Page 14

Time loses meaning as wave after wave of heat rolls through me. The lighting in the chamber has dimmed, suggesting night has fallen, though such concepts seem irrelevant in my personal hell of need and emptiness. I'm vaguely aware of crying, of begging the empty room for relief, of thrashing against the bed as another powerful contraction of emptiness leaves me gasping.

The chamber door opens with a soft hiss of hydraulics.

I struggle upright, sweat-drenched hair plastered to my face and neck, my vision blurring before focusing on the massive silhouette against the corridor lighting. Commander Fritz Clawe's towering seven-foot frame fills the doorway completely, his golden eyes gleaming in the dimness like a predator's.

My reaction is immediate and humiliating. My back arches without conscious thought, thighs spreading, neck tilting to expose my throat in instinctive submission. Slick gushes between my legs in a hot rush, my nipples tightening to painful points beneath the soaked shift. A sound escapes me—half whimper, half moan—a primal omega call to alpha that transcends language.

His nostrils flare as he catches my scent, pupils contracting to thin vertical slits against the amber background. The striped fur along his visible forearms ripples, darkening from tawny gold to rich mahogany in seconds—a physical manifestation of alpha response I recognize from desperate study of feline biology.

"Alpha," I whisper, the word pulled from some primitive part of my hindbrain. "Please."

Fritz steps into the chamber, allowing the door to close behind him. In the dimmed lighting, the predatory nature of his movement becomes even more pronounced—the fluid grace of a hunter approaching cornered prey. His tail, which had hungmotionless behind him, now begins a slow, rhythmic swaying that hypnotizes my fever-addled brain.

"Three days," he rumbles, his voice deeper than I remember, vibrating through my oversensitive skin like physical touch. "Three days fighting what your body needs."

The scent of him hits me like a physical blow—musky, sharp, with hints of leather and something wild that triggers a cascade of biological responses. My womb clenches so hard I cry out, another flood of slick escaping me, my body advertising its readiness in the most primitive way possible.

"The suppressants..." I try to form a coherent thought, but another wave crashes through me, doubling me over. My arms wrap around my middle as though I could somehow contain the inferno within. "They don't work. Nothing works. I need?—"

"You need alpha claiming," Fritz interrupts, stalking closer. The fur along his spine has risen visibly, his movements taking on a predatory intensity at odds with his usual controlled demeanor. "You need to be filled. Knotted. Bred."

Each word lands like a physical touch, my body responding with eager submission even as my mind makes one last attempt at resistance. "Not you," I sob, the denial weak even to my own ears. "I never wanted?—"

"Your body tells a different story." He's beside the pallet now, looming over me, his scent enveloping me completely. "Your heat calls to something primal in me, omega. Something I've controlled for years."

His gaze drags over my sweat-soaked form, lingering on the visible outlines of my hardened nipples, the soaked juncture of my thighs. Something in his expression shifts, control visibly cracking to reveal the predator beneath.

"Please," I beg, beyond pride, beyond thought, beyond anything but desperate need. "Make it stop. I can't bear this anymore. I'll do anything. Just make it stop."

Fritz's tail lashes once, sharply, the movement so fast it blurs in the dim light. "You begged for this," he growls, voice dropping to a register so deep it feels like thunder rolling through my bones. "Remember that."

His hands go to the fastenings of his uniform, movements no longer economical but almost violent in their intensity. The jacket tears as he pulls it off, revealing his powerful torso covered with golden-brown fur in tiger-like patterns that ripple with each movement. The fur bristles visibly as another wave of my heat-scent reaches him, his control slipping further.

I should be frightened. Some distant part of me knows I should be terrified of this massive predator showing clear signs of rut response. Instead, my body reacts with eager anticipation, another rush of slick preparation, my hips lifting unconsciously from the pallet in blatant invitation.

When the pants fall away, I can't stop my desperate gaze from dropping to what's revealed. My breath catches in my throat, a strange mixture of fear and anticipation flooding through me. His cock stands fully erect, far larger than human proportions—thicker than my wrist, longer than should be physically possible. The specialized ridges along its length have already begun to emerge, the barbs that will extend fully once inside me. The head gleams with moisture in the dim light, his own body's preparation for claiming.

Most shocking is the already visible swelling at the base—the knot that will lock us together, ensuring his seed floods my womb with nowhere to escape. It's massive, impossibly so, yet my omega biology responds with eager anticipation, my empty channel clenching painfully at the sight.

"Alpha," I whimper, the title slipping out unbidden. "Your knot... I need..."

A growl rumbles from his chest, the sound purely animal. The last of his clothing falls away, revealing his inhuman formin full glory. Fur covers not just his torso but runs along his powerful thighs and spine. His movements demonstrate impossible flexibility as he approaches the pallet, his skeletal structure clearly different from human design. In this moment of rut response, he appears more beast than man, more predator than commander.

And gods help me, my body wants him with desperate intensity.

"Present," he commands, the single word carrying layers of meaning that trigger responses buried deep in my omega biology.

My body obeys before my mind can process the command, turning to hands and knees on the pallet. My back arches sharply, hips elevating, thighs spreading wide to reveal the slick-soaked center of my need. My head drops forward without conscious thought, neck exposed in the classic submission posture I've spent years scorning in other omegas.

The thin shift still clings to my skin, an inconsequential barrier that Fritz dispatches with one swipe of partially extended claws. The fabric falls away in tatters, leaving me naked and presented before him, the ultimate omega submission posture that declares readiness for claiming more clearly than words ever could.

"Mine," he growls, the possessive declaration sending another flood of slick between my thighs.

The pallet dips beneath his weight as he positions himself behind me, his much larger frame radiating heat that makes my fevered skin feel cool by comparison. One large hand settles at the small of my back, claws carefully sheathed but their pressure still distinctly felt. The other tangles in my hair, pulling my head back to arch my spine even deeper.

"Look at you," he rumbles, voice barely recognizable through the growl that underlies each word. "Dripping for me. Ready to be bred."

His tail wraps around my upper thigh, the fur-covered muscle providing both restraint and unexpected stimulation against my sensitive skin. The touch draws a desperate moan from my throat, my hips pushing back unconsciously, seeking the fullness my body craves with single-minded intensity.