Page 42 of Dragon's Captive

"I don't know if I can do that," I admit, voice barely above whisper. "Stand before a council and declare willing acceptance of what began as force."

"Then I will prepare for blood challenge," he says simply, as if offering to fetch tea rather than risking his life in combat. "Vorthrax is larger, but size isn't everything in draconic battles. Strategy matters more than brute strength."

The casual acceptance of potential death sends unexpected panic spiraling through me. The thought of Kairyx facing Vorthrax in physical combat—dragon against dragon, fire against fire, with my fate and our children's hanging in the balance—creates a primal fear I can't rationalize away.

"No," I say, the word emerging with surprising force. "Don't do that. Don't risk yourself unnecessarily."

His expression shifts to something almost gentle, a softness I would have thought impossible on draconic features when we first met. "Then what would you suggest, Clara? Because one way or another, this challenge must be answered."

The question hangs between us, weighted with all we've become to each other—captor and captive, alpha and omega, father and mother to the lives growing inside me. The complexities defy simple resolution, yet resolution must be found before the Council convenes.

My hand moves to the claiming bite at my neck, fingers tracing the silvery scar that marks me as possessed. Once I would have given anything to erase this brand. Now I find myself considering the unthinkable—affirming it by choice rather than force, accepting what began as violation as something I would choose if choosing were truly mine to do.

"I need time," I finally say, meeting his golden gaze directly. "Before I decide. Before I declare anything publicly."

He nods once, understanding what I cannot fully articulate even to myself. "One week," he reminds me. "Then we face the Council, one way or another."

One week to determine if captivity has become connection. If claiming has evolved to choice. If the monster who took myfreedom has become the protector I would select given true options.

One week to decide if lies can become truth through sheer force of necessity.

CHAPTER 18

STRATEGIC SUBMISSION

Choices aren'tchoices when all the options suck.

For a week, I've paced the confines of Drake's Peak like the captive I technically still am, turning the so-called "choice" over in my mind until the edges wear smooth from handling. Publicly declare willing acceptance of Kairyx's claim or risk transfer to Vorthrax, whose reputation makes my current captor look like a paragon of dragon gentility.

Some fucking choice.

The twins flutter beneath my heart, movements growing stronger each day. No longer theoretical beings but actual lives I can feel shifting and stretching within me. My hands trace the curve of my abdomen absently as I stand before the massive window overlooking the snow-covered Appalachian range. Eighteen weeks now, and showing prominently due to the accelerated dragon-hybrid gestation.

"Have you decided?" Kairyx's voice comes from behind me, the familiar smoky-cinnamon scent of him reaching me before his words do.

I don't turn. "You know I have. We leave for the Neutral Zone tomorrow."

His reflection appears in the glass beside mine—massive scaled form dwarfing my human silhouette, golden eyes luminous even in the window's poor mirror. "And your decision?"

"The only one I can make." I finally face him, meeting that predatory gaze directly. "I'll declare acceptance of your claim. Strategic submission to prevent a worse fate."

Something flickers across his draconic features—disappointment? Relief? I can't decipher the complex emotions rippling through his scales.

"Is that all it is?" he asks, voice pitched lower than usual. "Strategy?"

The question lands like a blow to my solar plexus, knocking honesty from me before I can armor myself against it. "I don't know anymore," I admit. "What this is. What we are. Where captivity ends and... something else begins."

His clawed hand reaches for me with surprising hesitancy, as if I might shatter at his touch. When I don't pull away, he cups my face, the heat of his scales burning against my skin in a way that's become oddly comforting.

"I recognized you," he says, the words carrying weight beyond their simplicity. "That day in the library. Not just as omega, but as something... exceptional. It wasn't merely biological imperative that drove me to claim you, Clara. Even then, there was more."

"Don't." I close my eyes, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. "Don't rewrite history to make this easier. You took me because I was unclaimed omega in your territory. You claimed me because biology demanded it. Whatever exists now... it came after. It doesn't change how this began."

"No," he agrees, surprising me. "It doesn't change the beginning. But perhaps it changes what we become."

The moment stretches between us, weighted with everything neither of us fully knows how to express—the complications of a relationship forged in capture but tempered by something else, something that resists simple categorization.

"Tomorrow," I finally say, stepping back from his touch, needing space to think clearly. "I'll say what needs saying. Do what needs doing. For the twins. For survival."

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