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The sensation of being filled so completely, so thoroughly, satisfies the desperate emptiness that's tortured me for days.

The biological imperative that drove me to madness finally quiets, replaced by a floating contentment that feels alien after so much desperate need.

His seed continues pumping into me in rhythmic pulses, each new surge triggering aftershocks of pleasure that make me whimper and clench around him, which in turn pulls more seed from his seemingly endless supply.

We remain locked together, joined in the most intimate way possible while being emotionally worlds apart.

Fritz's weight presses me into the pallet, his fur-covered chest against my back creating strange friction against my sweat-slick skin.

His breathing gradually slows from the ragged panting of rut to something more controlled, though his heart still pounds hard enough that I can feel it against my back.

When he finally speaks, his voice has partially returned to its usual register, though the rumbling growl still underlies each word. "The knot will subside in approximately twenty minutes," he murmurs, his breath hot against my neck. "Your heat should provide temporary relief after claiming."

He shifts slightly, adjusting our locked bodies to a more comfortable position on our sides, his massive form curled around mine.

The movement causes his still-barbed length to drag against oversensitive tissue, pulling a whimper from my throat.

The knot presses against different spots in this position, sending renewed pleasure rippling through my exhausted body.

"So responsive," he observes, a note of satisfaction entering his voice as he feels my involuntary reaction. "Your body adapts well to feline anatomy."

Too well. Shame floods through me as I realize how completely my body has surrendered to what my mind spent years rejecting.

The barbs that should have been painful now create pleasure beyond anything I imagined possible.

The knot that should have been too large fits perfectly, satisfying the emptiness that's tortured me.

The seed pumping into my womb feels right in ways I don't want to examine too closely.

"It hurts less than I expected," I admit reluctantly, voice hoarse from screaming.

His chest rumbles against my back, almost like a purr. "Omega biology adapts to claiming alpha. Each subsequent joining will be easier, more pleasurable as your body fully accommodates mine."

Subsequent joining. The words hang between us, reminder that this is merely the first of many such encounters my heat will demand.

Not a single humiliation to be endured, but a series of biological submissions that will imprint his scent, his touch, his claiming on my body in ways that can never be undone.

I close my eyes, feeling hot tears slide down my cheeks as the reality of my situation crystallizes with brutal clarity.

This claiming, primitive and overwhelming, is nothing like the dreams I harbored for years.

The feline alpha locked inside me, pumping his seed into my womb with seemingly endless supply, is nothing like the majestic dragon I imagined would be my destiny.

Yet my traitorous body hums with bone-deep satisfaction, omega biology perfectly content with what my mind still rejects. The disconnect between physical response and emotional resistance creates cognitive dissonance I have no framework to process.

A new shame creeps in as I realize what this means for my dragon dreams. What dragon would want me now?

The thought hits with unexpected force. I'm tainted with feline seed, my body adapting to feline barbs and knot.

If I somehow escaped, would a dragon alpha even consider me after being claimed by a feline?

Or would they smell his seed on me, in me, and turn away in disgust?

The prospect of that rejection stings in ways I hadn't anticipated, adding another layer to my confusion.

When Fritz's knot finally begins to subside, allowing him to withdraw from my body, the sensation creates another cascade of unwilling pleasure that leaves me trembling.

Seed and slick leak from my well-used entrance, physical evidence of claiming I can neither deny nor embrace.

The emptiness returns immediately, though muted now, the edge of desperate need dulled by thorough claiming.

Fritz moves away, retrieving his clothing with economical movements that emphasize his return to controlled commander rather than rutting alpha.

He dresses quickly, each piece of uniform reassembling the cold, distant leader I first encountered, though the darkened fur patterns and lingering scent of rut betray the intensity of what just occurred.

"The medical staff will bring food and water," he informs me, already moving toward the door. "Rest while the heat symptoms allow. I'll return when they intensify again."

Then he's gone, leaving me alone with the lingering scent of our joining and the echoing emptiness his departure creates. Not emotional emptiness—I want nothing of connection with the predator who just claimed me—but the physical absence where he filled me so completely moments before.

I curl onto my side, pulling a relatively intact section of bedding over my naked form in pitiful attempt at dignity.

My body feels different—stretched, used, marked in ways I can't see but can definitely feel.

The ghost-sensation of his knot still pulses inside me, my inner walls remembering the shape and size of him with disturbing accuracy.

Exhaustion pulls at me as the heat temporarily recedes, leaving a strange clarity in its wake.

I should use this period of lucidity to plan, to think, to find some way to regain control of my situation.

Instead, I find myself cataloging the sensations of claiming—the pleasant ache between my thighs, the places where his barbs touched spots I never knew existed, the lingering fullness from being stretched around a knot designed by evolution to ensure breeding success.

My body's satisfied response to feline claiming creates uncomfortable questions my mind isn't ready to confront. If my omega biology adapted so readily to what I've spent years dismissing as inferior, what else might I be wrong about?

I push the thought away, too exhausted for such philosophical quandaries.

For now, the relief from heat-madness is enough.

I'll face the next wave when it comes, and the next claiming after that.

And perhaps, in the brief windows of lucidity between, I'll begin formulating what comes after this heat finally passes.

Because one thing remains clear despite the biological haze of the past three days: I will not remain at Shadowthorn Outpost one moment longer than necessary. Commander Clawe may have claimed my body, but he will never possess my future.

Even as the thought forms, my neck throbs where his claiming bite should be but isn't—the one element of traditional claiming he didn't perform. The significance of its absence follows me into exhausted sleep, a final puzzle I'm too tired to solve.