Page 29 of Dragon's Captive

The sobs come from somewhere deep and primal, tearing free with painful force. I clamp my hands over my mouth to muffle the sounds, unwilling to let servants or guards hear this moment of absolute vulnerability. Tears stream down my face, mingling with bathwater until I can't distinguish between them.

I cry until my throat aches and my eyes swell, until the water cools around me and my fingers wrinkle like pale prunes. I cry for my lost freedom, for my body's eager betrayal of everything I once believed. I cry for the children I never wanted to bear—not like this, not here, not with him.

And somewhere, in the deepest corner of my heart where truth hides from conscious thought, I cry from fear that these lives growing within me might eventually mean something to me beyond captivity's ultimate evidence. That I might come to care for them despite their origins, despite their father, despite everything.

Because that would be the true defeat—not just my body claimed and bred, but my heart turned traitor as well.

When I finally emerge, wrung dry of tears and emotion alike, I catch sight of my reflection in the polished metal mirror. My face looks haggard, eyes red-rimmed and swollen, but my hand moves unbidden to my still-flat abdomen.

Two lives growing there. Two beings who never asked to be created in this clash of worlds and wills. Two children who will be neither fully human nor fully dragon, but something new—just as I am becoming something beyond the woman I once was.

The thought terrifies me more than Kairyx ever could.

CHAPTER 13

GROWING BONDS

Pregnancy changes everything—includingdragons, apparently.

Kairyx's transformation happens overnight, a shift so dramatic it gives me emotional whiplash. The alpha who claimed me through force suddenly morphs into something far more complicated, something I don't have the right words to describe.

The first sign comes at breakfast the morning after learning I'm pregnant. I'm picking at bland toast—the only food that doesn't make me instantly queasy—when the doors to my chambers fly open with enough force to rattle my teacup.

Kairyx marches in, followed by a parade of servants carrying all sorts of items. Before I can even ask what's happening, my rooms become the center of a transformation as unstoppable as the dragon himself.

"These rooms won't do," he announces without so much as a good morning, his golden eyes scanning everything with laser focus. "The adjoining chamber will become a nursery. The balcony needs safety modifications. The bed—" his gaze lands on where I sit, still speechless "—is big enough but needs extra support for later."

"What are you doing?" I finally manage, watching servants rearrange furniture like they're playing some high-stakes game of musical chairs.

His expression says my question is ridiculous. "Preparing proper space for my offspring."

"I'm barely pregnant," I protest. "The babies won't need a nursery for months."

"Dragon-hybrid babies develop faster," he reminds me, as if I could forget such a disturbing fact. "Seven months, not nine. And everything should be ready well before they arrive."

I want to argue—to claim some control over my living space if nothing else—but another wave of nausea cuts me off. My hand flies to my mouth, and before I can move, a basin appears in front of me, held by Kairyx's clawed hands.

The embarrassment of throwing up in front of him burns almost as much as the acid in my throat. When I finish, he offers a cloth to wipe my mouth, his expression surprisingly gentle.

"The morning sickness will pass soon," he says with complete certainty. "The healers are making supplements to help until then."

This unexpected concern throws me more than his commanding presence ever did. I've built mental walls against his dominance, his authority, his physical power. I have no defenses against this strange new gentleness.

"I don't understand you," I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

His scales ripple slightly—a reaction I've learned means he's thinking. "Understanding isn't needed right now," he finally says. "Acceptance is enough."

But acceptance of what, exactly? Of pregnancy? Of captivity? Of this weird new dynamic growing between us?

I don't get to ask. He's already turning away, barking orders about nursery arrangements, security upgrades, and dietaryrequirements. My life, my space, my body—all changing without my input, yet again.

By evening, two guards stand permanently outside my door—not to keep me in, Kairyx explains with annoying patience, but to keep threats out. My meals arrive with strict nutrition guidelines and anti-nausea herbs. The adjoining room that once stored extra furniture now stands empty, waiting to become a nursery.

Most unsettling of all, Kairyx himself becomes a constant presence. Not just physically—though he pops up throughout the day to check on me—but in how completely his awareness of my condition affects every interaction.

"The library is too cold for proper baby development," he declares three days later, interrupting my cataloging work. Before I can object, he's adjusting the heating system, raising the temperature to something that makes me slightly drowsy but apparently benefits the half-dragon twins growing inside me.

"You should sit while reading for long periods," he says another afternoon, appearing beside my standing desk with a specially designed chair that fits my current size while supporting "the developing pelvic adaptations" I'll supposedly need.

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