Page 22

CHAPTER 22

BLOOD AND BLADE

Days pass in a blur of flesh and fire.

My body falls into a rhythm with Kazuul's that I never thought possible. Every night—sometimes mornings too—his massive form covers mine, claiming me with an intensity that grows stronger as his rut deepens in response to my fertility signals.

Today marks seven days since we decided to try again. A week of his seed filling me each night, locked inside by his knot while his hands trace protective patterns over my belly. A week of hope taking root alongside whatever might be growing inside me.

I arch beneath him now, gasping as he drives deeper. His massive cock stretches me to my limit, the familiar burn giving way to pleasure that borders on madness. The vibrating nodule at its base hums against my clit with pinpoint precision, sending electric jolts through my core. The unique oni adaptation that once seemed like a tool of control now feels like a gift designed specifically for my pleasure.

"Mine," he growls, golden eyes glowing in the dim light of our chamber. His rut has intensified over the past few days, making him more possessive, more primal. The tribal markings across his crimson skin seem to shift and pulse with each powerful thrust, black patterns darkening with his arousal.

"Yours," I agree, beyond fighting what my body knows to be true. My hands clutch at his massive shoulders, nails digging into hide too tough to mark. His skin burns hotter than human-normal, the heat of him seeping into my bones and chasing away the lingering chill of grief.

Despite the rut-driven urgency of his claiming, Kazuul watches my face carefully, adjusting his angle when he sees me wince, slowing when the pleasure becomes too intense. This care—this attention to my responses—still surprises me after everything. My former captor has become attentive to my needs in ways I never expected.

"Going to fill you again," he promises, voice dropping deeper as his pace increases. The rumble vibrates through me where our bodies connect. "Going to make sure my seed takes root this time."

His words send a rush of slick around his invading length. The breeding talk that once horrified me now drives my arousal higher, omega biology responding eagerly to alpha promises. My claiming mark pulses at my neck, hypersensitive to his proximity and intent.

The pressure builds inside me, coiling tighter with each precise thrust. When his massive hand slides between us to press against my lower belly, feeling himself moving inside me through the distended skin, I shatter. The orgasm crashes through me in merciless waves, inner walls clenching around him as I cry out his name. My vision blurs at the edges, pleasure so intense it borders on pain.

He follows immediately, his own release triggered by my body's response. I feel his knot swelling, stretching me impossibly wider as it locks into place. The pressure against my sensitive inner walls triggers aftershocks of pleasure that leave me trembling. His seed floods me in hot pulses, filling me so completely that my abdomen visibly distends with the quantity.

We lie joined together, his massive body carefully arranged to avoid crushing me while maintaining the essential connection. His hand splays possessively across my belly, feeling the slight bulge where his seed fills me completely. The contrast between his crimson fingers and my pale skin creates a visual reminder of our fundamental differences, yet somehow heightens the intimacy of the moment.

"Do you think it worked this time?" I ask, the question slipping out before I can stop it. I've tried not to voice this hope, afraid of another disappointment, another loss. The memory of our child slipping away is still raw, a wound that hasn't fully healed.

His golden eyes soften as they meet mine, vertical pupils widening slightly. His expression holds something I never expected to see from an oni warlord – vulnerability. "Your scent is changing," he says, tracing gentle patterns across my skin. His touch leaves trails of warmth that linger pleasantly. "It's too early to be certain, but there's something different."

Hope flutters in my chest, fragile and terrifying. I cover his hand with mine, feeling the heat of him seeping into my skin. We rest together, his knot ensuring we remain connected in the most primal way possible. The chamber smells of our mingled scents – his alpha musk and smoky notes blending with my omega sweetness and the distinct scent of our mating.

Neither of us hears the door open.

The first warning is a soft hissing sound, like air escaping a punctured bladder. Kazuul's head snaps up, nostrils flaring, but it's already too late. A pale green mist fills the air around us, clinging to the ceiling before drifting downward in sinister tendrils.

"Don't breathe," Kazuul orders, his body tensing over mine protectively. But even as he speaks, I see his muscles locking unnaturally. His eyes widen, vertical pupils contracting to thin slits as he recognizes what's happening. "Paralytic. Imperial formula."

He tries to move, to pull away, but his knot keeps us locked together in the most vulnerable position imaginable. Panic surges through me as I realize our predicament—joined as one, neither able to escape without the other. His massive weight, normally carefully distributed, becomes a potential threat as his control slips away.

Two figures step from the shadows near the door. They wear servant's garb, but their movements are all wrong—too fluid, too precise. Imperial agents, not household staff. I recognize the calculated efficiency in their steps from my resistance training. These are professional killers, not mere assassins.

"The mighty warlord," one says, voice dripping with disdain. His accent carries the distinctive inflection of the imperial core. "Caught with his knot in his pet. How convenient."

Kazuul snarls, fighting against the paralytic with sheer willpower. I can feel his massive body trembling with effort, muscles straining against the toxin's effects. A low growl builds in his chest, weaker than normal but still threatening. The mist was designed specifically for oni biology—targeting their unique respiratory system with ruthless efficiency.

"It won't kill you," the second assassin explains, drawing a long, curved blade from beneath his tunic. The metal gleams in the dim light, inscribed with symbols I don't recognize. "The emperor wants you conscious for this part. Wants you to watch as your bloodline ends, as your claimed omega dies carrying whatever spawn you've planted in her."

Cold terror washes through me as the blade catches the light. They mean to kill me first—to make Kazuul watch as they cut his child from my body before they finish him. The calculated cruelty is perfectly aligned with everything I've heard about Emperor Goran. This isn't just assassination; it's psychological torture designed to break Kazuul before death.

The first assassin steps closer, a smaller blade in his hand clearly meant for me. Its edge gleams with a substance that makes my skin crawl just looking at it. "Hold her still," he instructs his companion, as if Kazuul has any choice in the matter. "We need to be precise about this."

Time slows to a crawl as the assassin approaches. Kazuul struggles beneath me, his massive body fighting against the paralytic with everything he has. I can feel him straining, muscles locking then releasing as he battles the toxin. Heat pours from him in waves, his body temperature spiking as he fights for control. But it's not enough. Won't be enough.

My gaze falls on the small table beside our bed. The drawer stands slightly ajar, revealing the glint of metal within. Kazuul's personal blade—the one he keeps for protection but never imagines I know about. I discovered it weeks ago while searching for something to ease my grief after the miscarriage.

In this moment, everything crystallizes. Five years fighting against oni rule. Five years hiding my omega nature. Five years leading Haven Valley in quiet resistance. All of it flashes before me as the assassin takes another step closer, blade raised. The choices that led me here, the path that brought me from resistance leader to the warlord's claimed omega.

I make my choice.

With a movement too quick for the assassins to anticipate, I reach for the drawer, fingers closing around the hilt of Kazuul's blade. The weapon feels strange in my hand—designed for his massive grip, not my human fingers—but my body remembers the training from years before the Conquest. The weight is unfamiliar but not unmanageable.

The assassin lunges for me, but he's not expecting resistance from a claimed omega. My military academy training floods back, muscle memory taking over as I twist to avoid his strike. The movement is awkward with Kazuul's knot still locking us together, but desperation gives me flexibility I didn't know I possessed.

His blade grazes my shoulder, drawing a thin line of fire across my skin. The cut burns more than it should—poison, most likely. I barely notice the pain. In one fluid motion, I drive Kazuul's blade upward, finding the gap beneath the assassin's ribs where death waits. The resistance trained me well for this, though I never imagined using those skills to protect an oni warlord.

Blood sprays across the bed as I yank the blade free. It's hot against my skin, copper-scented and visceral. The assassin's eyes widen in shock as he stumbles backward, hands clutching uselessly at the mortal wound. His mouth opens but only a gurgling sound emerges as blood fills his lungs.

The second assassin recovers from his surprise, charging toward us with a roar of rage. But he's focused on me, forgetting the warlord who, despite the paralytic, isn't completely helpless. His mistake proves fatal.

With a tremendous effort born of desperation, Kazuul manages to move one massive arm, sweeping the assassin off his feet. The man crashes into the stone wall with bone-crushing force, momentarily stunned. The impact echoes through the chamber, dust raining down from the ceiling.

It gives me the opening I need. I lunge forward despite the awkward position, Kazuul's knot still locking us together, and drive the blade into the second assassin's throat. Blood fountains from the wound, painting the stone walls crimson as he struggles briefly before going still. The warmth of it splashes across my face and chest, mingling with sweat and the remnants of passion.

Silence falls over the chamber, broken only by our ragged breathing. I stare at my bloodied hands, at the bodies on the floor, at the crimson spray across the bed linens. The scent of copper fills the air, mixing with the lingering traces of the paralytic and our interrupted mating.

"Emi," Kazuul manages, his voice strained as he fights against the toxin's effects. His golden eyes focus on me with effort, concern evident despite the paralysis affecting his facial muscles. "Are you hurt?"

I shake my head, unable to form words. Something fundamental has shifted inside me. I just killed two men to protect the oni warlord who claimed me against my will. Killed to protect the child that might be growing inside me. Killed to defend what once represented my captivity but has somehow become my choice.

The blade falls from my fingers, clattering against the stone floor. Blood drips from my hands onto Kazuul's crimson chest, indistinguishable from his natural coloring except for its metallic scent and viscous texture.

Kazuul's hand finds mine, massive fingers engulfing my bloodied ones with surprising gentleness despite the paralytic still affecting him. His palm radiates warmth that steadies me, grounds me in the aftermath of violence.

"You saved us," he says, golden eyes holding mine with an intensity that steals my breath. The vertical pupils focus on me with effort, fighting against the toxin's effects. "You could have let them kill me. Could have taken your freedom."

The truth of his words hits me like a physical blow. I could have. Part of me—the resistance fighter, the leader of Haven Valley—should have. Their attack was the perfect opportunity to escape, to return to my former life. Yet I didn't hesitate to defend him, to protect what we've created together.

"I made my choice," I whisper, the weight of those words settling over me like a mantle. Not just the choice to save him, but everything that choice represents. The final transformation from captive to partner, from resistance fighter to protector of the very power I once fought against.

The blood drying on my skin feels like a visible manifestation of this loyalty shift, marking me as surely as Kazuul's claiming bite. I am no longer the woman who came to the Crimson Fortress seeking food for her people. No longer simply the warlord's prize.

I have become something new—something neither resistance principles nor oni tradition prepared me to navigate.

As the paralytic begins to fade from Kazuul's system, his arms tighten around me, protective even in weakness. His golden eyes never leave mine, filled with something that might, in a human, be called wonder.

"Mine," he says softly, the word carrying new meaning after what just happened. No longer just a declaration of ownership, but an acknowledgment of chosen connection. "As I am yours."

The blood of imperial assassins cools on the stone floor as we remain joined, the danger passed but its implications just beginning. I have crossed a line I can never uncross, made a choice that changes everything. The metallic scent of death mingles with the lingering musk of our interrupted claiming, creating a potent reminder of the decision I've made.

And strangest of all, I don't regret it. In a world that took all my choices away, this one—this violent, bloody, irrevocable choice—was entirely mine. There's a strange freedom in that realization, even as it binds me more tightly to the oni warlord whose knot still locks us together in the most primal connection possible.

Tomorrow will bring questions, investigations, heightened security. But for now, as Kazuul's breathing steadies and his muscles gradually regain function, I allow myself to acknowledge the truth.

I chose him. I chose us. And I would do it again.