Page 26 of Dragon’s Captive (Prime Omegaverse #1)
One year later, and I still find myself touching reality to verify this isn't some elaborate omega fever dream.
The sunset paints the Appalachian mountains in fiery hues that mirror my children's eyes. I lean against the balcony railing, savoring a rare moment of quiet. Behind me, our chambers overflow with evidence of this unexpected life—miniature clothing with specialized fire-resistant patches, toys engineered to withstand draconic tantrums, books in both human and Prime languages scattered across surfaces once pristine and austere.
A puff of gray vapor followed by an indignant gurgle breaks the silence.
"That's not where it goes!" Nikolai's voice carries the unique frustration of a toddler whose reality refuses to conform to his vision. At eighteen months old, his vocabulary has expanded far beyond human developmental benchmarks, another peculiarity of hybrid genetics that simultaneously fascinates and unnerves the healers.
I turn to find him scowling at a collection of wooden blocks, wisps of smoke escaping his perfect rosebud mouth. The first time this happened, panic seized me, certain he was in distress. Now it's just another Tuesday.
"Go easy on the fire hazards, little one," I call over my shoulder. "The servants are growing weary of replacing the curtains."
Nikolai looks up, his eyes transforming from normal round pupils to vertical draconic slits as emotion surges through him. The effect would be unsettling if it weren't so quintessentially him—chubby-cheeked human face framed by dark hair showing the first hints of scale patterns along his hairline, but with eyes that flash pure dragon when his temper flares.
"Block stupid," he declares with the absolute certainty only a toddler can muster.
Lyra, never missing an opportunity to demonstrate her superior wisdom despite being precisely two minutes younger than her brother, glances up from her own project.
"Physics, Nik," she corrects, golden eyes gleaming in the fading light. "Gravity exists."
I suppress a laugh. "That's right, Lyra. Some forces can't be overcome by sheer determination, no matter how powerful you are."
"Papa can," Nikolai counters, chin jutting with unshakable confidence.
And honestly, how do I argue with that logic? From their perspective, their father exists as practically divine—capable of flight, breathing fire, reshaping stone with bare claws, and most impressively to their toddler minds, reaching the highest shelves without assistance.
The library chimes echo through our quarters—a melodic sequence I designed to signal visitors at the knowledge exchange center that was once my prison and hiding place. The irony doesn't escape me. The universe truly possesses the most twisted sense of humor.
"That's Elara with the new manuscripts," I tell the twins, moving to gather them. "Want to see what treasures she's brought?"
"Books!" Lyra claps her hands, her passion for written words already evident at eighteen months. Nikolai appears unimpressed until I add, "Some contain illustrations of ancient war machines."
The journey through Drake's Peak remains something I haven't fully acclimated to, even after all this time. Guards bow respectfully—not to a claimed omega, but to the mate of their commander and mother of his heirs. The distinction carries significant weight in draconic society, the difference between possession and partnership acknowledged in ways that took months for me to comprehend.
The library has evolved alongside everything else. Once housing only draconic texts and carefully censored human knowledge, its shelves now bend under the weight of recovered manuscripts from settlements across the eastern territories. The resistance volumes I once helped smuggle now sit openly beside Prime historical records.
Elara waits inside, her expression softening at the sight of the twins balanced on my hips. The claiming mark on her throat has faded to near-invisibility since her former alpha discarded her, but she's discovered purpose here that transcends servitude.
"These just arrived from the Eastern Collective," she says, gesturing toward a crate of meticulously preserved volumes. "Pre-Conquest scientific texts about climate adaptation. The Commander thought they might interest you, considering the agricultural projects."
I settle the twins in their specially reinforced play area—designed to withstand Nikolai's occasional smoke plumes and Lyra's tendency to make objects float when particularly engaged in a task. Another quirk of hybrid development we're still learning to navigate.
"Perfect timing," I say, already reaching for the first volume. "The hybrid crop yields show improvement, but we need more effective irrigation systems before?—"
The atmosphere shifts, temperature climbing several degrees instantly. The scent of smoke, cinnamon, and something metallic floods the space. My body responds before my mind registers it—luminescent patterns appearing along my veins, a physiological adaptation from carrying dragon offspring that activates in their sire's presence.
The twins sense him simultaneously, heads turning with perfect synchronization that continues to unnerve visitors unaccustomed to the blood-bond between dragon offspring and their parent.
"Papa!" Nikolai abandons his blocks, running toward the massive figure entering the library with absolute confidence that he'll be caught, lifted, protected.
Kairyx moves with that lethal grace that once triggered terror but now awakens an entirely different physical response. Seven feet of scaled power, wings partially extended in the relaxed posture he adopts within his own territory, his golden gaze immediately finding me across the room with intensity undiminished by familiarity.
He lifts both twins effortlessly, one cradled in each arm, massive clawed hands that could pulverize stone holding our children with exquisite care. The contradiction still catches me unprepared sometimes—apex predator and protective father coexisting within the same being.
"The southern settlements report successful adaptation," he announces, his voice resonating through the library as Lyra tugs at one of his horns. "The hybrid crops produce thirty percent more than traditional methods."
"Excellent." I close the book, committing its contents to memory for tomorrow's unusual council where humans and dragons discuss territorial development as collaborators rather than conquered and conqueror. "What about the education proposals for the western region?"
"Approved with modifications." His shoulders shift slightly as he adjusts his hold on the twins. "The human instructors require additional security during full moon cycles when shadow demon activity increases near the border."
These conversations—territorial governance interwoven with domestic updates—still feel surreal occasionally. Not equality, never that, but partnership alongside the immutable power dynamics that will always exist between us.
"The twins require rest," Kairyx observes, his draconic senses detecting subtle changes in their body temperature indicating fatigue. "Their energy has diminished significantly."
"I'll take them to their chambers," Elara offers, approaching with the earned confidence of someone entrusted with precious offspring. "The evening meal has been prepared in your quarters, as requested."
Kairyx transfers the twins with careful precision, both children going willingly to Elara, whose steadfast presence represents comfort rather than reminder of captivity. As she leads them away, Lyra's golden eyes glow faintly in the dimming light, her tiny hand waving farewell with regal dignity.
"You've been avoiding me today," Kairyx states once we're alone, his voice dropping to that register that still makes my omega hindbrain snap to attention. "Your scent shifts when you conceal something."
"I'm not concealing anything," I lie, the words unconvincing even to myself. "I've been occupied with the agricultural texts and the twins were particularly energetic this morning and?—"
His palm cups my face, halting my transparent evasion with gentle but implacable touch. "Clara." Just my name, but infused with everything we've become to each other. "Tell me."
"Let's return to our chambers first," I suggest, suddenly feeling exposed in the library despite its emptiness. Some revelations deserve privacy.
His gaze sharpens, pupils contracting with predatory focus. He recognizes my delaying tactic, but permits it with uncharacteristic patience.
As we walk back to our quarters, his wing extends slightly to curve around my shoulders. The possessiveness persists—he remains alpha dragon, still biologically programmed for dominance and territoriality—but the harsh edge has softened to something that feels more like shelter than cage.
Our chambers have transformed alongside everything else—no longer my prison but our shared domain, reshaped by eighteen months of cohabitation into space that accommodates both human comfort and draconic necessities. The massive hearth burns continuously with blue-tinged flame that creates ideal ambient temperature for my adapted physiology while satisfying his need for constant heat.
As the door closes behind us, Kairyx transitions seamlessly between his public presentation and the partial dragon manifestation he adopts in private. Scales spread further across his skin, wings extending fully, features elongating slightly into expression of draconic nature he once carefully controlled in my presence but now reveals without hesitation. The transformation that once terrified me now simply represents the reality of my chosen mate—complicated, powerful, and undeniably mine.
His wings enfold me from behind as we move toward the balcony where the Appalachian night spills stars across the darkening sky. His scales radiate warmth against my back, heat penetrating muscles that gradually release under his touch.
When he nuzzles the claiming mark at my throat, I tilt my head to allow better access, omega submission that once symbolized my ultimate defeat but now feels like strength rather than weakness. The silvered scar tissue remains sensitive even after all this time, sending shivers down my spine as his teeth graze gently across the permanent evidence of his possession.
"Tell me what you conceal," he murmurs against my skin, the words vibrating through the claiming mark in a way that makes my knees embarrassingly weak. Some things never change, apparently, despite all other transformations.
I turn within his embrace, facing him directly with hands that move without hesitation to trace the obsidian scales along his jaw. The texture has become comfort rather than alienness, the nonhuman features simply Kairyx rather than frightening other.
"I'm pregnant," I tell him simply, watching his expression shift from momentary surprise to something deeper, more primal, more intense. "About six weeks, I believe."
His hands move to my still-flat abdomen with reverent care, claws carefully retracted as they explore flesh that shows no visible evidence yet but carries his second breeding within. His heightened senses detected the subtle changes in my scent, my body chemistry, but even his draconic perception required confirmation.
"You are pleased," he says, the statement containing question beneath certainty. His golden eyes search mine for truth he can sense through our blood-bond but needs to hear articulated.
"Yes," I admit, smiling at the wonder of it myself. "I am pleased. Happy, even." The irony isn't lost on me—the woman who once feared monsters above all else now stands willingly in a dragon's embrace, carrying his second breeding with anticipation rather than dread.
"What amuses you, little librarian?" Kairyx asks against my hair, using the title that once signified my captivity but now carries affectionate remembrance of our beginning.
"That life discovers unexpected paths," I answer, my fingers continuing their exploration of scales that once symbolized everything I hated but now represent home. "I never imagined finding belonging in captivity."
His golden eyes study me with the predatory focus that still sends shivers through me, though now from desire rather than fear. "And I never imagined finding partnership in possession." His hands span my waist, exploring the subtle changes his dragon senses can detect even if human perception would miss them entirely.
When I confirm his suspicions with a nod, the low growl of satisfaction that rumbles from his chest vibrates through my entire body. His pupils contract to thin vertical slits, draconic nature emerging more fully as his control slips with pleasure at my news.
"My seed takes root within you again," he growls, voice dropping to register that bypasses rational thought and connects directly to my omega hindbrain. "This time by choice rather than claim."
"Yes," I whisper, heat flooding my core at his words, at the possessive pleasure in his voice. "By choice."
His mouth claims mine with hunger that hasn't diminished with familiarity, the edge of dominance that will likely never fade entirely now tempered with knowledge of exactly how I respond to different pressures, different angles. His tongue tastes of smoke and cinnamon, alien yet achingly familiar as it slides against mine with practiced precision.
My arms wrap around his neck without hesitation, fingers tangling in the scales at his nape that darken beneath my touch. His wings create a private cocoon around us, blocking out the world beyond our balcony as his body radiates increasing heat against mine.
"I want to taste you," he murmurs against my throat, clawed hands already moving to remove my clothing with that controlled strength that still amazes me—capable of shattering stone yet careful enough to handle delicate fabric without tearing. "To worship what nurtures my bloodline."
"Yes," I breathe, my own fingers working at the fastenings of his garments with eager impatience that draws another rumbling laugh from his chest.
He lifts me with effortless strength, carrying me to our bed where he lays me with surprising gentleness given the hunger evident in his golden eyes. His massive form hovers above me, wings spreading to create canopy of living shadow as scales shift with colors too subtle for human eyes to properly distinguish but that my adapted vision now recognizes as desire, pleasure, possession.
"Beautiful," he says, clawed hands skimming reverently over my body as I lie naked before him. "More perfect with each transformation."
His touch leaves trails of heat across my skin, exploring with devastating thoroughness as if memorizing territory already mapped countless times before. When his fingers find the wetness gathering between my thighs, evidence of omega arousal I no longer try to hide, his satisfaction rumbles through the chamber like distant thunder.
"So responsive," he praises, scaled digits circling my entrance with careful precision that makes my back arch involuntarily. "So perfectly made for me."
"For us," I correct, gasping as one clawed finger slides inside with practiced ease, finding the spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. "Made for each other."
His smile is predatory, triumphant, yet carries warmth that transforms it from threatening to breathtaking. "Yes," he agrees, lowering his massive form between my spread thighs, "for us."
The first touch of his tongue against my center tears a cry from my throat that echoes off stone walls. Draconic anatomy grants advantages human lovers could never match—higher temperature that turns each lick into exquisite burn, slightly rougher texture that creates friction against sensitized flesh, unnatural control that allows him to apply perfect pressure without pause for breath human physiology would require.
"Kairyx," I gasp, hands tangling in the scales along his skull, hips rising to meet each devastating stroke. "Please?—"
"Tell me what you need," he commands, golden eyes watching my reactions with predatory focus that catalogs every gasp, every shudder, every involuntary clench of inner muscles around his exploring fingers. "I want to hear you say it."
"Your mouth," I manage, heat flooding my face at the words but beyond caring about such trivial concerns as embarrassment. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
His rumble of approval vibrates against my core, the sensation sending fresh waves of pleasure spiraling through my system. His tongue works with increasing intensity, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves before flicking across it with precision that speaks to intimate knowledge of exactly how I respond to different pressures, different rhythms.
When he adds second finger alongside the first, the stretch burns exquisitely, my inner walls clenching around the invasion with eager welcome. The dual sensations—his mouth working my clit while his fingers curl inside me—push me rapidly toward edge I'm increasingly desperate to fall over.
"That's it," he praises, words vibrating against sensitized flesh. "Let me feel you come apart. Show me how perfectly you respond to your alpha."
The combination of physical stimulation and verbal dominance shatters my control completely. The orgasm crashes through me with devastating force, inner walls pulsing around his fingers as pleasure whites out conscious thought. My cry echoes off stone walls, back arching off the bed as waves of sensation roll through me with intensity that borders on too much, too good, too everything.
Before I can recover, he's moving up my body, his massive form positioning between my spread thighs with practiced ease. His dual lengths emerge fully from their scaled sheath, ridged surfaces radiating heat I can feel even without direct contact. The sight still inspires momentary awe—twin shafts that would be physically impossible for unmodified human to accommodate but that my adapted body now welcomes with eager slick.
"Look at me," he commands, golden eyes holding mine as the twin heads press against my entrance. "Watch as I claim what's mine."
I obey without hesitation, gaze locked with his as he begins the inexorable push forward. The stretch burns despite my body's eager preparation, the dual intrusion creating fullness beyond anything human anatomy could provide. Each ridge along both lengths drags against inner walls with devastating friction that sends aftershocks of pleasure rippling through my still-sensitive flesh.
When he seats himself fully, both shafts buried to the hilt, the sensation of absolute fullness steals my breath completely. For moment we remain perfectly still, locked together in physical connection that mirrors the deeper bond formed through blood and fire and shared offspring.
"Perfect," he growls, scales darkening with pleasure as my inner walls adjust around him. "Taking both my cocks so beautifully. Made for this. Made for me."
His praise shouldn't affect me the way it does, but each word sends another rush of slick coating his invasion, inner walls rippling with pleasure that draws answering growl from his chest.
"Move," I gasp, hands clutching at his shoulders in wordless plea. "Please, Kairyx?—"
He requires no further encouragement. His first thrust drives deep, angle perfectly calibrated to hit the spot inside that makes coherent thought impossible. The rhythm he establishes speaks to intimate knowledge of exactly how I respond to different pressures, different paces—not punishing but inexorable, each drive of his hips sending dual ridged lengths dragging against sensitized flesh with precision that borders on torture.
"Mine," he growls against my throat, words punctuated by increasingly powerful thrusts that shift my entire body up the bed. "My mate. My omega. Carrying my seed. Bred by my cocks."
"Yours," I agree without hesitation or artifice, the declaration drawing fresh surge of possessive pleasure through our bloodlink. "As you are mine."
His rhythm falters momentarily at my response, something vulnerable flashing across features not designed for human emotional display. Then he redoubles his efforts, pace increasing as one clawed hand slips between our bodies to find my clit with unerring accuracy.
"Come for me again," he commands, circling the sensitive bundle with perfect pressure. "I want to feel you squeeze my cocks as I fill you with my seed. Want to feel your body welcome what will nourish our growing offspring."
The combination of physical stimulation, possessive words, and mental image of his burning seed filling my already pregnant womb pushes me over the edge again. The second orgasm hits with even greater force than the first, tearing another cry from my throat as pleasure whites out conscious thought. My inner walls clench rhythmically around his dual invasion, milking his response with biological efficiency evolved specifically for this purpose.
The sensation triggers his own release. I feel it first as additional heat at my core, his twin shafts expanding further inside me as the bases begin to swell. The knots forming at the root of both cocks stretch my entrance to point where pleasure edges into pain, the burn exquisite as my body yields to accommodate what should be physically impossible.
"Take my knot," he growls, hips grinding against mine as the swelling increases. "Take all of it. Perfect omega. Perfect mate."
When the knots lock fully, sealing us together in biological bond that transcends species difference, his release begins in earnest. Burning seed floods my womb in pulsing waves I can actually feel, the quantity far greater than human ejaculate, the temperature noticeably hotter against my inner walls. The sensation triggers aftershocks of pleasure through my oversensitized system, small convulsions of inner muscles that draw his seed deeper within me.
We remain locked together, his massive body careful not to crush mine despite the awkwardness of our position. His wings wrap around us, creating private sanctuary within already isolated chamber. One clawed hand rests possessively over my abdomen where new life grows alongside the seed he's just planted—not necessary for fertilization already achieved but symbolic of connection neither could have anticipated when he first hunted me through Ashton Ridge streets.
"Clara," he murmurs against my claiming mark, my name emerging rough with emotion draconic vocal structures weren't designed to convey. "My perfect mate."
The declaration shouldn't warm me as it does—shouldn't create that flutter beneath my ribs that has nothing to do with biological imperative and everything to do with genuine connection formed despite our beginning rather than because of it. Possession transformed to mutual claiming, captivity evolved to partnership, monster became mate in process neither planned but both now embrace without reservation.
As night falls fully across the mountain, I acknowledge the fundamental truth of our relationship—never equal in the human sense, never free of the power dynamics that brought us together, but somehow balanced in mutual need that transcends the categories of conqueror and conquered. Fire and blood brought us together, violence and claiming forced connection neither wanted. Yet what grew from that beginning defies all expectations, all predictions, all reasonable outcomes from such brutal genesis.
Not love as humans once defined it, perhaps. Something older, deeper, more primal—connection that acknowledges power imbalance without being limited by it, that recognizes difference without requiring erasure, that builds future neither species could have created alone.
The woman who entered Drake's Peak as prisoner has become something entirely new—not just claimed omega, not just breeding vessel, but bridge between worlds the Conquest forced together but never truly integrated. And the dragon who claimed me against my will has transformed as well—not softened entirely, never that, but expanded beyond mere possession into partnership neither anticipated.
Life finds unexpected paths indeed.
Fire and blood. Destruction and creation. Ending and beginning, coexisting rather than opposing. The contradiction embodies everything about the new world emerging from ruins of the old—painful, imperfect, yet containing possibility neither humans nor Primes could have imagined when the rifts first opened between dimensions.
As Kairyx's breathing deepens toward sleep, his scaled body curled protectively around mine, I smile into the darkness at the perfect irony. The monster under the bed turned out to be the one place I truly belonged all along.
I just needed to stop running long enough to discover it.