Page 27

HEAT

Aria POV

The first sign hits me while I'm going over trade reports in my room. A sudden flash of heat runs through my body, no mistaking what it means. My hand stops mid-turn of a page, my breath caught in my throat.

Six weeks since my first heat. Right on schedule, my body's getting ready to betray me again.

I push my hands against the cool desk, trying to stay grounded while memories flood back.

Not the fuzzy, half-remembered bits from those first desperate days, but the all-too-clear memories of what came after—Fritz's teeth breaking my skin, the impossible feeling of his body reshaping mine from inside, his knot locking us together for what felt like forever.

My body remembers too, with slick already gathering between my thighs. The claiming mark on my throat pulses like it's alive, suddenly hot and impossible to ignore when I'd almost managed to forget about it these past weeks.

"Not yet," I whisper, hating my own biology. "It's too soon."

But nobody gets to argue with omega biology.

Now that the claiming bond has set in, my heat cycles will follow a pattern— four to six weeks apart, each one linked to my alpha's scent and his body chemistry.

Each one demanding his specific claiming, his unique anatomy that my body has changed to fit.

I stand up, needing to move to shake off the prickling heat under my skin.

The room Fritz gave me after claiming me is bigger than I expected—bedroom, sitting area, and private bathroom all flowing together with more comfort than I'd imagined in a military fortress.

The windows look out over eastern mountains where dragons keep testing our borders.

Those mountains once meant freedom to me—the path to the fantasy life I'd built up in my head. Now, after seeing what dragons really do to people, they only mean danger. That realization sits heavy in my chest, another piece of my old self crumbling away as I try to figure out who I'm becoming.

A knock at my door snaps me out of my thoughts. "Trade meeting in fifteen minutes, Command Level," calls one of Thorne's junior officers.

"Got it," I answer, the fortress talk already becoming natural after weeks of working here.

I splash cold water on my face, trying to ignore how my skin tingles at even that gentle touch—another sign my heat's coming that I can't pretend isn't happening.

The mirror shows changes I still haven't fully accepted—the claiming mark on my throat, now healed into a silvery scar that sometimes seems to glow in certain light.

The way I hold myself differently now, more alert and confident than the settlement trader who once dreamed dragons would save her.

What bothers me most is how my eyes always go to the claiming bite first, like it's become the most important part of who I am. The mark keeps showing up in my dreams more and more—sometimes burning with pain, other times pulsing with a warmth that scares me even more than the pain does.

The command level is buzzing with activity when I arrive—feline officers moving with that predator grace between stations, communication systems tracking patrols along the borders, tactical screens updating with real-time intelligence.

I've gotten used to the hot temperatures they keep for feline comfort, the subtle scent markers that label different operational zones, the special lighting for eyes that see differently than human ones.

Fritz stands at the center display with Thorne, both focused on a map showing recent dragon movements along the northern pass.

Even from across the room, my body recognizes his scent, the specific alpha smell that wakes up something wild in my omega biology.

The claiming mark flares hot against my throat, sending another wave of heat through my body that makes my knees almost buckle.

I force myself to walk over professionally, clutching my data tablet maybe a bit too tight against my chest. "The settlement reports are done," I announce, proud that my voice stays steady despite being so close to my alpha while my pre-heat symptoms get worse.

"Resource exchanges are going according to the updated schedule. "

Fritz looks up, golden eyes narrowing as they meet mine. His nose flares, taking in my scent with that inhuman sharpness that misses nothing—not my rising temperature, not the hormone shifts, not the first traces of omega scent that tell him heat is coming.

Something flickers across his face, there and gone before I can read it.

The muscles in his massive shoulders tense visibly.

"Noted," he says, his voice carefully neutral though I notice his claws have come out slightly against the table.

"Leave the reports. Lieutenant Thorne will go over them with me later. "

I put the tablet on the edge of the display table, careful to keep my distance so I don't trigger either a biological response or break fortress rules.

But as I turn to leave, I find myself lingering, watching Fritz go back to the tactical display with that intense focus that I used to think was cold detachment but now seems different after what he told me yesterday about refusing to kill innocent settlers.

His movements have a power I'm only now starting to really see—the controlled strength of a predator always holding back power that could easily break stone, the precise way he moves that shows decades of military training.

When he reaches to point at a distant mountain pass, his spine bends in ways no human body could ever move, the fur on his forearms rippling as his muscles shift underneath.

Six weeks ago, seeing him move like that would have disgusted me.

Now I find myself watching with a fascination that I can't quite shake, noticing details I used to actively avoid—the way his fur patterns darken when he's concentrating, how his tail moves in ways most humans never learn to read, the dangerous grace in how his claws come out and retract as he works with the tactical screen.

"Was there something else, Aria?"

The question startles me out of my staring. Fritz hasn't turned around, but his ear has swiveled toward me, catching either my movement or maybe my changed breathing that gave me away.

"No," I answer quickly, feeling my cheeks heat up at being caught watching him. "Just... wondering about all the increased dragon activity near the eastern border."

Now he does turn, looking at me with an intensity that makes the claiming mark pulse harder against my throat.

"Their movements match up with certain biological patterns," he says quietly, his voice low enough that only I can hear him despite the busy command center.

"Patterns they've apparently learned to track with scary accuracy. "

The realization hits me like cold water. My approaching heat. The dragons are watching for it, positioning their forces to take advantage of any weakness in fortress security when it happens. A chill runs down my spine despite the warmth building under my skin.

"I see," I manage to say, trying to keep my composure as I think through what this means. "Should I... change my duties during this time?"

"We'll talk about arrangements," Fritz answers, keeping up the professional distance despite talking about something that should be intensely personal. "Keep to your normal schedule for now."

I nod and turn to leave before my body betrays me any more in this public place where we both have to maintain our careful roles—him as commander, me as trade liaison, neither of us acknowledging the claiming bond that pulses stronger between us as my heat gets closer.

The next few days pass in a weird tension, my body's preparation speeding up despite my attempts to ignore it.

The symptoms feel both familiar and different from my first heat—less desperate panic, more focused awareness.

My skin gets more and more sensitive, like my nerve endings are reaching for a touch I both crave and fear.

My temperature keeps climbing, giving me a constant flush that gets knowing looks from the few other claimed omegas working in the fortress.

The worst part is the dreams—vivid ones that leave me gasping awake in tangled, sweat-soaked sheets.

Not nightmares about being claimed against my will, but shamefully detailed dreams of pleasure I never wanted to admit to.

In these dreams, I arch eagerly into Fritz's touch, welcome the burning stretch of his body inside mine, beg for his knot with a desperation that horrifies me when I wake up.

I jolt awake from one such dream to find my own fingers between my thighs, my body trying to find relief that my mind still fights against. The realization sends me stumbling to the bathroom where I stand under cold water until I'm shivering instead of burning up.

It doesn't help. Nothing helps except what my body really wants—the alpha whose bite marks my throat, whose scent has worked its way into my own, whose body has changed mine to fit him.

The choice hangs over me with growing urgency as my symptoms get worse.

I could give in again, accept what the claiming bond demands now that I better understand what's coming.

Or I could run—try to escape toward dragon territory even knowing the truth behind my old fantasy, even knowing the claiming bond would punish me with pain that would get worse and worse until I came back.

Not much of a choice, but somehow having even the illusion of one matters.

I find myself standing at the western gate as sunset turns the stone walls blood-red, staring down into the valley where Blackridge's lights start to glow in the growing darkness.

Beyond them, mountain passes lead to territories where dragons wait—not the majestic saviors I once imagined but predators whose calculated cruelty I've seen with my own eyes.