Page 2 of Dragon's Captive

And just like that, my heart resumes its frantic pace. Messages from the administrative center are never good news. They mean attention. They mean scrutiny. They mean danger.

"I'll be right out," I say, swallowing past the sudden dryness in my throat.

I take a moment to compose myself, to slide the mask of mild-mannered librarian firmly back into place. I am Clara Dawson, beta. I am forgettable. I am safe. The mantra repeats in my head as I unlock the rare book room door and step into the library's main space.

Elijah hovers nervously near the circulation desk, alongside a thin man in the gray uniform of a municipal messenger. I recognize him—Martin, a meek beta who handles official communications between the administrative center and the town's various institutions.

"Clara," Martin nods, his eyes darting around the library rather than meeting mine directly. "I've been instructed to deliver this notice personally and confirm your receipt."

He holds out a sealed envelope emblazoned with the insignia of the Draconic Imperium—a stylized black dragon curled around a mountain peak. Even touching paper marked with that symbol feels like contamination, but I reach for it with steady hands.

"Thank you, Martin. Consider it received." I manage a bland smile, the kind that reveals nothing.

He doesn't leave, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I'm required to wait while you read it. For any... immediate response."

The spike of adrenaline makes my fingers clumsy as I break the seal. Inside is a single sheet of heavy cream paper, the message printed in elegant, formal script:

By authority of the Draconic Imperium, notice is given that Commander Kairyx Emberscale will conduct inspectionof the Ashton Ridge Historical Archive and Library tomorrow at 10:00 hours. All staff are to be present. Full access to all collections, including restricted areas, will be required.

The paper crinkles in my tightening grip. Commander Kairyx Emberscale. Not just any dragon, but the regional governor himself, the alpha who controls the entire Appalachian territory. A direct inspection hasn't happened in three years, and it's happening tomorrow—when my suppressants are already failing.

"Is there a response required?" Martin prompts, looking increasingly uncomfortable.

I force my fingers to relax, smoothing the paper with deliberate care. "Please inform the administrative center that the Ashton Ridge Library acknowledges the notice and will be prepared for Commander Emberscale's inspection."

Martin nods, clearly relieved to have completed his task without incident. "They said to tell you this is a routine inspection. Nothing to worry about."

Nothing to worry about. Of course. Just the most powerful alpha in five hundred miles coming to inspect my domain when my chemical defenses are compromised. Just the possibility of losing everything I've fought to preserve for the past decade. Just the threat of being claimed, my body no longer my own, forced to bear monster offspring for the glory of the Draconic Imperium.

"Thank you for letting me know," I say, my voice betraying none of my thoughts.

After Martin leaves, Elijah looks at me with wide eyes. "A dragon? Here? A real inspection?" His voice cracks with the mixture of fear and excitement only a teenager could muster for such news.

"It seems so," I say, moving to the circulation desk and sliding the notice into a drawer with mechanical precision. "Weshould prepare. I need you to help me ensure the main collection is properly organized. Everything needs to be in order."

"Sure, Miss Dawson," he says, but hesitates before asking, "Have you ever seen him before? Commander Emberscale?"

I have, once, from a distance during a territorial ceremony three years ago. I remember a massive form, obsidian scales glinting in sunlight, golden eyes surveying his domain with predatory intensity. I remember the instinctive shiver that ran through me, the primal recognition of apex predator that no amount of suppressants could fully quell.

"No," I lie. "I haven't had the privilege."

I spend the remaining hours until closing directing Elijah's efforts, checking catalog entries, and ensuring the public spaces are immaculate. All the while, my mind races, calculating options, escape routes, contingencies. If I double my dose tonight, perhaps I can suppress the warming for one more day. It will leave me with fewer pills, a narrower margin of safety, but it might get me through the inspection.

As the afternoon wears on, a dull headache forms behind my eyes, another warning sign that my biology is fighting the chemical restraints. Twice, I catch myself absentmindedly touching my neck, where an omega's scent gland would be most prominent during heat. Each time, I force my hand down, cursing my body's betrayal.

When Elijah finally leaves at five o'clock, I lock the front doors with shaking hands. Alone at last, I lean against the heavy oak door and let my head fall back with a soft thud.

"Just get through tomorrow," I whisper to myself. "Just one more day."

I push away from the door and walk slowly through the main reading room, trailing my fingers along the polished oak tables. The library has been my sanctuary, my hiding place, my domain. The irony doesn't escape me—that I, an omega in hiding, foundsafety amidst the most heavily regulated commodity in the post-Conquest world: knowledge.

The Primes, for all their brutality, value certain kinds of information. Historical archives like this one were preserved while other institutions were dismantled. As town librarian, I've had access to pre-Conquest texts, to history the resistance would kill to preserve. My position has offered protection, routine, purpose.

And loneliness. Always loneliness.

I climb the spiral staircase to the second floor, where floor-to-ceiling windows offer a view of Ashton Ridge as twilight descends. The neat grid of streets, the mix of pre-Conquest buildings and newer structures built to accommodate dragon aesthetics. In the distance, the wider section of the town square serves as a landing zone for official visits. Tomorrow, it will host Commander Emberscale's arrival.

From this height, I can also see the designated omega housing near the administrative center—identical small homes with monitored entrances, where registered omegas live under constant surveillance. Their lives are regulated, their heat cycles tracked, their claiming arrangements approved by draconic authority. Many consider them fortunate compared to those in breeding facilities, but the thought of such an existence makes my skin crawl.

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