learning to be a proper omega."

His tail unwinds from my throat, the tip trailing down my spine with deliberate slowness.

The scales create texture unlike anything I've felt—not rough like I expected, but smooth with subtle ridges that catch on nerve endings.

When it reaches the juncture of my thighs, I tense, anticipating violation.

Instead, it flicks lightly against my clit, sending lightning bolts of sensation through my oversensitive system. My hips jerk involuntarily, a moan escaping despite my determination to stay silent.

"So responsive," he observes, the forked tip of his tail exploring my folds with scientific precision. "Every touch makes you wetter."

I bury my face in the furs, unwilling to let him see how his ministrations affect me.

But my body continues its betrayal, pressing back against his touch, taking the scaled appendage deeper while my arousal eases its passage.

The texture is unlike anything in my experience—alien but not unpleasant, creating friction in places human anatomy couldn't reach.

"Look at how your cunt grips my tail," he continues, voice rough with satisfaction. "Imagine how it'll feel wrapped around my cock."