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ATTACK AT DAWN

Aria POV

Warning horns rip me from sleep—three short blasts followed by one long, the signal for attack.

My body moves before my brain fully wakes up, hands grabbing for the clothes I'd laid out just in case.

The stone floor feels like ice against my bare feet as I dress as fast as I can, fumbling with the unfamiliar fastenings in the dark.

Fritz is already gone, his scent hanging in the doorway between our rooms. The knowledge of what's growing inside me—his child, our child—makes everything more urgent as I tie my boots. I'm not just protecting myself anymore, but the little life we've made.

The fortress hallways buzz with controlled chaos—feline soldiers moving with deadly purpose, officers shouting orders, medical staff getting ready for the wounded. I catch bits of reports as I hurry toward the command room.

"Western approach... multiple entry points... using the ridgeline we thought impassable..."

The map room shows me how bad things really are. Fritz stands at the central table, golden eyes narrowed to thin slits as he takes in all the information. His tail lashes once—the only sign of the tension I can smell coming off him in waves.

"Dragon forces broke through the outer perimeter at three points," Lieutenant Thorne reports, pointing to markers on the map. "They're using information from our captured scouts to target our weak spots."

"Numbers?" Fritz's voice stays steady, but I catch the undertone of controlled rage.

"At least seventy ready to fight. Maybe more."

Ice runs through my veins. Our defense plans expected forty at most. This isn't just testing our borders—it's a full-on invasion.

Fritz's eyes meet mine across the room, acknowledging me without breaking his focus. "Settlement evacuation," he orders, speaking directly to me. "Get them into the caves beneath the fortress."

I nod, understanding the trust this shows. He's putting me in charge of saving my own people while he handles the military defense.

"Rotation defense on the western wall," he continues, turning back to Thorne. "Draw them toward the northern approach where our archers have the high ground."

His mind works in ways I'm still learning to appreciate—balancing immediate battle needs with longer-term defense planning. Even in crisis, he thinks three steps ahead.

I slip out of the command room without needing more instructions. I know my role now—not claimed omega, not strategy advisor, but the bridge between feline military and human civilians. Connecting two worlds that once seemed impossibly far apart.

The path to Blackridge takes eleven minutes at a run, the trail slick with morning dew.

By the time I reach the settlement gates, the horizon has exploded into chaos.

Dragon fire lights up the western sky in sick orange bursts, the roars of combat carrying across the valley.

Smoke rises in thick black columns from the fortress's outer walls.

Elder Nyssa meets me at the gates, her silver braids hastily tied back, face lined with the grim knowledge of someone who's seen invasion before.

"Evacuation," I tell her without wasting time. "Move everyone to the caves beneath the fortress."

"The direct path will expose us to the western ridge," she points out, years of survival experience showing in how quickly she grasps the situation.

"We'll take the eastern ravine," I say, my mind racing through other routes. "It adds twenty minutes but keeps the mountain between us and their main force."

Nyssa's weathered face shows a flash of surprise—maybe at my strategic thinking, or maybe at how completely I've taken on fortress defense priorities. No time to think about that now.

The settlement moves with practiced efficiency born from years of living in contested territory.

Families grab essentials, community leaders organize the most vulnerable, lookouts report dragon positions from hidden spots.

I feel a surge of pride for these humans who keep surviving despite everything.

Thirty-two minutes after the first warning horn, we start moving—127 humans in organized groups through the eastern tributary. The sounds of battle grow louder as we go, dragon roars mixed with the battle cries of feline warriors.

"They're pushing harder than expected," whispers Markus, one of the settlement scouts watching our rear. "The fortress defense is falling back to the second wall."

My hand touches my stomach without thinking, a protective gesture toward the secret I'm carrying. If Fritz is giving up territory, things are worse than we thought. I force myself to focus on the civilian column ahead, on getting these people to safety.

The ravine narrows as we get closer to the mountain, forcing us into a vulnerable single-file line. Above us, the fortress's northern tower sometimes becomes visible through gaps in the trees, smoke now pouring from multiple defense positions.

A child's terrified cry cuts through the tense silence. I turn to see a dragon scout perched on the ravine edge, its scales catching the morning light in blood-red flashes. Smaller than a full warrior, but still more than able to tear human flesh to pieces without trying.

"Keep moving," I order the column, keeping my voice low but firm with authority I've learned from Fritz. "Steady pace. Don't run."

Panic spreads visibly through the group despite my command—the smell of human fear so sharp that even my limited senses can pick it up. The dragon's head swivels, tracking our movement with predatory focus.

It hasn't called for backup yet. Hasn't alerted the main attack force that we're here. That means it's either lost or an advance scout separated from its unit. Either way, we have precious seconds before our position is discovered.

I slip back through the column toward the threat, gripping a knife—pathetically small against dragon scales—in my hand. Not to fight, but to distract if necessary. To draw it away from the civilians while they reach the cave entrance just fifty yards ahead.

The dragon jumps down into the ravine with a crash that shakes the ground, landing twenty feet in front of me. Its forked tongue tastes the air, head tilting in that reptile way as it processes the scents.

"Omega," it hisses, voice crackling like burning wood. "Claimed, but still valuable."

It knows. It can smell both Fritz's mark on me and the pregnancy my human companions can't yet detect. Cold fear spikes through my body.

"Run," I shout to the column behind me, giving up on stealth now that we're spotted. "Get to the caves!"

The evacuation group surges forward in desperate flight, people dropping possessions as they sprint for safety. The dragon's attention splits between the fleeing group and me, calculations visibly working behind its slitted eyes. I back away slowly, keeping its focus while the others escape.

"Commander will pay for his prize," it says, taking a step toward me with predatory grace. "Or watch you burn. Either works for us."

Behind it, I see a mother stumble, her two small children separated from her in the chaos. They freeze in terrified confusion, directly in the dragon's path if it turns around.

Time collapses into a single impossible choice. The cave entrance is thirty yards behind me. The children stand exposed fifteen yards beyond the dragon. If I run, they die. If I stay, we all might.

I dart left suddenly, away from both cave and children, drawing the dragon's attention with deliberate movement. "You want an omega? Come get one!"

The creature takes the bait, lunging after me with startling speed. I skid down a graveled slope, putting distance between the predator and the children while their mother desperately pulls them toward safety.

Ten seconds. That's all they need to reach the cave mouth. Ten seconds I need to stay alive.

The dragon's clawed hand catches my ankle, sending me sprawling across sharp rocks that tear through my clothes to the skin beneath. Pain flares white-hot along my side as I roll to my feet, knife still clutched in bloodied fingers.

"Nowhere to run, little breeder," it taunts, closing the distance with casual confidence. "Your alpha isn't here to protect his investment."

I back against the ravine wall, knife raised in pitiful defense against a creature that could snap my spine without trying. The children have disappeared from view—safe, I hope—but that doesn't help much as I face my own death or capture.

The dragon inhales deeply, nostrils flaring as it really takes in my scent. "Interesting. You carry mixed blood already." Its scaled hand reaches toward my stomach with terrible purpose. "Commander's offspring. Even more valuable than we thought."

My grip on the knife tightens, the blade ridiculously small against armored scales, but I'll die before I let this monster touch my unborn child. The thought becomes crystal clear—not submission, not surrender, but protective rage unlike anything I've felt before.

A blur of motion erupts from the rocks above—so fast my human eyes can barely track it. One moment the dragon towers over me, the next it's slammed sideways with bone-crushing force. Fritz lands in a predatory crouch between us, transformed by battle fury into something barely recognizable.

His fangs have grown to stick past his lips, ears flattened against his skull in primal aggression.

The fur patterns I've traced with curious fingers now bristle across his entire body, no longer just decorative markings but protective armor.

His spine curves in ways that would break a human's back, while his tail whips with deadly precision.

This isn't the controlled commander who rules Shadowthorn with strategic brilliance. This is the feline predator in its purest form—a killing machine made for speed and savage efficiency.

The dragon recovers quickly, scales flashing as it rises to face this new threat. "Commander," it hisses, recognition in its voice. "Come to protect your breeding stock?"