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I want to snap back that I don't want their help, don't want anything from felines, but another rush of liquid heat betweenmy thighs steals my voice. The emptiness inside has become an ache so profound I can focus on little else, my omega biology demanding alpha completion with increasing urgency.

The transport rounds a final curve, and Shadowthorn Outpost comes into view—a fortress both carved into and built upon the mountain itself. Stone towers rise from natural rock formations, creating an imposing structure that appears as an extension of the mountain rather than separate construction. High walkways connect the towers, designed for creatures with perfect balance and climbing abilities rather than human limitations.

I've seen it from a distance my entire life but never this close. The scale of it is more intimidating than I expected, the architecture clearly designed for feline physiology rather than human comfort. Even from outside, I can see how vertical spaces are utilized as extensively as horizontal ones, with some areas accessible only through climbing rather than stairs.

My dream of dragon claiming collapses completely as the transport passes through massive gates into a central courtyard. Feline soldiers move with predatory grace across the space, some climbing vertical surfaces with casual ease that emphasizes their inhuman nature. Their heads turn in unison as our vehicle enters, nostrils flaring as they catch my scent even through closed windows.

Omega. In heat. Unclaimed.

The scout helps me from the transport, supporting my weight when my legs threaten to buckle. The courtyard spins around me, heat symptoms accelerating in proximity to so many alpha pheromones. Between my thighs, slick soaks through my pants in a visible stain I can no longer hide or control.

"Processing chamber four," a new voice orders, and I'm transferred to different hands—a feline female in medicaluniform who helps me across the courtyard toward a side entrance.

As the door closes behind us, cutting off my last view of the mountains beyond, I realize I've traded one captivity for another. The feline territory I've spent my life avoiding has claimed me regardless of my wishes or plans.

And somewhere in this fortress waits Commander Clawe—the scarred, battle-hardened alpha whose cold golden eyes I've feared since childhood, and who now holds complete authority over my fate.

CHAPTER 4

HER SCENT

Fritz POV

I watchfrom the command balcony as the patrol brings in the fleeing omega. Despite the mountain dust coating her clothing and the exhaustion evident in her posture, she walks with her chin lifted, refusing the supportive arm offered by the female medical officer. Pride, even in capture. Unusual.

My tail sweeps slowly behind me, measuring my thoughts as I observe her more carefully. Lieutenant Thorne's assessment was accurate—she stands taller than most human females, her frame suggesting lean muscle beneath travel-worn clothing. Not the delicate, slight build typically associated with omega physiology. Her auburn hair has partially escaped its practical braid, wild strands framing a face flushed with heat symptoms and defiance.

Even from this distance, her scent reaches me—sweet omega pheromones intensifying with pre-heat, layered with herbal masking agents, mountain pine, and the sharp tang of fear she's trying desperately to hide. Beneath it all runs a current of something distinct, something uniquely hers that catches my attention more effectively than it should. The scent calls tosomething primal in me, a flicker of alpha interest I immediately crush with practiced discipline.

"Bring her to the main audience chamber," I instruct the waiting officer beside me. "I want to understand exactly what she thought she was doing."

The officer salutes crisply before departing, leaving me alone with thoughts I'd rather not examine too closely. This omega—Aria Copenhagen—clearly believed she could reach dragon territory before her heat manifested fully. The question is whether her attempt stemmed from foolish romantic notions or something more calculated. Either way, the risk she took breaking settlement boundaries during territorial reassignment could have triggered incidents with our fire-breathing neighbors that go well beyond one omega's fate.

I descend from the balcony with measured steps, using the private passage that connects directly to the audience chamber through a series of ledges and narrow corridors designed for feline agility. The vertical route allows me to arrive before the omega and her escorts, taking my position at the raised platform that serves as command focal point.

The chamber itself represents Shadowthorn's dual purpose as military outpost and administrative center. Stone walls curve upward to high ceilings with deliberately placed openings that create acoustic channels. Territorial maps line the walls, interspersed with weapons displays from successful campaigns. The space deliberately intimidates human visitors—everything from the oversized proportions to the elevated temperature maintained for feline comfort serves to emphasize who holds power here.

When the doors open, I'm seated in the command chair, deliberately positioned to appear casual while maintaining clear dominance posture—spine straight, tail draped with calculated indifference over the chair's arm, claws partially extendedagainst the stone armrests. The perfect picture of controlled predatory power.

The effect on the omega is immediate and visceral. She stumbles slightly as she enters, though whether from intensifying heat symptoms or response to the deliberately overwhelming space, I can't tell. Her escorts position her before me, stepping back to maintain respectful distance while remaining close enough to intervene if necessary.

Up close, her scent is nearly overwhelming—pre-heat pheromones have accelerated dramatically since her capture. Her skin glistens with fever-sweat, pupils dilated with biological imperatives she's clearly fighting with every ounce of her remaining will. Despite this, her gaze meets mine directly, a defiance that sends an unexpected ripple of interest through me.

"Aria Copenhagen," I say, keeping my voice in the deeper register that resonates through the chamber's acoustic design. "Escaped from settlement boundaries during restricted movement period. Traveled toward dragon territory while actively presenting omega biology. Explain yourself."

She swallows hard, the motion drawing my attention to the pulse pounding visibly at her throat—the vulnerable juncture where a claiming bite would go. Wheremyclaiming bite would go, if I were foolish enough to take an unwilling omega with dragon fixation.

"I don't answer to feline authority," she says, voice steadier than her scent suggests possible. "Blackridge has maintained neutral status for years."

"Your information is outdated," I reply coolly. "The Council of Nine's reassignment of territorial boundaries was delivered to your settlement leadership three days ago. The same day you began presenting, according to our intelligence."

Her jaw tightens, confirmation enough that she was aware of the reassignment before her escape attempt. Not simple ignorance, then, but deliberate defiance.

"The timing is irrelevant," I continue. "Attempting to cross into dragon territory while in pre-heat represents extreme risk to yourself and potential territorial provocation that affects everyone in this region."

"I know exactly what I was doing," she counters, though the slight tremor in her voice betrays growing heat symptoms. "I've studied dragon territories and patrol patterns for years. I had a plan."

My tail lashes once, sharply, before I control it. "A plan based on childish fantasy rather than reality. No human omega survives dragon claiming intact."