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Aria's face reveals nothing, but the bond between us transmits a tangle of emotions—satisfaction at recognition alongside resentment at continued restrictions. The complexity of her response fascinates me more than it should.

"Go back to your quarters," I tell her, deliberately softening my tone. "Lieutenant Thorne will escort you."

After they leave, I stand before the projection, staring at the cave network she revealed. My claws extend and retract unconsciously as I consider what it means. Not just an immediate threat, but evidence of dragon intelligence-gathering far beyond what previous encounters suggested.

The most troubling question—how did they learn about geological features the settlement has kept hidden from us? Information exchange suggesting either coercion or willing cooperation, neither option reassuring given Aria's previous preferences.

Though I incorporated her knowledge into our defense plans, caution demands maintaining reservations about its complete reliability. She made her feelings about dragons versus felines abundantly clear. The claiming bond creates a biological connection, but it doesn't erase years of conditioning or emotional attachments.

That night, I collapse onto my bed between patrol deployments, exhaustion dragging me under. But sleep brings no peace. Instead of tactical scenarios or strategic projections, I dream of the claiming—Aria beneath me, her body yielding while her mind fought against it. Her voice echoes with haunting clarity: "Not you, not like this."

I jerk awake with fur bristling, tail thrashing against the bedding. The claiming bond pulses between us despite the physical distance, carrying emotional echoes I can't fully interpret. Is she dreaming too? Remembering our joining with the same conflicted feelings that haunt me?

A question I've avoided rises unbidden. Did I make a mistake keeping her instead of sending her to a breeding facility as originally planned? Does her knowledge of our terrain, fortress layout, and now defense deployments create a security vulnerability that outweighs the benefits?

My body revolts at the very thought. Muscles tense across my shoulders, fur rising along my spine, tail slashing the air with aggression I can't control. My biology rejects even the possibility of releasing her now that the claiming is complete, the scent-bond established, my bite permanently marking her as mine.

More disturbing than the physical reaction is the hollow ache that spreads through my chest at the thought of sending her away. Not just alpha territoriality or biological imperative, but something deeper I refuse to name even to myself.

I throw back the covers and stalk to the window overlooking the valley. Moonlight transforms the landscape into silvers and shadows, my feline vision piercing the darkness to reveal the hidden movements of nocturnal creatures. In the distance, Blackridge Settlement lies quiet, while the border forest conceals the subtle movements of our patrols.

Beyond those borders, dragon forces advance with precision that unsettles me. Not random testing but coordinated strategywith an objective I can't yet see clearly. Their interest in Aria during her settlement visit, followed by positioning near a hidden infiltration route, suggests a connection I need to understand.

Whatever they're planning, she's become a critical variable—her knowledge, her settlement ties, her position between human community and Prime authority. Keeping her close is tactical necessity now, regardless of the personal complications the claiming bond introduces.

I press my palm against the cold glass, watching my own reflection—the vertical pupils, the scars running from temple to jaw, the monster humans see when they look at me. The monster she sees, despite our bond.

Dawn breaks over the eastern ridge, painting the sky blood-red. I turn away from the window, decision made. Whatever doubts plagued my dreams are buried beneath clearer strategic imperative. Aria stays under my protection and authority, her knowledge incorporated into our defenses under appropriate security measures.

The claiming bond pulses with something like satisfaction, alpha instinct approving the decision that aligns with both biological imperative and tactical necessity. That it also satisfies something deeper, something I refuse to acknowledge even to myself, remains carefully unexamined as I prepare to face whatever our fire-breathing neighbors have planned.

CHAPTER 11

CRUELTY

Aria POV

"Staylow and don't move unless I signal you."

Fritz's voice comes as a barely audible breath against my ear, his massive body crouched beside me on the rocky outcropping. We've been in position for nearly an hour, watching the valley below where dragon forces have intercepted a small group of human travelers caught between their patrols and feline territory.

When the emergency beacon activated three hours ago, Fritz organized the rescue mission with frightening speed. What shocked me more was his insistence that I accompany the team—not as a captive omega but as a terrain guide through the treacherous mountain passes I know better than any of his scouts.

"They're moving the prisoners," I whisper, tracking the distant figures through the specialized vision enhancers Fritz provided. Unlike standard binoculars, these adjust automatically to feline visual ranges, revealing details human eyes would never catch at this distance.

Five humans—three men, two women—stumble forward under dragon guard. Their wrists are bound with what appears to be glowing restraints that leave smoking trails on exposed skin. Even from here, I can see the terror on their faces as they're herded toward a clearing where larger dragon figures await.

"Traders," Fritz murmurs, his tail completely still beside me—the hunting posture I've learned indicates intense focus. "An independent caravan based on their clothing and equipment. Likely unaware of the territorial reassignment."

A flash of movement draws my attention to the eastern edge of the clearing, where a sixth human—a man I hadn't noticed before—tries to break away from the group. He makes it perhaps ten steps before a massive dark shape drops from above, slamming him to the ground with enough force that I hear the impact despite the distance.

The dragon that pins him rises to full height—at least eight feet tall with scales that gleam midnight blue in the afternoon sunlight. Wings half-extended from its back catch the light in iridescent patterns I once would have found beautiful. Now the display sends chills down my spine as I recognize the threatening posture for what it is.

"Commander Pyrax," Fritz says, his voice hardening with recognition. "The dragon forces field commander. Known for... excessive methods."

As if to illustrate Fritz's understated warning, Pyrax grabs the fallen human by his throat, lifting him one-handed until his feet dangle helplessly above the ground. The dragon's other hand begins to glow with internal fire, a heat shimmer distorting the air around his clawed fingers.

"No," I breathe, horror dawning as I realize what's about to happen. "He can't?—"