Page 9 of Shadow's Claim

One of Kael's tendrils brushes against my scent gland, now fully activated and pulsing with each rapid heartbeat. The touch sends electric shocks through my nervous system, drawing an involuntary moan that I try and fail to suppress.

"Your resistance to claiming despite clear biological compatibility suggests psychological conditioning beyond standard training," he observes. "Maybe trauma from the Blood Week?"

The casual reference to the systematic slaughter of human alphas—including my father and brother—ignites rage that temporarily burns brighter than heat symptoms.

"Don't you dare psychoanalyze me," I snarl, straining against the restraints. "You murdered half our population and expect us to be grateful you didn't finish the job!"

Rather than anger, my outburst seems to please him. "Emotional reactions give me useful data. Your heat speeds up when you get emotional."

He's right, damn him. The surge of anger has triggered another wave of heat symptoms—more intense slick production, heightened sensitivity, the first shameful emptiness that craves alpha filling. My body leverages every emotion, every reaction, against my conscious mind.

"The resistance trains its operatives well," Kael continues, circling the platform again. "But evolution designed omega biology to override conscious resistance during heat. A survival mechanism ensuring reproduction happens regardless of what you think you want."

His clinical explanation of my impending surrender only makes it more humiliating. He doesn't need to force me—just wait for my own body to betray everything I believe, everything I've fought for.

"Some resistance operatives choose death rather than reveal network information," he says, studying my face for reaction. "Is that your intention?"

The question catches me off guard. Is he offering me a way out? The momentary hope dies as quickly as it forms. Shadow demons don't offer mercy kills.

"Death isn't necessary," he continues, confirming my suspicion. "Your knowledge will be extracted regardless. The choice just determines how it happens and what comes after."

"What comes after?" I ask, unable to stop myself.

All four of his arms extend in a gesture I can't interpret, shadows gathering around his massive form. "Cooperate, and you'll get special consideration for claiming arrangements. Resist, and you'll go to a breeding facility after we get what we need."

The difference is clear, though neither option offers anything resembling freedom. Personal claiming by a single shadow demon versus being used as breeding stock by multiple alphas in government facilities. The illusion of choice between two versions of captivity.

"You're offering to claim me personally if I cooperate," I translate, the words bitter on my tongue.

"Correct." No pretense, no softening. Just cold certainty. "Your language skills are still valuable to Shadow Dominion operations. Breeding facilities waste specialized talents."

Such generosity. Be his personal omega or be reduced to a breeding vessel for random shadow demons. The options swim before me as another wave of heat washes through my system, stronger than before. My rational mind struggles to stay afloat in the rising tide of biological imperative.

"Your heat will reach the breaking point in about ninety minutes," Kael informs me, shadows extending from his body to create a cocoon-like darkness around the platform. "I will get your resistance connections, safe house locations, and communication codes. The only question is whether your mind stays intact enough to use your language skills afterward."

The threat isn't subtle. Cooperate or be broken so completely that only my womb remains useful. As if to emphasize the point, shadow tendrils wrap around my throat, not choking but reminding me how easily they could.

"This method works on 94% of omega subjects," he continues, his massive form looming over me. "Your mental training might slow things down a little, but biology always wins in the end."

His confidence is absolute because it's justified. No one withstands their own biology forever. The resistance knows this—it's why unregistered omegas receive priority extraction from Shadow Dominion territory. Once heat begins, capture means complete defeat.

I close my eyes, focusing on resistance mental techniques with increasing desperation. Create memory mazes. Build decoy information. Protect core network data behind walls of trivial details. But each passing minute makes concentration harder as heat chemistry floods my system.

"Your struggle is impressive," Kael acknowledges, his voice somehow closer though I haven't heard him move. "Most people give up mental resistance within minutes of confirmed pre-heat."

I open my eyes to find him directly above me, all four arms positioned around the platform. His face hovers inches from mine, those swirling purple eyes studying me with disconcerting intensity.

"Your mind will surrender just as your body has," he promises, one massive hand moving toward my face. "It's just a matter of time."

As his cold fingers trace my burning cheek, my body responds with another shameful rush of slick. The omega within recognizes a compatible alpha regardless of species, regardless of captivity circumstances, regardless of everything I believe and fight for.

His touch lingers, unexpectedly gentle for a creature who could crush my skull with minimal effort. Something flickers in those alien eyes—not compassion, but perhaps a hint of genuine curiosity beyond mere interrogation protocol.

"Interesting," he murmurs, almost to himself. "Most omegas this far into heat have completely given in mentally. Your continued resistance suggests something unusual in your mind that deserves closer study."

Even in this moment of utter vulnerability, he sees me as a specimen to analyze. Yet beneath his clinical assessment, I detect something else—a subtle note of respect that contradicts everything resistance intelligence claims about shadow demon attitudes toward humans.

The contradiction gives me something to focus on beyond the mounting heat, a puzzle that momentarily distracts from biological surrender. But time, the one thing I desperately need more of, continues slipping away with each passing moment.

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