Page 100 of Run Little Omega

I straighten, suddenly conscious of my vulnerability. I've fled the central haven's protection with nothing but the clothes on my back and the Survivor's pendant hanging heavy around my neck. Darkness approaches quickly, shadows lengthening between the massive blackthorns that dominate this region of the Bloodmoon Forest.

Being alone in these woods after nightfall is a death sentence. The Hunt may have transformed into something unprecedented between Cadeyrn and me, but other fae alphas still prowl these shadows, seeking unclaimed omegas to breed.

And I, despite the cillae marking my skin, have effectively rejected my alpha's protection.

The thought brings fresh confusion. I don't want to think of Cadeyrn asmyalpha, not after what I've discovered. Yet our claiming bond remains, stretched painfully between us but unbroken. Through it, I sense his distant presence—a cold, muted awareness at the edge of my consciousness.

He isn't following me. I should feel relieved, but the knowledge only deepens my isolation.

I need shelter before nightfall. Pushing away from the tree, I orient myself using what fragments I remember from Fergus's contraband maps. The central haven lies somewhere west, which means the nearest border village would be...

A twig snaps behind me, and I whirl, frost gathering instinctively between my fingers. Nothing visible moves among the shadows, yet I sense a presence watching with deliberate intent.

"Show yourself," I demand, voice steadier than I feel.

No response comes, but undergrowth to my left rustles slightly. I pivot, raising my crystalline hands in what I hope appears threatening rather than desperate.

A small red fox emerges from between ferns, amber eyes regarding me with unsettling intelligence. Nothing about its appearance suggests fae glamour or shapeshifting—just an ordinary woodland creature, save for the fearlessness with which it approaches me.

"Shoo," I mutter, trusting nothing in this forest. "I'm not in the mood for cryptic animal guides or whatever you're supposed to be."

The fox tilts its head, ears twitching as if considering my words. Then it turns and trots several paces away before looking back expectantly.

"You've got to be kidding me." I cross my arms, refusing to follow. "I'm not some fairy tale princess who follows random animals through enchanted woods."

The fox makes a sound suspiciously like a sigh, then approaches again. This time it circles my legs once before heading in the same direction, stopping to ensure I'm watching.

Something about its behavior tugs at memory—a story my mother told before illness claimed her. She spoke often of forest guardians who took animal form to guide lost travelers, of magic existing beyond court control.

Wild Magic.

The thought sends electricity through my veins. Is this another manifestation of the power awakening in my blood? Not just frost abilities but a deeper connection to the forest itself?

The fox yips insistently, breaking my reverie.

"Fine," I relent, taking a tentative step forward. "But if you lead me to some fae alpha's lair, I'm turning you into a fur muff."

The threat doesn't concern the fox, who sets off at a pace forcing me to hurry. We move through the forest with unnatural ease—undergrowth parts before us, creating paths where moments before dense vegetation blocked passage. Even stranger, massive blackthorn branches bend and shift above, their movements subtle but deliberate, as if consciously clearing our route.

The forest responds to me. Or perhaps more accurately, to the Wild Magic now flowing through my veins.

I've felt hints of this connection since Cadeyrn first claimed me, but always attributed the sensation to our bond. Now, moving without him through these ancient woods, I realize the connection extends beyond our claiming. The forest recognizes something in me—something awakened but not created by Cadeyrn's bite and knot.

Something that was always mine.

The fox leads me downward, following natural contours until we reach a small valley sheltered by a horseshoe of towering blackthorns. At its center stands an ancient oak, its trunk wider than three men standing arm to arm. The tree's enormous roots have grown in peculiar formations, creating a natural shelter—a hollow large enough for a person to crawl inside, protected from elements and prying eyes.

My guide sits before this opening, tail curled neatly around its paws, looking for all the world like a host presenting accommodations.

"Is this where you live?" I ask, approaching cautiously.

The fox simply watches as I inspect the hollow. Inside, dry leaves have collected, forming a surprisingly comfortable bed. The space smells of earth and growth, with none of the rot permeating other parts of the forest. Most importantly, the hollow provides clear sightlines to any approach while remaining nearly invisible from outside.

Perfect shelter for someone who wishes to remain hidden.

"Thank you," I tell the fox, meaning it despite my earlier suspicion.

It blinks slowly, then rises and trots away without looking back, disappearing into the underbrush as silently as it appeared.

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