Page 56 of Dragon's Captive

He moves to stand beside me, heat radiating from his scales in waves that feel like a physical embrace. The burns from Vorthrax's dishonorable attack have mostly healed, leaving new growth patterns across his obsidian skin that shimmer with subtle iridescence in direct light. Battle scars that somehow make him more beautiful rather than less.

When did that happen? When did I start finding beauty in draconic features? When did scales and wings and inhuman eyes stop registering as terrifying and start being simply... him?

"Your thoughts are loud this morning," he observes, one clawed hand moving to rest at the small of my back. The touch is light, careful, yet somehow conveys possession more effectively than any forceful grip ever could. "I can almost hear them without the bloodlink."

The bloodlink. That unexpected connection that formed during the combat and intensified during the twins' birth. Another transformation I'm still adapting to—the ability to sense his emotions when they're particularly strong, occasional flashes of memories not my own, dreams filled with flight and flame that belong to draconic rather than human experience.

"Just thinking about change," I admit, leaning slightly into his touch without conscious decision. "How different everything is from when you first brought me here."

His scales ripple with subtle patterns I've learned to read as thoughtfulness. "Regrets?"

The question hangs between us, weighted with all our complicated history—his hunting me through Ashton Ridge, claiming me against my will during heat, changing my body and life without permission. The violence of our beginning can't be erased, can't be retroactively transformed into something it wasn't.

Yet what exists now is equally undeniable.

"No," I answer honestly. "Not anymore. I've learned there's no point regretting what can't be changed. Only what comes next matters now."

He makes that rumbling sound deep in his chest that I now recognize as approval, satisfaction, pleasure at my response. Six months ago, that sound triggered fight-or-flight response. Now it settles something restless inside me, omega biology responding to alpha contentment on level deeper than conscious thought.

A cry from the nursery interrupts the moment—high and demanding, followed almost immediately by second, slightly lower in pitch but equally insistent. The twins, awake and hungry again with the synchronized needs that constantly remind me I'm outnumbered.

"Your offspring call," Kairyx says, amusement evident in his tone.

"Ouroffspring," I correct, moving toward the nursery with steps that have regained their strength in recent weeks. "Don't pretend you don't hear them perfectly well with your superior draconic hearing."

His laugh follows me, warm smoke curling through the air between us. Another change—his willingness to show humor, to reveal emotions beyond dominance and possession. A thawing of rigid control that once seemed as immutable as the mountain itself.

The nursery adjoining our chambers has transformed since the twins' arrival. Originally designed with human infants in mind, it's evolved to accommodate the unique needs of dragon-human hybrids. The temperature runs warmer than human children would prefer, the specially constructed cribs lined with material that won't ignite when tiny mouths occasionally release smoke puffs during dreams. The mobile hanging above contains shapes that catch light in ways that fascinate vertical-pupiled eyes still learning to process visual information.

Nikolai and Lyra—names we chose together in rare moment of perfect agreement—stare up at me with identical golden eyes, their tiny faces already showing personality differences that amaze me daily. Nikolai, born first and slightly larger, watches everything with intensity that reminds me startlingly of his father. Lyra, smaller but somehow fiercer, demands attention with imperial confidence that I sometimes suspect comes from my side of the gene pool, though I'd never admit it aloud.

"Hungry again, little dragons?" I lift them with practiced ease, one in each arm, marveling at how quickly they're growing. Already their weight has nearly doubled, their development accelerated beyond human norms but not quite matching draconic growth patterns—something new, hybrid vigor that the healers document with academic fascination.

The scale patterns along their spines glow faintly as I settle into the nursing chair, the obsidian markings illuminating with gentle light as they feed. Another unique trait neither fully human nor dragon, but something new emerging from the combination. When they're particularly hungry or excited, their golden eyes shift between round human pupils and vertical draconic slits, switching back and forth as if their bodies haven't quite decided which visual processing system works better.

Living bridges between worlds their parents inhabit separately. Concrete evidence that connection can form even from the most forced beginnings.

Kairyx watches from the doorway, his massive form somehow managing to look awkward—an apex predator momentarily unsure of his place in this most intimate of moments. Six weeks, and he still approaches feeding time with mixture of fascination and uncertainty, as if unsure whether his presence is welcome or intrusive.

"Come in," I tell him, adjusting Lyra who's nursing with her usual impatience. "They know you're there. Nikolai keeps looking for you."

It's true. Our son's golden eyes keep darting to the doorway, distracted from feeding by awareness of his father's presence. The bloodlink apparently works in multiple directions, creating family connection that transcends ordinary parent-child bonds.

Kairyx approaches with that careful precision he uses around the twins—movements measured to seem less intimidating, less overwhelming to beings so small. He crouches beside the nursing chair, bringing his face level with our feeding children. His golden eyes study them with intensity that would be terrifying if I didn't understand its source.

"They grow stronger each day," he observes, one clawed finger carefully stroking Nikolai's cheek. Our son immediately turns toward the touch, tiny hand reaching up to grasp the massive digit with surprising strength. "Their draconic traits develop well."

"The healers say they're perfectly balanced," I note, still amazed by this fact despite hearing it repeatedly since their birth. "Not favoring either bloodline too strongly."

Unlike me. My body carries obvious evidence of transformation—subtle scale patterns developing along my veins that glow with faint luminescence when strong emotionsstrike, elevated body temperature that never returns to human normal, enhanced senses that detect scents and sounds beyond ordinary human range. Physical changes that mirror internal ones—no longer resistance fighter hiding in fear, no longer captive struggling against claimed status, but something that exists in space between human and Prime societies.

Something new. Something unprecedented.

"Your changes continue as well," Kairyx notes, gaze shifting to where the luminescent vein patterns show faintly beneath my skin. "The healers wish to document your adaptations. No claimed omega has ever demonstrated such comprehensive integration before."

I snort softly, careful not to disturb the twins who are finally settling into feeding rhythm. "Lucky me. Mother of the year and scientific curiosity all in one package."

"You underestimate the significance," he counters, serious beneath my sarcasm. "What your body has accomplished—successful twin birth, physical adaptation, bloodlink formation—it changes everything we understood about human-Prime compatibility."

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