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"No," I whisper, turning to flee back into the forest.

Too late. Their inhuman speed closes the distance in seconds, one circling to cut off my retreat while the other approaches directly. They're both tall, reed-thin creatures with sleek black fur covering their forearms and spine, nothing like Commander Clawe's tiger-striped bulk but just as clearly not human.

"Settlement female," the taller one calls, voice carrying that distinctive rumbling undertone all felines possess. "Stop. You're outside authorized travel zones."

I back away, searching for any escape route. "I have trading authorization," I lie, knowing it's futile. My scent betrays me completely.

The second scout circles closer, nostrils flaring as he catches my full scent profile. His pupils contract to vertical slits against yellow irises, his tail going perfectly still behind him—a hunting posture I recognize from painful observation.

"Omega," he says, the word carrying unexpected weight. "In pre-heat."

Against my will, my body responds to their alpha pheromones—subtle but effective at this distance. Another rush of slick warmth between my thighs brings humiliating awareness of my vulnerability. My neck aches with the instinct to bare my throat in submission, a biological imperative I resist with clenched teeth.

"I'm just traveling home," I try again, voice steadier than I feel. "My settlement is?—"

"Blackridge," the first scout interrupts. "And you're heading away from it, toward dragon territory." His head tilts with predatory assessment. "The newly presented omega reported missing this morning."

They know. They're looking for me specifically. The realization sends ice through my veins despite the fire in my blood.

"I'm authorized to travel," I insist, taking another step backward.

The taller scout moves with blinding speed, suddenly behind me, cutting off my retreat. His scent—alpha, predator, feline—triggers another wave of unwanted response from my traitorous body. My knees weaken as slick gushes between my thighs, the omega biology responding to alpha presence despite it being the wrong species, the wrong territory, everything wrong.

"You will return with us to Shadowthorn Outpost," he says, not unkindly but with absolute authority. "Commander Clawe has ordered your retrieval."

The second scout approaches, pulling restraints from his belt. "Your heat accelerates. You need medical attention before full manifestation."

I lash out instinctively, striking at the nearest scout with desperate strength. My fist connects with solid muscle,achieving nothing but sharp pain across my knuckles. His reflexes are impossibly fast, catching my wrist before I can try again.

"Please," I beg, humiliation burning alongside the fever in my blood. "Not feline territory. I need?—"

"You need proper medical support through your first heat," the scout holding my wrist says firmly. "Dragon territory offers only breeding pens where you'd be used by multiple alphas until conception."

Horror floods through me at his words. Not the claiming I've imagined—not the destiny I've planned for years. The image of multiple dragons, multiple claimings, shifts my fantasy into nightmare.No single alpha claiming me as mate, cherishing me for my rarity? Just... breeding?

"You're lying," I whisper, even as uncertainty creeps into my conviction. "Dragons are more civilized, they?—"

"Have dual anatomy that burns human omegas from inside," the taller scout interrupts flatly. "Your settlement's dragon preference nearly cost you your life, omega."

The words echo Nyssa's warning, echo Commander Clawe's cold assessment just yesterday. The repetition from different sources cracks my certainty further. Could they all be right? Could my years of careful observation and planning have been built on fundamental misunderstanding?

The restraints close around my wrists—not painfully tight, but secure enough to prevent further resistance. I stand there, caught between scouts, as the reality of my situation finally breaks through heat-fueled fantasy.

I've failed. My escape attempt, my carefully planned route to dragon territory, my dreams of majestic claiming—all collapsed in seconds upon contact with reality.

One scout retrieves my fallen pack while the other guides me firmly back the way I came, down toward the valleywhere Shadowthorn Outpost awaits. Each step away from dragon territory feels like another piece of my imagined future crumbling away.

"Commander Clawe will determine your disposition," the scout leading me says, his tone carefully neutral. "You're fortunate we found you before dragon patrols. They've increased activity since the territorial reassignment."

I don't respond, focusing instead on remaining upright as heat symptoms continue to intensify. The herbal mixture has completely failed now, overwhelmed by biological imperatives strengthened through stress and alpha proximity. My vision occasionally blurs at the edges, my skin feels tight and oversensitive, and the emptiness inside grows more demanding with each passing minute.

We reach the tree line where a transport vehicle waits—one of the rare motorized transports the Primes maintain for official use. The scouts help me inside, one remaining with me while the other takes the controls. The engine roars to life, the sound painfully loud to my heightened senses.

As we descend toward Shadowthorn Outpost, I catch glimpses of my settlement below, growing smaller with each curve in the mountain road. Blackridge looks impossibly vulnerable from this height, its defensive walls laughably inadequate against the power that controls these mountains.

My body betrays me completely during the journey, waves of heat and need making coherent thought increasingly difficult. The scout beside me maintains respectful distance despite my scent, his training evidently stronger than biological response.

"First heat is always worst," he offers awkwardly as I curl into myself during a particularly intense wave. "The medical staff at Shadowthorn will provide suppressants to ease the symptoms."