Page 5 of Dragon’s Captive (Prime Omegaverse #1)

CHAPTER 4

FLIGHT TO THE MOUNTAIN

Terror has a taste. Metallic and sharp, like blood pennies dissolving on the tongue. It floods my mouth as the ground falls away, as Kairyx's massive wings beat against the air with a sound like distant thunder. My stomach lurches upward, trying to escape through my throat as we climb higher into the cold mountain air.

I'm bound against his chest by arms harder than steel, my back pressed to scales that radiate unnatural heat even through layers of clothing. The contrast between his burning body and the freezing air rushing past makes me dizzy, disoriented, caught between opposing elements just as I'm caught between earth and sky.

"Stop struggling," he growls, his voice vibrating through his chest and into my bones. "Unless you wish to discover if humans can survive a fall from this height."

The threat is unnecessary. My body, traitor that it is, has already plastered itself against him in primal fear. My fingers clutch desperately at his forearms, nails digging into scales that don't yield like human skin would. I couldn't release him if I wanted to—terror has locked my muscles as surely as any physical restraint.

We bank sharply to the left, the world tilting at a sickening angle. A whimper escapes me before I can swallow it back, and I feel rather than hear his rumble of amusement. He's enjoying this, the bastard. Enjoying my fear, my helplessness.

"Look," he commands, one clawed hand moving to grasp my chin, tilting my face downward. "See your world as we see it."

I want to close my eyes, to deny him even this small victory, but curiosity betrays me as thoroughly as biology did. I look.

And despite everything, my breath catches.

The Appalachian landscape spreads beneath us like a living map, more beautiful and terrible than anything I've seen in books. From this height, the transformation wrought by the Conquest reveals itself in stark patterns. Neat squares of permitted human settlements with their orderly streets and regulated structures. Surrounding them, wild territories reclaimed by nature where dragons hunt, the forests darker and more primal than I remember from childhood. And scattered like burn scars across the canvas—blackened ruins of towns that resisted, their broken remains a decade-old warning that some still need to see.

"Your kind calls this devastation," Kairyx says, his mouth too close to my ear, breath hot against my skin. "We call it restoration. The world was meant to have balance—apex predators and prey, not concrete covering every surface."

"You killed millions," I snap back, finding my voice at last. "Destroyed civilization. Enslaved survivors. Don't dress genocide up as environmental stewardship."

His chest rumbles again, but this time it sounds almost like approval. "The librarian has teeth after all. Good. Submission is sweeter when earned rather than given."

The words send an unwelcome shiver through me that has nothing to do with the biting cold. I focus instead on the landscape below, searching for anything that might help me later. Knowledge is survival. Information is power. I may be captive now, but I refuse to believe this is permanent.

We're flying higher than I realized, high enough that the air thins noticeably, making each breath less satisfying than the last. The mountains rise around us, ancient giants with snow-capped peaks disappearing into clouds. How much farther? Are we crossing into another territory? The thought sends fresh panic coursing through me—if he takes me beyond the boundaries of what I know, any slim hope of rescue dies completely.

Then I see it looming ahead, and understanding crashes over me like ice water.

Drake's Peak. The mountain fortress of Commander Kairyx Emberscale.

Even from a distance, it's like nothing I've ever seen. A jagged mountain that rises above its neighbors, its upper third reshaped into something that bridges the gap between natural formation and deliberate construction. The dark stone is streaked with obsidian veins that catch the sunlight with eerie reflections, mirroring the scales of the creature carrying me. Multiple openings dot the rock face, some massive enough to accommodate full dragon forms, others smaller and more discreet. From the largest opening, I glimpse movement—other dragons, coming and going from what must be their equivalent of a grand entrance.

"Home," Kairyx announces unnecessarily, his wings adjusting our trajectory toward the largest opening. "Your new home, little omega."

The words hit like a physical blow. This isn't a temporary inconvenience. This isn't something I can wait out or endure until opportunity presents itself. This monster intends to keep me, to make me his in truth as well as Conquest law.

Desperate, I renew my struggles, twisting against his iron grip with strength born of pure terror. "Let me go! I'll never be yours! I'll fight you every second of every day!"

His arms hold me with insulting ease, my thrashing as ineffective as a child's tantrum against his inhuman strength. "You humans always imagine resistance as something noble," he says, voice calm despite the wind rushing past us. "But it's merely biological imperative preparing your body for claiming. The struggle heightens both alpha aggression and omega receptivity."

"That's disgusting," I spit, even as my treacherous body responds to his words with another unwelcome rush of warmth.

"That's nature," he counters, then adds with terrible certainty: "You'll understand soon enough."

We're approaching the mountain now, close enough that I can see details I missed from a distance. The massive opening we're heading for isn't just a cave—it's an architectural marvel, its entrance carved with intricate designs that look like stylized flames or perhaps dragon scales. The symmetry is too perfect to be natural, the proportions too aesthetically pleasing to be accidental.

Inside the cavernous space, several smaller dragons—though "smaller" is entirely relative, as each still dwarfs any human—scramble to attention as we approach. Their scales gleam in various dark hues—midnight blue, forest green, deep bronze—marking them as different bloodlines or perhaps ranks beneath Kairyx's obsidian black.

He backwings to slow our approach, powerful muscles bunching beneath me as his wings create controlled resistance against our forward momentum. Then we're through the entrance, and he lands with surprising grace for something so massive, absorbing the impact with bent knees before setting me on my feet.

My legs nearly buckle beneath me, unprepared to support my weight after the flight. Blood rushes back into limbs I hadn't realized were numb with cold and fear. I stagger, off-balance and disoriented by the sudden transition from flight to ground.

Before I can recover, Kairyx passes me to waiting servants like a package being handed off for processing. Human servants, I realize with a jolt—all of them betas based on their scent, all wearing expressions of careful neutrality that reveal nothing of their thoughts at their commander's return with a clearly unwilling omega.

"Take her to the prepared quarters," Kairyx orders, already turning away, his attention shifting to a dragon in dark gray scales who approaches with a tablet-like device. "Have her bathed and dressed appropriately. I'll inspect her after the territorial council report."

Inspect her. Like I'm livestock. Like I'm a possession to be examined for quality.

"Yes, Commander," responds the eldest of the servants, a woman perhaps in her fifties with steel-gray hair pulled into a severe bun. Her eyes flick to me briefly, assessing but not unkind, before returning to Kairyx. "Should we begin suppressant purging protocols immediately?"

The question sends ice through my veins. Suppressant purging. They're going to flush the chemicals from my system, trigger my heat cycle deliberately. Make me vulnerable to claiming in the most fundamental way possible.

Kairyx glances back at me, eyes hardening as they take in my obvious horror. "Yes," he decides, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth that's somehow more frightening than any snarl could be. "Begin immediately. I want her system clear within three days."

Three days. Three days until my biology fully reawakens, until the omega nature I've suppressed for a decade comes roaring back with a vengeance. Until my body betrays me completely.

"I'll fight you," I promise, voice low and fierce despite the servants' hands already guiding me toward an arched doorway leading deeper into the mountain. "I'll never submit willingly."

"You all say that," he replies, already turning away, dismissing me as a problem already solved. "And you all surrender in the end."

The servants lead me through imposing carved passageways, their dimensions clearly designed for draconic rather than human proportions. Everything feels too large, too grand, too alien—from the high ceilings that could accommodate full dragon height to the elaborate carvings that adorn walls and support columns. I force myself to note potential escape routes with desperate attention, memorizing turns and junctions, even as logic tells me they're useless without wings. Where would I go? How would I get down from a mountain accessible only by flight?

My eyes burn with tears I refuse to shed. Not yet. Not where anyone can see.

The older woman walks beside me, her hand firm on my elbow—not cruel, but insistent. "I'm Elara," she says quietly as we walk, her voice pitched for my ears alone. "I've been assigned as your personal attendant during transition."

Transition. Such a clinical word for what they plan to do to me. "Lucky you," I mutter, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice.

"Indeed," she replies, surprising me with what sounds almost like genuine sympathy. "The Commander's claimed omegas receive better treatment than most. You should be grateful it wasn't Warlord Vorthrax who found you."

The name means nothing to me, but her tone conveys everything I need to know. There are worse fates than being claimed by Kairyx. A fact that provides exactly zero comfort at the moment.

We ascend several levels via a spiraling ramp carved directly into the stone—no stairs, I note, another accommodation for draconic physiology. The air grows noticeably warmer as we climb, the atmospheric control systems clearly calibrated for creatures with higher natural body temperatures than humans.

Finally, we reach our destination. Two massive doors carved from some dark wood I don't recognize swing open to reveal...

A beautiful prison.

The quarters mock my captivity with their luxury—a spacious chamber larger than my entire cottage in Ashton Ridge, furnished with pieces that would have graced a pre-Conquest mansion. A sitting area with plush chairs before a fireplace large enough to roast an ox. A dining space with a table that could seat twelve comfortably. And dominating it all, on a raised platform at the far end of the room, a massive bed draped in silks the color of blood and midnight, its frame carved with the same flame patterns I'd seen at the entrance.

A claiming bed. A breeding bed. The place where Kairyx intends to take what Conquest law says belongs to him.

"Through there is your bathing chamber," Elara indicates a doorway to the right. "And a dressing room with appropriate attire has been prepared."

I barely hear her, my attention caught by the balcony beyond sheer curtains that billow in a gentle breeze. Hope flares briefly until I approach and see what lies beyond—a dizzying thousand-foot drop to jagged rocks below. Not an escape route. A reminder of how trapped I truly am.

"I'll have the purging herbs brought up with your first meal," Elara continues, moving efficiently around the room, opening curtains wider to let in mountain air, adjusting items on side tables with practiced hands. "The process isn't pleasant, but it's less severe if you cooperate with the protocol."

I barely hear her, my mind still frantically searching for options, for escape routes, for anything that might prevent what's coming. But there's nothing. Nothing but luxury designed to house an omega for a dragon's convenience.

The door opens again, and I turn, expecting servants with the dreaded purging herbs. Instead, Kairyx himself fills the doorway, having shed his formal uniform for a simpler black tunic that leaves his scaled arms exposed. He's discarded the more human disguise he wore in town, allowing horns to extend further from his forehead and scales to spread across more of his visible skin. In this private domain, he has no need to accommodate human comfort with his appearance.

Elara immediately bows low and backs from the room, closing the doors behind her and leaving me alone with the monster who now owns me.

"The quarters are acceptable?" he asks, moving into the space with that predatory grace that makes human movement seem clumsy by comparison. His focus zeroes in on me, cataloging my disheveled appearance, my obvious fear.

"Does it matter?" I counter, backing away until my legs hit the edge of a chair. "Would you change anything if I said no?"

A smile curves his mouth, revealing teeth too sharp to be human. "Perhaps not the quarters. But I'm not inflexible about preferences. Claimed omegas who please their alphas find their circumstances can be quite comfortable."

The implication sends heat rushing to my face—part anger, part humiliation, part something I refuse to name. "I will never please you voluntarily," I say, each word precise and cold.

"Your mind may resist," he acknowledges, continuing his circuit of the room, touching objects here and there with proprietary assurance. "But your body already knows what it needs, even if your mind fights against it." He pauses, golden eyes fixing me with terrible focus. "I can smell your response to me even now, through chemicals designed to suppress it. Imagine how strong it will be once your true nature emerges."

My fists clench at my sides, nails digging half-moons into my palms. "You'll adjust to your new reality," he continues, voice neutral, almost kind if one could ignore the content of his words. "They all do, in time. The claimed omegas who fought hardest often become the most devoted once biology overrides conditioning."

"Is that what you tell yourself?" I ask, finding strength in anger. "That it's biology, not trauma response? Not captivity syndrome?"

His expression darkens momentarily, scales shifting color from obsidian to something deeper, absorbing more light. "You've read prohibited materials, I see. Your work as a librarian provided access to dangerous ideas."

A mistake. I've revealed too much. Knowledge of resistance terminology could mark me as more than just an unregistered omega. It could identify me as an active sympathizer, perhaps even a member of the Network.

"I've read everything in the Ashton Ridge collection," I say carefully, trying to redirect. "My knowledge is academic, nothing more."

He studies me for a long moment, his gaze so intense I can almost feel it like physical pressure against my skin. Then he seems to dismiss the concern, turning toward the door.

"Rest while you can," he advises, pausing at the threshold. "The purging process will tax your strength considerably. Once it begins, there's no reversing it—your heat will manifest within days, and then we'll both discover what you truly are beneath the false identity you've constructed."

The door closes behind him with a sound like finality, leaving me alone in my beautiful prison, with nothing but the mountain wind and the knowledge of what's coming for company.