He doesn't have the energy to struggle anymore, even enhanced as he is, his limbs are leaden and his head is foggy and even the icy cold of the room, now that he's been released from the humid heat of the creature's belly, or whatever that had been, isn't enough to stir him into any kind of motion. Not even to pull away from the creature that's curled itself between his legs, that's lapping at him now with one rough-tongued mouth.

The light's no comfort, not when it's the creature's eyes staring balefully down at him, and neither is the fierce promise of care. The care of a monster, a creature made of claws, of mouths full of tongues and sharp teeth, of some shapeless, consuming maw and the belly attached to it.

He's screamed himself hoarse, his voice nothing but a rasping, wordless croak, and so he has to content himself with struggling for enough coherence to think, as clearly as he can manage it, I'm not yours. I'll never be yours.