Page 22

TERRITORY

Fritz POV

The scent of blood hits me before they even reach the gates.

I snap my head up from the trade reports I've been reviewing, nostrils flaring as the metallic tang cuts through the usual fortress smells. Then the alarm sounds—three short bursts followed by the longer tone that turns my stomach cold. Injured patrol returning.

My body reacts before my mind fully processes it. I launch myself across the command center, muscles bunching as I spring fifteen feet up to the observation platform in a single bound. My claws click against the stone as I land, tail whipping behind me for balance.

From this height, I can see them emerging from the forest cover on the western approach.

Four figures—three upright, dragging a fourth between them.

Even from here, I can see the blood matting Kinrick's sleek black fur.

One of my best scouts, now hanging limp between his companions, leaving a dark trail on the ground behind them.

"Medical team to the west gate," I bark into my wrist communicator. "Full trauma protocol. Get Thorne to the command center now."

My heart pounds against my ribs as I leap down, bypassing the stairs entirely. I hit the courtyard with knees bent to absorb the impact, already sprinting toward the gates as they creak open.

The smell is worse up close. Dragon fire mixed with blood and fear-sweat.

They've laid Kinrick on a stretcher, and the sight of him freezes something in my chest. Deep gashes tear across his torso and face.

His left flank bears the unmistakable burn pattern of dragon fire—flesh charred and fur singed away.

His breathing comes in ragged gasps, ears flattened to his skull.

"Report." My voice comes out rougher than intended as I turn to Maren, the patrol leader. Her own uniform is scorched, dark spatters of Kinrick's blood turning the fabric stiff.

"Dragons at Broken Ridge," she says, not wasting time with preamble. Her tail slashes the air behind her. "Not scouts. A full tactical unit with fire specialists and aerial support. We ran into their advance patrol two miles inside our territory."

My fur bristles along my spine, electricity seeming to crackle beneath my skin. "Numbers?"

"At least twenty combat-ready that we could track. Probably more staged beyond the ridge." Maren's golden eyes narrow. "They weren't hiding, Commander. They wanted us to find them."

A deliberate provocation. Not random testing but calculated escalation. The timing sits like a stone in my gut—too perfectly aligned with Aria's settlement visit to be coincidence.

"Did they attempt communication?" I already know the answer.

"They attacked the moment we approached identification distance." Her tail lashes again, betraying the rage she's keeping from her voice. "Targeted Kinrick specifically—the fire specialist focused on him while the others engaged the rest of us."

Cold settles in my blood. Targeting our most experienced scout suggests intelligence on our patrol composition—information they shouldn't have unless they've infiltrated deeper than we've detected.

"Command center. Now." I turn toward the fortress interior. "I want every detail—terrain, positions, engagement patterns. Everything."

Thorne meets us at the command level entrance, his nostrils flaring as he catches the scent of blood and battle pheromones.

"Scout positions?" His question is immediate, already grasping the situation.

"Compromised," I confirm, a growl threading through my voice. "Dragons at Broken Ridge, well inside our territory."

Movement in the adjacent corridor catches my attention—familiar scent reaching me before I fully process the visual. Aria stands by the tactical display, her eyes widening as she takes in the blood-spattered patrol.

"Back to your quarters." I keep my voice flat, fighting the pull of the claiming bond that always tugs at me when she's near. "This doesn't concern you."

Her chin lifts, green eyes flashing with challenge. "If dragons have crossed boundaries at Broken Ridge, it absolutely concerns me."

The specific knowledge catches me off-guard. She shouldn't know that location by name.

"This is military business," I say, though the conviction wavers in my voice.

"Military business requires accurate terrain knowledge," she fires back. "I know those mountains better than anyone here. I guided traders through Broken Ridge for five years before presenting."

Thorne's ears flick forward with interest, his posture shifting subtly. "Commander, if she has direct experience?—"

"Fine." I cut him off, torn between tactical advantage and the risk of involving her. "But you observe only. Speak when spoken to." The command comes out with more force than intended, and I see her jaw clench as she falls in behind us.

The command center erupts with activity as the patrol spreads out around the central holographic display.

They mark enemy positions, describing the engagement with military precision as a three-dimensional map builds before us.

Through it all, I watch Aria from the corner of my eye.

She's studying the projection with analytical focus, none of the wistful dragon-admiration I half-expected.

"This position gives them no tactical advantage," Thorne says when the initial report concludes. "Broken Ridge has minimal defensibility compared to heights just two miles east."

"Unless defense isn't their goal." I study the elevation patterns, the cover options. "They're staging for advance, not holding ground."

"There's something missing from your map." Aria's voice cuts through the tactical discussion, quiet but certain.

Every head turns toward her. I give a short nod, granting permission despite my earlier restriction.

She steps forward, fingers hovering over the projection. "Broken Ridge has a cave network through its eastern face. A natural formation, probably ancient volcanic vents. They're invisible to aerial survey because of the forest canopy, but they run through most of the ridge's internal structure."

My eyes meet Thorne's across the table. His tail has gone perfectly still—his tell for intense focus.

"You've been in these caves?" I can't keep the edge from my voice, the thought of her in such dangerous terrain making something twist in my chest.

"Many times." She nods. "The settlement uses them for emergency shelter during bad storms, sometimes as a trading waypoint when the valley floods."

Without asking permission, she approaches the control panel, hands moving with surprising confidence across the interface. "May I?"

I nod, watching as she adjusts the projection parameters. The terrain map shifts, revealing subsurface features that indeed suggest an extensive cave system beneath the forest canopy.

"Main entrance here," she points, marking a spot half a mile from the dragon encampment. "Secondary entrances along this ridgeline. All three connect to a main chamber system that runs nearly to the valley floor on the eastern slope."

My blood runs cold as the implications hit me. Not a random incursion but a calculated position that gives them access to a hidden route directly into the heart of our territory. A path our standard defenses would never detect.

"If they get into these caves," she continues, oblivious to how she's just upended our entire strategic assessment, "they could move substantial forces within striking distance of both Shadowthorn and Blackridge before your perimeter sensors would ever detect them."

The observation shows military thinking no settlement trader should possess. Worse, it reveals dragon strategy that's far more sophisticated than their usual brute-force approach. Someone in their command knows the terrain better than they should.

"We need to adjust patrol patterns," Thorne says immediately, professionalism overriding any hesitation about taking intelligence from a claimed omega. "Monitoring at all cave entrances, seismic sensors throughout the projected pathway."

I nod agreement while studying Aria with new eyes. Her knowledge represents a tactical asset I never anticipated when claiming her to secure my territory. The irony burns—keeping her from dragons has given me the very tool I need to defend against them.

"Prepare three strike teams," I tell the assembled officers. "Primary force at the main entrance. Smaller units at secondary access points with comms relay capability. Full tactical loadout including fire suppression gear."

As I outline the response, I remain hyperaware of Aria's presence—her scent, the way she stands, the subtle shift in how the others now look at her. No longer just my claimed omega but someone with value beyond her biological status.

The realization brings complicated satisfaction. Pride in her capabilities wrestles with lingering suspicion about trusting someone who made her dragon preference abundantly clear. The claiming bond pulses between us, carrying emotional currents I refuse to examine too closely.

When the planning concludes and my officers disperse to prepare their teams, I find myself alone with Aria and Thorne in the suddenly quiet command center.

"Your terrain knowledge proved valuable." The words feel awkward on my tongue, approval rarely offered so directly. Surprise flickers across her face.

"Survival required it," she says simply, the practicality somehow more impressive than any elaborate explanation. "Knowledge meant safe passages, reliable shelters, fewer confrontations with patrols and predators."

"Knowledge that now serves Shadowthorn's defense," Thorne observes, his scent carrying new notes of respect. "Commander, should we integrate her expertise into regular intelligence protocols?"

The suggestion makes tactical sense despite the complications. Using Aria's knowledge systematically would mean deeper integration into command structure, more access, more opportunities to observe our operations.

More chances for her to identify vulnerabilities if she still harbors dragon sympathies.

"Limited consultation basis," I decide, splitting the difference between advantage and security. "Settlement terrain features relevant to the current dispute only. Thorne will coordinate through secure channels."

Aria's face reveals nothing, but the bond between us transmits a tangle of emotions—satisfaction at recognition alongside resentment at continued restrictions. The complexity of her response fascinates me more than it should.

"Go back to your quarters," I tell her, deliberately softening my tone. "Lieutenant Thorne will escort you."

After they leave, I stand before the projection, staring at the cave network she revealed. My claws extend and retract unconsciously as I consider what it means. Not just an immediate threat, but evidence of dragon intelligence-gathering far beyond what previous encounters suggested.

The most troubling question—how did they learn about geological features the settlement has kept hidden from us? Information exchange suggesting either coercion or willing cooperation, neither option reassuring given Aria's previous preferences.

Though I incorporated her knowledge into our defense plans, caution demands maintaining reservations about its complete reliability.

She made her feelings about dragons versus felines abundantly clear.

The claiming bond creates a biological connection, but it doesn't erase years of conditioning or emotional attachments.

That night, I collapse onto my bed between patrol deployments, exhaustion dragging me under.

But sleep brings no peace. Instead of tactical scenarios or strategic projections, I dream of the claiming—Aria beneath me, her body yielding while her mind fought against it.

Her voice echoes with haunting clarity: " Not you, not like this. "

I jerk awake with fur bristling, tail thrashing against the bedding. The claiming bond pulses between us despite the physical distance, carrying emotional echoes I can't fully interpret. Is she dreaming too? Remembering our joining with the same conflicted feelings that haunt me?

A question I've avoided rises unbidden. Did I make a mistake keeping her instead of sending her to a breeding facility as originally planned? Does her knowledge of our terrain, fortress layout, and now defense deployments create a security vulnerability that outweighs the benefits?

My body revolts at the very thought. Muscles tense across my shoulders, fur rising along my spine, tail slashing the air with aggression I can't control.

My biology rejects even the possibility of releasing her now that the claiming is complete, the scent-bond established, my bite permanently marking her as mine.

More disturbing than the physical reaction is the hollow ache that spreads through my chest at the thought of sending her away. Not just alpha territoriality or biological imperative, but something deeper I refuse to name even to myself.

I throw back the covers and stalk to the window overlooking the valley.

Moonlight transforms the landscape into silvers and shadows, my feline vision piercing the darkness to reveal the hidden movements of nocturnal creatures.

In the distance, Blackridge Settlement lies quiet, while the border forest conceals the subtle movements of our patrols.

Beyond those borders, dragon forces advance with precision that unsettles me.

Not random testing but coordinated strategy with an objective I can't yet see clearly.

Their interest in Aria during her settlement visit, followed by positioning near a hidden infiltration route, suggests a connection I need to understand.

Whatever they're planning, she's become a critical variable—her knowledge, her settlement ties, her position between human community and Prime authority. Keeping her close is tactical necessity now, regardless of the personal complications the claiming bond introduces.

I press my palm against the cold glass, watching my own reflection—the vertical pupils, the scars running from temple to jaw, the monster humans see when they look at me. The monster she sees, despite our bond.

Dawn breaks over the eastern ridge, painting the sky blood-red.

I turn away from the window, decision made.

Whatever doubts plagued my dreams are buried beneath clearer strategic imperative.

Aria stays under my protection and authority, her knowledge incorporated into our defenses under appropriate security measures.

The claiming bond pulses with something like satisfaction, alpha instinct approving the decision that aligns with both biological imperative and tactical necessity.

That it also satisfies something deeper, something I refuse to acknowledge even to myself, remains carefully unexamined as I prepare to face whatever our fire-breathing neighbors have planned.