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Not a settlement trader dreaming of dragon rescue, not a breeding omega awaiting facility transfer, but something more complicated emerging from trauma and adaptation. Who that woman might become remains unclear, but she bears little resemblance to the girl who once believed majestic dragons represented freedom rather than a different form of exploitation.

That night, I dream of ridge-top observers with burning eyes and dual anatomy that causes pain rather than pleasure. In the dream, Fritz's claiming mark burns at my throat, keeping dragons at bay while I stand at the fortress walls, neither fully captive nor truly free but something undefined between.

I wake with the claiming bite throbbing in rhythm with my heartbeat, the bond transmitting an emotional echo I refuse to acknowledge might be genuine concern rather than mere territorial protection. The bitter comfort of simplistic hatred has begun dissolving beneath a more complex reality I lack the framework to fully process.

CHAPTER 10

TERRITORY

Fritz POV

The scentof blood hits me before they even reach the gates.

I snap my head up from the trade reports I've been reviewing, nostrils flaring as the metallic tang cuts through the usual fortress smells. Then the alarm sounds—three short bursts followed by the longer tone that turns my stomach cold. Injured patrol returning.

My body reacts before my mind fully processes it. I launch myself across the command center, muscles bunching as I spring fifteen feet up to the observation platform in a single bound. My claws click against the stone as I land, tail whipping behind me for balance.

From this height, I can see them emerging from the forest cover on the western approach. Four figures—three upright, dragging a fourth between them. Even from here, I can see the blood matting Kinrick's sleek black fur. One of my best scouts, now hanging limp between his companions, leaving a dark trail on the ground behind them.

"Medical team to the west gate," I bark into my wrist communicator. "Full trauma protocol. Get Thorne to the command center now."

My heart pounds against my ribs as I leap down, bypassing the stairs entirely. I hit the courtyard with knees bent to absorb the impact, already sprinting toward the gates as they creak open.

The smell is worse up close. Dragon fire mixed with blood and fear-sweat. They've laid Kinrick on a stretcher, and the sight of him freezes something in my chest. Deep gashes tear across his torso and face. His left flank bears the unmistakable burn pattern of dragon fire—flesh charred and fur singed away. His breathing comes in ragged gasps, ears flattened to his skull.

"Report." My voice comes out rougher than intended as I turn to Maren, the patrol leader. Her own uniform is scorched, dark spatters of Kinrick's blood turning the fabric stiff.

"Dragons at Broken Ridge," she says, not wasting time with preamble. Her tail slashes the air behind her. "Not scouts. A full tactical unit with fire specialists and aerial support. We ran into their advance patrol two miles inside our territory."

My fur bristles along my spine, electricity seeming to crackle beneath my skin. "Numbers?"

"At least twenty combat-ready that we could track. Probably more staged beyond the ridge." Maren's golden eyes narrow. "They weren't hiding, Commander. They wanted us to find them."

A deliberate provocation. Not random testing but calculated escalation. The timing sits like a stone in my gut—too perfectly aligned with Aria's settlement visit to be coincidence.

"Did they attempt communication?" I already know the answer.

"They attacked the moment we approached identification distance." Her tail lashes again, betraying the rage she's keepingfrom her voice. "Targeted Kinrick specifically—the fire specialist focused on him while the others engaged the rest of us."

Cold settles in my blood. Targeting our most experienced scout suggests intelligence on our patrol composition—information they shouldn't have unless they've infiltrated deeper than we've detected.

"Command center. Now." I turn toward the fortress interior. "I want every detail—terrain, positions, engagement patterns. Everything."

Thorne meets us at the command level entrance, his nostrils flaring as he catches the scent of blood and battle pheromones.

"Scout positions?" His question is immediate, already grasping the situation.

"Compromised," I confirm, a growl threading through my voice. "Dragons at Broken Ridge, well inside our territory."

Movement in the adjacent corridor catches my attention—familiar scent reaching me before I fully process the visual. Aria stands by the tactical display, her eyes widening as she takes in the blood-spattered patrol.

"Back to your quarters." I keep my voice flat, fighting the pull of the claiming bond that always tugs at me when she's near. "This doesn't concern you."

Her chin lifts, green eyes flashing with challenge. "If dragons have crossed boundaries at Broken Ridge, it absolutely concerns me."

The specific knowledge catches me off-guard. She shouldn't know that location by name.

"This is military business," I say, though the conviction wavers in my voice.