Page 18 of Dragon’s Captive (Prime Omegaverse #1)

CHAPTER 17

LEGAL CHALLENGE

Paperwork. In the end, that's what my fate comes down to—a bureaucratic oversight, a form filed too late, a box left unchecked. The cosmic joke of it lands with perfect irony: after surviving a decade of hiding, after enduring claiming and heat and pregnancy, my future hangs on administrative technicality.

The universe really does have a twisted sense of humor.

The formal documentation arrives the morning after Vorthrax's departure, carried by a stone-faced messenger in bronze-scaled livery. I watch from my chamber window as Kairyx receives the scroll in the fortress courtyard, his obsidian scales darkening to that light-absorbing black that signals barely contained rage. The temperature around him spikes so dramatically that the snow melting off nearby eaves turns instantly to steam.

"What exactly does it say?" I ask when he finally enters our chambers, the scroll clutched in one clawed hand with enough force to crumple the expensive parchment.

He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he paces the length of the room with predatory intensity, smoke curling from his nostrils with each agitated breath. The dragon emerging through careful human facade.

"It's a formal challenge to my claiming rights," he finally says, voice rough with suppressed fury. "Citing territorial boundary violations and improper registration protocols."

My hand moves automatically to my belly, protective instinct overriding even fear. At seventeen weeks, the twins create a visible swell beneath my clothing, their presence undeniable evidence of the bond Vorthrax seeks to sever. "Can he do that? Challenge a claim after the fact? Especially with..." I gesture to my rounded abdomen.

Kairyx stops pacing, his golden eyes fixing on me with laser focus. "According to ancient draconic law, unclaimed omegas discovered in border regions can be challenged for by neighboring authorities if the claiming wasn't properly registered with the Council."

"And was it?" I already know the answer, but some masochistic part of me needs to hear it confirmed.

His scales ripple with something that might be discomfort on a less predatory being. "No. In my haste to claim you before your heat fully manifested, I... delayed filing the proper documentation."

The admission hangs between us, weighted with implications neither of us can ignore. My mind races through scattered memories of that first day—the library inspection, my desperate run, his pursuit and capture. Had I been found even five miles further west, this challenge wouldn't exist. Had he filed paperwork immediately after claiming me, this vulnerability wouldn't threaten us now.

Funny how the word "us" forms so naturally in my thoughts these days.

"What happens now?" I ask, sinking onto the window seat as my legs suddenly feel too weak to support me.

"There will be a formal review before the Draconic Council," he explains, moving to sit beside me with surprising gentleness given his obvious rage. "Vorthrax will present his challenge, I will defend my claim, and a ruling will be issued."

The clinical description belies the horror lurking beneath procedural veneer. I've seen how Vorthrax treats humans under his control. During his brief visit, I witnessed his casual cruelty toward servants—the bruises left by careless clawed hands, the way he stepped over a beta who'd dropped a tray rather than around them, the contemptuous orders delivered without acknowledging their recipient as sentient.

And those were just beta servants. What awaited claimed omegas in his territory?

"I can't go with him," I say, the words emerging hollow with dawning terror. "The twins?—"

"Would be seen as competitors to any offspring he might sire," Kairyx finishes, his hand moving to cover mine where it rests protectively over our children. The heat of his scales burns against my skin, but I lean into the contact rather than away from it. "Once you've birthed them, he would likely separate you permanently."

The matter-of-fact assessment lands like physical blow. Not just losing my freedom again, not just being transferred from one alpha to another, but having my children taken. The thought sends ice through my veins despite the draconic heat radiating from Kairyx's massive frame.

"There has to be something we can do," I say, fighting to keep panic from overwhelming me. "Some way to fight this."

His expression shifts to something I've never seen before—uncertainty. It looks wrong on features designed for predatory confidence, like storm clouds over desert landscape.

"Dragon law predates the Conquest," he explains, golden eyes troubled. "Challenge rights exist to prevent territorial disputes from escalating to full warfare. He cannot simply take you—but he can force formal review of my claim." His hand rests more firmly against my abdomen, where our children grow. "There are three possible resolutions: administrative judgment, omega choice declaration, or blood challenge. The first favors his technical argument, the third risks both our lives."

"And the second?" I prompt when he hesitates.

"The second..." His gaze slides away from mine for the first time since I've known him, as if even he finds this option difficult to voice. "The second requires you to publicly accept my claim of your own will."

The implication strikes with devastating clarity. To declare willing acceptance of what began as capture and forced claiming. To stand before draconic authority and pronounce myself voluntarily bound to the alpha who took my freedom.

"You mean lie," I say flatly.

His eyes snap back to mine, something fierce flashing in golden depths. "Is it a lie, Clara? After everything that's happened between us? Would public declaration of acceptance be false testimony or merely acknowledging what already exists?"

The question cuts too close to truths I've avoided confronting. What exactly exists between us now? Not simple captivity, not mere biological imperative, not stockholm syndrome in its purest form. Something more complex, something that defies easy categorization or comfortable labels.

"I don't know," I admit, the confession feeling like surrender of a different sort. "I don't know what this is anymore."

His massive hand cups my face with surprising gentleness, scales warm against my skin. "Then perhaps it's time to decide. Because Vorthrax will not wait for us to define what exists between us, and the Council requires certainty, not nuance."

The truth in his words doesn't make the choice any easier. My gaze drifts to the window, where snow has begun falling again, thick flakes swirling in hypnotic patterns against leaden sky. Drake's Peak—once my prison, now my sanctuary against greater threats. The irony would be hilarious if it weren't so terrifying.

"When?" I ask, the single word containing multitudes of resignation and determination.

"One week," he answers. "The Council convenes at the Neutral Zone in seven days."

The Neutral Zone. I've heard whispers of it—a designated territory near what used to be Las Vegas, where dragons of different domains can meet without triggering territorial aggression. Neutral ground for disputes, for governance, for matters that affect multiple species interests.

"Will I need to go?" The thought of traveling in my condition, of facing a council of dragons in formal proceeding, sends fresh waves of anxiety through me.

"Yes." No prevarication, no false comfort. "Your presence is required, particularly for omega choice declaration if that's the path we choose."

If. The conditional dangles between us like bait neither is willing to seize first. We both know there really isn't a choice—administrative judgment would inevitably favor Vorthrax's technical argument, and blood challenge would risk everything on combat whose outcome, even with Kairyx's strategic intelligence, remains uncertain against a physically larger opponent.

"Tell me about him," I say instead, needing to understand exactly what threat we face. "Beyond what I saw at dinner. What kind of..." I hesitate, searching for the right word, "...alpha is he?"

Something dark passes across Kairyx's features, scales rippling with emotion too complex for human categorization. "He represents old draconic values. Power above all else. Dominance without temperance. He views humans as we once viewed livestock—useful for what they provide, but inherently lesser beings."

"And you don't?" The question emerges sharper than intended, old wounds reopening beneath fresh fear.

"I did," he admits, the honesty surprising me. "When the rifts first opened, when we first emerged into this world, I saw humans as your kind saw animals—sentient, perhaps, but fundamentally different. Lesser."

"And now?" I press, needing to hear it articulated.

His alien eyes hold mine with uncomfortable intensity. "Now I recognize complexity where I once saw simplicity. Strength where I expected only weakness. Particularly in you."

The admission shouldn't warm me. Shouldn't create that flutter beneath my ribs that has nothing to do with the twins and everything to do with the being before me. Yet it does, another piece of evidence that whatever exists between us has grown beyond its violent beginnings into something I lack adequate language to define.

"Vorthrax has claimed seventeen omegas since the Conquest," Kairyx continues, voice hardening. "Twelve have died during pregnancy or childbirth. Of the five who survived, three were sent to breeding facilities after failing to produce viable offspring. The remaining two exist as little more than royal incubators, kept perpetually pregnant through chemical induction."

Horror coils through me with each word, cold and slithering. "And the Council allows this?"

"The Council concerns itself with draconic interests, not human welfare," he says, the words clinical but tone suggesting his own discomfort with this reality. "So long as territorial boundaries are respected and bloodline continuation proceeds, individual treatment of claimed omegas remains largely unregulated."

"So my choice is between continued captivity with you or probable death with him," I summarize, bitter laughter threatening to bubble up from somewhere dangerously close to hysteria. "Some choice."

"No." His hand tightens fractionally on mine. "Your choice is between partnership with me or slavery with him. Between a future where our children grow with both parents or one where they're taken from you the moment they're born. Between life—complicated, difficult, imperfect life—and likely death."

When framed that way, it's not really a choice at all. Yet something in me rebels against the simplification, against being cornered into decision by external threat rather than personal evolution.

"You still took my freedom," I remind him, needing to speak this truth despite everything else. "You still claimed me against my will. Changed my body, my life, my future without my consent."

"Yes." No excuses, no justifications. Just acknowledgment of undeniable fact. "I did those things."

"And now you need me to publicly forgive that. To declare it wasn't violation but choice."

He's silent for a long moment, scales shifting colors in patterns too complex for human interpretation. "I need you to decide if what exists between us now is worth preserving," he finally says. "If the future we might build together holds more value than the freedom you'd lose by choosing me."

The framing catches me off guard—not demand for submission but invitation to assessment. Weighing captivity against connection, biological claiming against the relationship that's grown in its aftermath.

"I don't know if I can do that," I admit, voice barely above whisper. "Stand before a council and declare willing acceptance of what began as force."

"Then I will prepare for blood challenge," he says simply, as if offering to fetch tea rather than risking his life in combat. "Vorthrax is larger, but size isn't everything in draconic battles. Strategy matters more than brute strength."

The casual acceptance of potential death sends unexpected panic spiraling through me. The thought of Kairyx facing Vorthrax in physical combat—dragon against dragon, fire against fire, with my fate and our children's hanging in the balance—creates a primal fear I can't rationalize away.

"No," I say, the word emerging with surprising force. "Don't do that. Don't risk yourself unnecessarily."

His expression shifts to something almost gentle, a softness I would have thought impossible on draconic features when we first met. "Then what would you suggest, Clara? Because one way or another, this challenge must be answered."

The question hangs between us, weighted with all we've become to each other—captor and captive, alpha and omega, father and mother to the lives growing inside me. The complexities defy simple resolution, yet resolution must be found before the Council convenes.

My hand moves to the claiming bite at my neck, fingers tracing the silvery scar that marks me as possessed. Once I would have given anything to erase this brand. Now I find myself considering the unthinkable—affirming it by choice rather than force, accepting what began as violation as something I would choose if choosing were truly mine to do.

"I need time," I finally say, meeting his golden gaze directly. "Before I decide. Before I declare anything publicly."

He nods once, understanding what I cannot fully articulate even to myself. "One week," he reminds me. "Then we face the Council, one way or another."

One week to determine if captivity has become connection. If claiming has evolved to choice. If the monster who took my freedom has become the protector I would select given true options.

One week to decide if lies can become truth through sheer force of necessity.