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My release hits with blinding intensity, seed pumping in hot pulses down her throat as my body bows with the force of it. She swallows determinedly, taking everything I give her with unexpected skill for someone who claimed inexperience. The contractions seem endless, pleasure radiating outward from my core in waves that leave me gasping.

When she finally pulls away, a thin strand of fluid connecting her swollen lips to my still-pulsing cock, the sight nearly triggers another round of completion. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, expression holding none of the disgust or resignation I might have expected. Instead, satisfaction shines in her eyes, pride in the pleasure she's given evident in the slight curve of her lips.

"Better?" she asks, voice husky from exertion.

"Understatement," I manage, reaching down to cup her face with gentleness that surprises us both. My thumb traces her lower lip, feeling the slight swelling from her efforts. "Come here."

I help her rise from her knees, drawing her into my lap with careful awareness of my healing injuries. The intimacy of theposition—her smaller form cradled against my chest, my scent mingling with hers—creates connection beyond physical release. When I kiss her, tasting myself on her tongue, the primal satisfaction of it rumbles through me in renewed purr.

"Now I need to dress you for patrol," she says when we finally separate, her practical tone at odds with the intimate moment.

"That was not what I expected when you offered to help me prepare," I admit, the honesty easier in this moment of shared vulnerability.

Her laugh—bright and genuine—creates warmth in my chest that has nothing to do with physical pleasure. "Consider it motivation for a quick recovery."

When she helps me into armor minutes later, the context has shifted entirely. Each touch carries deeper significance, her fingers working confidently across clasps designed for claws rather than human hands. The efficiency speaks to days spent learning my equipment, adapting to designs never intended for her species—just as I've adapted command structure to incorporate her perspective.

"The chest plate needs adjustment," she observes, fingers working at the straps to accommodate bandages still covering my healing wounds. "The weight distribution is wrong with your current limitations."

As she secures the commander's cloak across my shoulders, her hands linger momentarily in touch that transcends practical necessity. The connection—freely given, without fear or biological compulsion—creates bond unlike anything our heat-driven coupling achieved.

"Ready?" she asks, stepping back to assess the final presentation of command authority.

The question carries layers beyond the simple word. Ready to resume leadership despite lingering injury. Ready to face whatever dragon movements signal for our territory. Ready forthis evolving partnership neither of us anticipated when fate forced our joining.

"Yes," I answer, honesty foreign but necessary between us now. For the first time in my long military career, I don't stand alone facing enemies at our border. We are becoming partners in ways I never imagined possible—not just commander and claimed omega, but something more complex, more powerful.

Ready for whatever comes next, as long as she remains at my side.

CHAPTER 22

UNEXPECTED HEAT

Aria POV

It hitsme like a punch to the gut—that first telltale flush crawling up my spine.

"No," I whisper, pressing my hand against the wall to steady myself. "Not now."

But my body doesn't care about timing or tactical vulnerability. The heat spreads under my skin like wildfire, my breath coming faster as sweat beads along my hairline. Between my thighs, the first slick gathers, my core already aching with the hollow emptiness that only an alpha can fill.

This shouldn't be happening. I'm already pregnant. But the warning signs are unmistakable—my nipples tightening painfully against my tunic, my skin flushing hot then cold, my thoughts scattering like autumn leaves in a storm.

Stress-triggered heat. I've heard other omegas whisper about it—how danger can shock our bodies into second cycles, desperate to ensure survival through multiple pregnancies. Evolution's brutal insurance policy.

"Fuck," I mutter, cupping my slightly rounded belly protectively. Our child already grows there, evidence of Fritz'sseed taking root. But with dragon forces circling our borders like vultures, my omega biology screams for reinforcement of the bond.

I need to find Fritz. Now. Before rational thought dissolves completely.

Each step down the fortress corridor feels like wading through honey, my legs already shaky with building need. Guards eye me as I pass, nostrils flaring as they catch my changing scent. Their polite nods can't hide the understanding in their eyes—they know exactly what's happening to their commander's claimed omega.

Unlike my previous heats, I'm not fighting this one. The thought of Fritz's claiming doesn't fill me with dread but anticipation that burns through me alongside the rising biological imperative. My body remembers—the way his barbed cock creates friction against spots inside me that make me see stars, how his knot stretches me to the edge of pain before locking us together in pleasure so intense it borders on unbearable.

I catch myself pressing my thighs together, trying to ease the growing ache as slick dampens my leggings. Gods, I've become one of those omegas—the ones who crave their alpha's touch. When did that happen? When did the monster who once terrified me become the only one who could soothe this fire in my blood?

The command chamber door looms ahead, two guards standing at attention on either side. Their eyes widen as I approach, the scent of my pre-heat undoubtedly washing over them in waves even my dull human nose can detect.

"I need to see the commander," I manage, hating how breathy my voice already sounds.