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Thorne's voice cuts through the battle fog. I blink away blood and sweat, trying to focus on his face. When did he get here?

"Northern perimeter secured." His voice sounds far away even though he's right beside me. "Settlement civilians safe in the cave network."

Aria. Safe. The thought cuts through my pain-clouded mind with sudden clarity. I breathe in, testing the air for threats, ignoring the stabbing protest from what must be broken ribs.

"Keep archer coverage on... the retreating forces." My voice comes out rough, strangled. "They'll regroup at the ridge line."

My vision swims suddenly, darkness creeping at the edges. I slam a hand against the stone wall, claws digging into the surface to stay upright. Can't show weakness. Not yet. Enemies watching. My soldiers watching.

Blood drips from my fur onto the stone beneath—steady, dark, too much of it mine.

"Commander, you need medical help." Thorne's tone shifts, careful. I catch the worried smell coming off him. "The battle is stabilizing. Positions are holding."

I bare my teeth, automatically challenging the suggestion of weakness. "I'll go when perimeter security is fully set."

His missing ear twitches—he's about to risk making me angry. "With respect, sir, you're bleeding out on the fucking wall. Even you have limits."

The bluntness startles me. Thorne rarely talks this way. I must look worse than I thought.

"Status," I demand, ignoring both his concern and the violent shaking that's started in my left leg.

He gives me the field report with quick precision. Casualties lower than expected. Three positions need reinforcement. No civilian losses.

Civilians safe. Aria safe. The knowledge settles something in me, lets me finally admit what my body's been screaming. The burns along my side have eaten through muscle. My back feels shredded, blood matting my fur in thick clumps. Each breathsends shards of pain through my chest—ribs not just cracked but broken.

"You have command until morning." The words cost me more than the wounds. "Maintain defensive rotation. Reposition archers for likely attack points."

Relief floods his scent. "Yes, Commander."

The walk from wall to courtyard becomes its own battle. Each step threatens to collapse me. The fortress swims around me, walls shifting and doubling in my vision. My blood marks my path in dark splatters, the smell of it heavy in the air.

By the time I reach my quarters, I'm moving on instinct alone. The door swings open under my weight.

Aria.

She stands in the middle of my private room, medical supplies spread on the table beside her. Her scent hits me first—worry, determination, and something deeper, something that makes my alpha instincts stir even through the pain.

"Fuck, Fritz." No title. No careful distance. Just raw shock as she sees my blood-soaked body. "You're torn apart."

"Not as bad as it looks." The lie comes automatically, alpha pride refusing to admit weakness even as blood pools beneath my feet.

"Bullshit." She moves toward me without hesitation, not afraid despite how I must look—blood-matted fur, extended claws, fangs still partially bared from battle. "Sit down before you fall down. You're painting my floor purple."

Something in her tone—the authority, the lack of omega submission—cuts through my stubbornness better than Thorne's concern. I sink onto the bed, the movement sending fresh pain through my injured side.

"The settlement–" I begin.

"Is fine." She's already reaching for my armor fastenings, fingers moving with surprising confidence. "Everyone's safe in the caves. Thorne sent word an hour ago."

Of course he did. Presumptuous bastard. Right now, I'm pathetically grateful for his disobedience.

"I can handle this myself," I growl, instinct still fighting against needing help even as my vision threatens to black out completely.

She pauses, eyes meeting mine directly. "Yeah, and I could have stayed in the caves instead of waiting here. We both know where our priorities are, so shut up and let me help you."

The honesty of it—her admission that she chose to be here—creates a tightness in my chest that has nothing to do with broken ribs. I stay quiet as her fingers return to the armor fastenings, efficiently working clasps designed for claws rather than human hands.

Each plate removed reveals more damage. The heavy copper smell of my blood fills the room, mixed with the burnt stink of scorched fur and flesh. Dragon fire has seared a path across my left side, the skin beneath blistered and weeping. Claw marks stripe my back in parallel furrows that cut to muscle.