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"Will heal," he finishes, arm curling around me with possessive security. "This was healing too."

The simple statement creates warmth beneath my ribs that has nothing to do with physical pleasure. I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart—faster than human normal but strong, resilient, like everything else about this alpha I once feared and now... what?

Not love—that human concept seems inadequate for what exists between predator and former prey. But partnership, perhaps. Connection forged through conflict and reluctant respect, evolving toward something that transcends both our expectations.

His breathing gradually steadies, sleep reclaiming him as his body's healing demands rest. Even in unconsciousness, his arm remains curved around me, protective despite his vulnerable state. I should rise, should complete my nursing duties, should maintain the careful distance we've established outside of heat necessity.

Instead, I find myself relaxing into his hold, my own exhaustion from days of constant care finally catching up. The claiming mark at my throat—once symbol of captivity—pulses with my heartbeat, recognition of the profound shift that has occurred between us.

The commander whose monstrous aspects once terrified me now lies injured beneath my hands, his lethal strength carefully controlled even in semi-conscious state. The predator whose claiming I once resisted now creates security I never expected to find in this conquered world.

Most confusing of all, the captor whose domination I once endured now invites my control, my pleasure, my active participation in whatever strange partnership we've begun to forge between conquest and surrender, between dominance and choice.

As sleep claims me alongside the injured alpha, my hand rests protectively over the slight swell below my navel whereour child grows—living evidence of how biology can create connections even when minds resist. The physical proof of the bridge forming between conquered and conqueror, between human and Prime, between reluctant mates becoming something neither tradition nor conquest has prepared us to name.

CHAPTER 21

DEEPER CONNECTION

Fritz POV

Pain gnaws at my flank,a hot, throbbing reminder of dragon fire that refuses to heal. Five days since the attack. Five days since I nearly lost everything. Five days of showing a weakness I've spent decades burying beneath cold command.

I lower myself into my chair, swallowing a growl as my muscles protest. The scent of blood—my own—still seeps from bandages hidden beneath my clothing. A commander can't show weakness. Especially not now, with reports of dragon scouts testing our borders again.

I catch her scent before the door opens—sweet omega mixed with the newer, richer notes of pregnancy. My child growing inside her. The thought still hits me like a physical blow each time it surfaces, a mixture of fierce protectiveness and disbelief that this has become my reality.

Aria steps into my quarters, her eyes immediately narrowing as she takes me in.

"You're pushing too hard," she says, no deference in her tone. Not commander and claimed omega anymore, but something else entirely. "I can smell the fresh blood."

Fuck. Of course she can. Even with her limited human senses, she's learned to detect the subtle changes in my scent, the markers of pain I try to hide. The realization that she's studied me so closely creates an unexpected warmth in my chest.

"Fortress needs leadership," I mutter, reaching for a report and failing to hide the wince as my side burns in protest.

She moves closer, no fear in her approach. The omega who once trembled at my presence now stares me down, unflinching. "The fortress needs a commander who isn't about to collapse from reopened wounds."

Her challenge should anger me. Instead, my chest tightens with something dangerously close to admiration. I watch as she scans the reports spread across my desk, her mind working through tactical implications with speed that matches my own.

"They're establishing a containment perimeter," she says, finger tracing the pattern of dragon sightings on the map. "Testing our recovery while preparing for another strike."

My tail flicks in approval before I can control it. "My assessment as well."

"Then delegate the physical response," she counters, the stubborn set of her jaw making my blood heat in ways that have nothing to do with battlefield strategy. "Your mind is what we need, not your body breaking itself open again."

I can't stop the growl that rises in my throat. "Dragons don't retreat because of clever plans. They understand blood and fire."

Instead of flinching from my display, she steps closer. Close enough that her scent engulfs me—omega, pregnant, mine. Her hand hovers just above the desk, inches from where my claws have unconsciously extended.

"And you think you'll give them more of your blood?" The softness in her voice strikes deeper than any challenge. "We've all bled enough."

Something in my chest cracks open. When did this human—this omega I claimed by necessity—start to matter beyond tactical advantage? When did her concern begin to pierce the armor I've worn since my first command? Her words carry a weight no battle-hardened warrior could dismiss, wrapped in a care I've never allowed myself to need.

The laugh that escapes me is rough, rusty with disuse. "Using my pride against my pride. Clever strategy."

Her smile hits me like a physical blow, the genuine pleasure in her expression making my breath catch. My tail, the traitor, curls toward her of its own accord, seeking a connection my conscious mind still hesitates to acknowledge.

We work through the afternoon, tactical plans flowing between us with seamless efficiency. No longer commander dictating to subordinate, but partners building defense through shared strengths. She sees vulnerabilities I would overlook—the medicinal gardens vital to settlement healing, the secondary evacuation routes that require specialized protection. I provide context she couldn't know—the way dragon scouts communicate through flame patterns, why their thermal vision makes certain approaches deadlier than others.