Page 34 of Naga's Mate

"Those who surrendered will face judgment according to Conquest Law," Nezzar replies, his powerful form navigating the marshy terrain effortlessly. "Those who resisted have been eliminated."

I should feel horror at this. Instead, I remember trophy collections, weapons designed specifically to maximize suffering, Reed's clinical description of killing naga children. The moral calculus has grown too complicated for simple human/naga divisions.

As we move deeper into the wetlands where specialized transport awaits, I rest my head against Nezzar's scales, exhaustion finally overcoming anxiety. My final thought before surrendering to the first genuine sleep in fourteen days isn't about freedom or captivity, but about the complex territory between—where adaptation might constitute its own form of resistance, and where becoming something new might hold greater value than preserving what was.

Whatever tomorrow brings, at least the constant pain has ceased. For now, that's enough.

CHAPTER17

RETURN TO THE COILS

The transport glidesthrough the wetlands, fog swirling around us like ghostly fingers. I drift in and out of consciousness, time losing all meaning. Pain is my only constant companion—sharp, relentless, and entirely deserved.

I made my choice. I swallowed Reed's capsule knowing it would kill the life growing inside me. Freedom at any cost. Except the price turned out to be higher than I ever imagined.

"Approaching secure perimeter," Nezzar announces, his voice cutting through my mental haze.

I force my eyes open and take in my surroundings through blurred vision. The specialized naga medical vehicle hums with technology I once would have given anything to study. Now I'm just cargo being transported back to captivity. The image of Reed's broken body against the wall flashes through my mind—his life extinguished in seconds by Nezzar's powerful tail. I should feel something about his death. Horror. Grief. Anything. Instead, all I can think about is the collection of naga juvenile specimens I found in his laboratory. Trophy kills displayed with scientific precision.

My body convulses suddenly, muscles seizing so violently that I bite through my bottom lip. The taste of blood fills my mouth—a minor hurt compared to the supernova of agony radiating from my empty womb.

"Your system is failing," Nezzar states, his clinical tone at odds with the tension visible in his coiled form. "The purging compounds were designed for elimination, not survival."

He administers medical venom through a precision injector rather than the intimate claiming bite I'd grown accustomed to. Relief spirals through my ravaged nervous system immediately. The withdrawal symptoms don't disappear completely, but they recede from unbearable to merely excruciating. I hate how my body responds to his biochemistry, cells recognizing their master even as my mind rebels against the dependency.

I hate even more the tears of gratitude that form in my eyes.

"The compound worked faster than they expected," I whisper, remembering the resistance team's clinical observations as I hemorrhaged on their transport floor. "They didn't care if I survived the purge."

Nezzar's tongue flicks out, tasting the air. "Your survival was secondary to eliminating all traces of naga influence. Including our offspring."

No accusation colors his voice. Just simple recognition of fact that somehow cuts deeper than any recrimination could. The resistance lied about their motivations while Nezzar's brutal honesty leaves nowhere to hide.

When we reach the research complex, I notice dramatic changes since my extraction. Security enhancements dominate the landscape—reinforced barriers, increased military presence, guards with specialized combat modifications evident in their scale patterns. A territory violated, now fortified against further intrusion.

I brace myself to be taken to our previously shared quarters, expecting whatever form his reclaiming will take. Punishment. Dominance display. The triumphant alpha reasserting ownership over his wayward omega. The script seems predetermined by biological imperative and Conquest Law.

Instead, we enter an unfamiliar section of the complex—a specialized medical wing with technology beyond anything I've seen despite months of exposure to naga advancements. Living walls pulse with bioluminescent patterns that somehow soothe my hypersensitive nervous system. Water features circulate with purpose beyond aesthetics, humidity calibrated to optimize healing.

"You require healing before anything else," Nezzar says, his tone neutral where I expected rage or triumphant possession.

The recovery room blends clinical functionality with organic comfort in a way only naga architecture achieves. Monitoring systems integrate with living plant components. Atmospheric regulators maintain perfect balance of temperature and humidity. A recovery platform conforms to body weight, relieving pressure from damaged tissues.

"I don't understand," I admit, too exhausted for pretense. "Why aren't you punishing me?"

His golden eyes study me with unreadable emotion. "Punishment would serve no purpose. Your body already suffers consequences more severe than anything I could impose."

The following days reveal the full extent of what the resistance's "treatment" did to my body. The purging compounds didn't simply terminate my pregnancy and neutralize venom dependency—they systematically attacked every cell that had adapted to naga biochemistry. Like scorching earth to kill a single weed, indifferent to collateral damage.

Naga medical technology proves far more advanced than I would have believed possible. Living tissue interfaces bond with my damaged systems, promoting healing while monitoring recovery. Specialized venom compounds target specific areas of damage without triggering the pleasure response or dependency cycle that characterized our previous relationship.

"Your physiology shows remarkable resilience," observes one of the specialists Nezzar has brought in to oversee my treatment. "Most humans would not survive such aggressive chemical purging."

"The same trait that enabled her unprecedented adaptation to the venom bond," Nezzar replies, something like appreciation in his voice—not possession but scientific recognition.

Throughout this process, Nezzar remains nearby but maintains physical distance that increasingly confuses my clearing mind. Where is the dominant alpha reclaiming his omega? Where is the rage at my betrayal? The punishment for my willing participation in the resistance extraction?

On the fifth night, as specialized healing compounds cycle through my system, I finally gather courage to voice the question that haunts me.

---