Page 34 of Dragon's Captive

We have evolved beyond our beginning. The question that remains, hanging unspoken in the antiseptic air of this hidden medical facility, is what we might become by the end.

CHAPTER 15

HEART OF THE DRAGON

Medical facilities havethis universal quality—antiseptic, austere, with an atmosphere that stretches minutes into eternities. Even when they're hollowed from mountainsides and staffed by a mixture of humans and scaled beings.

For three days, I occupy a bed that promises comfort but never quite delivers, surrounded by monitors whose rhythmic beeping seems deliberately calibrated to prevent proper rest. Thin tubes extend from my arms, delivering a mixture of minerals and nutrients my human physiology can't produce naturally but that my half-dragon twins apparently require to survive. The contradiction doesn't escape me—my own body inadequate even for nurturing the hybrid offspring growing within. Another shortcoming to add to my collection.

"The supplements are having the desired effect," Dr. Lydia Morales—the iron-haired human physician who apparently oversees this facility—informs me during her morning assessment. "The embryonic development has stabilized. One more day of observation, then you can return to Drake's Peak with an oral supplementation regimen."

She communicates with the brisk proficiency of someone who's witnessed too much to be readily impressed, even bythe intervention that rescued my pregnancy. I find myself wondering about her history—how many claimed omegas has she treated, how many hybrid pregnancies has she shepherded to term, how many failures has she documented.

"How frequently does this happen?" I ask, gesturing toward the IV feeding blue-tinted fluid into my veins. "This... incompatibility."

Her professional mask slips slightly, clinical detachment yielding to what might be genuine compassion. "Dragon-human pregnancies present unique challenges. About thirty percent experience some variant of mineral deficiency crisis." She checks my vital signs with methodical efficiency. "You can consider yourself lucky the Commander detected the complication immediately. Most cases aren't identified this quickly."

Lucky. An intriguing characterization of my situation. I'm uncertain whether "lucky" accurately describes being abducted, claimed, and impregnated with hybrid offspring that nearly killed both themselves and me through fundamental biological incompatibility. But I keep these thoughts private. Dr. Morales strikes me as someone who comprehends more than she reveals, and antagonizing the person ensuring my twins' survival seems unwise.

Kairyx arrives moments after her departure, his towering frame making the medical chamber feel suddenly confined despite its spacious dimensions. Throughout these three days, he's maintained an almost constant vigil, departing only when territorial obligations demanded attention. He rests in a specially reinforced chair beside my bed, refuses separation during medical procedures, and observes the staff with a focus that would terrify me if it weren't so evidently protective.

"The doctor says one more day," I tell him as he settles into his now-familiar position, his gaze scanning the monitoringequipment before finding my face. "Then we can return... home."

The word surprises even me. Drake's Peak isn't home. It's imprisonment, gilded and increasingly tolerable, but imprisonment nonetheless. Yet the term emerged naturally, without calculation, revealing fractures in my mental defenses I hadn't recognized.

If Kairyx notices my verbal slip, he doesn't mention it. He simply inclines his head, the obsidian patterns across his shoulders shifting with what I've learned to interpret as relief.

"The mineral supplements will continue indefinitely," he says, reaching to adjust my blanket with unexpected delicacy. "And weekly monitoring at minimum. We cannot risk further complications."

The statement encompasses multiple layers—concern for the twins, certainly, but also for me. This distinction both puzzles and unsettles me. According to resistance narratives I've absorbed for years, Primes care exclusively for breeding potential, not for the vessels carrying their young. Practical interest in successful reproduction, not genuine concern for the omega involved.

But recent events have dismantled those simplistic narratives beyond salvaging. Kairyx's desperate flight through blizzard conditions, his refusal to leave during treatment, the flash of raw fear I glimpsed when healers worked to stabilize the twins—none align with the monster archetype I've clung to for self-preservation.

"Why did you select me?" The question materializes without forethought, born from days of wondering what distinguishes me from previous claimed omegas. "From all possible omegas you could have taken, why me specifically?"

His gaze pierces me with disconcerting intensity, vertical pupils contracting before he responds. "You weren't selected. You were discovered."

"What does that mean?"

"It means there was no deliberate choice process. I found you during routine inspection, recognized your suppressed nature, and claimed you according to Conquest law." His tone remains matter-of-fact, clinical. "Your question suggests a catalog of options from which I purposefully chose you. That's not what happened."

"But you seemed... pleased. When you realized I'd never been with monsters before. Elara mentioned you valued my 'purity'." The word tastes bitter as I speak it, a reminder of how completely that state has been eradicated.

Something flickers across his features—discomfort, perhaps, at having this private preference exposed. "Yes," he acknowledges, the scales along his shoulders darkening fractionally. "Previous attempts at breeding were... unsuccessful."

This admission catches me unprepared. Not the information itself—I understood dragons faced reproductive challenges; it partially explains their obsessive claiming of human omegas—but his willingness to reveal vulnerability.

"How many?" I ask, my tone gentler than intended.

"Seven." The single word carries volumes of disappointment, of failure that evidently weighs on him despite his position and power. "Seven claimed omegas, all previously mated with other Primes. None conceived successfully. Those who did miscarried within weeks."

Understanding crystallizes with uncomfortable clarity. "And you theorized that a human without previous Prime contact might have better chances."

He dips his head slightly, confirming my assessment. "Dragon bloodlines are weakening. Despite our apparent power, our numbers decrease with each generation. Viable offspring have become... rare."

"Is this common knowledge?" I ask, connecting pieces in my mind. "The reproductive difficulties?"

"No." His response comes immediately and firmly. "Such vulnerability would be exploited by rival species. Our public narrative emphasizes strength, dominance, successful adaptation to this world."

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