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His possessiveness no longer feels like a cage but like armor wrapped around me. The claiming mark at my throat pulses in response, my omega instincts recognizing the protection offered by this alpha who walks the razor's edge between monster and mate.

"When?" I manage to ask, unconsciously leaning into his touch.

"Now. While your scent is building but before you're completely gone." His thumb traces my lower lip, the careful restraint of lethal claws making my heart stutter. "The early pheromones carry furthest, attract the most attention without screaming immediate availability."

Even through the thickening fog of need, I recognize what this plan means. He's offering me an active role in our defense despite my condition. Not just omega. Not just mate. Partner. The trust in this gesture nearly steals my breath.

Another wave crashes through me, stronger than before, pulling a whimper from my throat. Slick soaks through my leggings, embarrassingly obvious. Fritz's nostrils flare, his pupils now thin as paper cuts.

"If we're doing this, we need to move fast," I pant, fighting to hold onto coherent thought. "Before I'm just a dripping mess begging for your knot."

The crude description draws a rumbling growl from deep in his chest.

"You're never just anything," he says, his hand sliding from my face to rest over our growing child. "This plan simply uses what's already valuable in new ways."

The distinction matters. I cover his hand with mine, the connection anchoring me against the tide of need rising inside. Once, I might have seen this plan as Fritz using me as a tool. Now I understand it's an acknowledgment of my strength, my contribution to our shared defense.

"Then let's use me," I agree, surprised by the clarity of my decision despite my body's growing demands. "While I can still walk straight."

Fritz's approval shows in the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth. He steps back, the distance visibly painful for him to maintain, but his commitment to our plan overrides biological imperative.

"Thorne," he calls, voice carrying through the closed door. It opens instantly—the lieutenant must have been waiting right outside. "Prepare elite patrol. Full gear. Immediate deployment."

Thorne's eyes dart between us, taking in my flushed face and Fritz's rigid posture. "Extraction detail, Commander?"

"No. Ambush preparation." Fritz's tail lashes once. "We're using omega scent as dragon bait."

To his credit, Thorne's only reaction is a slight widening of his eyes before his military training kicks in. "Understood. Deployment locations?"

"Three zones." Fritz turns to the map, claws extending to mark positions. "Southeastern ravine, western approach, northern ridge. Archers here, here, and here. Support units ready for immediate reinforcement."

I watch them plan, each passing minute making it harder to focus. My skin burns, hypersensitive to even the light fabric of my clothing. My pulse races with a cocktail of fear and need—fear of the danger we're walking into, need for the alpha standing so close yet too far away.

When Fritz turns back to me, the commander has receded, the protective alpha taking over. "You stay within arm's reach at all times. No solo movements, no matter what opportunity presents itself. Clear?"

"Clear," I nod, absurdly grateful for parameters that acknowledge both my agency and my vulnerability.

Another wave of heat slams into me, stronger than the others, drawing a gasp that makes both males turn sharply. Fritz's hand catches my elbow as my knees threaten to give out, his touch both steadying and inflaming the need pulsing through me.

"We move now," he says, voice dropping to that rumbling register that makes my inner walls clench. "Your scent is intensifying too quickly."

The door opens again as Thorne returns. "Patrol units in position, Commander. Extraction team at perimeter marker."

Fritz nods once. "We move in three minutes. Full defensive formation, modified for scent distribution."

As Thorne withdraws, Fritz turns back to me, his gaze softening despite the tactical tension. His fingers trace my claiming mark, the deliberate pressure sending electricity racing down my spine.

"This will work," he says, certainty wrapped around each word. "Trust me to protect what's mine."

"I do." The admission surprises us both with its simple truth. I no longer fear his claiming or doubt his protection. Somewhere between forced necessity and chosen partnership, trust has grown like stubborn mountain flowers through stone.

Another wave hits, drawing a moan I can't suppress as slick drips down my inner thigh. Fritz's nostrils flare, his control visibly fraying at the edges.

"Move," he growls, guiding me toward the door with that careful strength that never hurts despite the lethal potential in his hands.

As we step into the courtyard, the eyes of every feline soldier track our movement. They can smell my condition, understand exactly what their commander risks by using omega heat scent as tactical bait rather than exercising his claiming rights.

Fritz's hand settles possessively at the small of my back, the touch sending a clear message to anyone watching. Mine. Protected. Not available despite what her body broadcasts.