Page 17 of Dragon’s Captive (Prime Omegaverse #1)

CHAPTER 16

UNWELCOME VISITOR

The thing about fragile peace is that it shatters with spectacular efficiency. One moment you're foolishly believing you've found equilibrium in captivity, the next you're reminded the universe has an infinite capacity for cruel irony.

I should have known better. Really. Ten years of resistance work taught me that comfort is always the prelude to catastrophe.

It begins with a commotion I feel before I hear—a subtle shift in Drake's Peak's atmosphere, the fortress's usual rhythms disrupted by something I can't immediately name. The library, where I've been cataloging pre-Conquest scientific texts, suddenly fills with the unmistakable tension that precedes disaster. The air pressure changes. The quality of light alters. Even the mountain itself seems to hold its breath.

I set aside a treatise on agricultural adaptations post-climate crisis, my skin prickling with the instinctive wariness that kept me alive during a decade of hiding. Something's wrong. Something's coming.

Elara appears in the doorway, her usually composed features tight with an emotion I can't quite identify. "The Commander requests your presence in your chambers immediately," she says, voice carefully neutral but eyes communicating urgency I've never seen from her before.

"What's happening?" I ask, already rising from my desk, one protective hand moving unconsciously to my belly where the twins grow, now visibly rounding my abdomen at fifteen weeks.

She hesitates, glancing over her shoulder as if to check who might be listening. "Commander Vorthrax has arrived. Unannounced." The name means nothing to me, but her tone makes it clear this isn't a social call. "You need to prepare to be presented formally this evening."

"Presented? As what, exactly?" The irritation in my voice masks the unease crawling up my spine.

"As Commander Emberscale's claimed mate and breeding omega," she replies, her clinical description oddly at odds with the relationship that's developed between Kairyx and me. "Appropriate attire has been laid out. I'll assist with your preparation."

The dismissal in her tone would have enraged me weeks ago. Now I recognize it as protective distance—Elara creating plausible deniability in case unseen ears listen. Whatever's happening, it's serious enough that even the household staff are watching their words.

I follow her through corridors suddenly bustling with activity. Servants scurry about with greater urgency than usual, their expressions carefully blank. Dragon guards stand at more frequent intervals, their scaled forms radiating tension visible in the way their claws tap against weapon hilts, in how their golden eyes track movement with predatory focus.

My chambers have transformed in my absence. Clothing I've never seen before lays across the bed—fabrics richer and more formal than anything I've worn since capture. Their deep obsidian matches Kairyx's scales, with accents in gold and crimson that invoke his territorial colors. Marking me as his, visually and unmistakably.

"I don't understand," I say as Elara efficiently begins arranging bathing oils and cosmetics I didn't know existed in the fortress. "Who is Commander Vorthrax? Why does his arrival warrant... this?"

"He rules the neighboring territory to the west," she explains, voice low despite the privacy of my chambers. "Bronze-scaled. Larger than Commander Emberscale, though not as strategically intelligent. His domain borders ours at the ridge line just beyond Ashton Ridge."

The significance hits me with stomach-churning clarity. Ashton Ridge—where Kairyx found me. Where he claimed me. Where he took me from the border between territories.

"Is this a diplomatic visit?" I ask, though I already suspect the answer.

Elara's hands pause in their preparations. "Technically, yes. In reality..." She meets my eyes directly. "News of your successful pregnancy has spread through draconic communication networks. The first successful gestation with Commander Emberscale's bloodline after seven failures. Such information travels quickly, especially among rivals."

Before I can process the implications, the doors swing open with enough force to rattle the hinges. Kairyx strides in, his massive form practically vibrating with barely contained fury. Scales that normally gleam obsidian black have darkened to something that seems to absorb light rather than reflect it. The temperature in the chamber rises noticeably with his entrance, heat radiating from his body in waves that make the air shimmer around him.

"Leave us," he commands Elara without looking at her. She bows and exits without a word, closing the doors behind her with quiet efficiency.

For a moment, Kairyx simply stands there, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my heart stutter in my chest. Then he moves, covering the distance between us with that preternatural speed that still startles me after all these weeks.

His hands cup my face with surprising gentleness given the obvious rage coursing through him. "Listen carefully," he says, voice dropped to a rumble too low for any eavesdroppers to hear. "Vorthrax's visit is no coincidence. He comes to challenge my claim on you."

"Challenge?" The word emerges as barely more than a whisper. "Can he do that?"

"Technically, yes." His grip tightens fractionally, scales hot against my skin. "Your claiming occurred in disputed territory—the settlement sits at the border between our domains. Under ancient draconic law, claims made in such regions can be challenged if proper registration protocols weren't observed."

Understanding clicks into place with nauseating clarity. "And were they? Observed?"

His silence is answer enough. In his haste to claim me before my heat fully manifested, before any other Prime could detect my omega nature, he'd delayed the formal registration. A bureaucratic oversight that now creates vulnerability neither of us can afford.

"What happens if his challenge succeeds?" I ask, though part of me doesn't want to know the answer.

Kairyx's scales ripple with a darkness I've never seen before. "He could claim legal right to you and the twins." The temperature spikes again, small wisps of smoke escaping his nostrils as his control slips. "I would not allow it."

The fierce possessiveness in his voice should offend me—I'm not property to be disputed between territorial alphas. Yet I find comfort in his certainty, in the protective fury radiating from him in palpable waves. Because while Kairyx may be a monster, he's become my monster, familiar and increasingly... something I refuse to name even in the privacy of my thoughts.

"What do we do?" I ask instead, surprised by how naturally the "we" forms on my tongue. No longer captor and captive but allies against external threat.

"Tonight, you will be formally presented at dinner. You will wear my colors, bear my scent, display your pregnancy as evidence of successful claiming." His thumb traces my lower lip with unexpected tenderness. "And you will let me handle Vorthrax."

I nod, not trusting my voice. The irony doesn't escape me—seeking protection from the very being who took my freedom, finding safety with my original captor against a greater threat. Stockholm syndrome at its finest, or something more complex that defies simple categorization?

The dinner is a performance of power disguised as diplomacy. The great hall of Drake's Peak, normally used only for territorial governance meetings, gleams with ostentatious display. Torches in obsidian sconces cast flickering light across walls adorned with ancient weapons and battle trophies. The massive table, carved from a single tree trunk petrified by draconic fire centuries ago, dominates the center of the space.

And at the opposite end from where Kairyx sits, Commander Vorthrax fills his chair with malevolent presence that makes my skin crawl from across the room.

If Kairyx is night personified—obsidian scales and golden eyes like stars in darkness—then Vorthrax is tarnished daylight. His scales gleam bronze, closer to copper in some places, but without the warmth such colors should convey. His eyes burn red-gold, like metal heated just below melting point, with vertical pupils so thin they nearly disappear against the fiery irises. Where Kairyx's features retain enough humanity to be read by human expressions, Vorthrax has made no such concessions to the conquered species. His face remains more reptilian, more alien, with a cruelty that feels deliberate rather than inherent.

I sit at Kairyx's right hand, draped in fabrics that mark me as his—obsidian silk trimmed with gold that falls in careful folds to showcase my growing belly. The claiming bite on my neck has been deliberately left exposed, its silvery scar tissue visible evidence of possession. Kairyx's scent covers me more thoroughly than usual, the result of a claiming session before dinner that felt more like territory marking than intimacy.

Servants move silently around us, bringing course after course designed to showcase the prosperity of Kairyx's domain. Conversation remains falsely pleasant, territorial disputes and governance challenges discussed with razor-edged politeness that doesn't disguise the animosity beneath.

I say nothing, follow Elara's careful coaching—eyes downcast, movements graceful, the picture of claimed omega contentment. The role chafes against everything I am, but survival instinct overrides pride. Whatever game these dragons play, I recognize the danger too clearly to disrupt it with misplaced defiance.

Until Vorthrax deliberately brings me into the conversation.

"Breeding success with a human," he remarks during a lull, voice carrying the distinctive rasp of draconic vocal cords forced to produce human speech. Every syllable drips with disdain as his red-gold gaze lingers on my abdomen. "One wonders if proper claiming procedures were observed. The Council has strict protocols regarding territory boundary omegas."

The temperature in the hall spikes instantly. Kairyx's scales darken to that light-absorbing black I've come to recognize as the prelude to violence. Behind us, the dragons of his personal guard shift subtly into more alert positions, clawed hands moving closer to concealed weapons.

"My claiming followed all necessary requirements," Kairyx responds, his voice dangerously soft. "The formal registration was completed within the permitted grace period."

Vorthrax's mouth curves into what might generously be called a smile, if smiles contained only teeth and malice. "Indeed? How fortunate timing, given the omega was found mere kilometers from the disputed boundary." His gaze shifts to me, those burning eyes assessing me like merchandise. "And such an unusual specimen—chemically suppressed for years, according to the reports. Almost as if she deliberately concealed her nature to avoid proper registration."

I realize with growing dread what he's doing—creating a narrative where I, as an unregistered omega, deliberately violated Conquest law. Under such circumstances, my initial claiming could be invalidated, rendering me unclaimed and subject to new possession.

"The omega's previous deception has been addressed," Kairyx states, one hand moving to rest possessively on the back of my neck, directly over the claiming bite. "Her successful pregnancy proves compatibility with my bloodline. The Council recognizes successful breeding as validation of claiming rights."

"True," Vorthrax concedes with false graciousness. "But one wonders if such a... rebellious specimen might produce offspring with undesirable traits. Resistance tendencies could be genetic, after all." He leans forward, those terrible eyes fixed on me with predatory assessment. "Perhaps she would benefit from stricter claiming protocols. My breeding facilities have excellent results with initially resistant omegas."

The threat couldn't be clearer if he'd stated it outright. If his challenge succeeds, I wouldn't simply be transferred to a new master—I'd be sent to breeding facilities. The stuff of nightmares for any unclaimed omega, where multiple alphas use you in rotation, where children are removed immediately after birth, where omegas are reduced to nothing but reproduction vessels maintained by chemical inducements.

Kairyx's hand tightens on my neck, not painfully but with unmistakable possessiveness. "Your concern is noted but unnecessary," he responds, voice carrying the low rumble that precedes draconic flame. "My claim is valid and recognized by territorial law. And my omega—" he emphasizes the possessive with deliberate intensity "—requires no additional protocols beyond those I already provide."

The remainder of the dinner passes in excruciating tension, conversation returning to superficially neutral topics while undercurrents of threat eddy beneath each word. By the time we're finally permitted to withdraw, my neck and shoulders ache from maintaining perfect posture, my jaw tight from forcing appropriate expressions.

Kairyx escorts me back to our chambers—no longer mine but ours, a subtle but significant change that occurred so gradually I barely noticed it happening. As soon as the doors close behind us, his careful restraint shatters. Heat floods the room as his scales ripple with barely contained fury.

"He has no right," he snarls, pacing with the caged energy of a predator denied its kill. "No right to question my claim, to look at you with those calculating eyes, to imply—" He cuts himself off, smoke curling from his nostrils with each agitated breath.

"Can he really challenge your claim?" I ask, sinking onto the edge of the bed as exhaustion and fear catch up with me all at once.

"He can try." The words emerge as barely more than a growl. "He's already filed formal inquiry with the Draconic Council. The proceedings will begin within days."

"And if he succeeds?"

Kairyx stops his pacing, turning to me with golden eyes narrowed to glowing slits. "He won't."

Before I can respond, he's on me, his mouth claiming mine with bruising intensity that steals my breath. This isn't the careful consideration he's shown since learning of my pregnancy, not the measured passion we've developed in recent weeks. This is pure alpha possession, primal and unstoppable as natural disaster.

I should resist. Should maintain some boundary, some dignity in the face of being treated as territory to be marked. Instead, I find myself responding with equal fervor, omega instincts recognizing the security of a powerful alpha's claim in the face of external threat.

“You are mine,” he growls against my lips, clawed hands making quick work of the formal attire I'd been so carefully dressed in hours before. "No one takes what belongs to me."

The claiming that follows contains none of the tenderness we've discovered together. His dual lengths drive into me with possessive fervor that borders on punishment, each thrust a statement of ownership that leaves me gasping. His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise, claws pricking skin without quite breaking it, the heat of his scales burning against my flesh.

"Mine," he repeats, the word a litany against my skin as his mouth moves to the claiming bite at my neck. His teeth find the silvery scar, reopening it with deliberate pressure that sends pain and pleasure spiraling through my system in equal measure. I feel blood beading along the punctures, immediately soothed by his tongue as he laps at the renewed mark. "Mine. Only mine."

The dual sensations of pain at my neck and pleasure between my thighs short-circuit coherent thought. I cling to his scaled shoulders, nails digging in with desperate strength that would injure human skin but merely leaves faint marks on draconic hide. When his knots begin to swell, locking us together in biological claim older than civilization, I surrender to it completely—not from heat, not from biological imperative, but from the terrible knowledge that of all the monsters in this new world, I've somehow come to prefer this one.

As we lie joined in the aftermath, his wings partially extended to cover us both in living shelter, I voice the fear I can no longer contain. "What happens if he wins?"

Kairyx's arms tighten around me, scales still radiating heat that should be uncomfortable but has become strangely comforting. "He won't," he repeats, voice dropped to that register that vibrates through my bones. "But if the Council rules in his favor, there are three possible resolutions: administrative judgment, omega choice declaration, or blood challenge."

"What do those mean?" I ask, though I suspect I already know.

"Administrative judgment would process the claim through bureaucratic channels. It favors his technical argument about boundary disputes." His hand moves to my abdomen in proprietary caress. "Omega choice declaration requires you to publicly accept my claim of your own will—or reject it."

The implications hang between us, weighted with all the complexities of our relationship. Could I publicly declare willing acceptance of what began as capture and forced claiming? The very idea feels like betrayal of every principle I once held sacred.

"And blood challenge?" I ask, though the name itself reveals its nature.

"Combat," he confirms, voice grim. "To submission, not death. But with dragons of our size and power, the distinction becomes academic."

Horror floods me at the thought of Kairyx fighting the larger, more brutal Vorthrax. Not fear for my fate if he loses—though that terrifies me too—but genuine concern for him. The realization stuns me more than anything Vorthrax could threaten.

When did I start caring whether my captor lives or dies? When did his safety begin to matter to me as much as my own?

The answers to these questions frighten me more than bronze scales and red-gold eyes ever could. Because they suggest something I've denied for weeks, something that complicates every aspect of captivity and claiming with terrible, inescapable truth:

I no longer want freedom if it means leaving him.