Page 27 of Dragon's Captive

This is the true danger—not the claiming bite healing at my throat, not the physical possession of my body, but this insidious sense of belonging that threatens the core of who I believed myself to be.

CHAPTER 12

LIFE TAKES ROOT

I survive the fever,but something remains wrong.

Three days after my temperature returns to normal, I wake with my stomach twisting in rebellion. The nausea hits with such sudden intensity that I barely make it to the bathing chamber before emptying what little remains in my stomach from last night's dinner. On my knees before the ornate basin, I press my forehead against the cool stone and try to breathe through the rolling waves of sickness.

Just a lingering effect of the fever, I tell myself. A temporary weakness. Nothing to concern anyone about.

By the fourth morning of the same ritual, I'm less convinced.

"You look unwell," Elara observes as she brings breakfast—simple toast and tea that would normally appeal but now makes my stomach clench in protest. "Should I fetch the healers?"

"No," I answer too quickly, earning a raised eyebrow from her. "It's just... aftermath. From being ill. I'm fine."

She doesn't believe me—her expression makes that clear—but she doesn't press the issue. Just sets down the tray and leaves me to my stubborn independence.

Independence. What a joke. As if anything about my existence here could be called independent.

Beyond the morning sickness, other strange symptoms accumulate like unwelcome guests. Exhaustion drags at my limbs by mid-afternoon, turning the simple act of cataloging books into a herculean task. My skin feels hypersensitive, certain fabrics suddenly unbearable against it. Worst of all is the change in my sense of smell—everything is too intense, too present. The scent of cooking meat from the kitchens three levels below makes me gag. The leather bindings of ancient books that once smelled comforting now overwhelm me with their pungency.

I tell myself it's nothing. Just my body readjusting after suppressants, heat, claiming, fever—a comprehensive assault on my system in too short a timespan. Anyone would feel fragile after such an onslaught.

But deep down, in the place where truth sits heavy and undeniable, I know better.

I've read the forbidden medical texts. I know the early signs. I just can't bear to acknowledge them.

Until Kairyx takes the choice from me.

I'm in the library, struggling to focus on a manuscript whose letters swim before my exhausted eyes, when he enters with his usual commanding presence. His footsteps stop abruptly at the threshold. The sudden silence draws my attention upward, and what I see freezes the blood in my veins.

He stands utterly motionless, a statue of obsidian scales and coiled power. His nostrils flare widely, drawing in deep breaths of air that he seems to taste rather than merely inhale. His golden eyes widen, pupils contracting to near-invisible slits as they lock onto me with predatory focus.

"Kairyx?" I prompt, hating the tremor in my voice. He looks like he's scenting prey, and my body remembers with uncomfortable clarity what happens when he looks at me that way.

He doesn't respond immediately. Instead, he approaches with deliberate slowness, each step measured as if he fears I might bolt. When he reaches me, he crouches to my level where I sit at the reading table, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his scales.

"Clara," he says, his voice deeper than usual, roughened with emotion I can't quite identify. "You haven't noticed?"

My heart pounds against my ribs with painful force. "Noticed what?"

His massive hand reaches toward me, hesitating just a moment before settling with surprising gentleness against my still-flat abdomen. The heat of his palm penetrates the fabric of my dress, sending an involuntary shiver through me that has nothing to do with cold.

"It worked," he says, voice caught between triumph and wonder. "You're carrying my offspring."

The world stops turning.

For one suspended moment, I exist outside of time, outside of my body, outside of the reality his words have just created. Then gravity reasserts itself with crushing force, and the truth crashes over me like a physical blow.

Pregnant.

Not just claimed omega. Not just captive. Now vessel for monster spawn. The ultimate biological betrayal.

"No," I whisper, though denial is pointless against dragon senses. "You can't know that. It's too soon."

His smile is gentle but absolutely certain. "I can smell the changes in your hormones. Your scent has... transformed. Deepened." His hand remains on my abdomen, thumb moving in a small circle that feels disturbingly possessive. "Dragon senses detect pregnancy long before human methods could confirm it."

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