Page 15 of Naga’s Mate (Prime Omegaverse #2)
CHAPTER 14
THE AFTERMATH
POV: NEZZAR
Blood.
My offspring's blood.
The scent assaults me before I fully enter the laboratory—metallic, sweet, and unmistakably ours. Something primordial awakens within me, my dormant scales rising beneath my skin as I cross the threshold into our violated space.
The power disruption was calculated misdirection. I recognized this even as I departed to investigate, yet believed our defenses adequate. A miscalculation I shall never repeat.
Evidence of Lyra's extraction surrounds me—security terminals flashing error sequences, scattered research implements, a fractured vial of her specialized compounds. These details fade to insignificance beneath the overwhelming presence of that blood signature—the unique chemical marker of our hybrid offspring, now violently terminated.
My tongue samples the air, perceiving nuances no human sense could distinguish. Beneath the blood, I detect additional signatures: Lyra's fear, sharp and acrid; unfamiliar human males, their perspiration betraying military-grade suppressants designed to mask their biological markers; and something else—a chemical compound I recognize from our collaborative research. The formula Reed had been developing before I restricted his laboratory access.
I navigate the chamber with lethal silence, my serpentine body leaving no sound as I track the extraction path. Three humans transported her—one significantly larger than others, likely Reed himself. The pattern of atmospheric disturbance reveals their movements with crystalline clarity to my heightened senses.
They operated with precision. Not an improvised rescue but a meticulously planned operation.
My lower body constricts around a research station, the reinforced metal groaning under pressure as I follow the scent trail through the corridor. Security protocols disengaged with specialized equipment. Guards neutralized with naga-specific toxins rather than killed—a tactical decision to avoid triggering higher security responses. The extraction team understood our procedures intimately.
The trail winds through the southern greenhouse section, where intensified humidity typically impedes human movement without specialized equipment. They came prepared. The resistance has evolved since our early encounters.
Near the perimeter boundary, I discover the first casualty—a young guard from the eastern breeding lineage. Not deceased but immobilized, pupils dilated from neurotoxin exposure. He will recover physically, though his status may not. I advance, following the increasingly faint signature of my mate and our terminated offspring.
At the complex boundary, all traces vanish abruptly. Vehicle impressions in the soil indicate rapid departure—specialized transport with atmospheric isolation. Military technology repurposed for resistance operations. The trail ends, at least for conventional tracking methods.
Standing at the perimeter, I release the fury I've contained since detecting the breach. Iridescent scales erupt across my entire form, rippling with warning patterns no human would comprehend but any naga would instinctively recognize as deadly intent. My vision shifts to thermal perception, body temperature elevating as transformation completes.
The security team maintaining cautious distance holds position, recognizing the instinctive display of an alpha whose mate and offspring have been stolen. They will not approach until I signal permission, which I cannot yet offer. My restraint remains too fragile, the boundary between calculated response and predatory instinct too easily breached.
Beneath the rage lies something deeper, something rarely acknowledged among our kind. The humans would name it grief. The emptiness where connection should exist. The severed bond that had begun forming with our offspring—a unique life never to be realized. The hollow space where Lyra's presence resonated within my consciousness through our venom connection.
I maintain my vigil until nightfall, processing what human psychology would categorize as profound emotional trauma but what my species recognizes simply as territory violation of the most intimate nature. When I finally return to the complex, my scales have retracted to normal distribution, though my eyes retain the vertical slits of hunting mode.
* * *
The full extent of the extraction's damage becomes evident in subsequent days.
"The botanical repository has been compromised," reports Seren, my second-in-command. Her scales display subdued patterns of distress as she transfers data to my terminal. "Eighty-seven specimens destroyed, including thirty-five classified as irreplaceable. Initial assessment indicates targeted destruction rather than collateral damage."
I process this information with external composure that conceals renewed fury. The destroyed specimens represented generations of research—some predating the Conquest, preserved through meticulous cultivation. Their loss creates a knowledge gap irreparable within my lifetime.
"The targeted specimens were primarily those Lyra studied," I observe, identifying the pattern immediately. "Particularly those related to our hybrid stabilization research."
Seren's tongue flickers in confirmation. "They identified precisely which specimens would most severely impede our progress. Not random destruction—strategic elimination."
"Continue," I direct, anticipating worse revelations.
"Environmental systems in three naga-specific zones were compromised. Toxic compounds introduced through ventilation networks. Contamination has been contained, but complete decontamination requires full shutdown of affected sectors for approximately twelve days."
Again, not arbitrary targets but precisely selected systems that would disrupt operations without triggering catastrophic response protocols. The resistance team knew exactly how to damage us without provoking immediate, overwhelming retaliation.
Seren hesitates, her coils shifting in the distinctive pattern indicating reluctance to deliver particularly disturbing information.
"Speak," I command, maintaining the formal tone expected of territorial leadership.
"There were casualties in the nursery section," she says, scales dulling with controlled grief. "Three juveniles. The fifth-cycle clutch."
The ambient temperature drops noticeably as my control momentarily falters, cold rather than heat being my instinctive response to truly devastating news.
"Show me," I manage, voice unnaturally steady.
The security recording plays on my terminal—grainy thermal imagery showing the extraction team deliberating outside the nursery entrance. Not rushing through in hasty retreat but purposefully pausing. Making a decision. Entering with weapons prepared. The footage ends there—another system strategically disabled—but the outcome is unmistakable in the aftermath documentation.
These weren't accidental casualties or unfortunate proximity to the extraction route. The humans deliberately targeted our young—specifically, the juveniles approaching transition age who displayed the strongest adaptive traits. The next generation of potential leadership.
"The resistance didn't merely extract Lyra," I state, voicing the realization crystallizing in my mind. "They executed our children."
Seren's head dips in the gesture of mourning our species reserves for the most profound losses. "The elders demand immediate retaliatory strikes against all known human settlements within our territory."
As expected. Fundamental predatory instinct would accept nothing less. Eliminate those who eliminate your offspring. Eradicate the threat completely. It's the response encoded in our most primitive neurological structures.
Yet such action would fulfill precisely what the tactical minds behind this extraction anticipate—provoking indiscriminate violence that reinforces human propaganda about our bestial nature. Justifying their atrocities by provoking ours.
"No retaliation," I decide, noting Seren's momentary shock register in her scale patterns before her disciplined control reasserts. "Not yet. Not until we identify precise targets."
"The Council will question this restraint," she cautions, though her tone carries no challenge—merely factual assessment.
"Let them question. I will address their concerns when necessary." My authority within this territory remains absolute, despite the Council's theoretical oversight. "What of Lyra's tracking signature?"
Seren accesses another data set. "Still detectable, though diminishing. The specialized venom markers remain in her bloodstream but are being systematically neutralized. We estimate three to four days before the signature disappears completely."
Sufficient time, if utilized strategically.
"Prepare a reconnaissance unit—our most skilled trackers. No engagement, merely location confirmation. I require hourly reports on the signature's movement patterns."
"And once located?" Seren inquires, already anticipating my answer but requiring formal confirmation.
"I will lead the extraction team personally." The coldness in my voice would be recognizable to any naga as the most dangerous manifestation of rage—not the immediate fury of threatened territory, but the calculated patience of a predator whose young have been slaughtered. "However, we proceed with precision. No hasty action that might endanger Lyra despite her..." I consider the appropriate term. Betrayal seems incorrect—the evidence suggests coercion rather than choice. "Despite her extraction."
Seren departs with her instructions, leaving me alone in the command center. With solitude comes the luxury of releasing the rigid control necessary for leadership. My coils loosen, arranging into a more natural configuration as I access the private systems connected to the quarters Lyra and I shared.
The space remains exactly as she left it—research notes open on her specialized terminal, her unique scent lingering on the sleeping platform, hybrid plants we cultivated together thriving in the atmospheric regulators she designed. Tangible evidence of a connection that transcended initial claiming.
I navigate through our private systems, reviewing the progress we'd achieved together. The hybrid stabilization formulas she developed surpassed anything our specialists had created since the Conquest. Her adaptation to naga biochemistry had progressed to unprecedented levels. Most significantly, our offspring had developed further than any previous human-naga pairing, with stable genetic integration promising viability beyond early developmental stages.
All destroyed. Knowledge lost, connection severed, possibility eliminated.
I settle into the coiled position I've maintained since first claiming her, when I would encircle her sleeping form each night—a possessive gesture that evolved into something approaching what humans would call intimacy. The space where she should be remains vacant, the venom bond between us stretched to thinning strands that will soon break completely without renewal.
A private memory surfaces—Lyra's expression when first confirming the pregnancy. Not merely resignation or scientific curiosity, but genuine wonder beneath her attempted detachment. The moment her hand unconsciously moved to protect her abdomen when a laboratory experiment unexpectedly fractured nearby. The way her body naturally sought the protective embrace of my coils as the pregnancy advanced.
In the privacy of our quarters, I permit myself the acknowledgment no naga would voice in Council chambers: she had become more than claimed property. More than valuable research asset. Something neither language adequately defines.
I review intelligence reports indicating the extraction team's relocation to a resistance safehouse in the wetland transition zone. The location demonstrates tactical awareness—challenging terrain for naga forces, with environmental features that naturally disrupt our thermal tracking capabilities. The resistance believes themselves beyond immediate retribution.
They are mistaken.
As I rest in our empty quarters, surrounded by evidence of Lyra's presence and our collaborative work, I make a private vow transcending mere possession or territorial instinct. She will return—not merely as claimed property, but with complete understanding of what her "rescuers" truly represent. The bond between us, though strained to breaking, will be restored and strengthened through shared understanding.
And those responsible for the nursery deaths will face justice that has nothing to do with conquest law and everything to do with the most ancient codes of all predatory species.