Page 32

STRATEGIC PARTNERSHIP

Aria POV

The claiming mark on my throat throbs with my pulse as I study the map spread across the command table.

It's been three weeks since my last heat, three weeks since everything changed between us.

The silvery scar—visible proof of Fritz's ownership—catches the afternoon light filtering through the narrow windows of the command chamber.

But I'm not here as his property anymore. Not really.

"The southern ridge gives you better visibility than your current patrol route," I say, tracing the line with my finger. "From up here, you can watch both the main pass and that side trail the dragons have been sneaking scouts through."

Fritz's golden eyes follow my movement, his pupils narrowing slightly as he considers what I'm showing him. His tail sways gently behind him—not agitated, just thinking. I've learned to read these small movements over the past weeks, a language more honest than his carefully controlled face.

"The ground isn't stable after the spring thaws," he points out, his claws extending slightly to tap a section of the ridge. "Heavy patrols might trigger rockslides."

"Not if you use the game trails here." I tap a spot on the map that no fortress cartographer has properly documented. "The deer and mountain goats have already found the stable paths. I've used them myself, guiding traders before the territory changed hands."

Fritz's pupils contract to thin vertical slits—a sign of intense focus I once mistook for anger. The fur along his shoulders ripples slightly, reminding me that his predator nature is always just beneath the surface of his controlled demeanor.

"Show me," he says. Not an order, but a request for knowledge he knows I have.

Pride surges through me—unfamiliar and uncomfortable. I shouldn't feel good about his acknowledgment. Shouldn't care about his approval. Yet here I am, straightening my shoulders as I explain the hidden paths I've traveled since childhood.

Lieutenant Thorne walks in with patrol reports, his sleek black fur a stark contrast to Fritz's tiger-like patterns. He pauses briefly, clearly surprised to find me still in the command chamber, actively participating rather than just observing.

"The settlement reports more dragon sightings near the eastern orchards," Thorne announces, his missing ear twitching slightly in what I've learned means he's worried.

"That's near the water collection system," I realize out loud. "If they contaminate that source, the settlement loses almost a third of its drinking water."

Fritz's tail goes completely still—a danger signal. "How quickly can they develop other sources?"

This is why I'm here, I realize. This seamless blending of military strategy and civilian knowledge. My understanding of settlement needs matched with his tactical expertise creates a defense neither of us could manage alone.

"The secondary spring could be expanded within two weeks if you provide workers," I answer without hesitation. "But they'll need protection during construction. It's too exposed to dragons flying overhead."

Fritz nods once, decision made. "Thorne, reassign the eastern patrol to provide construction security. Make sure they have plenty of dragon-penetrating bolts."

"Yes, Commander." Thorne's gaze flicks between us, something like respect in his yellow eyes before he leaves.

We continue working as daylight fades, candles eventually providing the only light in the stone chamber.

The dancing flames cast strange shadows across Fritz's features, highlighting the inhuman angles of his face—the pronounced cheekbones, the slightly elongated jaw, the scars running from temple to chin that once disgusted me.

Now I find myself studying these features with something closer to curiosity than fear.

"You're staring," he says without looking up from the patrol schedules he's adjusting.

Heat rises to my cheeks, caught watching him without realizing I was doing it. "Your night vision," I deflect. "Can you see clearly in this light?"

His mouth quirks slightly—not quite a smile, but close. "Better than in daylight. Your human adjustments to darkness are... not great."

"One of many human shortcomings, I'm sure," I respond dryly, aware of all the ways my human limitations must frustrate him.

"Your knowledge of human settlements balances those limitations," he says, surprising me with what almost sounds like a compliment. "It's... valuable."

Valuable . Not quite belonging, not quite equality, but far beyond the initial contempt when he first claimed me. I'll take it as progress.

Night patrol training in the fortress courtyard draws me from my quarters the following evening. I tell myself I'm just there to observe tactical coordination that might affect settlement security. The truth I'm not ready to admit sits heavier in my chest.

From my spot on the elevated walkway, I can perfectly see Fritz demonstrating combat moves to newer recruits.

His massive body moves with impossible grace, showing off the flexibility that once creeped me out but now fascinates me.

He turns his head completely backward while still moving forward, his spine bending in ways that would snap a human's.

When he leaps from standing position to a ledge fifteen feet up, landing without a sound or apparent effort, my breath catches.

The raw power of his form—the muscles moving beneath his fur-patterned skin, the controlled strength that could tear enemies apart yet has never left so much as a bruise on me during our most intense claiming—creates an unmistakable heat low in my belly.

"Quite the sight, isn't he?"

I jump, turning to find Elder Nyssa beside me, her silver braids catching the moonlight. I hadn't heard her approach, too captivated by the training below.

"I'm observing patrol protocols," I lie, the words sounding fake even to my own ears.

Nyssa's weathered face creases with a knowing smile. "Of course you are." Her gaze drops to my claiming mark, visible above my tunic collar. "The scar has healed well. His control must be exceptional."

"What do you mean?"

"Feline alphas can easily tear through human skin during claiming frenzy. The fact that your mark is so clean, so precise... it shows remarkable restraint." She studies me with eyes that have seen both pre-Conquest freedom and post-Conquest reality. "Not what you expected from the monster, is it?"

"He's not—" I stop myself, shocked at my instinctive defense of the alpha I once hated.

"Not what?" Nyssa prompts, knowing exactly what she's doing.

"He's not what I expected," I finally admit, turning back to watch as Fritz demonstrates a defense against dragon fire—the quick, rolling movement that uses a Prime's own momentum against them.

"Few things in this conquered world are," Nyssa observes cryptically before slipping away as quietly as she came.

Below, Fritz's head turns toward our position, his enhanced senses undoubtedly picking up my scent even from this distance.

Our eyes meet across the courtyard, his golden gaze glowing in the darkness.

He doesn't acknowledge me otherwise, returning his attention to the trainees without breaking stride.

Yet I know he's aware of me watching. Just as I've become constantly, uncomfortably aware of him.

---

The changes in my physical responses to Fritz disturb me more than I want to admit. My body has adapted to his inhuman nature in ways that go beyond mere heat biology.

I find myself automatically stepping to his right side during patrol inspections, unconsciously allowing room for his tail's movement. The appendage that once seemed so alien now registers in my awareness as naturally as an arm or leg.

When temperatures drop in the mountain evenings, I catch myself drifting toward his higher body heat during outdoor strategy sessions. The warmth that radiates from him—several degrees above human normal—pulls me like a magnet, my body seeking comfort from the very source I once rejected.

Most alarming is my response to his scent.

Where I once found the musky, predatory notes repulsive, my brain now categorizes them as safety.

Security. Protection. When the wind shifts during border inspections, carrying his distinctive alpha smell, my tension visibly eases—a reaction I can't seem to control no matter how hard I try.

"The settlement's grain storage isn't good enough for winter," I point out during one such inspection, deliberately focusing on practical matters rather than my body's betrayal. "Another early frost like last year's would create food shortages by midwinter."

Fritz surveys the wooden structures clustered against the settlement's northern wall. "The fortress has stone storage chambers we haven't used since the territorial reassignment. Properly sealed, they would protect against temperature changes."

I turn to him in surprise. "You'd share fortress resources with the settlement? That's... unusual for Primes."

His tail lashes once—annoyed, though whether at the generalization or the implication that he's doing something special, I can't tell. "Practical leadership means sustainable resources. Starving settlements create unnecessary problems."

"Practical leadership," I repeat, comparing the concept against what I know of other territories. "Is that what they taught you at the Feline Military Academy?"

The question slips out more sarcastic than intended. To my surprise, Fritz doesn't bristle. Instead, his expression shifts to something almost resembling humor—a slight relaxation around his golden eyes, a subtle quirk of his mouth showing the tip of one long canine.

"They taught conquest without thinking about aftermath," he answers with unexpected honesty. "I learned sustainability through eighteen years of border conflicts and civilian management. The hard way."