Page 12 of Dragon's Captive

The night stretches endlessly before me, each hour bringing new discomforts as my suppressed omega biology claws its way back to dominance. By midnight, the sheets beneath me are damp with sweat, my skin alternately burning and freezing as my system struggles to rebalance. My muscles ache from the inside out, bones seeming to grind against each other with every movement.

This is just the first day, I remind myself as darkness claims more of my consciousness. Two more to go before the real horror begins. Before heat. Before claiming. Before my body betrays me completely.

In the last moments before fitful sleep claims me, a terrible thought surfaces from the depths of my fever-hazed mind—what if Kairyx is right? What if my careful construction of identity, my decade of chemical suppression, has been nothing but elaborate denial of biological truth?

What if the omega emerging now is who I really am?

No. I cling to denial like a lifeline as consciousness slips away. I am Clara Dawson. I am more than biology. I am more than omega.

But as dreams take me, my body continues its inexorable transformation, returning to the nature I've denied for so long, preparing for the claiming that now seems inevitable.

CHAPTER 6

BURNING FROM WITHIN

Dawn arrives like an assassin—silent,merciless, and unwelcome. I open my eyes to find sunlight streaming through the balcony curtains with offensive cheerfulness, as if this is just another ordinary day and not the second morning of my captivity.

Except opening my eyes is a mistake. Pain lances through my skull the moment light hits my retinas, a white-hot needle drilling from temples to brainstem. I groan and roll away, burying my face in a pillow that suddenly feels like it's stuffed with broken glass rather than down.

The withdrawal has officially begun.

I've read about this in contraband medical texts—what happens when a long-term suppressant user stops abruptly. Clinical descriptions talked about "discomfort" and "temporary hormonal recalibration." What a sanitized way of saying it feels like your body is declaring war on itself.

Fever burns through me, a wildfire consuming everything in its path. My skin feels simultaneously too tight and too thin, like I'm about to burst out of it or it might tear away completely. Sweat soaks the sheets beneath me, yet my teeth chatter with bone-deep chills that make my muscles spasm painfully.

This is what freedom from chemical restraint feels like. Ironic.

The hours blur together, marked only by the shifting angles of sunlight across the floor. I drift in and out of consciousness, awareness coming in fragmented snapshots:

Elara's hands pressing cool cloths to my forehead, her voice a distant murmur telling me to drink something bitter.

The mountain wind from the balcony carrying scents so intense they make me gag—pine needles, mineral-rich stone, distant smoke.

My own gasping breaths as another wave of fever breaks, leaving me drenched and shivering.

During one moment of clarity, I force myself to catalog my symptoms with scientific detachment. It's a desperate attempt to maintain control, to keep some part of my mind above the biological chaos consuming me.

Elevated heart rate: approximately 120 beats per minute, occasionally spiking higher during fever surges.

Dilated pupils: light sensitivity increasing, colors appearing unnaturally vivid.

Hypersensitive skin: fabric against my body feels like sandpaper one moment, then triggers waves of unwanted pleasure the next.

And most damning of all—the betraying slick beginning to form between my thighs despite the absence of an alpha trigger. My omega biology preparing for what comes next, regardless of my conscious rejection.

"Fascinating," a deep voice rumbles from somewhere nearby, shattering my clinical analysis. "You're documenting your own transformation. I didn't expect such...academic distance."

Kairyx. How long has he been watching? My vision swims as I try to focus on his massive form, now seated in a chair thatseems comically inadequate for his size. The effort costs me, sending a wave of nausea rolling through my stomach.

"Go away," I manage, the words scraping my throat like barbed wire.

He ignores me, golden eyes tracking the flush spreading across my exposed skin. "The purging is progressing faster than anticipated. Your system must be particularly responsive to the herbs."

Lucky me. My reward for good biological compliance: an accelerated timeline toward the inevitable claiming. I want to spit something vicious at him, but another bone-deep chill wracks my frame, stealing coherent thought as my teeth chatter audibly.

To my surprise, he doesn't gloat or press his advantage. Instead, he rises and adjusts the blankets around me with unexpected care, his movements precise and controlled. The heat radiating from his body offers momentary relief from the chills, my treacherous omega biology responding to alpha proximity with a wave of endorphins.

"Your resistance impresses me," he says, voice lower than before. "Most omegas who've suppressed this long break more quickly. Your will is...unusual."

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