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"Pyrax is coming," I tell her, already mapping escape routes in my head. "With a full attack force."

To her credit, fear doesn't cloud her thinking. "The ambush won't hold against those numbers."

"No." I take her arm, supporting her as another wave of heat visibly hits her. "We need to move. Now."

Our planned retreat route is now compromised. Dragon forces approach from both east and south, potentially cutting off our path to the fortress. The backup route through northern caves would take too long—time Aria's rapidly advancing heat won't allow.

"I can still walk," she insists, though her unsteady legs tell a different story. "What about the western path?—"

"Probably watched already." I stretch my senses to their limits, sorting through scents and sounds no human could detect. "We go through the ravine. Underground portion."

Her face pales slightly. The underground stream passage is our most dangerous option—tight spaces, limited movement, and complete darkness for human eyes. For Aria in advancing heat, it will push her already strained body to its limits.

"I can do it," she says, reading my concern without me having to voice it. Our connection has grown beyond words to something instinctive and unbreakable.

I gather the remaining guards with quick hand signals. "Defensive retreat. Pattern seven. Maximum protection on the omega."

They respond immediately, forming a protective formation around Aria as we move toward the narrowest part of the ravine where water has carved a passage beneath the rock. I take the lead position, claws extended to navigate the treacherous descent into darkness.

We're halfway to the underground entrance when the air suddenly turns scorching hot. Dragon fire. Too close.

"Down!" I shout, shoving Aria against the ravine wall as superheated flame washes over our position. The guard nearest the edge takes a direct hit, his scream cutting off as fire consumes fur, flesh and bone in seconds.

When the flame clears, I look up to see them—five dragons arranged along the ravine edge, with a larger form at the center. Pyrax. His gold-red scales gleam in the sunlight, massive wings partly extended in a show of dominance, his unnatural double-voice echoing as he surveys our position.

"Commander Clawe." My name sounds like a death sentence in his mouth. "Territorial violations carry severe penalties under Council law."

"As does unprovoked assault on established settlements," I counter, positioning myself between Aria and the dragon force. "Your scouts crossed our boundaries three days ago."

Pyrax's laugh—cold and dual-toned—echoes through the ravine. "Boundaries shift with power, feline. Always have." His nostrils flare, drinking in the scents rising from our position. "Especially when the prize justifies... reinterpretation."

His gaze shifts to Aria, reptilian hunger evident as he processes her condition. "The omega who sought dragon territory, carrying feline offspring now. Fascinating adaptation."

Cold fury rises through my chest at his casual assessment of what's mine. Alpha rage threatens to overwhelm tactical judgment as ancient rivalry between our species feeds instinctive hatred. I force control through decades of military discipline, analyzing rather than reacting.

Pyrax outweighs me by at least two hundred pounds. His fire breath exceeds any feline defense. His scale armor resists standard claw attacks. Direct confrontation means near-certain defeat.

Yet retreating means exposing Aria to potential capture if dragon forces circle behind us. With her heat approaching peak intensity, her condition creates vulnerability I cannot ignore.

"The omega is claimed," I state, my voice dropping to a dangerous growl that signals imminent violence to any Prime familiar with feline warnings. "Under Council law, that claim supersedes territorial disputes."

"Council law," Pyrax repeats, contempt dripping from every syllable. "Another boundary that shifts with convenient interpretation." His massive form shifts, wings extending further as he prepares to descend into the ravine. "I recognize no claim that prevents appropriate resource allocation."

The way he phrases it—reducing Aria to a resource rather than a person—confirms everything I've told her about dragon attitudes toward omegas. Not potential mates but tactical assets to be used for advantage. The fury building in my chest finds new focus, sharpened by the certainty that Pyrax views her as nothing more than a weapon to be pointed at enemies.

I catch Thorne's eye, silent communication passing between us from years of battlefield coordination. He understandsimmediately, signaling remaining guards into a modified defensive pattern that will adjust to my next move.

The solution clicks into place with sudden clarity—the perfect blend of tactical necessity and protective instinct creating a strategy neither Pyrax nor his forces will expect.

"Ravine defense," I order, voice pitched for feline ears alone. "Full containment protocol. On my mark."

The guards shift position slightly, preparing for coordinated action they've drilled but never used in actual combat. The maneuver risks everything on perfect timing, but creates potential for both secure extraction and devastating counterattack.

"You speak of resources," I address Pyrax, deliberately drawing his attention while the guards make final positioning adjustments. "Yet waste them through arrogance rather than efficiency."

His eyes narrow at the insult, exactly as I intended. Pride has always been dragon weakness—their belief in their own superiority blinds them to tactical vulnerability.

"Your claimed omega sought dragon territory of her own choice," he counters, seeing my talk as stalling rather than strategic positioning. "Her preference was clear before your... intervention."