Page 6

DESPERATION

Aria POV

Fire consumes me from within.

I wake before dawn, sheets damp with sweat, my skin burning as though I've fallen into cooking coals.

Three days since my omega biology announced itself, and the symptoms are progressing with terrifying speed.

Elder Nyssa warned me this might happen with late presentations—the body making up for lost time, rushing headlong into the heat that should have claimed me years ago.

The herbal mixture she gave me barely takes the edge off now.

Every heartbeat sends another wave of heat pulsing through my core, settling in a liquid pool between my thighs where the first embarrassing signs of slick preparation have begun.

The fabric of my sleeping shift feels unbearably rough against hypersensitive skin, every brush of cloth against hardened nipples sending sparks of unwanted pleasure through my traitorous body.

I have hours left. Maybe less.

The room spins slightly as I sit up, forcing myself to focus through the fever.

The small pack I've prepared sits by the door—water skin, dried meat, a spare tunic, and the remaining herbal mixture.

Not enough for a proper journey, but I won't need much if my plans work.

The mountain trails toward dragon territory are three days' journey for regular travelers.

I know shortcuts that could get me there in two, if I push hard enough.

If my body doesn't betray me completely before I arrive.

I dress quickly, choosing layers I can shed as my temperature continues to rise. The leather pants I use for trading expeditions, a light tunic, and sturdy boots. Over everything, a dark cloak with a deep hood—both for warmth in the mountain passes and concealment from patrols.

A quick glance in the small polished metal mirror confirms what I already know—my eyes gleam too bright, pupils slightly dilated with the hormonal changes overtaking me.

A flush spreads across my cheekbones despite the predawn chill, and the pulse at my throat beats visibly beneath skin grown impossibly sensitive.

Taking a steadying breath, I slip the pack over my shoulders and move to the doorway. The settlement still sleeps, only a few early risers tending cook fires or preparing for morning chores. Perfect. Less eyes to notice my departure, less people to question where I'm headed.

I keep to the shadows, using paths between buildings I've known since childhood.

The settlement guard post at the western edge presents the first real challenge—two beta men who take their duty seriously, even if they're no match for Prime patrols.

I could try talking my way past them, but the risk of them noticing my condition is too great.

Instead, I circle toward the southern wall where a gap exists behind the tannery—the wall's stones have shifted over years, creating a narrow space just wide enough for someone of my build to squeeze through.

Few know about it; I discovered it years ago while mapping the settlement's vulnerabilities for trading route planning.

The gap feels narrower than I remember, stone scraping against my shoulders as I push through. Another wave of heat crashes over me as I emerge on the other side, making my knees momentarily weak. I bite my lip to stifle a gasp, tasting blood as I force myself upright.

Focus, Aria.

Beyond the settlement walls, the landscape opens into scrubby foothills that gradually rise toward the mountains.

In the dim pre-dawn light, I can just make out the jagged silhouette of Razorback Ridge where Shadowthorn Outpost perches like a predatory bird watching the valley below.

Somewhere in that fortress, Commander Clawe likely sleeps, unaware that an omega under his jurisdiction plans to escape his territory entirely.

The thought of those cold golden eyes, that scarred face with its inhuman proportions, sends an unexpected shiver through me that has nothing to do with the morning chill.

I've only seen him twice during mandatory inspections, but his monstrous image has burned itself into my memory—seven feet of lethal grace, fur-covered muscle moving with predatory intent, and that long, muscular tail lashing behind him like a separate entity.

I shake my head to dispel the image. Dragons. I need to focus on dragons. On reaching their territory before the heat renders me helpless. On finding the claiming I've always believed was my destiny.

Nyssa's warnings flutter at the edges of my mind—stories of burned omegas, of dual anatomy causing irreparable damage. For the first time, a flicker of doubt creeps in. What if she was right? What if the dragons aren't what I've imagined?

I push the thought away. I've made my choice. Even if there's risk, it's mine to take—perhaps the last real choice I'll ever make once my omega biology takes full control.

The lower trail would be easiest—a widened path used by trading caravans that curves gradually upward into the mountain passes.

But it's also regularly patrolled by both felines and dragons, depending on whose territory currently claims it.

After yesterday's news about the border redrawing, feline patrols will likely be increased to establish dominance.

Instead, I turn toward a nearly invisible game trail that cuts more directly upward. It's steeper, rockier, and far more dangerous—but also less likely to be watched. I've used it only twice before, guiding specialized traders with rare goods who preferred to avoid official inspection.

The first hour passes in determined silence broken only by my labored breathing as I climb steadily upward. The physical exertion helps focus my mind away from the growing discomfort of my condition, though each step sends jolts of awareness through increasingly sensitive nerve endings.

I navigate carefully around a patch of loose scree, knowing from past experience how treacherous it can be.

Three years ago, I watched a trader break his leg here when the seemingly solid ground gave way.

I stick to the rocky outcroppings on the right side, using my knowledge of which stones will bear weight and which might shift.

The sun crests the eastern mountains as I reach the first natural landmark—a twisted juniper tree growing impossibly from a crack in a massive boulder.

I pause here to drink from my water skin and check my bearings.

Below, Blackridge Settlement has awakened fully, tiny figures moving between buildings like ants in a disturbed nest. From this distance, it looks so small, so vulnerable beneath the looming shadow of Shadowthorn Outpost.

I wonder briefly if they've discovered my absence yet. If the felines will bother searching for one escaped omega when they have an entire newly-claimed territory to manage.

Another wave of heat, stronger than before, crashes through me without warning.

My legs buckle as liquid warmth rushes between my thighs, the unmistakable slick of omega preparation soaking through my undergarments.

A whimper escapes my throat—a sound I don't recognize as my own—as my body clenches around emptiness that suddenly, desperately needs to be filled.

No. Not yet. It's too soon.

I force myself upright, leaning against the boulder until the wave passes. Each cycle comes stronger and closer together than the last. My carefully calculated timeline is collapsing with each passing hour.

"Keep moving," I whisper to myself, the sound of my voice startlingly loud in the mountain stillness. "Just keep moving."

The game trail narrows as it winds higher, skirting sheer drops that would mean certain death with a single misstep.

In normal circumstances, I'd navigate this path with confidence born of experience.

Now, my vision occasionally blurs with heat fever, my balance compromised by waves of need that strike without warning.

By mid-morning, I've reached the first mountain pass—a narrow corridor between towering rock faces where wind howls with mournful persistence.

The temperature drops noticeably here despite the strengthening sun, providing momentary relief from my internal fire.

The path ahead becomes less steep but more exposed, cutting across open scree slopes visible from multiple vantage points.

I pause to consider my options. The most direct route continues across the exposed mountainside. The safer path drops into a forested ravine before climbing again—longer but with better cover from aerial observation.

The decision is made for me when another heat wave hits, this one strong enough to drop me to my knees.

My pack slides from suddenly nerveless fingers as I curl forward, arms wrapped around my middle as though I could somehow contain the inferno building inside.

Between my thighs, slick gushes embarrassingly, soaking through my pants in a visible stain I can no longer hide.

"Please," I whisper to no one, to anyone, as tears of frustrated humiliation burn behind my eyelids. "Not like this."

The forested ravine, then. I need cover, need to rest, need to regain control before continuing. With trembling hands, I retrieve my pack and force myself toward the tree line below, each step jarring oversensitive flesh in ways that send conflicting signals of discomfort and unwanted pleasure.

The forest embraces me with blessed dimness, dappled sunlight filtering through pine branches in patterns that seem to sway and pulse with my fever vision. I find a small clearing beside a narrow stream and collapse against a fallen log, fumbling for Nyssa's herbal mixture with desperate hands.

The bitter taste barely registers as I swallow a larger portion than recommended, hoping for any relief that might extend my window of lucidity. I splash cold stream water on my face, neck, and wrists, though the momentary coolness evaporates almost instantly against my burning skin.