Page 54 of Warlord’s Prize

His knot will release eventually, the biological lock dissolving as it's served its purpose. My heat will fade in another day or two, his rut subsiding with it. We'll return to our roles—warlord and strategic advisor, alpha and omega, conqueror and claimed.

But something fundamental has shifted between us, something neither fortress walls nor conquest law can contain or define. Within the constraints that bind us, we've found something unexpected—a partnership neither of us anticipated when claiming ceremony first established our connection.

For now, I rest in his arms, my small body encompassed by his massive one, and accept the paradox we've become—captive and captor, omega and alpha, partners by choice within a world that gave us none.

CHAPTER22

BLOOD AND BLADE

Days passin a blur of flesh and fire.

My body falls into a rhythm with Kazuul's that I never thought possible. Every night—sometimes mornings too—his massive form covers mine, claiming me with an intensity that grows stronger as his rut deepens in response to my fertility signals.

Today marks seven days since we decided to try again. A week of his seed filling me each night, locked inside by his knot while his hands trace protective patterns over my belly. A week of hope taking root alongside whatever might be growing inside me.

I arch beneath him now, gasping as he drives deeper. His massive cock stretches me to my limit, the familiar burn giving way to pleasure that borders on madness. The vibrating nodule at its base hums against my clit with pinpoint precision, sending electric jolts through my core. The unique oni adaptation that once seemed like a tool of control now feels like a gift designed specifically for my pleasure.

"Mine," he growls, golden eyes glowing in the dim light of our chamber. His rut has intensified over the past few days, making him more possessive, more primal. The tribal markings across his crimson skin seem to shift and pulse with each powerful thrust, black patterns darkening with his arousal.

"Yours," I agree, beyond fighting what my body knows to be true. My hands clutch at his massive shoulders, nails digging into hide too tough to mark. His skin burns hotter than human-normal, the heat of him seeping into my bones and chasing away the lingering chill of grief.

Despite the rut-driven urgency of his claiming, Kazuul watches my face carefully, adjusting his angle when he sees me wince, slowing when the pleasure becomes too intense. This care—this attention to my responses—still surprises me after everything. My former captor has become attentive to my needs in ways I never expected.

"Going to fill you again," he promises, voice dropping deeper as his pace increases. The rumble vibrates through me where our bodies connect. "Going to make sure my seed takes root this time."

His words send a rush of slick around his invading length. The breeding talk that once horrified me now drives my arousal higher, omega biology responding eagerly to alpha promises. My claiming mark pulses at my neck, hypersensitive to his proximity and intent.

The pressure builds inside me, coiling tighter with each precise thrust. When his massive hand slides between us to press against my lower belly, feeling himself moving inside me through the distended skin, I shatter. The orgasm crashes through me in merciless waves, inner walls clenching around him as I cry out his name. My vision blurs at the edges, pleasure so intense it borders on pain.

He follows immediately, his own release triggered by my body's response. I feel his knot swelling, stretching me impossibly wider as it locks into place. The pressure against my sensitive inner walls triggers aftershocks of pleasure that leave me trembling. His seed floods me in hot pulses, filling me so completely that my abdomen visibly distends with the quantity.

We lie joined together, his massive body carefully arranged to avoid crushing me while maintaining the essential connection. His hand splays possessively across my belly, feeling the slight bulge where his seed fills me completely. The contrast between his crimson fingers and my pale skin creates a visual reminder of our fundamental differences, yet somehow heightens the intimacy of the moment.

"Do you think it worked this time?" I ask, the question slipping out before I can stop it. I've tried not to voice this hope, afraid of another disappointment, another loss. The memory of our child slipping away is still raw, a wound that hasn't fully healed.

His golden eyes soften as they meet mine, vertical pupils widening slightly. His expression holds something I never expected to see from an oni warlord – vulnerability. "Your scent is changing," he says, tracing gentle patterns across my skin. His touch leaves trails of warmth that linger pleasantly. "It's too early to be certain, but there's something different."

Hope flutters in my chest, fragile and terrifying. I cover his hand with mine, feeling the heat of him seeping into my skin. We rest together, his knot ensuring we remain connected in the most primal way possible. The chamber smells of our mingled scents – his alpha musk and smoky notes blending with my omega sweetness and the distinct scent of our mating.

Neither of us hears the door open.

The first warning is a soft hissing sound, like air escaping a punctured bladder. Kazuul's head snaps up, nostrils flaring, but it's already too late. A pale green mist fills the air around us, clinging to the ceiling before drifting downward in sinister tendrils.

"Don't breathe," Kazuul orders, his body tensing over mine protectively. But even as he speaks, I see his muscles locking unnaturally. His eyes widen, vertical pupils contracting to thin slits as he recognizes what's happening. "Paralytic. Imperial formula."

He tries to move, to pull away, but his knot keeps us locked together in the most vulnerable position imaginable. Panic surges through me as I realize our predicament—joined as one, neither able to escape without the other. His massive weight, normally carefully distributed, becomes a potential threat as his control slips away.

Two figures step from the shadows near the door. They wear servant's garb, but their movements are all wrong—too fluid, too precise. Imperial agents, not household staff. I recognize the calculated efficiency in their steps from my resistance training. These are professional killers, not mere assassins.

"The mighty warlord," one says, voice dripping with disdain. His accent carries the distinctive inflection of the imperial core. "Caught with his knot in his pet. How convenient."

Kazuul snarls, fighting against the paralytic with sheer willpower. I can feel his massive body trembling with effort, muscles straining against the toxin's effects. A low growl builds in his chest, weaker than normal but still threatening. The mist was designed specifically for oni biology—targeting their unique respiratory system with ruthless efficiency.

"It won't kill you," the second assassin explains, drawing a long, curved blade from beneath his tunic. The metal gleams in the dim light, inscribed with symbols I don't recognize. "The emperor wants you conscious for this part. Wants you to watch as your bloodline ends, as your claimed omega dies carrying whatever spawn you've planted in her."

Cold terror washes through me as the blade catches the light. They mean to kill me first—to make Kazuul watch as they cut his child from my body before they finish him. The calculated cruelty is perfectly aligned with everything I've heard about Emperor Goran. This isn't just assassination; it's psychological torture designed to break Kazuul before death.

The first assassin steps closer, a smaller blade in his hand clearly meant for me. Its edge gleams with a substance that makes my skin crawl just looking at it. "Hold her still," he instructs his companion, as if Kazuul has any choice in the matter. "We need to be precise about this."

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