Page 38 of Naga's Mate

His casual observation sends me down another experimental path—one where we function as complementary research components rather than captor and captive. For several hours, we work in synchronicity both familiar and surprising. His chemosensory abilities detect molecular patterns invisible to my limited human perception; my analytical approach identifies connections his instinct-driven assessment might overlook.

Without explicit negotiation, we've established a research partnership bridging our different biological capabilities. It shouldn't work this well. Predator and prey aren't meant to collaborate. Yet here we are, creating something neither could accomplish independently.

When I finally isolate a compound showing promise for stabilizing hybrid cell development—the project we began before my extraction—the achievement creates a moment transcending our complicated history.

"The cellular cohesion factor," Nezzar notes, his iridescent scales catching laboratory light as he leans closer to examine my results. "You've identified the missing component."

"The hybrid cells maintain structural integrity through accelerated mitosis," I confirm, excitement momentarily overwhelming emotional barriers I've constructed. "The failure point was never genetic incompatibility but cellular communication pathway disruption."

His eyes meet mine, and something electric passes between us that has nothing to do with alpha dominance and everything to do with shared discovery. For that brief moment, we're not naga and human, not alpha and omega, not captor and captive—just two minds on discovery's edge.

The moment shatters as reality reasserts itself. This research could potentially create more viable human-naga offspring. Children like the one I chose to sacrifice. The implications hit with physical force, and I step back from the equipment, suddenly struggling to breathe.

Nezzar's tongue flicks outward, tasting my sudden distress. "Enough for today," he says quietly. "You need rest."

I should agree. Should retreat to the careful distance we've maintained since my return. Instead, something impulsive rises within me—the need to confront the question that's been haunting me for weeks.

"Why haven't you claimed me again?"

The words hang between us, cutting through all pretense. Nezzar goes completely still, only subtle scale movements betraying his surprise at my directness.

"Is it punishment?" I press, unable to stop now that I've begun. "For choosing extraction? For terminating—" The word catches in my throat.

"No." His response emerges with unexpected gentleness. "Punishment serves no purpose here."

"Then why? The medicinal venom prevents withdrawal, but we both know it's not the same." My hands gesture in frustrated emphasis. "My body has been conditioned to expect something you're deliberately withholding."

Nezzar shifts his massive form, coils arranging into what I recognize as his contemplative position. Golden eyes with vertical pupils study me with assessment both clinical and somehow deeply personal.

"You didn't choose to leave," he says finally, each word measured carefully. "You were manipulated while biochemically vulnerable. Reed exploited your condition."

"We both know there's more to it than that." The honesty burns, but I push forward. "I knew what the capsule would do. I made that choice."

"Under duress and withdrawal." His scales shift in patterns indicating complex emotion. "The circumstances prevented genuine choice."

"That's rich coming from someone who initially claimed me without any pretense of consent," I say, a bitter laugh escaping my throat.

"Yes." His simple acknowledgment stops me cold. "Our beginning was not based on choice. Which is why this must be."

"This?" I repeat, not understanding.

"The choice must be yours this time." No command in his voice, no alpha assertion—just a statement that somehow changes everything between us. "Claiming without consent created our initial dynamic. Whatever comes next needs a different foundation."

The words hit me like a physical force, reshaping everything I thought I understood about our relationship. This acknowledgment of my agency—something supposedly impossible under Conquest Law—creates a shift I struggle to process.

"Conquest Law gives you absolute claiming rights," I say, voicing my confusion. "Omegas can't legally refuse."

"Legal frameworks don't encompass everything that can exist between us," he responds, his voice softer than I've ever heard it. "What developed between us became something beyond standard parameters."

I lean against the counter, suddenly needing support. "You're saying you won't claim me again unless I choose it?"

"Yes."

One syllable that contradicts everything I believed about him, about naga alphas, about this entire situation.

"Why?" I ask, needing to understand this impossible shift.

His powerful body moves restlessly, scales catching light in mesmerizing patterns. "Because claiming creates connection. Connection without choice becomes mere possession. What existed between us grew into something more than possession."

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