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"I won't be claimed by a feline," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "I won't."

Nyssa's expression remains grave. "Then you'd best hope for a female commander at the breeding facility, child. The alternatives are worse."

I leave her dwelling with the herbal mixture clutched in my fist and desperation clawing at my throat. The morning sun beats against my too-sensitive skin as I weave through the marketplace, barely acknowledging greetings from traders I've worked with for years. My mind races through possibilities, calculating routes and timelines.

Dragon territory lies southwest, through high mountain passes I know better than most. I've guided enough trading expeditions to memorize the routes, including paths no maps record. I know which rocks shift under weight, which patches of seemingly solid ground conceal sinkholes, which streams are safe to drink from. If I leave immediately, taking only what I can carry, I might reach their borders before full heat renders travel impossible.

But Nyssa's story about the burned omega girl lingers, a persistent shadow behind my determination. What if I'm wrong about dragons? What if the reality doesn't match my dreams?

I shake my head, banishing doubt. Even if there's risk, it's my risk to take. My choice—perhaps the only real choice I'll ever make again once my omega biology takes full control.

Decision made, I cut through a narrow alley between storage buildings, taking the fastest route back to my dwelling to gather supplies. So focused am I on planning that I nearly collide with two figures at the alley's end.

Feline scouts.

I freeze, my heart stuttering painfully. They're both tall, reed-thin creatures with sleek black fur covering their forearms and spine. Predatory yellow eyes widen as they catch my scent—nostrils flaring, pupils contracting to vertical slits that mark their immediate interest.

The taller one's tail goes perfectly still behind him—a hunting posture I recognize from observation. "Human female," he says, voice carrying the distinctive rumbling undertone all felines possess. "You will remain where you are."

I back away slowly, every instinct screaming for flight. The second scout circles to block the alley's opposite end, cutting off my retreat. Nyssa's herbs remain clutched in my fist, useless now that I've been discovered.

"Your scent has changed," the first scout continues, inhaling deeply. "Newly presented omega."

His companion's tail twitches with excitement as he pulls a communication device from his belt. "Shadowthorn will want immediate notification. Commander Clawe's orders regarding all new omegas are explicit."

The name sends another wave of cold dread through me despite the fire in my blood. I know without asking what those orders must be—immediate collection and processing. My gaze darts between them, calculating odds I know are impossible. Even at full health, no human can outrun a feline shifter. In my current state, with biology betraying me by the minute, I wouldn't make it twenty feet.

"Come without resistance," the first scout advises, extending a clawed hand with surprising gentleness. "It will be easier for you."

I lift my chin, refusing to show the terror coursing through me. "I need to return home first. To gather my things and inform my?—"

"That won't be necessary," the second scout interrupts, communication device now activated. "Shadowthorn Outpost, patrol unit seven reporting. Newly presented omega identified in Blackridge Settlement. Awaiting transport instructions."

The static-filled reply makes both scouts' ears twitch forward attentively. I catch fragments about "processing protocols" and "Commander's direct oversight."

Against my will, my body responds to their alpha pheromones—subtle but effective at this distance. Another trickle of slick warmth between my thighs brings humiliating awareness of my vulnerability. My neck aches with the instinct to bare my throat in submission, a biological imperative I resist with clenched teeth.

This can't be happening. Not now. Not when I'm so close to everything I've planned for.

In the distance, settlement bells ring the mid-morning signal. Traders will be tallying their morning sales, children heading to communal lessons, beta workers rotating to new tasks. Normal life continuing while mine shatters like dropped pottery.

I think of dragons with their jewel-bright scales and majestic wings, of the claiming I've imagined in secret dreams. The mating I believed was my destiny. Nyssa's warnings flutter at the edges of my mind, but I push them away. No matter what horrors she's seen, I know what I want.

Instead, I face feline scouts with their predatory grace and cold efficiency, the first representatives of a fate I've neverwanted and refuse to accept. As the taller scout steps forward to escort me, one thought crystallizes with perfect clarity through the haze of emerging heat.

I will not submit to a feline alpha. I will reach dragon territory, whatever it takes.

I just need time and opportunity. Both of which are rapidly running out as the scouts flank me, guiding me toward the settlement gates where, presumably, transport to Shadowthorn Outpost awaits.

Behind us, unnoticed in the shadows of the alley, a small child watches with wide eyes before darting away—carrying news that will spread through Blackridge Settlement like wildfire.

Aria Copenhagen has presented as omega, and the felines have claimed her.

CHAPTER 2

THE WASHED-UP COMMANDER

POV: Fritz