Page 13 of Dragon’s Captive (Prime Omegaverse #1)

CHAPTER 12

LIFE TAKES ROOT

I survive the fever, but something remains wrong.

Three days after my temperature returns to normal, I wake with my stomach twisting in rebellion. The nausea hits with such sudden intensity that I barely make it to the bathing chamber before emptying what little remains in my stomach from last night's dinner. On my knees before the ornate basin, I press my forehead against the cool stone and try to breathe through the rolling waves of sickness.

Just a lingering effect of the fever, I tell myself. A temporary weakness. Nothing to concern anyone about.

By the fourth morning of the same ritual, I'm less convinced.

"You look unwell," Elara observes as she brings breakfast—simple toast and tea that would normally appeal but now makes my stomach clench in protest. "Should I fetch the healers?"

"No," I answer too quickly, earning a raised eyebrow from her. "It's just... aftermath. From being ill. I'm fine."

She doesn't believe me—her expression makes that clear—but she doesn't press the issue. Just sets down the tray and leaves me to my stubborn independence.

Independence. What a joke. As if anything about my existence here could be called independent.

Beyond the morning sickness, other strange symptoms accumulate like unwelcome guests. Exhaustion drags at my limbs by mid-afternoon, turning the simple act of cataloging books into a herculean task. My skin feels hypersensitive, certain fabrics suddenly unbearable against it. Worst of all is the change in my sense of smell—everything is too intense, too present. The scent of cooking meat from the kitchens three levels below makes me gag. The leather bindings of ancient books that once smelled comforting now overwhelm me with their pungency.

I tell myself it's nothing. Just my body readjusting after suppressants, heat, claiming, fever—a comprehensive assault on my system in too short a timespan. Anyone would feel fragile after such an onslaught.

But deep down, in the place where truth sits heavy and undeniable, I know better.

I've read the forbidden medical texts. I know the early signs. I just can't bear to acknowledge them.

Until Kairyx takes the choice from me.

I'm in the library, struggling to focus on a manuscript whose letters swim before my exhausted eyes, when he enters with his usual commanding presence. His footsteps stop abruptly at the threshold. The sudden silence draws my attention upward, and what I see freezes the blood in my veins.

He stands utterly motionless, a statue of obsidian scales and coiled power. His nostrils flare widely, drawing in deep breaths of air that he seems to taste rather than merely inhale. His golden eyes widen, pupils contracting to near-invisible slits as they lock onto me with predatory focus.

"Kairyx?" I prompt, hating the tremor in my voice. He looks like he's scenting prey, and my body remembers with uncomfortable clarity what happens when he looks at me that way.

He doesn't respond immediately. Instead, he approaches with deliberate slowness, each step measured as if he fears I might bolt. When he reaches me, he crouches to my level where I sit at the reading table, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his scales.

"Clara," he says, his voice deeper than usual, roughened with emotion I can't quite identify. "You haven't noticed?"

My heart pounds against my ribs with painful force. "Noticed what?"

His massive hand reaches toward me, hesitating just a moment before settling with surprising gentleness against my still-flat abdomen. The heat of his palm penetrates the fabric of my dress, sending an involuntary shiver through me that has nothing to do with cold.

"It worked," he says, voice caught between triumph and wonder. "You're carrying my offspring."

The world stops turning.

For one suspended moment, I exist outside of time, outside of my body, outside of the reality his words have just created. Then gravity reasserts itself with crushing force, and the truth crashes over me like a physical blow.

Pregnant.

Not just claimed omega. Not just captive. Now vessel for monster spawn. The ultimate biological betrayal.

"No," I whisper, though denial is pointless against dragon senses. "You can't know that. It's too soon."

His smile is gentle but absolutely certain. "I can smell the changes in your hormones. Your scent has... transformed. Deepened." His hand remains on my abdomen, thumb moving in a small circle that feels disturbingly possessive. "Dragon senses detect pregnancy long before human methods could confirm it."

I push away from the table, needing distance, needing space to breathe through the panic clawing at my throat. The chair scrapes loudly against stone floors as I stand on shaky legs.

"You're wrong," I insist, backing away with one hand pressed protectively—or is it defensively?—against my stomach. "It's just... aftermath. From the fever."

His expression softens in a way that makes me want to scream. Pity. Understanding. Patience for my human denial of what his inhuman senses have already confirmed.

"The healers can verify if you require proof," he says, straightening to his full height. "But I am not mistaken about this, Clara. You carry my young."

The medical examination that follows remains a blur in my memory, a series of fragmented moments without coherence. Elara leading me to a clinical chamber several levels below my rooms. A beta human woman with kind eyes and efficient hands examining me with strange instruments that blend human medical technology with draconic magic. Her murmured confirmations merging with Kairyx's rumbled questions.

"Viable?"

"Yes, Commander. Both embryos appear healthy."

"Both?"

"Twins, as expected from dual fertilization. Standard for dragon-omega pairings."

Twins. Two lives taking root inside me. Two half-dragon children growing beneath my heart. The reality is too enormous to comprehend, too devastating to process.

I answer questions mechanically, follow instructions like an automaton. Yes, I've been experiencing morning sickness. Yes, certain smells trigger nausea. Yes, I've been unusually tired. My body moves through these motions while my mind retreats to some distant, protected place where this isn't happening.

"The pregnancy will progress more rapidly than a human one," the healer explains, her words directed equally to Kairyx and me. "Seven months from conception to birth is typical for dragon-human hybrids. The first trimester is crucial—her body must adapt to support offspring with partially draconic traits."

"What adaptations?" I hear myself ask, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears.

The healer's expression turns cautious. "Your core temperature will rise to accommodate the higher heat requirements of dragon embryos. Your blood chemistry will alter to provide necessary nutrients. There may be... visible changes, particularly in the latter stages."

"Visible changes," I repeat tonelessly.

"Nothing to concern yourself with now," she says with the false brightness of someone sidestepping an uncomfortable topic. "We'll monitor your progress closely. For now, focus on rest, nutrition, and avoiding stress."

Avoiding stress. While pregnant with monster spawn in a mountain fortress where I'm held captive. The absurdity of this advice almost makes me laugh, but I fear if I start, it might transform into screaming that never stops.

Kairyx remains unnervingly attentive throughout, his massive presence never more than an arm's length away. His eyes track every movement of the healer's hands on my body with predatory focus, not threatening but intensely protective. When the examination concludes, he helps me to my feet with surprising gentleness.

"You require rest," he states, brooking no argument. "The library can wait."

I let him guide me back to my chambers, too numb to fight, too overwhelmed to assert the fragile independence I've struggled to maintain since my heat ended. My mind races with implications, with half-formed worries and fears too numerous to catalog.

Hybrid children. I've seen them in Ashton Ridge—infants with tiny scales along their spines, toddlers whose eyes shift from human rounds to draconic slits when excited, children developing at rates that leave human growth charts useless. Second-generation products of the Conquest, living embodiments of the new world order.

And now I carry two within me.

Once safely returned to my chambers, Kairyx hesitates by the door, golden eyes studying me with uncharacteristic uncertainty.

"You should rest," he repeats, his usual commanding tone softened by what almost sounds like concern. "I'll have appropriate meals prepared to address the nausea. The healers have supplements that will help."

I nod mechanically, beyond words, beyond resistance. He studies me a moment longer, something like understanding flickering across his inhuman features.

"This news is... overwhelming for you," he acknowledges. "I'll leave you to process it. But Clara—" His voice drops lower, vibrating with emotion I'm too numb to interpret. "This is a triumph. The first successful conception in seven attempts. You've accomplished something remarkable."

He leaves before I can respond, closing the door with uncharacteristic quietness behind him.

Remarkable. As if growing monster spawn is an achievement to celebrate rather than the ultimate evidence of captivity. As if my body's betrayal deserves congratulations rather than mourning.

I move to the bathing chamber on legs that barely support me, stripping mechanically and filling the massive tub with water hot enough to turn my skin pink. The steam creates a private cocoon around me, a fragile barrier between myself and the reality I can no longer deny.

Only then, submerged to my neck in scalding water that cannot hope to burn away what grows inside me, do I finally break.

The sobs come from somewhere deep and primal, tearing free with painful force. I clamp my hands over my mouth to muffle the sounds, unwilling to let servants or guards hear this moment of absolute vulnerability. Tears stream down my face, mingling with bathwater until I can't distinguish between them.

I cry until my throat aches and my eyes swell, until the water cools around me and my fingers wrinkle like pale prunes. I cry for my lost freedom, for my body's eager betrayal of everything I once believed. I cry for the children I never wanted to bear—not like this, not here, not with him.

And somewhere, in the deepest corner of my heart where truth hides from conscious thought, I cry from fear that these lives growing within me might eventually mean something to me beyond captivity's ultimate evidence. That I might come to care for them despite their origins, despite their father, despite everything.

Because that would be the true defeat—not just my body claimed and bred, but my heart turned traitor as well.

When I finally emerge, wrung dry of tears and emotion alike, I catch sight of my reflection in the polished metal mirror. My face looks haggard, eyes red-rimmed and swollen, but my hand moves unbidden to my still-flat abdomen.

Two lives growing there. Two beings who never asked to be created in this clash of worlds and wills. Two children who will be neither fully human nor fully dragon, but something new—just as I am becoming something beyond the woman I once was.

The thought terrifies me more than Kairyx ever could.