Page 10 of Shadow's Claim

CHAPTER5

THE CLAIMING CHAMBER

I always thoughtI'd die fighting. A bullet during a failed extraction. A shadow tendril through the heart during a raid gone wrong. Quick. Clean. Heroic, even, in the mythology resistance fighters build to keep ourselves sane.

Instead, as my heat progresses toward the breaking point Kael predicted, he makes a decision. Rather than continuing the interrogation in that sterile chamber, he gathers me in his four arms and carries me through the shadows themselves.

The sensation is disorienting—cold darkness enveloping us before parting like a veil. We emerge in a space that defies my expectations of shadow demon architecture.

Unlike the stark utility of most Shadow Dominion facilities, this chamber combines intimidation with disturbing beauty. Walls pulse with living shadows that form intricate, ever-changing patterns. Furniture sized for shadow demon proportions appears almost sculptural—all sleek lines and impossible angles. And dominating everything, a massive platform that can only be intended for claiming.

"The Sovereign will want your resistance connections extracted properly," Kael explains, his four arms working in perfect coordination to activate monitoring devices around the chamber. "But your omega status takes priority under Conquest law."

How thoughtful of them to have a bureaucratic order of operations for my complete violation.

He sets me on the platform, shadow restraints flowing up to secure my limbs. They adjust automatically to my increasingly feverish movements, neither tight enough to damage nor loose enough to offer any hope of escape.

"This location provides necessary privacy," he continues, moving around the chamber with disturbing grace for a being his size. "Standard interrogation chambers lack appropriate... accommodations."

The platform beneath me softens subtly, conforming to my body in a way that would be comfortable under literally any other circumstances. Through floor-to-ceiling windows, I glimpse the Shadow Dominion's jagged skyline, bathed in the perpetual twilight that defines this monstrous city.

Night deepens outside those massive windows designed to allow maximum darkness into the space. My condition deteriorates with frightening speed. Without specialized suppressants, years of chemically controlled biology erupt with vengeance.

My skin feels like it's being slowly roasted from the inside out. Even the whisper of air from the ventilation system feels like sandpaper against my hypersensitive flesh. The silken sheets beneath me, probably meant to be a luxury, feel like they're branding my back wherever they touch. Between my thighs, I'm mortified to feel the steady, unstoppable production of slick—my body's betrayal manifesting in the most humiliating way possible. Each pulse of my heart sends another wave of liquid need pooling beneath me.

The emptiness inside is the worst part—a hollow, gnawing ache that grows with each passing minute. It's like being stabbed from the inside, a pain that can't be reached or soothed, only endured. Or filled. My traitor brain helpfully supplies that last thought, and I hate myself for it almost as much as I hate the shadow demon who put me here.

When Kael returns, his form seems to absorb what little light remains in the room. "Your heat says what your lips won't," he states, shadows extending from his body in writhing tendrils that reach for my trembling form. "I'll have your resistance secrets soon enough. But first, I'll claim what Conquest law grants me."

His clothing dissolves into shadows, revealing his alien anatomy fully. I try to look away, but heat-induced desperation betrays me. My gaze fixes on his body with horrified fascination.

Oh god. No. Not that. I've endured two full years of Resistance briefings on Prime biology, seen the clinical diagrams, heard the whispered warnings from escaped omegas. Nothing prepared me for the reality.

Midnight-black skin covers powerful muscles that shift beneath his surface like living darkness. His four arms hang at his sides, each powerful enough to snap me in half without effort. But it's what emerges from between his legs that makes my stomach twist with equal parts terror and—god help me—desperate, unwanted anticipation.

His cock doesn't simply extend—it unfurls, like some night-blooming flower designed for predation rather than beauty. It's massive in a way that defies human anatomy, that should be physically impossible to accommodate. The surface ripples with movement all its own—ridges and textures spiraling along its length, some raised, others recessed, creating a topography that seems engineered for a single purpose: ensuring omega submission regardless of consent.

My mouth goes dry. My heart thunders so hard I feel it in my throat, in my temples, between my legs. A traitorous whimper escapes before I can bite it back. The sound is pathetic, broken, not mine—but it is. That's me making that noise, me responding to the sight of the thing that's about to claim me.

The midnight-black skin occasionally parts to reveal hints of violet underneath that match the glow of his eyes, pulsing in rhythm with what must be his heartbeat. The contrast is hypnotic, beautiful in the way deadly things often are—like watching lightning strike too close during a storm.

Most disturbing is how it moves—not just erect and waiting like human anatomy, but actively searching, the tip swaying slightly as though tasting the air. It reminds me of a snake tracking prey by scent, and the realization that I am that prey sends electric shivers racing down my spine to pool between my thighs in another humiliating rush of slick.

Pre-fluid beads at the tip, but unlike human emission, it appears darker, almost iridescent in the low light. When a drop falls to the platform, it sizzles slightly against the surface, leaving a faint mark. The implications of what that fluid might do inside me sends a fresh wave of panic through my system, tangled with something else I refuse to name.

"No," I whisper, the word barely audible even to my own ears. My body contradicts me immediately, another rush of slick dampening my thighs in biological welcome. The scent of my arousal intensifies, hanging heavy in the air between us. I smell like need and surrender and everything I swore I'd never be.

Kael inhales deeply, his purple eyes brightening with predatory satisfaction. "I can smell your slick from here," he says, voice darkening to a register that makes the shadows pulse. "Your conscious rejection is irrelevant. Your body knows what it needs."

The platform dips as he positions himself between my spread thighs. His massive form blocks out the dim light, creating a shadow that feels both threatening and oddly protective. The shifting of weight tilts my body slightly toward him—another betrayal, this time by gravity itself.

I struggle against the restraints one last time, knowing it's futile but unable to simply submit without a fight. The shadow-matter bonds merely stretch slightly before reforming, adaptable but unbreakable. All I accomplish is rubbing my already sensitive skin raw.

When his prehensile cock first touches me, I flinch so hard I nearly wrench my shoulder. It's not the brutal invasion I expected. Instead, it's exploratory—the tip traces along my inner thigh, leaving a trail of coolness that makes my overheated skin tingle and buzz, like touching a live wire but... pleasant? No, that can't be right. But it is. The contrast between my burning skin and its cool touch is intoxicating.

It moves up to my slick-soaked folds with deliberate precision, and I bite my lip until I taste copper to keep from arching into the contact. The touch sends shockwaves through my nervous system—my toes curl, my muscles spasm, my breath catches on a half-formed sob. It feels so wrong and so necessary at once.

The texture is nothing like human skin—smoother in some places, grippier in others, like fine sandpaper coated in oil. The temperature difference is what undoes me though—my heat-fevered body craves that coolness like a woman dying of thirst craves water. Each point of contact is both relief and torment.

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