Page 24 of Dragon's Captive

His lips quirk in what might be amusement. "That too," he acknowledges. "Come. There's something I want you to see."

Curiosity battles with stubborn resistance. The librarian in me—the real me, beneath omega biology and forced submission—craves new information, new understanding, even of my captor. Knowledge is power, after all. The more I know about him and this place, the better my chances of... of what? Escape seems increasingly unlikely. Survival, then. Adaptation. Finding ways to keep my sense of self within captivity.

"Fine," I concede, following him through corridors carved from living stone, their dimensions built for dragons rather than humans. Everything feels too large, too grand, a constant reminder of my relative smallness in this new hierarchy.

We pass other dragons who nod respectfully to Kairyx but regard me with obvious curiosity. I'm a novelty here—anewly claimed omega, bearing their commander's mark. Their attention makes my skin crawl, but I lift my chin, refusing to cower. I may be claimed, but I'm not broken.

The path winds deeper into the mountain, descending to levels I haven't seen before. The air grows warmer, closer, scented with something I can't immediately place—paper? Leather? Old books?

When Kairyx finally stops before a massive wooden door carved with intricate flame patterns, I realize I'm holding my breath with anticipation. He places his palm against the center carving, and warmth radiates outward as some mechanism recognizes his heat signature. The door swings open to reveal...

A library. Not just any library, but one that rivals the most prestigious pre-Conquest collections I've ever seen or read about. Floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books of all ages, from ancient leather-bound tomes to modern volumes. Reading nooks with comfortable chairs. Tables for research. Ladders to reach the highest shelves.

I step inside, momentarily forgetting everything—captivity, claiming, the uncertainty of my future—in the face of such unexpected magnificence.

"You have... books," I say, the wonder in my voice betraying my professional passion despite my attempts at distance.

"The largest collection of pre-Conquest human literature in the Draconic Imperium," Kairyx confirms, watching my reaction with obvious satisfaction. "We're not the mindless destroyers your resistance stories paint us as, Clara. Some of us value knowledge above all else."

I move deeper into the space, fingers hovering reverently over spines I recognize from my own much smaller collection in Ashton Ridge. Classics. Philosophy. Science. History. Some titles I've only heard whispered about, believed lost during the chaos of the Conquest.

"Why show me this?" I ask, suspicion resurfacing through my book-lover's awe. Is this some elaborate psychological trick? Offering intellectual stimulation to make captivity more bearable?

"Because you're a librarian," he says simply. "And because I need one."

I turn to face him, confusion momentarily overriding wariness. "You need a librarian? You kidnapped and claimed me for my cataloging skills?"

His laugh startles me—deeper than human, but genuine, without the mocking edge I'd expect. "Not primarily, no. But it would be wasteful to ignore your expertise when I have hundreds of volumes needing proper organization and preservation."

This creates a whole new kind of confusion. My body bears the evidence of his possession everywhere—bruises from his powerful hands, small burns where his control slipped during intense moments, and most permanently, the claiming bite at my throat that's healing into a scar that marks me as his. Yet alongside this physical possession, he offers intellectual engagement I've been starved for during years of hiding.

"Why would you care what happens to human books?" I challenge, needing to understand this contradiction between the conqueror I expected and the... whatever he is... standing before me.

"Dragon memory runs long," he replies, moving to a nearby shelf and selecting a volume with surprising care for his clawed hands. "We remember civilizations that rose and fell before humans crawled from caves. We understand the value of preserving knowledge, even—perhaps especially—from conquered peoples."

He offers me the book—a pre-Conquest first edition of a philosophical text I've only seen in cheap reprints. I take itautomatically, my fingers caressing the leather binding before I can stop myself.

"I want you to help organize this collection," Kairyx says, watching my involuntary reverence for the object in my hands. "Catalog it properly. Identify preservation needs. Apply your expertise to what might be the last comprehensive collection of human thought left in this territory."

I should refuse on principle. Should maintain the wall between captor and captive, between resistance and submission. But the books call to me—not just their physical presence but what they represent. Connection to a world before dragons. Preservation of human achievement despite conquest. And most temptingly, purpose beyond mere breeding.

"Why would you trust me with this?" I ask, clutching the volume to my chest. "I could damage them. Destroy them."

His intense gaze holds mine steadily. "You won't. You love books too much—I saw it in your face the moment we entered. Besides," he adds matter-of-factly, "where would you go if you tried to run? How far would you get, claimed omega bearing my scent, in a mountain accessible only by flight?"

The truth stings, all the more for its undeniable logic. I am trapped here regardless. The choice isn't between freedom and captivity, but between meaningless captivity and... whatever this is.

"Fine," I say finally, the word coming out more like defeat than agreement. "I'll help with your collection."

When he smiles—not the predatory grin of claiming but something almost genuine—I tell myself my response is merely omega biology reacting to alpha approval. Nothing more. Nothing meaningful.

"Excellent," he says, turning to survey the vast collection. "Where do you suggest we begin?"

I trail my fingers along nearby spines, considering the question with professional detachment I cling to like a lifeline. This, at least, is familiar territory. This, I understand.

"Condition assessment first," I say, slipping into the librarian persona that feels more authentically me than either beta deception or omega submission. "Then basic categorization. After that, a proper cataloging system that works for both human and draconic classification methods."

I'm already mentally designing the system, professional excitement momentarily outweighing personal circumstances. When I glance up, I find Kairyx watching me with unusual intensity.

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