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Lightning splits the sky directly overhead, the simultaneous thunderclap vibrating through the stone at my back. In that brilliant moment of illumination, something makes my blood freeze in my veins.

A massive winged silhouette banks against the storm winds high above, impossibly large and graceful despite the tempest that grounded our entire convoy. Each powerful wingbeat defies the weather that turned military vehicles into twisted metal, demonstrating a mastery of sky and storm that speaks to apex predator confidence.

Prime. The size and distinctive wing profile could only belong to a Chimeric Dominator—one of the most dangerous apex species in the Convergence Peaks.

I shrink deeper into my pathetic shelter, willing the shadows to swallow me whole. But another wave of heat chooses that moment to crash through my system, stronger than any previous surge. A whimper escapes my lips before I can stop it—not just from the intensifying biological crisis, but from the desperate need it brings with it.

Slick dampens my thighs despite the fear flooding my system, my body's betrayal made worse by its timing. I clamp both hands over my mouth, but the damage is already done. The wind shifts, carrying my scent upward—unmated omega, injured, entering heat.

A beacon visible to any alpha within miles.

Above me, the winged shape abruptly changes course, powerful wings banking into a tight spiral directly overhead. Circling. Hunting.

The rain has transformed me from simple injured prey into something far more dangerous—a broadcast beacon announcing to every predator in these mountains that vulnerable, unclaimed omega flesh waits below, ready for the taking.

CHAPTER 3

EYES IN THE STORM

Vex's POV

I ride the storm like it owes me money.

My wings slice through violent updrafts, using the mountain's raw fury to propel me higher into the churning cloud mass. Lightning branches across the darkness, illuminating my black scales and their purple undertones for brilliant heartbeats before shadows reclaim me. The wind screams past my extended wingspan—a force that grounds aircraft and sends lesser creatures scrambling for shelter.

For me, it's pure exhilaration.

I bank around a granite spire, catching a thermal that spirals upward through sheets of rain. Each wingbeat reminds me why I chose these peaks over the easier territories claimed by other Primes. Down in the valleys, they live in climate-controlled comfort, surrounded by subjugated populations and Council-approved order.

Up here, the mountains answer to no authority but their own.

And to those strong enough to claim them.

The storm intensifies as I complete another circuit of my territory—two hundred square miles of jagged peaks, hiddenvalleys, and ancient caves that have sheltered my kind since before humans knew our names. Lightning illuminates the landscape in stuttering frames, revealing the wilderness I've defended for nearly a decade.

Empty wilderness, for the most part. The Council's efficiency has seen to that—their registration protocols too thorough, their breeding programs too systematic. The last unclaimed omega to wander into my domain was... when? Five years ago? Six? A half-mad thing who'd broken her own mind rather than submit to claiming.

I'd granted her the mercy of a quick death rather than let her suffer through system failure.

The wind shifts suddenly, carrying something that makes my wings falter mid-beat.

Omega. Unmated. In heat.

I hover against the gale, nostrils flaring as I draw in every molecule of scent the storm offers. No mistake—the pheromone signature burns through the rain-washed air like liquid fire. Female, distressed, and underneath it all, the chemical tang of artificial suppression.

She's been hiding what she is.

My pupils contract to razor slits as I process this impossibility. An unregistered omega, in my territory, during a storm that would challenge a Prime's survival instincts. The combination sends something predatory and territorial surging through my blood—a claiming hunger I haven't felt in years.

I bank sharply, following the scent trail with single-minded focus. Each wingbeat brings it stronger, richer, more complex. This isn't just heat—this is rebound heat, the dangerous surge that follows years of chemical suppression. Her body is reasserting its omega nature with vengeance, and without alpha intervention, the biological cascade will kill her.

The thought tightens something primitive in my chest that has nothing to do with mercy.

Lightning strobes again, longer this time, and I spot the wreckage scattered across the mountainside below. Transport vehicles crushed and overturned like toys abandoned by a petulant child. Feline markings on the twisted metal—typical Council arrogance, thinking they could cross my territory without consequence.

The storm has delivered appropriate justice for their trespass.

And it has delivered something else.