Page 48

UNEXPECTED HEAT

Aria POV

It hits me like a punch to the gut—that first telltale flush crawling up my spine.

"No," I whisper, pressing my hand against the wall to steady myself. "Not now."

But my body doesn't care about timing or tactical vulnerability. The heat spreads under my skin like wildfire, my breath coming faster as sweat beads along my hairline. Between my thighs, the first slick gathers, my core already aching with the hollow emptiness that only an alpha can fill.

This shouldn't be happening. I'm already pregnant. But the warning signs are unmistakable—my nipples tightening painfully against my tunic, my skin flushing hot then cold, my thoughts scattering like autumn leaves in a storm.

Stress-triggered heat. I've heard other omegas whisper about it—how danger can shock our bodies into second cycles, desperate to ensure survival through multiple pregnancies. Evolution's brutal insurance policy.

"Fuck," I mutter, cupping my slightly rounded belly protectively. Our child already grows there, evidence of Fritz's seed taking root. But with dragon forces circling our borders like vultures, my omega biology screams for reinforcement of the bond.

I need to find Fritz. Now. Before rational thought dissolves completely.

Each step down the fortress corridor feels like wading through honey, my legs already shaky with building need.

Guards eye me as I pass, nostrils flaring as they catch my changing scent.

Their polite nods can't hide the understanding in their eyes—they know exactly what's happening to their commander's claimed omega.

Unlike my previous heats, I'm not fighting this one.

The thought of Fritz's claiming doesn't fill me with dread but anticipation that burns through me alongside the rising biological imperative.

My body remembers—the way his barbed cock creates friction against spots inside me that make me see stars, how his knot stretches me to the edge of pain before locking us together in pleasure so intense it borders on unbearable.

I catch myself pressing my thighs together, trying to ease the growing ache as slick dampens my leggings.

Gods, I've become one of those omegas—the ones who crave their alpha's touch.

When did that happen? When did the monster who once terrified me become the only one who could soothe this fire in my blood?

The command chamber door looms ahead, two guards standing at attention on either side. Their eyes widen as I approach, the scent of my pre-heat undoubtedly washing over them in waves even my dull human nose can detect.

"I need to see the commander," I manage, hating how breathy my voice already sounds.

They step aside without a word. They don't need to be told what happens when an omega in heat approaches her alpha.

Fritz stands hunched over the tactical table, his powerful body tense as he discusses patrol positions with Thorne.

The moment I step through the doorway, his head snaps up, nostrils flaring wide.

His golden eyes lock onto mine, pupils contracting instantly to thin vertical slits.

Every muscle in his body goes rigid, his tail freezing mid-motion.

The hunger in his eyes is primal, but beneath it, I see a new conflict – the commander warring with the mate, strategy battling instinct.

This isn't the cold, calculating commander who claimed me during my first heat.

This is something more complex – an alpha torn between his duty to protect the territory and his overwhelming need to claim his mate.

"Out," he growls, not looking away from me. "All of you. Out. Now."

The chamber empties in seconds, soldiers recognizing the barely contained alpha response rippling beneath their commander's controlled exterior. Thorne is the last to leave, shooting a knowing glance between us before pulling the heavy door shut.

The silence hangs thick in the air, broken only by my quickening breath.

"I didn't expect this," I say, my voice already roughening as another wave of heat washes through me. "It shouldn't happen during pregnancy."

"It's the stress." Fritz approaches slowly, his movements deliberate and controlled despite the hunger I can see burning in his eyes. His voice drops to that deeper register that seems to vibrate directly through my bones. "Your body senses the danger and wants more protection."

"The dragons." I nod, sweat trailing down my neck as understanding flickers through the growing fog. "They're too close."

He stops just beyond arm's reach, his chest rising and falling with deliberately measured breaths. I can see the battle raging inside him—the alpha wanting to claim, the commander needing to strategize.

"Your scent will carry beyond the walls," he says, claws extending slightly before he forces them to retract. "The dragons will smell you."

Even through the growing haze of need, I grasp what he's saying. My heat is a beacon in the darkness, broadcasting vulnerability to enemies circling our territory. The very thing that makes me weak could become our strength.

"How long until it hits fully?" Fritz asks, his voice rougher than usual.

I swallow hard, trying to focus as another wave rolls through me. "An hour. Maybe less." I press my thighs together, feeling slick threatening to soak through my leggings. "It's coming on fast."

Fritz's nostrils flare again, drinking in my changing scent. His tail begins lashing behind him in short, sharp movements that betray his struggle for control.

"We have two options," he says, hands clenching into fists at his sides. "I can claim you immediately in secured quarters, or..."

The pause stretches between us. I can almost see the tactical calculations running behind his eyes.

"Or what?" I prompt, struggling to focus as heat pools in my core.

"We use it." His face shifts from hungry alpha to calculating commander. "Your heat scent could create opportunities we haven't considered."

Understanding breaks through the fog clouding my mind. "Bait," I whisper. "The dragons track omega scent."

"Exactly." Fritz begins pacing, every movement tightly controlled. "We could use your scent to lay false trails. Lead them directly into our ambush points."

The plan's brilliance hits me even through the growing haze of need. Dragon scouts specifically target omegas, using our scent to track patrol patterns. By deliberately leaving trails in strategic locations, we could manipulate their movements, draw them right into our waiting claws.

But the risks...

"You'd let me go out there?" I ask, genuinely shocked. "Like this?"

The Fritz I first met would never have considered risking his claimed omega, especially not while in heat, when his possessive instincts should be at their peak. The fact that he's even suggesting this speaks volumes about how our relationship has transformed.

"I'd protect what's mine," he corrects, the possessiveness in his voice sending a shiver through me that has nothing to do with fear. "Always within reach, never outside immediate extraction range."

Another wave of heat crashes through me, stronger than before. My knees nearly buckle as my core clenches around nothing, desperate to be filled. I grab the edge of the tactical table to steady myself.

"What if they catch me before you can reach me?" The question tumbles out as I fight to maintain focus.

Fritz closes the distance between us, his massive form blocking out the torchlight. One clawed hand rises to cup my face with surprising gentleness, deadly weapons cradling my skin with perfect control.

"They won't." The absolute certainty in his voice settles something inside me. "No dragon will ever touch what belongs to me."

His possessiveness no longer feels like a cage but like armor wrapped around me. The claiming mark at my throat pulses in response, my omega instincts recognizing the protection offered by this alpha who walks the razor's edge between monster and mate.

"When?" I manage to ask, unconsciously leaning into his touch.

"Now. While your scent is building but before you're completely gone." His thumb traces my lower lip, the careful restraint of lethal claws making my heart stutter. "The early pheromones carry furthest, attract the most attention without screaming immediate availability."

Even through the thickening fog of need, I recognize what this plan means. He's offering me an active role in our defense despite my condition. Not just omega. Not just mate. Partner. The trust in this gesture nearly steals my breath.

Another wave crashes through me, stronger than before, pulling a whimper from my throat. Slick soaks through my leggings, embarrassingly obvious. Fritz's nostrils flare, his pupils now thin as paper cuts.

"If we're doing this, we need to move fast," I pant, fighting to hold onto coherent thought. "Before I'm just a dripping mess begging for your knot."

The crude description draws a rumbling growl from deep in his chest.

"You're never just anything," he says, his hand sliding from my face to rest over our growing child. "This plan simply uses what's already valuable in new ways."

The distinction matters. I cover his hand with mine, the connection anchoring me against the tide of need rising inside. Once, I might have seen this plan as Fritz using me as a tool. Now I understand it's an acknowledgment of my strength, my contribution to our shared defense.

"Then let's use me," I agree, surprised by the clarity of my decision despite my body's growing demands. "While I can still walk straight."

Fritz's approval shows in the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth. He steps back, the distance visibly painful for him to maintain, but his commitment to our plan overrides biological imperative.

"Thorne," he calls, voice carrying through the closed door. It opens instantly—the lieutenant must have been waiting right outside. "Prepare elite patrol. Full gear. Immediate deployment."

Thorne's eyes dart between us, taking in my flushed face and Fritz's rigid posture. "Extraction detail, Commander?"

"No. Ambush preparation." Fritz's tail lashes once. "We're using omega scent as dragon bait."

To his credit, Thorne's only reaction is a slight widening of his eyes before his military training kicks in. "Understood. Deployment locations?"

"Three zones." Fritz turns to the map, claws extending to mark positions. "Southeastern ravine, western approach, northern ridge. Archers here, here, and here. Support units ready for immediate reinforcement."

I watch them plan, each passing minute making it harder to focus. My skin burns, hypersensitive to even the light fabric of my clothing. My pulse races with a cocktail of fear and need—fear of the danger we're walking into, need for the alpha standing so close yet too far away.

When Fritz turns back to me, the commander has receded, the protective alpha taking over. "You stay within arm's reach at all times. No solo movements, no matter what opportunity presents itself. Clear?"

"Clear," I nod, absurdly grateful for parameters that acknowledge both my agency and my vulnerability.

Another wave of heat slams into me, stronger than the others, drawing a gasp that makes both males turn sharply. Fritz's hand catches my elbow as my knees threaten to give out, his touch both steadying and inflaming the need pulsing through me.

"We move now," he says, voice dropping to that rumbling register that makes my inner walls clench. "Your scent is intensifying too quickly."

The door opens again as Thorne returns. "Patrol units in position, Commander. Extraction team at perimeter marker."

Fritz nods once. "We move in three minutes. Full defensive formation, modified for scent distribution."

As Thorne withdraws, Fritz turns back to me, his gaze softening despite the tactical tension. His fingers trace my claiming mark, the deliberate pressure sending electricity racing down my spine.

"This will work," he says, certainty wrapped around each word. "Trust me to protect what's mine."

"I do." The admission surprises us both with its simple truth. I no longer fear his claiming or doubt his protection. Somewhere between forced necessity and chosen partnership, trust has grown like stubborn mountain flowers through stone.

Another wave hits, drawing a moan I can't suppress as slick drips down my inner thigh. Fritz's nostrils flare, his control visibly fraying at the edges.

"Move," he growls, guiding me toward the door with that careful strength that never hurts despite the lethal potential in his hands.

As we step into the courtyard, the eyes of every feline soldier track our movement. They can smell my condition, understand exactly what their commander risks by using omega heat scent as tactical bait rather than exercising his claiming rights.

Fritz's hand settles possessively at the small of my back, the touch sending a clear message to anyone watching. Mine. Protected. Not available despite what her body broadcasts.

"Stay close," he murmurs, voice for my ears alone. "The second your heat peaks fully, we abort and head back to quarters. No exceptions."

I nod, words becoming slippery as another wave rushes through me.

My skin burns everywhere fabric touches it, my breasts aching, the emptiness between my legs sharpening to physical pain.

Every instinct screams for completion, for Fritz's barbed length stretching me open, his knot locking us together.

But beneath the biological imperative burns something equally powerful—determination to use even this aspect of myself to protect what we're building. This heat isn't just biology betraying me anymore. It's a weapon I choose to wield, a tactical advantage I offer freely.

The gates swing open, revealing the mountain paths beyond. Fritz's powerful body presses closer to mine as we cross the threshold, his scent enveloping me in protective promise.

The claiming mark at my throat pulses in time with my racing heart as we step into territory where dragons might catch my scent at any moment.

Fritz's presence beside me doesn't feel like captivity anymore but partnership.

Not the monster who once terrified me, but the protector I've chosen to trust with both my heat and my life.

This heat would not rule me. If my body was to betray me with its ill-timed demands, then I would turn that betrayal into a weapon, wielded alongside the alpha I now, impossibly, trusted.

Not conquest, but coordination.

Not surrender, but strategy.

Not possession, but partnership.

The final transformation from reluctant claiming to chosen alliance.