Page 27 of Naga’s Mate (Prime Omegaverse #2)

POV: NEZZAR

I scent it three days before she does.

The subtle shift in her pheromone signature, that first delicate note of sweetness beneath her usual molecular profile. My tongue flicks out instinctively, sampling air particles with specialized chemoreceptors that analyze what her conscious mind hasn't yet registered.

Heat approaches. And this time, I recognize the unique chemical markers from her previous cycles. Her body is primed for breeding.

"You're staring," Lyra notes without looking up from her laboratory station, where she's examining tissue samples from our first offspring. Thalia's accelerated development continues providing unprecedented research opportunities. "Your pupils are constricting. What's wrong?"

Wrong? Nothing's wrong. Everything is gloriously, perfectly right. My scales ripple with anticipation I can't fully suppress.

"Your scent is changing," I answer simply.

She freezes, hand hovering over the sample. "No. It's too early. Thalia's barely eighteen months old."

I glide closer, coils sliding silently across the laboratory floor. "Your body is ready for another clutch."

"Clutch? I'm not laying eggs, you overgrown garden snake." Her irritation carries no genuine heat, just the routine defense mechanism she employs when biology overrides her cherished control. "And maybe ask before just announcing my reproductive status."

I circle her workstation, deliberately enclosing her within my coils without touching her. Yet. "Would you prefer ignorance? To be surprised when heat strikes without preparation?"

Her heart rate accelerates—I hear the shift in its rhythm clearly, even across the distance still separating us. Fear? No. Anticipation. Her body already responding to alphan proximity and the subliminal awareness of what's coming.

"Three days," I continue, tongue darting out to sample her changing scent again. "Perhaps four."

"Fuck." She sets down her instruments with scientific precision despite her obvious agitation. "I need to adjust the compound ratios again." Her eyes narrow as she finally meets my gaze. "And don't look so damn pleased with yourself. It's primitive alpha bullshit."

But she doesn't move away as my coils tighten their circle around her. Doesn't resist when I finally touch her, one scaled finger tracing the iridescent patterns that mark her skin—physical evidence of how thoroughly our connection has transformed her.

"Primitive," I agree, feeling my cocks already stirring within their protective sheath at just the promising preview of her heat scent. "Like the way your pupils dilate when I'm near. Like the slick already gathering between your thighs that you think I can't smell."

Her pulse spikes beautifully, the flush spreading across her skin making the scale patterns shimmer brighter. "Biological imperative doesn't mean you get to be smug."

I lean closer, inhaling the exquisite molecular complexity of her scent. "We have three days to prepare properly. To ensure optimal conditions."

"For what?" She challenges, though we both know exactly what's coming.

"For breeding you again."

The words hang between us, crude and primal and undeniably arousing to us both. Her omega biology responds instantly—fresh slick gathering, heart rate accelerating further, pupils dilating despite her attempted scientific detachment.

"One heat doesn't guarantee conception," she counters, clinging to rational discourse even as her body betrays her. "And I haven't agreed to another pregnancy."

I allow my coils to brush against her legs, a subtle reminder of the strength I could employ but choose to restrain. "Your body has made the decision for you, little scientist. I'm merely informing you of the inevitable outcome."

Her defiance—even knowing it's merely performance at this point—sends fresh arousal coursing through me. My cock hardens further within its sheath, scales shifting to accommodate the growing pressure. The urge to claim her immediately, to pin her against the laboratory counter and remind her exactly who she belongs to, pulses through me with primitive intensity.

But patience yields greater rewards. A lesson I've learned well with this particular omega.

"Three days," I repeat, withdrawing my coils from around her. "Prepare as needed. When your heat fully manifests, I intend to claim you so thoroughly that conception is guaranteed."

The shiver that runs through her is visible even as she attempts to maintain her scientific composure. "Naga arrogance knows no bounds."

I smile, allowing her the illusion of the last word. We both know what's coming.

---

By the second day, the specialized breeding chamber is prepared. Unlike humans with their primitive medical facilities, nagas understand the sacred importance of proper breeding environments. The chamber maintains perfect humidity levels through living walls of specialized moisture-producing plants. Temperature regulation systems create the ideal gradient for sustained breeding activity. The central platform—large enough to accommodate my full length while supporting her smaller form—is lined with materials that will absorb and amplify her heat pheromones.

Everything designed for a single purpose: to ensure successful impregnation.

Lyra inspects the space with practiced scientific assessment, but I detect the underlying omega response—nesting instinct already activating despite her conscious resistance.

"The humidity calibration seems excessive," she notes, running her hand along one moisture-rich wall. "My previous heat didn't require such specialized conditions."

"This one will be different," I inform her, watching as she examines the breeding platform with feigned clinical interest. "Your body signals receptivity toward conception. The conditions must be optimal."

She turns to face me, arms crossed in that defensive posture I've come to find almost endearing. "And what if I decide to suppress it? I have enough compound stored to delay this heat cycle."

My response is immediate and instinctive—coils surging forward to encircle her completely, not restraining but establishing unmistakable presence. My upper body towers over her, scales rippling with warning patterns no naga could misinterpret.

"You will not." The words emerge as primal growl rather than civilized speech.

For a moment, genuine tension crackles between us—the alpha dominance I usually moderate clashing against her stubborn independence. Then her pupils dilate, head tilting slightly to expose her claiming mark in subconscious submission.

"Just testing your response," she says, scientific curiosity partially masking the omega reaction my display triggered. "Interesting how your scales displayed threat patterns despite our evolved relationship."

I allow my coils to relax slightly, though I maintain the encirclement. "Some instincts transcend evolution. Interfering with natural breeding cycles is one such trigger."

Her fingers trace patterns along my nearest coil, the touch sending pleasure signals directly to my brain. "And if I had been serious?"

"Then we would have had a significant conflict to resolve." I capture her wandering hand, bringing it to my mouth where my tongue can flick across her pulse point, tasting the acceleration of her heartbeat. "But you weren't. Your body wants this breeding as much as my instincts demand it."

She doesn't deny it—another evolution in our complex dynamic. Instead, she looks around the chamber once more, scientist and omega both evaluating the space where she'll be claimed and bred.

"The platform needs additional support for my lower back," she notes with practical precision. "And emergency medical equipment should be more accessible, not hidden behind decorative foliage."

I make sound of agreement, already adjusting my plans to accommodate her requests. This, too, represents evolution beyond mere claiming. Partnership within hierarchy. Agency within submission.

"It will be ready," I promise. "As will you."

---

Her heat arrives with violent intensity in the predawn hours of the third day. I awaken instantly to the concentrated sweetness flooding our sleeping chamber—omega pheromones released in overwhelming quantity as her body transitions fully into breeding readiness.

Lyra is already twisting in our shared sleeping space, sweat glistening across skin that pulses with bioluminescent patterns. Her eyes open, pupils blown wide with hormone-driven need, scientific detachment temporarily obliterated by biological imperative.

"Nezzar," she gasps, reaching for me with desperate hands. "It's happening. It's—fuck—it's stronger than before."

My own body responds instantly—scales rippling across my skin as rut chemicals flood my system, creating an intoxicating burn that spreads from my core outward. My twin cocks surge from their protective sheath without conscious command, the sudden exposure to air sending shockwaves of sensation through my lower body. Each scale along my length sensitizes, creating almost unbearable awareness of every air current, every shift in temperature.

The scent of her heat doesn't just trigger arousal—it ignites primal transformation. My features sharpen, becoming more serpentine as bones shift beneath my skin. Fangs elongate painfully, venom glands swelling behind them as pressure builds in preparation for claiming bite. A red haze descends across my vision, narrowing my world to the fertile omega before me, reducing complex thought to singular purpose: breed, claim, possess.

"Breeding heat," I confirm, tongue extended to its full length as I sample the exquisite chemical complexity her body produces. "Your fertility is peaking."

Her rational mind struggles against the biological flood—I can see the effort it takes for her to form coherent sentences despite her body's desperate need. "The chamber. We need... need to get to the prepared space."

I gather her into my coils, lifting her overheated form against my cooler scales. The contact draws a whimper from her throat as slick soaks through the thin sleeping garment she wears.

"Hold on to me," I instruct, already moving through our quarters with urgent purpose.

The specialized pathways linking our private chambers to the breeding room allow rapid transit—another preparation made with these exact circumstances in mind. Within moments, we enter the space designed specifically for what's about to occur.

Living walls pulse with bioluminescence triggered by her heat pheromones, the specialized plants responding to chemical signals by releasing calming spores that will prevent her nervous system from becoming overwhelmed during prolonged breeding. Temperature gradients adjust automatically as sensors detect our entrance, creating the perfect balance between her overheated flesh and my cooler physiology.

I place her on the central platform, where she immediately curls into fetal position, hands pressed between her thighs as cramps wrack her body.

"Hurts," she manages, scientific vocabulary temporarily abandoned. "Empty. Need..."

"I know exactly what you need." My voice has transformed completely—the civilized tones replaced by guttural alpha command that bypasses her conscious mind.

I slither onto the platform, massive coils surrounding her completely as I position myself above her trembling form. My tongue flicks out again, tasting the flood of pheromones that signal perfect breeding readiness.

"Present for me," I command, alpha voice carrying unstoppable authority during heat cycle.