3. Caught in Darkness
CHAPTER 3
CAUGHT IN DARKNESS
The darkness swallows us completely as Lord Kael Nightshadow initiates shadow transport. It's not movement as humans understand it—more like reality folding inward, our bodies passing through dimensions humans weren't meant to experience. My stomach lurches, brain struggling to process sensations it has no framework to interpret.
Then we materialize in a chamber I immediately recognize from resistance intelligence briefings—one of the specialized interrogation rooms beneath the Midnight Courts. A place humans enter but rarely leave.
Kael releases me so suddenly I stumble, my legs unsteady after the shadow transit. Four massive arms move in precise coordination, activating systems embedded in the walls. Light blooms—not the harsh illumination of standard interrogation chambers, but a soft purple glow that casts everything in twilight shadows.
"Precautions against escape attempts," he explains, gesturing toward the windowless walls pulsing with living shadow-matter. The darkness itself seems alive, flowing in patterns that make my vision blur when I try to focus on them. "The room responds only to shadow demon control."
I scan for exits despite knowing there won't be any obvious ones. The chamber is circular, walls seamless, ceiling lost in darkness overhead. A massive platform dominates the center—not quite a bed, not quite an examination table. Its purpose requires no explanation.
My finger brushes the silver pendant at my throat, now warm against my skin. The emergency dose of suppressants has activated, but it feels pitifully inadequate against what's happening to my body. Heat symptoms accelerate, skin hypersensitive even to the fabric of my uniform.
"Your little device is transmitting," Kael says, one shadow tendril wrapping around the pendant. His eyes narrow with something like satisfaction. "Good. When your resistance friends attempt rescue, they'll join you in captivity."
My breath catches. He's using me as bait.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I respond, voice steadier than I feel. "I'm a certified translator?—"
"You've maintained your deception for nearly three years," he interrupts, studying me with clinical interest. "Most unregistered omegas are discovered within months. Your specialized suppressants contain military-grade components that haven't been manufactured since before the Conquest."
Four arms work independently—one removing my identification cards for inspection, another activating a shadowy interface on the wall, the third holding my communications device, while the fourth produces a small device I recognize with dread. A biochemical scanner, designed to detect and analyze pheromone patterns.
"They're slowly poisoning you," he continues, holding the scanner near my throat where the pendant rests. "Your liver function shows irregularities. Your hormonal patterns indicate systemic damage that will become permanent without intervention."
"Better than the alternative," I snap before I can stop myself.
His head tilts slightly, those swirling purple eyes reassessing me. "You believe death preferable to claiming?"
Something in his tone suggests this isn't merely interrogation—there's genuine curiosity beneath the predatory focus.
"I believe choice preferable to captivity," I reply, straightening my spine despite the growing heat beneath my skin.
Something shifts in those swirling purple eyes—not softening, but recalculating. "Choice," he repeats, testing the word as though it's an alien concept. "An interesting perspective from a species that chose destruction over adaptation."
Before I can respond to this wildly revisionist history of the Conquest, he activates my communications device, examining the encrypted interface with disturbing efficiency.
"Resistance technology," he observes, all four hands working in coordination. Two hold me immobile against the wall while the others manipulate the device and scanner simultaneously. "The punishment for sedition is death. The penalty for omega registration evasion is permanent assignment to breeding facilities."
He leans closer, his face inches from mine. "Unless claimed directly by a Prime alpha who chooses to take responsibility."
The options laid before me create a cocktail of terror more potent than any suppressed heat. Death. Breeding facility. Or personal claiming by the Shadow Dominion's most feared enforcer. A menu of horrors with no acceptable choices.
"Your resistance connections will be extracted," he continues, voice deceptively calm as he guides me toward the central platform. "The process can be relatively painless or excruciating, depending on your cooperation."
I resist, but it's futile—like fighting against an ocean current. His four arms could easily crush me, yet he uses only enough force to demonstrate the complete control he possesses. The platform itself comes alive as he approaches, shadow-matter flowing up to create restraints more effective than any physical bonds.
When I still struggle, shadow tendrils extend from his body, wrapping around my wrists and ankles. They're neither solid nor gas—something in between that feels cold against my increasingly warm skin. Their touch sends unwelcome jolts through my nervous system, making the heat symptoms intensify despite the pendant's chemical intervention.
"Your body has initiated pre-heat," Kael states, the scanner displaying data only he can interpret. "Without chemical interference, full heat biology will manifest within hours. Your resistance connections will be significantly easier to extract during heat vulnerability."
The clinical assessment chills me more than any threat. He's going to wait until my own biology betrays every secret I've fought to protect. Until heat-madness makes me beg to reveal everything just for the relief of alpha claiming.
With terrifying gentleness, he removes the pendant from my neck, examining it with analytical precision. Rather than destroying it, he places it carefully on a surface beyond my view.
"The signal will be more useful active," he explains. "Your resistance contacts will reveal themselves when they attempt rescue."
His absolute confidence sends ice through my veins despite the growing heat. No one escapes Lord Kael Nightshadow. The stories whispered in resistance safe houses all confirm this truth.
The shadow tendrils guide me onto the central platform, securing my limbs with unbreakable shadow-matter bonds. The surface beneath me feels neither warm nor cold—just solid enough to support my weight while remaining slightly yielding, like memory foam made from darkness itself.
"Your mind resists," Kael observes, his massive form looming over me, "but your biology acknowledges truth. Omegas require proper claiming for optimal function. The chemicals merely delayed inevitable submission."
"Nothing is inevitable," I say through gritted teeth, fighting the rising fog in my mind as pre-heat intensifies. "Humans have choice. Free will. Concepts your kind seem incapable of understanding."
My defiance seems to intrigue rather than anger him. His head tilts again, studying me with renewed interest.
"Fascinating. Most omegas in pre-heat proximity to compatible alpha pheromones demonstrate immediate submission behaviors. Your resistance indicates unusual psychological conditioning."
"Or maybe I just don't find four-armed monsters particularly attractive," I snap, clinging to anger as an anchor against the rising tide of unwanted biological response.
A sound emerges from him that takes me moments to identify—something like a chuckle, deep and resonant.
"Attraction is irrelevant to biological compatibility," he responds, shadow tendrils resuming their exploration. "Your omega receptors have already recognized suitable alpha presence."
As if to prove his point, the tendrils slip beneath my clothes, finding the damning evidence of slick already soaking through my undergarments. The contact sends shock waves through my system. My back arches against the restraints, a whimper escaping despite my best efforts to remain silent.
"Resistance operatives train to withstand standard interrogation," Kael continues, moving to the shadowy interface on the wall. "They cannot train omega biology to reject alpha claiming. Evolution ensures survival through reproduction regardless of individual preference."
Data materializes in the air before him—my translator file, assignments, locations visited. Then additional information appears—surveillance footage of me entering buildings flagged for monitoring, timed perfectly with omega extractions and resistance activities.
"We've been tracking you for weeks," he reveals, four arms manipulating the data displays with fluid precision. "Your careful deception drew attention precisely because it was so perfect. Real beta translators make occasional mistakes in protocol. You never did."
The revelation hits me like a physical blow. All my carefully maintained covers, the meticulously calculated routines designed to make me forgettable—they became the very thing that marked me as different.
"The other resistance members captured today were merely bait," he continues, turning back toward me. "You were the primary target."
Cold horror washes through me. I led them straight to our network. The people I was meant to protect now endangered because of my capture.
Kael approaches the platform again, all four hands positioned around my restrained form. His shadow manipulation creates a microclimate around us—temperature dropping to contrast with my overheating skin.
"Your heat will progress rapidly after years of chemical suppression," he says, purple eyes studying my reactions with scientific precision. "The accelerated biology will make resistance interrogation unnecessary. Your mind will surrender along with your body."
One massive hand moves to my face, thumb brushing across my cheek in a gesture that might seem almost gentle under different circumstances.
"I find myself curious about your resistance network's structure," he continues, voice dropping to a register that resonates through my chest. "The psychological profile that enables an omega to resist natural biology for personal ideology. The methods used to manufacture military-grade suppressants under Conquest restrictions."
His touch lingers, sending unwelcome warmth through my system. "These questions are particularly relevant to my current investigation into resistance chemical production facilities."
Despite the fogging of my mind, I recognize the deliberate information drop—he's telling me exactly what he wants to know, priming my subconscious before heat-madness makes resistance impossible.
"Rest while you can, little translator," Kael says, withdrawing his touch. "When your heat fully manifests, we will have much to discuss about your resistance activities."
He moves away, leaving me restrained on the platform. The shadow tendrils withdraw from my body, but the damage is done. My skin burns with increasing sensitivity, my mind growing hazier as pre-heat intensifies without chemical barriers.
Through the mounting biological betrayal, one thought remains crystal clear: I've been caught in darkness more complete than any shadow. The enforcer hasn't claimed me yet, but it's only a matter of time before my body's demands overwhelm any remaining resistance.
The worst part isn't the capture or the coming interrogation. It's knowing that soon, very soon, I'll be begging for the very thing I've spent years fighting against.
And there's nothing I can do to stop it.