Page 34

DRAGON ASSAULT

Fritz POV

I smell the scout's blood before he even reaches the fortress gates. Sharp and metallic, mixed with fear-sweat and burned flesh that sets off all my predator instincts. I'm already moving toward the courtyard when the warning horn sounds, my body reacting to the threat before my mind can catch up.

The young feline—barely out of his teens with spots still visible on his flanks—falls from his mount as soon as he makes it through the entrance. His fur is singed down his left side, the skin underneath blistered and raw. Dragon fire. The sulfur stench tells me that before he says a word.

"Ambush," he gasps, his eyes wide with shock. "Eastern ridge. They took Ferral and Kiv. Would've taken me too if..."

My growl silences the entire courtyard. "Get him to the infirmary. Thorne, get the response team ready. Full tactical gear."

My mind is already calculating distances, response times, positions.

Dragons don't take prisoners without a reason.

They're planning something beyond their usual territory-testing.

My tail lashes behind me, muscles coiling with the need to act now.

The soldier's burns need treatment, but his escape would've been prevented if the dragons didn't want us to know.

A trap. But why?

Aria appears at the edge of the growing crowd, her scent immediately standing out from the felines around her.

Worry tightens her face as she looks at the wounded scout, but she doesn't turn away from the injuries.

She's gotten tougher since coming here, learning to face the harsh realities of territorial warfare head-on.

"What happened?" she asks, falling into step beside me as I stride toward the command chamber.

"Dragon ambush. Two scouts captured, one got away with a warning."

Her mind works quickly—one of the things I've come to appreciate beyond her omega biology. "An ambush that lets someone escape on purpose isn't really an ambush."

"Exactly." I push open the heavy oak door to the command chamber, breathing deep to make sure no unfamiliar scents are hiding inside. Paranoia keeps commanders alive in contested territories. "They wanted us to know."

Thorne arrives with patrol reports from the past three days. His missing ear twitches with tension as he spreads the documents across the table.

"The pattern's clear now, Commander," he says, his claws extending to point at specific patrol routes. "They've been targeting our scouts near the settlement boundary, especially those paths used by..."

"By omegas," I finish, the realization hitting me like a punch. "They're hunting scent trails."

Aria stiffens beside me. "Human omegas? Why would they?—"

"Strategic assets," I cut in, fighting to keep the protective rage from making my voice too rough. "They're using claimed omegas to draw territorial responses."

Thorne nods, his yellow eyes narrowing. "The captured scouts were following routes near where settlement omegas gather healing herbs. Routes you suggested we watch more closely after your last heat."

Aria's scent shifts sharply—distress and dawning horror as she puts it together. "They're using me—using my suggestions—to target your patrols?"

"Not you specifically." My hand moves toward her automatically before I catch myself.

Not the time for touching, not with Thorne watching.

"Any omega in heat leaves traces that can be detected for weeks, especially by dragons.

They've figured out that our patrol patterns adjust to protect areas where omegas gather. "

"Those dragons aren't tracking omegas for claiming," Thorne adds bluntly. "They're using them as bait."

The color drains from Aria's face as my warnings about dragon brutality suddenly transform from just words to real threat. All those fantasies she once had about majestic dragon alphas crumble in the face of cold military tactics using omegas as expendable resources.

I turn to the territory map, forcing myself to focus on immediate strategy. "They'll expect us to concentrate on rescuing our captured scouts. That leaves the settlement exposed, especially on the eastern side."

"Where the water project is happening," Aria realizes, her practical mind pushing through the shock. "Thirty workers, mostly betas, all out in the open if dragon forces?—"

"They won't hit the water project," I interrupt, studying the terrain with eyes that see far better in dim light than any human's. "Too obvious. They'll?—"

"The northern grain storage," she says at the exact same time I do.

Our eyes meet across the table, the shared tactical insight creating a connection that goes beyond alpha/omega biology. Something shifts in her gaze—recognition, maybe, of how completely our thinking has aligned despite coming from such different worlds.

"Evacuate the water project workers as a distraction," I order Thorne. "But position our archers along the northern ridge. Triple the guard on the grain storage."

"The dragons will have the advantage in the air over the ridge," Thorne points out.

"Not if we use the cave network." Aria's finger traces a path across the map, showing features no official maps have documented.

"There's a system of connected caves that runs under the northern ridge.

The vent holes are too small for dragons to enter, but perfect for positioning archers.

They'd never expect attacks from below."

Thorne looks to me for confirmation, clearly surprised by both her suggestion and the fact that I'm actually considering it. Five weeks ago, I would have dismissed any tactical input from a recently claimed omega. Now, I find myself planning how to implement her idea.

"Show me these caves," I demand, pulling a blank piece of parchment forward.

Her hands move confidently across the page, sketching the underground network with the precision of someone who's been through it many times.

As she works, I notice changes in her that go beyond tactical cooperation.

The omega who once feared everything about me now stands comfortably at my side, no longer flinching when my tail moves in her peripheral vision or when my claws extend to point at map positions.

More importantly, she smells of territorial protection—that distinctive scent when someone defends what they consider theirs .

Not just survival instinct, but active investment in our collective security.

She's defending Shadowthorn and Blackridge not as a reluctant prisoner, but as someone who has claimed this place as home.

"The main passage can easily fit your scouts," she explains, indicating the larger caves. "But the advantage comes from these smaller offshoots. They create perfect firing positions with almost complete cover."

"You know these caves extremely well," I observe, studying both the map and her face. "Potential escape routes, perhaps?"

She doesn't flinch from the implied question. "Yes. I mapped every possible way out of feline territory after my claiming." Her honesty surprises me. "But I'm showing them to you now, so what does that tell you?"

What indeed. The question hangs between us, loaded with implications neither of us is ready to fully address. The omega who planned escape routes now reveals them to better defend the territory she once tried to flee. Evolution, adaptation... or something else entirely?

My strategic assessment shifts to include a dimension I've previously refused to acknowledge—the growing connection between us that goes beyond heat-driven biology or commander/subordinate practicality. It creates a vulnerability I can't afford, yet can't seem to suppress.

"I need to see these caves firsthand," I decide, watching her reaction carefully. "The information is valuable, but I need to verify it myself."

"I'll guide a scouting unit tomorrow," she offers immediately.

"No." The word comes out sharper than I intended, my protective instinct flaring beyond tactical necessity. "Too dangerous with dragon activity increasing."

Her chin lifts in that stubborn angle I've come to recognize. "I'm the only one who knows these passages completely. Partial knowledge gets your scouts lost—or worse, trapped if dragons detect them."

"Then provide detailed maps."

"Maps don't show the false passages, the unstable sections, the places where sounds carry to the surface." Her tone stays respectful but firm—not directly challenging my authority, but asserting her expertise with growing confidence. "You need me there in person."

The problem becomes painfully clear. Her knowledge gives us invaluable tactical advantage—the kind that changes battle outcomes and saves lives. But using that knowledge means putting her at risk, directly in dragon path if our movements are detected.

"Commander," Thorne says carefully. "The omega's knowledge could mean the difference between successful rescue and more losses. We can provide enough protection with a specialized unit."

I recognize the wisdom in his assessment, but something primal in me rejects the cold calculation that would risk Aria's safety, no matter how tactically sound.

This isn't just commander's protectiveness toward a valuable asset.

The barbs of possessiveness dig deeper than that, tearing at the professional distance I've maintained through decades of military service.

"You'll stay behind protective lines at all times," I finally agree, my tail giving away my discomfort with a single sharp lash. "First sign of dragon activity, you get out immediately. No heroics, no exceptions."

"Understood." Her acceptance comes too quickly, too easily.

"I mean it, Aria." I use her name deliberately, forcing her to meet my eyes. "Your safety is non-negotiable."

Something flashes in her eyes—surprise at my directness, maybe, or recognition of the concern beneath my tactical considerations. "I understand, Commander."