Page 139 of Run Little Omega

"We need to secure those birth chambers," I say, struggling to keep my voice steady as his scent surrounds me, suddenly overwhelming in its appeal. "But first..."

"We should return to our chambers," Cadeyrn finishes, his voice carrying a new note of urgency that sends a shiver down my spine.

For once, I don't argue. The knowledge from the ancient texts has awakened an awareness in my body that's impossible to ignore—a hungry, demanding pull that centers in my core and spreads outward in waves of heat that have nothing to do with pregnancy and everything to do with the claiming bond between us.

"Yes," I agree, already turning toward the door. "Right now."

Lysandra's knowing smile follows us. "I'll prepare the proper herbs for after," she calls after us. "The first claiming during pregnancy often triggers a stronger response than expected."

I should be embarrassed by her clinical discussion of what's about to happen between Cadeyrn and me, but I'm beyond caring. My skin feels too tight, my senses hyperfocused on the alpha beside me—his scent, his movement, the steady rhythm of his breathing that I suddenly want to disrupt with pleasure.

The door to our chambers closes with a soft click that somehow echoes through my bones. For a moment, we simply stand there, eyes locked across the space between us, the ancient knowledge we discovered still hanging in the air like frost.

"So," I say, breaking the silence with deliberate lightness, "turns out we've been doing this all wrong."

Cadeyrn's lips quirk into that almost-smile that makes something flutter in my chest. "Is that what you took from those ancient texts? That we've been... inefficient?"

"Well, I've been starving myself of something I apparently need, and you've been..." I gesture vaguely at him, at the hunger so evident in his eyes, "restraining yourself for no good reason."

"No good reason?" He takes a step toward me, cillae pulsing beneath his skin with each heartbeat. "I thought you hated me."

The words hang between us, honest and vulnerable in a way the cold, calculating Winter Prince of old could never have managed. The transformation isn't just physical—the man watching me now bears little resemblance to the detached royal who observed omegas at the Gathering Circle.

"I wanted to," I admit, remaining where I stand rather than retreating. This isn't about the chase anymore. "I tried to. It would have been easier."

"And now?" Another step closer, his winter scent—pine and metal and something uniquely him—washing over me like a physical caress.

"Now I'm carrying four lives that shouldn't be possible." My hands rest on my swollen belly where the little ones shift restlessly. "And I'm tired of fighting what we both know is happening between us."

Something flashes in his eyes—hope, hunger, relief—quickly banked but not before I catch it. "And what exactly is happening between us, little deceiver?"

The old nickname draws an involuntary smile from me. "Something neither of us expected. Something neither of us was looking for."

He's close enough now that I have to tilt my head to maintain eye contact, close enough that the heat of his body creates its own gravitational pull. His hand lifts, hovering near my face without quite touching.

"May I?" he asks, the simple request laden with meaning beyond the physical.

Instead of answering, I lean into his touch, my cheek pressing against his palm. The contact sends cillae spiraling from his skin to mine, blue-white lines of magic meeting and merging in delicate whorls.

"I've missed you," he confesses, voice rough with emotion that the Winter Prince of old would have considered weakness. "Even when you were right beside me in council chambers, in the archives. I've missed this." His thumb traces my lower lip. "The connection."

My heart thuds painfully against my ribs at his honesty. This isn't the calculated seduction of an alpha in rut or the cold manipulation of a court politician. This is simply Cadeyrn—stripped of pretense, of performance, of seven centuries of careful walls.

"I've missed you too," I whisper back, pressing a kiss to his palm. "Though I'd have bitten my tongue off before admitting it yesterday."

His laugh is low and warm. "Your pride rivals mine, blacksmith."

"Maybe that's why we work," I suggest, my own hands coming up to trace the cillae that spiral across his chest. "We're equally stubborn."

"Equally transformed," he corrects, tilting my face up to his. "Equally changed by whatever magic we've awakened between us."

When his lips finally meet mine, the gentleness lasts only a heartbeat before something primal shatters between us. A wave of heat crashes through my core, so intense it steals my breath—my heat, rising in violent response to his proximity. The scent of my arousal fills the air between us, sweet and heavy with need, and Cadeyrn's nostrils flare as he inhales deeply.

"Fuck," he growls against my mouth, his pupils dilating so rapidly the ice-blue is nearly swallowed by black. "Your heat—it's coming on stronger than before."

My skin burns everywhere we touch, nerve endings alive with sensation as my biology responds to compatible alpha pheromones. I feel myself getting wet, my body preparing with embarrassing eagerness, my inner muscles clenching around desperate emptiness.

"I need—" I gasp, unable to form coherent thoughts as heat floods my system. "Cadeyrn, I need?—"

---