Page 40 of Dragon's Captive

When did I start caring whether my captor lives or dies? When did his safety begin to matter to me as much as my own?

The answers to these questions frighten me more than bronze scales and red-gold eyes ever could. Because they suggest something I've denied for weeks, something that complicates every aspect of captivity and claiming with terrible, inescapable truth:

I no longer want freedom if it means leaving him.

CHAPTER 17

LEGAL CHALLENGE

Paperwork.In the end, that's what my fate comes down to—a bureaucratic oversight, a form filed too late, a box left unchecked. The cosmic joke of it lands with perfect irony: after surviving a decade of hiding, after enduring claiming and heat and pregnancy, my future hangs on administrative technicality.

The universe really does have a twisted sense of humor.

The formal documentation arrives the morning after Vorthrax's departure, carried by a stone-faced messenger in bronze-scaled livery. I watch from my chamber window as Kairyx receives the scroll in the fortress courtyard, his obsidian scales darkening to that light-absorbing black that signals barely contained rage. The temperature around him spikes so dramatically that the snow melting off nearby eaves turns instantly to steam.

"What exactly does it say?" I ask when he finally enters our chambers, the scroll clutched in one clawed hand with enough force to crumple the expensive parchment.

He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he paces the length of the room with predatory intensity, smoke curling from his nostrils with each agitated breath. The dragon emerging through careful human facade.

"It's a formal challenge to my claiming rights," he finally says, voice rough with suppressed fury. "Citing territorial boundary violations and improper registration protocols."

My hand moves automatically to my belly, protective instinct overriding even fear. At seventeen weeks, the twins create a visible swell beneath my clothing, their presence undeniable evidence of the bond Vorthrax seeks to sever. "Can he do that? Challenge a claim after the fact? Especially with..." I gesture to my rounded abdomen.

Kairyx stops pacing, his golden eyes fixing on me with laser focus. "According to ancient draconic law, unclaimed omegas discovered in border regions can be challenged for by neighboring authorities if the claiming wasn't properly registered with the Council."

"And was it?" I already know the answer, but some masochistic part of me needs to hear it confirmed.

His scales ripple with something that might be discomfort on a less predatory being. "No. In my haste to claim you before your heat fully manifested, I... delayed filing the proper documentation."

The admission hangs between us, weighted with implications neither of us can ignore. My mind races through scattered memories of that first day—the library inspection, my desperate run, his pursuit and capture. Had I been found even five miles further west, this challenge wouldn't exist. Had he filed paperwork immediately after claiming me, this vulnerability wouldn't threaten us now.

Funny how the word "us" forms so naturally in my thoughts these days.

"What happens now?" I ask, sinking onto the window seat as my legs suddenly feel too weak to support me.

"There will be a formal review before the Draconic Council," he explains, moving to sit beside me with surprising gentlenessgiven his obvious rage. "Vorthrax will present his challenge, I will defend my claim, and a ruling will be issued."

The clinical description belies the horror lurking beneath procedural veneer. I've seen how Vorthrax treats humans under his control. During his brief visit, I witnessed his casual cruelty toward servants—the bruises left by careless clawed hands, the way he stepped over a beta who'd dropped a tray rather than around them, the contemptuous orders delivered without acknowledging their recipient as sentient.

And those were just beta servants. What awaited claimed omegas in his territory?

"I can't go with him," I say, the words emerging hollow with dawning terror. "The twins?—"

"Would be seen as competitors to any offspring he might sire," Kairyx finishes, his hand moving to cover mine where it rests protectively over our children. The heat of his scales burns against my skin, but I lean into the contact rather than away from it. "Once you've birthed them, he would likely separate you permanently."

The matter-of-fact assessment lands like physical blow. Not just losing my freedom again, not just being transferred from one alpha to another, but having my children taken. The thought sends ice through my veins despite the draconic heat radiating from Kairyx's massive frame.

"There has to be something we can do," I say, fighting to keep panic from overwhelming me. "Some way to fight this."

His expression shifts to something I've never seen before—uncertainty. It looks wrong on features designed for predatory confidence, like storm clouds over desert landscape.

"Dragon law predates the Conquest," he explains, golden eyes troubled. "Challenge rights exist to prevent territorial disputes from escalating to full warfare. He cannot simply take you—but he can force formal review of my claim." His hand restsmore firmly against my abdomen, where our children grow. "There are three possible resolutions: administrative judgment, omega choice declaration, or blood challenge. The first favors his technical argument, the third risks both our lives."

"And the second?" I prompt when he hesitates.

"The second..." His gaze slides away from mine for the first time since I've known him, as if even he finds this option difficult to voice. "The second requires you to publicly accept my claim of your own will."

The implication strikes with devastating clarity. To declare willing acceptance of what began as capture and forced claiming. To stand before draconic authority and pronounce myself voluntarily bound to the alpha who took my freedom.

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