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Is that what this is? Am I using this omega as proxy in eternal conflict between our species? The thought surfaces briefly before being driven away by more primal concerns—the tight grip of her channel around my barbed length, the sweet scent ofher submission mingling with the spice of continued mental resistance, the sounds she makes as pleasure builds despite her determination to reject it.

"Not you," she sobs, even as her hips begin moving unconsciously to meet my thrusts. "Not like this."

"Your body disagrees," I respond, punctuating the words with particularly deep thrust that makes her cry out in what's clearly pleasure rather than pain.

The sound triggers another surge of possessive satisfaction—alpha pride in omega's response regardless of her conscious rejection. I feel my knot beginning to swell, the base of my cock expanding to ensure breeding success. Another evolutionary mechanism designed to lock alpha and omega together during seed delivery, preventing withdrawal until conception is optimized.

"No," she whimpers as the growing knot presses against her entrance with each thrust. "Not again, not your knot?—"

"You took it before," I remind her, maintaining the relentless pace. "You'll take it again. Your heat demands it."

Her body contradicts her verbal resistance, producing another flood of slick that eases the growing pressure. Each thrust drives the swelling knot against her entrance, stretching her incrementally wider with each pass. The pressure builds between us until something gives way, her body surrendering to the inevitable.

With one final, powerful thrust, my knot pushes past initial resistance, slipping inside before expanding completely, locking us together. The connection is absolute, unbreakable for the next twenty minutes at minimum. My barbs extend fully within her channel, catching against every sensitive spot simultaneously.

The sensation triggers her release despite obvious attempt to resist it. Her body convulses around my locked length, inner walls clamping down with rhythmic contractions that milk mycock with primal efficiency. Her scream holds notes of surrender alongside pleasure, the capitulation her mind still fights while her body embraces it completely.

The pulsing pressure of her channel around my knotted length shatters the last of my control. My release hits with force that arches my spine, pulls a roar from my chest that reverberates through the stone chamber. Hot seed pumps into her womb in powerful jets, each surge accompanied by involuntary thrust that drives my knot impossibly deeper.

As the initial intensity fades, I become aware of our joined bodies—her smaller form pressed beneath my much larger frame, our scents mingling into something intoxicating that reaffirms my claim. My tail remains wrapped possessively around her thigh, an unconscious declaration of ownership I should probably release but cannot bring myself to loosen.

I shift our locked bodies carefully to our sides, arranging us more comfortably while we wait for my knot to subside. The movement causes my still-barbed length to drag against oversensitive tissue, pulling an aftershock whimper from her throat. Her channel clenches reflexively around me, triggering another pulse of seed that makes me growl softly against her hair.

We remain locked together in silence broken only by gradually slowing breaths and occasional aftershock tremors. The rightness of it disturbs me—the way her body fits against mine despite the significant size difference, how perfectly she accommodates my inhuman anatomy, the satisfied rumble that builds in my chest without permission.

This is temporary biological arrangement, tactical necessity rather than meaningful connection. In another day, when her heat cycle completes, Aria Copenhagen will be processed for facility transfer according to standard protocol. Her body may have yielded to feline claiming, but her mind clearly maintainsresistance to what I represent—monster rather than mate, captor rather than chosen alpha.

Yet as my knot finally begins to subside enough for careful withdrawal, I find myself unexpectedly reluctant to separate our bodies. The emptiness that follows feels wrong in ways I refuse to examine too closely. Seed and slick leak from her well-used entrance, physical evidence of claiming that satisfies something primitive in my alpha biology.

Rather than moving away immediately as I did after our first claiming, I find myself lingering beside her on the pallet. My hand moves without conscious permission to trace the curve of her spine, feeling the subtle shivers that follow my touch across oversensitive skin.

"The medical staff will bring food and water," I tell her, my voice rougher than intended. "Rest while you can. The heat will intensify again within hours."

She curls away from me, pulling her knees to her chest in defensive posture that shouldn't bother me as much as it does. "And then you'll be back for more tactical necessity?" The bitterness in her tone is unmistakable.

I should leave without responding, maintain the emotional distance this arrangement requires. Instead, I hear myself saying, "Would you prefer I send Lieutenant Thorne next time? Or perhaps one of the junior officers would be more to your liking?"

The suggestion is cruel, deliberately provocative. I have no intention of allowing another alpha near her while she's in heat, would tear apart any who tried to claim what I've marked as mine. The possessive thought shocks me with its intensity, with the primal territoriality I've spent decades keeping carefully contained.

"No." Her response comes quickly, almost involuntarily, before she can mask it with continued defiance. The singlesyllable carries more meaning than either of us is prepared to acknowledge.

I leave her then, retrieving my clothing with movements that emphasize my return to controlled commander rather than rutting alpha. I dress quickly, each piece of uniform reassembling the authority and distance this situation requires. The tactical purpose has been reaffirmed; continuing physical contact would suggest emotional connection neither of us wants.

Yet as I enter my private quarters and move directly to the bathing chamber, I find the scent of her lingering on my skin despite the claiming being over. The hot water sluices over fur and skin, but does nothing to wash away the memory of her tight heat around my knot, the sounds she made when my barbs raked against her inner walls, the way her body surrendered while her mind continued its futile resistance.

My cock hardens again despite recent release, barbs partially extending as I recall the sensation of her channel gripping me with perfect pressure. I take myself in hand with a growl of frustration, strokes becoming increasingly rough as I chase release that should satisfy the lingering rut response.

It doesn't. The physical relief comes quickly enough, seed spilling over my fist as I brace against the wall with my other hand. But the deeper need remains unsatisfied—the alpha drive to claim, to mark, to sink fangs into the vulnerable junction of neck and shoulder where a permanent claiming bite would go.

I've deliberately avoided that final step, the one element of traditional claiming I've refused to perform. A claiming bite creates permanent bond, biological connection that transcends tactical arrangement or temporary heat relief. Neither of us wants that level of commitment—she with her dragon fantasies and determination to escape at first opportunity, me with my military responsibilities and complete disinterest in unwilling mate.

Yet the urge persists, growing stronger with each claiming rather than diminishing. The need to mark her completely, to ensure no other alpha could ever mistake her status or challenge my claim. I shake my head to dispel the primitive impulse, focusing instead on tactical considerations that actually matter.

The scout reports confirm dragon forces continue probing our borders, testing patrol patterns and response times. The territorial dispute has created perfect opportunity for them to challenge Council rulings, particularly with omega scent trails concentrated around Shadowthorn. As commander, my primary concern should be settlement security, patrol deployment, and resource allocation—not the complicated satisfaction of claiming an omega who clearly despises what I am.

I return to the command chamber with renewed determination to focus on military responsibilities rather than biological distractions. The territorial maps spread across my desk offer welcome distraction from uncomfortable thoughts about what awaits when Aria's heat intensifies again in a few hours.

This is temporary arrangement, tactical necessity rather than meaningful connection. I repeat the words like mantra, fragile barrier against the flood of anticipation already building as I catch lingering traces of her scent on my skin despite thorough washing.