Page 13

CLAIMING

Fritz POV

Her scent reaches me before I even open the chamber door—omega in full heat, the sweet-spice signature that belongs only to her.

Twelve hours since our first claiming, and already I find myself anticipating the moment with inappropriate eagerness.

The initial tactical necessity has evolved into something more complex, something I refuse to examine too closely.

I pause outside the heat chamber, taking a moment to compose myself.

The scout reports confirm dragon forces continue testing our borders, their patrols pushing deeper into disputed territory with each passing day.

My claiming of the settlement omega has deterred direct incursion, my scent markers overlaying her heat signature creating territorial declaration they've so far respected. The tactical purpose remains valid.

But that doesn't explain why I spent an hour in the training yard working my body to exhaustion, trying to burn away the memory of her tight heat around my knot.

Doesn't justify why I stood under scalding water in my private bathing chamber, fist wrapped around my length, barbs partially extended as I recalled the sounds she made when I drove into her.

The way her body yielded while her mind continued its rebellion.

I should be satisfied with mission accomplished, omega secured, territory defended. Instead, I find myself craving another taste of that defiance turning to surrender, that moment when her body betrays her pride and responds to what her mind still rejects.

The door slides open at my command code, revealing the continuation of our private war.

Aria sits upright on the replacement pallet, arms wrapped around her knees in defensive posture despite the visible tremors running through her.

The thin shift clings to sweat-dampened skin, her flushed face framed by auburn hair that's escaped its usual practical braid.

Her scent has intensified since morning, the heat cycle building toward another peak.

The moment she sees me, her expression hardens into resentment so pure it nearly masks the desperate need beneath. Nearly, but not quite. I can smell the slick already soaking through the shift, can see the way her thighs press together seeking relief from emptiness her body can no longer tolerate.

"Still here, I see," she says, voice impressively steady for someone clearly fighting heat symptoms. "I thought perhaps you'd decided to process me for facility transfer early."

"And deprive the dragons of their opportunity to rescue you?" I counter, allowing the door to close behind me. "That would be tactically unsound."

Her eyes narrow at the mention of dragons, but another wave of heat visibly crashes through her before she can respond. Her fingers clutch at the pallet, knuckles whitening as she fights for control.

"I don't need this," she finally manages, the words strained through clenched teeth. "Not from you. I can handle it myself."

"Can you?" I ask, moving closer with deliberate predatory grace. My tail sways behind me, measuring my thoughts as I observe her more carefully. "Is that what you've been doing while I've been away? Handling it yourself?"

The flush on her cheeks deepens, confirmation enough.

I inhale deeply, sorting through the complex layers of her scent—heat and need predominant, yes, but beneath that the unmistakable traces of self-pleasure.

Attempt at self-relief that clearly failed to satisfy omega biology designed to accept nothing less than alpha completion.

"I wonder," I continue, my voice dropping to the deeper register that makes her pupils dilate despite herself, "when you touch yourself in desperate attempt at relief, is it dragon cocks you imagine? Their dual shafts you fantasize filling you instead of feline barbs?"

Her sharp intake of breath confirms my barb hits its target.

I shouldn't feel satisfaction at the small cruelty, shouldn't enjoy provoking her when heat already makes her vulnerable.

But something about her continued resistance, her refusal to acknowledge how thoroughly her body has surrendered to my claiming, triggers possessive instincts I've spent decades suppressing.

"That's none of your business," she snaps, though another wave of slick betrays her body's reaction to my words. The scent of it hits me like physical blow, my rut response accelerating beyond my usual control.

"Everything about you is my business while you're in my territory," I growl, moving closer until I stand directly over her. "Everything about you is mine until your heat passes."

I strip my uniform with controlled violence, each piece falling away to reveal the predator beneath commander's restraint.

Her eyes widen as she takes in my naked form, gaze dropping inevitably to my already rigid length.

The barbs have begun to emerge along the shaft, partial extension that will become complete once inside her.

My knot already shows signs of swelling at the base, alpha biology responding to omega heat with primal urgency.

Despite having experienced my claiming before, fear spikes briefly through her scent at the sight.

Good. She should remember that I am not human, that feline alphas bring both pleasure and pain in equal measure.

That what's about to happen between us transcends her childish dragon fantasies with evolutionary reality older than civilization.

"Present," I command, allowing no room for refusal in my tone.

For a moment, defiance flashes in her green eyes. "I'm still processing for facility transfer, then? Still just tactical necessity?"

The question catches me off guard, as does the hint of something beneath anger and resentment in her scent. Something almost like... disappointment? I push the thought away, focusing on reasserting control of the situation.

"Your fate hasn't changed," I inform her coldly. "After your heat cycle completes, you'll be processed according to standard protocol. Now present before I make you present."

Her jaw tightens, but her body responds to the alpha command despite conscious resistance.

She turns to hands and knees on the pallet, back arching to elevate her hips, thighs spreading to reveal the slick-soaked shift clinging to her center.

Her head drops forward, exposing her neck in the classic submission posture that satisfies something ancient in my alpha biology.

I dispose of the thin shift with one swipe of partially extended claws, baring her completely to my gaze.

The sight of her presented before me, slick glistening on inner thighs, sends another surge of rut response through my system.

My barbs extend further, pre-seed gathering at the tip of my length without conscious permission.

Mine. The word echoes through my mind without permission as I position myself behind her, the pallet dipping beneath our combined weight.

I shouldn't think of her that way—she's temporary biological relief, tactical necessity rather than chosen mate.

Yet something about her continued resistance, her refusal to yield completely despite her body's eager response, makes breaking through those barriers uniquely satisfying.

I grip her hips with careful restraint, claws partially extended but nowhere near breaking delicate human skin.

My tail wraps around her upper thigh, the fur-covered muscle providing both restraint and additional point of control.

When the head of my cock presses against her entrance, I feel her momentary tension before omega biology overrides conscious resistance.

"Still tight," I observe with satisfaction, feeling her body's initial resistance to my size despite our previous claiming. "Still fighting what you need."

"Just get it over with," she hisses, the words belied by another flood of slick preparation that eases my entry. "I don't want this."

"Don't you?" I lean forward, using my greater size to cage her beneath me, my chest against her back, my breath hot against her ear. "Let's test that theory."

I enter her with single powerful thrust that tears a cry from her throat—not quite pain, not quite pleasure, but something exquisite in between.

The sensation nearly shatters my control completely—her tight channel gripping my length with perfect pressure, slick heat surrounding me more completely than any fantasy could replicate.

"Gods," she gasps, her body shuddering around the invasion. "You're bigger than before?—"

"Rut response," I growl against her neck, forcing myself to remain still while she adjusts to my size.

The scent of her, the heat of her, triggers biological imperatives that intensify physical reactions.

"You remember my barbs, don't you, little omega?

How they rake against spots inside you nothing else can reach? "

As if on cue, the barbs along my length begin to extend fully, pressing against her inner walls with evolutionary precision.

Her reaction is immediate and visceral—a broken cry as her channel clenches around me, more slick easing the friction that should be painful but clearly isn't. Her body remembers our previous claiming, adapts more readily to my inhuman anatomy, welcomes what her mind still fights.

I establish a measured rhythm, each withdrawal dragging barbs against sensitive spots designed to respond to exactly this kind of stimulation.

Each thrust drives me deeper, claiming territory I've already marked but need to reinforce.

Her body yields with increasing eagerness, the initial resistance melting away as omega biology triumphs over conscious rejection.

"Tell me," I demand, voice rough with rut intensity I can no longer fully suppress. "When you touched yourself earlier, did you imagine dragon cocks filling you? Did you pretend it was their dual shafts stretching you open rather than feline barbs?"