Page 12 of Naga's Mate

As he positions me for another claiming, his coils wrapping around my thighs and lifting me effortlessly into the air, I realize with terrifying clarity that he's right. Five years of careful chemical deception have been undone in three days of biological reprogramming. Whatever escape I eventually find—if any exists—will never be complete. Part of me will always crave the venom now encoded in my neural pathways, the pleasure only his inhuman form can provide, the specific sensation of his coils around my limbs and his twin organs stretching me beyond human capacity.

I am not who I was before he caught me among the toxic blooms. And I never will be again.

CHAPTER6

THE PRIVATE QUARTERS

On the fourth day,my heat finally grants mercy. The feverish need that reduced me to a pleading, trembling creature recedes like poisoned tides, leaving behind a hollowed vessel barely resembling the woman I was before Nezzar discovered me. As clarity returns—a dubious gift considering my circumstances—I become painfully conscious of every humiliating detail from the past three days.

My body feels like a laboratory specimen thoroughly examined, utilized, and fundamentally transformed. Which, I suppose, is precisely what occurred.

Nezzar perceives the change instantly, his forked tongue sampling the air around me. "Your heat cycle concludes," he observes, those unsettling vertical pupils widening slightly as he studies my expression. "Earlier than anticipated. Your physiological adaptability continues to impress."

Adaptability. What a clinical description for having one's entire biochemistry hijacked and reprogrammed. I might laugh if I weren't so terrified about what follows. The claiming is complete, the heat nearly finished. What purpose does a naga commander have for an omega botanist once biological imperatives have been satisfied?

The answer arrives without my having to ask.

"It's time you viewed your permanent quarters," he announces, his massive coils shifting around me in that now-familiar configuration—close enough to restrain if necessary, but not actively constricting. His casual confidence proves almost worse than outright force. He needn't restrain me. We both recognize my body would betray me if I attempted escape.

I stand on unsteady legs, acutely aware of the lingering moisture that still forms between my thighs at his proximity. My newly enhanced senses—a "gift" of the venom adaptation—catalog his scent with disturbing precision: mineral notes from the specialized pools, the distinctive chemical signature of his alpha pheromones, and beneath it all, the aroma of my own surrender still clinging to his scales.

"Where are my clothes?" I ask, though dignity seems a laughable concept after days of heat-driven claiming.

"Unnecessary," he replies with that maddening composure. "But you may select garments after we reach our destination, if human modesty concerns you."

Our destination. Not his. Ours. The casual possessiveness makes my skin prickle even as my traitorous omega biology responds to the implied claiming.

He guides me through corridors I've never seen despite five years working in this facility. The pathways curve in ways that disorient human spatial perception—clearly designed for naga physiology with rounded walls and specialized traction surfaces for scales. The humidity intensifies with each turn, approaching levels that would normally leave a human drenched in perspiration, yet my altered body tolerates it with unsettling ease.

"Your heightened senses are stabilizing," Nezzar comments, noticing how my gaze tracks the chemical signatures now visible around various plants we pass. "Most omegas require multiple heat cycles before developing such perceptual abilities."

"I'm not most omegas," I snap, clinging to defiance as the final remnant of my former self.

"Precisely why you occupy this space rather than a breeding facility," he counters smoothly, as if my resistance represents merely an interesting observation rather than genuine rebellion.

When we finally reach our destination, the scientist in me momentarily eclipses the captive. The space before us defies every expectation I held regarding naga living quarters.

Instead of the sterile, utilitarian chambers I'd imagined, we've entered what can only be described as a living paradise. The central room soars at least thirty feet upward, crowned with specialized glass that filters sunlight into diffuse illumination. Living walls cover every vertical surface, showcasing botanical specimens I've only encountered in restricted research files—some clearly terrestrial, others bearing unmistakable characteristics of dimensional hybrid species.

Water features integrate seamlessly throughout the space—not simple decorative elements but functional components of an ecosystem designed to maintain precise humidity levels. Different zones present subtle temperature gradients that would allow human comfort while still satisfying naga physiological requirements.

"This is..." I falter, genuinely speechless.

"Adequate?" Nezzar suggests, amusement coloring his melodious voice.

"Unexpected," I manage, my eyes automatically mapping potential escape routes even as my scientific mind marvels at the environmental engineering. Main entrance—now sealed with some bio-mechanical barrier I don't yet comprehend. Possible service access near the largest water feature. Perhaps an emergency exit concealed behind that dense section of flowering vines.

"You're assessing potential escape routes," Nezzar observes, making no effort to hide his amusement. "Unnecessary, but fascinating to witness. Your mind truly resists even when your body has accepted your new reality."

I refuse to acknowledge the accuracy of his assessment. Instead, I focus on practicalities. "How extensive is this space?"

"Sufficient," he replies cryptically, his coils propelling him deeper into the chamber. "Come. You require proper cleansing after your heat."

He leads me toward what appears to be a bathing chamber that would render any luxury human spa primitive by comparison. A massive pool occupies most of the area, filled with water that releases gentle steam and carries the distinctive scent of mineral compounds I recognize from my botanical research—elements that promote healing and tissue regeneration.

"Your heat residue differs from ordinary human perspiration," Nezzar explains with clinical detachment that somehow feels more invasive than his claiming had been. "These waters will ease the lingering sensitivity."

I hesitate at the pool's edge, though modesty seems absurd after days of being claimed in countless positions. It's not exposure that concerns me, but the symbolic nature of entering his space willingly rather than through direct coercion.

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