Page 28 of Dragon's Captive

I push away from the table, needing distance, needing space to breathe through the panic clawing at my throat. The chair scrapes loudly against stone floors as I stand on shaky legs.

"You're wrong," I insist, backing away with one hand pressed protectively—or is it defensively?—against my stomach. "It's just... aftermath. From the fever."

His expression softens in a way that makes me want to scream. Pity. Understanding. Patience for my human denial of what his inhuman senses have already confirmed.

"The healers can verify if you require proof," he says, straightening to his full height. "But I am not mistaken about this, Clara. You carry my young."

The medical examination that follows remains a blur in my memory, a series of fragmented moments without coherence. Elara leading me to a clinical chamber several levels below my rooms. A beta human woman with kind eyes and efficient hands examining me with strange instruments that blend human medical technology with draconic magic. Her murmured confirmations merging with Kairyx's rumbled questions.

"Viable?"

"Yes, Commander. Both embryos appear healthy."

"Both?"

"Twins, as expected from dual fertilization. Standard for dragon-omega pairings."

Twins. Two lives taking root inside me. Two half-dragon children growing beneath my heart. The reality is too enormous to comprehend, too devastating to process.

I answer questions mechanically, follow instructions like an automaton. Yes, I've been experiencing morning sickness. Yes, certain smells trigger nausea. Yes, I've been unusually tired. My body moves through these motions while my mind retreats to some distant, protected place where this isn't happening.

"The pregnancy will progress more rapidly than a human one," the healer explains, her words directed equally to Kairyx and me. "Seven months from conception to birth is typical for dragon-human hybrids. The first trimester is crucial—her body must adapt to support offspring with partially draconic traits."

"What adaptations?" I hear myself ask, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears.

The healer's expression turns cautious. "Your core temperature will rise to accommodate the higher heat requirements of dragon embryos. Your blood chemistry will alter to provide necessary nutrients. There may be... visible changes, particularly in the latter stages."

"Visible changes," I repeat tonelessly.

"Nothing to concern yourself with now," she says with the false brightness of someone sidestepping an uncomfortable topic. "We'll monitor your progress closely. For now, focus on rest, nutrition, and avoiding stress."

Avoiding stress. While pregnant with monster spawn in a mountain fortress where I'm held captive. The absurdity of this advice almost makes me laugh, but I fear if I start, it might transform into screaming that never stops.

Kairyx remains unnervingly attentive throughout, his massive presence never more than an arm's length away. His eyes track every movement of the healer's hands on my body with predatory focus, not threatening but intensely protective. When the examination concludes, he helps me to my feet with surprising gentleness.

"You require rest," he states, brooking no argument. "The library can wait."

I let him guide me back to my chambers, too numb to fight, too overwhelmed to assert the fragile independence I've struggled to maintain since my heat ended. My mind races withimplications, with half-formed worries and fears too numerous to catalog.

Hybrid children. I've seen them in Ashton Ridge—infants with tiny scales along their spines, toddlers whose eyes shift from human rounds to draconic slits when excited, children developing at rates that leave human growth charts useless. Second-generation products of the Conquest, living embodiments of the new world order.

And now I carry two within me.

Once safely returned to my chambers, Kairyx hesitates by the door, golden eyes studying me with uncharacteristic uncertainty.

"You should rest," he repeats, his usual commanding tone softened by what almost sounds like concern. "I'll have appropriate meals prepared to address the nausea. The healers have supplements that will help."

I nod mechanically, beyond words, beyond resistance. He studies me a moment longer, something like understanding flickering across his inhuman features.

"This news is... overwhelming for you," he acknowledges. "I'll leave you to process it. But Clara—" His voice drops lower, vibrating with emotion I'm too numb to interpret. "This is a triumph. The first successful conception in seven attempts. You've accomplished something remarkable."

He leaves before I can respond, closing the door with uncharacteristic quietness behind him.

Remarkable. As if growing monster spawn is an achievement to celebrate rather than the ultimate evidence of captivity. As if my body's betrayal deserves congratulations rather than mourning.

I move to the bathing chamber on legs that barely support me, stripping mechanically and filling the massive tub with water hot enough to turn my skin pink. The steam creates aprivate cocoon around me, a fragile barrier between myself and the reality I can no longer deny.

Only then, submerged to my neck in scalding water that cannot hope to burn away what grows inside me, do I finally break.

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