Page 6

THE CLAIMING CHAMBER

ISLA'S POV

He carries me through passages that breathe.

That's the only way to describe the tunnels carved into this underwater mountain—they pulse and contract around us like we're moving through the throat of something vast and alive.

The walls glow with patterns that shift when I look at them, bioluminescent veins that seem to recognize my presence and respond with increasing brightness.

My body floats in this impossible air bubble, suspended between water and breath, between consciousness and the heat crawling up my spine like molten metal.

The venom in my blood doesn't burn anymore—it sings.

Harmonizes with whatever alien frequency pulses through these living walls.

Like it's been waiting for this reunion, this homecoming I never asked for.

"Welcome to my domain," Neros says, and his voice does something to my bones. Makes them vibrate at frequencies that shoot straight to the growing ache between my thighs. "Few humans survive seeing these depths. None have experienced them as you will."

The chamber opens before us like the inside of a heart.

Not the crude prison I expected, but something that makes my breath catch with its terrible beauty.

Water flows into air without boundaries, the elements dancing together in ways that shouldn't be possible.

And everywhere, everywhere, the walls pulse with light that matches my heartbeat.

It's reading me. This entire space is alive and it's reading me like a book written in pheromones and fear.

At the center stands a platform that makes my mouth go dry. Not metal restraints or crude chains, but something organic that shifts and curves like it's waiting. Like it knows exactly what shape my body will take when I'm stretched across it, what angles will make me scream.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" He circles me like a shark, and I watch his body change as he moves.

More tentacles emerge from hidden sheaths along his torso, his skin darkening to midnight blue, those patterns under his flesh glowing brighter until he looks like a constellation of stars I want to touch. Want to taste.

No. Not want. That's the heat talking. The suppressants failing and letting things surface that should stay buried.

"Every surface designed for pleasure," he continues, tentacles creating currents that carry his scent straight to my nose.

Salt and deep ocean and something else, something that makes my empty core clench with need.

"Every angle calculated to maximize sensation while you learn to accept what you are. "

My skin flushes hot despite the cool water.

This isn't just a breeding chamber—it's a laboratory for breaking omegas.

For taking women like me and transforming them into something else entirely.

The worst part isn't the physical threat.

It's how my body responds to his voice, his scent, his presence like it's been waiting for this moment my entire life.

"The lights respond to your body," he says, moving closer. Close enough that I can see the individual scales along his shoulders, each one catching the bioluminescent glow like scattered jewels. "They read your pleasure, your fear, your arousal. They'll show me exactly when your resistance breaks."

I want to spit in his face. Want to scream that I'll never break, never submit, never become what he wants me to be.

But the words die in my throat as another wave of heat crashes through me, stronger this time.

My thighs clench together, trying to ease the growing ache, and I see him notice.

See satisfaction flicker across those alien features.

"You're damaged," he says, circling behind me now where I can't see him but can feel his presence like heat against my back. "Years of poison in your blood, your body eating itself from the inside. But I can fix you. Remake you. Make you perfect for what you were born to be."

Perfect. The word makes me shudder, and not entirely with revulsion. There's a part of me, growing stronger with each passing moment, that wants to know what perfect would feel like. What it would be like to stop fighting, stop hurting, stop carrying the weight of everyone I couldn't save.

"I have an offer," he says, and his tentacles create patterns in the water that make my vision blur.

The lights pulse in rhythm with whatever display he's making, and I feel my heartbeat trying to match the tempo.

"Your body. Your submission. Complete intelligence about your smuggling network.

In exchange, those six omegas reach safety. "

The words hit like a physical blow. He's not just taking me—he's making me complicit in my own destruction. Making me choose between my body and their lives, between my freedom and their safety. The mathematics of it are elegant and cruel.

"You expect me to betray everyone who trusted me?" My voice cracks, and I hate how small it sounds in this vast space. How human and fragile compared to his alien certainty.

"I expect you to save them," he replies, moving back into view. "Each day you serve as my mate, twenty-four hours they stay free. Your submission becomes their protection. Your pleasure becomes their salvation."

The heat in my core spikes at the word 'mate,' and I bite my tongue until I taste blood. This isn't just temporary claiming—he wants to keep me. Transform me into something that will want to stay, that will crave his touch and beg for his attention. The thought should terrify me. Does terrify me.

So why is my body producing slick for the first time in ten years?

When I try to negotiate, try to find some middle ground between total surrender and the deaths of six innocents, his response is immediate.

Tentacles emerge from the water with liquid speed, wrapping around my wrists and ankles before I can think to struggle.

The grip is firm but not painful, precise pressure that demonstrates absolute control without causing damage.

But it's the appendage that curls around my throat that makes me freeze. Not cutting off air, just resting there like a promise. Like a reminder of how easily he could end this if he chose.

"You misunderstand," he says, golden eyes fixed on mine with terrible intensity. "This isn't negotiation. This is me giving you the illusion of choice before biology makes the decision for you."

And that's when it happens. The accumulated suppressants in my system finally, completely fail.

The heat that crashes over me isn't gradual—it's a tsunami that obliterates thought, reduces me to nothing but burning need and empty ache.

My body arches in his grip, a sound escaping my throat that's part scream, part moan, all desperation.

Ten years of suppressed omega biology exploding through my nervous system all at once.

Slick floods between my thighs, soaking through my clothes with humiliating abundance.

My channel clenches around nothing, demanding to be filled, demanding the knot my body suddenly recognizes it needs.

The omega biology I've fought so long overwhelms every human thought, every rational consideration, every fragment of dignity I've clung to.

"There she is," Neros murmurs, and his voice is pure satisfaction. "The omega you've been hiding under all that chemical armor."

The tentacles holding me shift, no longer restraining but supporting as my body convulses with need. The lights throughout the chamber flare brighter, responding to the pheromones pouring off me in waves. Creating a light show that maps my surrender in real-time for his viewing pleasure.

"Please," I whisper, though I don't know what I'm begging for anymore. Release from this torment or the claiming my body suddenly craves with desperate, all-consuming need.

"Oh, we're just beginning," he says, tentacles extending to secure me to that waiting platform. The surface responds to my touch, warming and molding to support my trembling form. "Your body has made its choice. Now let's see how long your mind takes to follow."

As the restraints position me exactly where he wants me, as my heat reaches its first screaming peak, I realize with dawning horror that part of me—the part that's been slowly dying from venom poisoning, the part that's tired of fighting and losing and watching people I care about disappear—part of me wants this.

Wants him.

Wants to find out what lies beyond the reach of human will and stubborn pride.

The ghost smuggler is about to discover what it means to be completely, utterly claimed.