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Of course they have. Always pushing, always reminding me that my position here exists at their pleasure.

"My claiming intentions remain none of Command's concern," I growl. "Process the omega according to protocol."

I stalk toward the upper levels, irritation rippling along my spine in visible waves of bristling fur. Behind me, I hear Thorne issuing instructions for the omega's containment. Her scent—that intriguing blend of defiance and fear, herbal masking agents and emerging heat—lingers in my nostrils longer than it should.

Back in my quarters, I stand before the polished metal once more. The reflection shows what I am—what humans see when they look at me. A monstrous predator with inhuman eyes, a body designed for killing, scars that speak to violence and pain.

No omega would willingly choose this. Certainly not one who dreams of dragon alphas with their jewel-bright scales and imperial bearing.

The fortress walls wouldn't hold back dragon scouts if her scent reached its peak. Her distress was a beacon. But it wasmore than that. Her continued, delirious fixation on the fire-breathers grated against my senses, a phantom challenge to my very real claim over this territory.

I push the thoughts away. Better for everyone that she be processed according to protocol. Better that I remember what I am—a washed-up commander serving out a glorified exile, not a worthy alpha seeking a mate.

My tail settles into stillness as the decision solidifies. I will not claim Aria Copenhagen. After her heat passes, she'll be transferred to a facility where her unusual physical characteristics can be properly utilized for the Confederacy's breeding programs.

The matter is settled. Or so I tell myself as her scent continues to haunt me, hours after our brief encounter.

CHAPTER 3

DESPERATION

Aria POV

Fire consumes me from within.

I wake before dawn, sheets damp with sweat, my skin burning as though I've fallen into cooking coals. Three days since my omega biology announced itself, and the symptoms are progressing with terrifying speed. Elder Nyssa warned me this might happen with late presentations—the body making up for lost time, rushing headlong into the heat that should have claimed me years ago.

The herbal mixture she gave me barely takes the edge off now. Every heartbeat sends another wave of heat pulsing through my core, settling in a liquid pool between my thighs where the first embarrassing signs of slick preparation have begun. The fabric of my sleeping shift feels unbearably rough against hypersensitive skin, every brush of cloth against hardened nipples sending sparks of unwanted pleasure through my traitorous body.

I have hours left. Maybe less.

The room spins slightly as I sit up, forcing myself to focus through the fever. The small pack I've prepared sits by thedoor—water skin, dried meat, a spare tunic, and the remaining herbal mixture. Not enough for a proper journey, but I won't need much if my plans work. The mountain trails toward dragon territory are three days' journey for regular travelers. I know shortcuts that could get me there in two, if I push hard enough.

If my body doesn't betray me completely before I arrive.

I dress quickly, choosing layers I can shed as my temperature continues to rise. The leather pants I use for trading expeditions, a light tunic, and sturdy boots. Over everything, a dark cloak with a deep hood—both for warmth in the mountain passes and concealment from patrols.

A quick glance in the small polished metal mirror confirms what I already know—my eyes gleam too bright, pupils slightly dilated with the hormonal changes overtaking me. A flush spreads across my cheekbones despite the predawn chill, and the pulse at my throat beats visibly beneath skin grown impossibly sensitive.

Taking a steadying breath, I slip the pack over my shoulders and move to the doorway. The settlement still sleeps, only a few early risers tending cook fires or preparing for morning chores. Perfect. Less eyes to notice my departure, less people to question where I'm headed.

I keep to the shadows, using paths between buildings I've known since childhood. The settlement guard post at the western edge presents the first real challenge—two beta men who take their duty seriously, even if they're no match for Prime patrols. I could try talking my way past them, but the risk of them noticing my condition is too great.

Instead, I circle toward the southern wall where a gap exists behind the tannery—the wall's stones have shifted over years, creating a narrow space just wide enough for someone of my build to squeeze through. Few know about it; I discoveredit years ago while mapping the settlement's vulnerabilities for trading route planning.

The gap feels narrower than I remember, stone scraping against my shoulders as I push through. Another wave of heat crashes over me as I emerge on the other side, making my knees momentarily weak. I bite my lip to stifle a gasp, tasting blood as I force myself upright.

Focus, Aria.

Beyond the settlement walls, the landscape opens into scrubby foothills that gradually rise toward the mountains. In the dim pre-dawn light, I can just make out the jagged silhouette of Razorback Ridge where Shadowthorn Outpost perches like a predatory bird watching the valley below. Somewhere in that fortress, Commander Clawe likely sleeps, unaware that an omega under his jurisdiction plans to escape his territory entirely.

The thought of those cold golden eyes, that scarred face with its inhuman proportions, sends an unexpected shiver through me that has nothing to do with the morning chill. I've only seen him twice during mandatory inspections, but his monstrous image has burned itself into my memory—seven feet of lethal grace, fur-covered muscle moving with predatory intent, and that long, muscular tail lashing behind him like a separate entity.

I shake my head to dispel the image. Dragons. I need to focus on dragons. On reaching their territory before the heat renders me helpless. On finding the claiming I've always believed was my destiny.

Nyssa's warnings flutter at the edges of my mind—stories of burned omegas, of dual anatomy causing irreparable damage. For the first time, a flicker of doubt creeps in. What if she was right? What if the dragons aren't what I've imagined?

I push the thought away. I've made my choice. Even if there's risk, it's mine to take—perhaps the last real choice I'll ever make once my omega biology takes full control.