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My hands span her waist, lifting her effortlessly until she's seated on the stone parapet, our heights more evenly matched in this position. The night air surrounds us, carrying our mingled scents across the mountain peaks—a declaration to any Prime within miles that this omega is claimed, protected, carrying the next generation of her alpha's bloodline.

"Fritz," she gasps as my mouth leaves hers to trace the path of my claiming mark at her throat. My tongue rasps against the silvery scar, renewing my scent markers with deliberate intent. "What are you?—"

"Marking what's mine," I growl against her skin, the words coming without conscious thought. "The mother of my offspring. My mate. Mine."

The possessive declaration should anger her, should remind her of captivity and forced claiming. Instead, her scent spikes with unmistakable arousal, her body arching toward mine with an instinctive response that has nothing to do with heat biology and everything to do with choice.

"Yes," she breathes, her fingers tangling in my hair, finding the sensitive spot where ears meet scalp with uncanny accuracy. "Yours."

The simple acknowledgment breaks the last barrier of restraint. My hands move from her waist to her thighs, pushing beneath the thin fabric of her sleeping shift with urgent need. The scent of her arousal hits me like a physical blow—sweet omega slick, distinctive markers of early pregnancy, and beneath it all, the unmistakable note of desire directed specifically at me. Not alpha in abstract, not biological imperative, but personal want.

"Here?" she asks, glancing around the exposed tower top. "Anyone could?—"

"Let them," I rumble, past caring about propriety or protocol. "Let them all know you're claimed. That you carry my offspring. That you've chosen this."

Her eyes widen at the raw possessiveness in my tone, but her scent reveals no fear—only increasing arousal and something warmer that I hesitate to name even in the privacy of my own thoughts.

"I have chosen this," she affirms, her hands moving to the fastenings of my clothing with surprising skill. "Chosen you."

The admission ignites something beyond mere desire—a consuming need to claim her again, to mark her as mine in ways that go beyond the original claiming bite. My clothing falls away under her determined fingers, exposing my body to the night air and her gaze.

Unlike our previous joinings, she looks at me directly, taking in the features that once repulsed her—the patches of fur along my spine, the inhuman musculature, the obvious alien nature of my arousal. Where once I saw disgust or reluctant acceptance, now I see only hunger.

"I want to see all of you," I tell her, tugging at her thin shift with careful restraint to avoid tearing it with claws I can barely keep sheathed.

She raises her arms, allowing me to pull the garment over her head in one fluid motion. Moonlight bathes her skin in silver, highlighting the subtle changes my enhanced vision can detect—the slight fullness to her breasts, the barely perceptible rounding below her navel where our child grows.

My hand covers that spot again, reverent in a way I've never allowed myself to be before. "You're beautiful," I tell her, the simple truth coming out without calculation or strategy. "Carrying my young makes you even more so."

Color rises in her cheeks at the raw honesty, but she doesn't look away. "Show me," she demands instead, her voice stronger than I'd expected. "Show me what claiming can be when it's chosen, not forced."

The invitation—the challenge—sends heat coursing through my veins. I lift her from the parapet, turning to press her back against the tower wall. Her legs wrap around my waist instinctively, the position aligning our bodies perfectly.

Unlike our previous joinings, I take time to ensure her readiness, my fingers exploring the slick heat between her thighs with deliberate patience. The evidence of her arousal coats my hand, the scent of it driving my own need higher. When my clawed thumb finds the sensitive bundle of nerves at her core, her head falls back against the stone with a gasp that echoes in the night air.

"That's it," I encourage, watching her pleasure with primal satisfaction. "Show me what you need."

Her body responds with increasing urgency, her hips rocking against my hand in a rhythm that speaks to something beyond conscious thought. When her release finally comes, her cry carries across the mountain peaks—a sound of surrender and triumph combined.

Before the aftershocks have fully subsided, I position myself at her entrance. My arousal, significantly larger than humanproportion and already showing the ridges that will become barbs once inside her, presses against her core with insistent pressure.

"Look at me," I demand, needing to see her face for this claiming that means something beyond biology or necessity.

Her eyes meet mine, pupils blown wide with desire and something deeper. "Fritz," she whispers, my name a prayer on her lips. "Please."

The single word breaks the last thread of hesitation. I drive forward in one powerful thrust, seating myself fully inside her with a motion that makes her gasp. The tight heat of her body around mine—familiar from previous claimings yet somehow entirely new—sends pleasure coursing through my system that borders on pain.

"Mine," I growl against her throat, setting a rhythm that speaks to the primal need roaring through my blood. "My omega. My mate. Mother of my young."

"Yours," she agrees, her nails scoring lines down my back that would barely register as sensation on my tougher hide but which send satisfaction through me nonetheless. "My alpha. My protector."

The words create connection beyond physical joining, beyond the biological lock of my knot that will soon bind us together. My inhuman flexibility allows me to maintain our position against the tower wall while still accessing every sensitive spot, my tail providing additional support wrapped around her thigh.

As pleasure builds toward inevitable conclusion, I feel the specialized ridges along my length begin to extend fully, barbs emerging as release approaches. Unlike our first claiming, when these caused her pain and distress, now her body welcomes them—omega biology adapted to my alien anatomy in ways that create mutual pleasure rather than mere submission.

"I'm going to knot you," I warn, my voice barely recognizable through the rumbling growl that accompanies each thrust. "Lock us together. Ensure my seed takes root beside the life already growing inside you."

Rather than tensing at the prospect, she arches toward me, taking me deeper. "Yes," she moans, the sound vibrating against my chest where our bodies press together. "Claim me, Fritz. Completely."