Page 22 of Run Little Omega

The claiming will come for her soon. Unless someone helps her.

Moving slowly, I emerge from my hiding place with my hands visible. “Nessa,” I whisper, keeping my voice low in case the alphas, with their superior fae hearing, are nearby.

She jerks at the sound. “Stay back!” The fear in her voice is raw and primal, like a cornered animal.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” I approach with measured steps. “I’m Willow, from Thornwick.”

Recognition flickers in her eyes. “Willow? The apothecary’s daughter?” Her voice catches. “You—you’re still free? I thought for sure someone like you would be?—”

She doesn’t finish the thought, but we both know what she means. Someone as visibly omega as Willow, with her delicate features and naturally submissive demeanor, would be an obvoius first choice. There’s nothing an alpha in rut loves more than a soft, breakable omega.

“I got lucky.” I kneel beside her. “But you need to move. You’re showing symptoms, and your scent will draw them straight to you.”

Nessa whimpers, wrapping her arms around her body. “I can’t—I can’t think straight. My body’s burning up, and I—I want—” She stops herself, shame coloring her flushed cheeks. “It feels like I’m empty on the inside.”

“I know,” I say gently, though truthfully I don’t. I’ve never experienced a full heat before. My herbs and shadowroot tea have kept me suppressed for years. What Nessa feels now is just the beginning of what’s waiting for me when both fail.

The thought sends icy fear down my spine.

“There’s a stream not far from here,” I tell her, pushing my own fears aside. “Fast-flowing water will wash away your scent for a little while. Beyond it is a haven marked by a stone arrangement—three tall stones with a fourth laid across the top.”

“A haven?” Hope brightens her eyes. “Is it safe there?”

“For twelve hours, at least,” I tell her, hesitating as I add, “though… there are alphas who wait outside the havens for the magic’s clock to run out. They often will claim omegas who leave them.” She whimpers, so I hastily add, “The claiming is… less brutal there. Waiting means they’re no longer in full rut. Many omegas will choose to linger near the havens in the hope that an alpha’s scent on them will deter further claimings.”

This is the brutal calculus of the Hunt—what constitutes “choice” in this hell is merely a less violent claiming, a marginally better chance of survival. The thought hardens my resolve to fight them with everything I’ve got, as long as I can.

Nessa nods, struggling to focus through her heat symptoms. “Which way?” She asks.

I help her to her feet and point away from my false trails, which I hope will lead the alphas around her. “Follow the slope downhill. You’ll hear the water before you see it. Jump in the stream and walk against the current for half a mile, then look for the oak with a split trunk. The haven’s path starts there.”

“Aren’y you coming?” She looks at me in clear confusion.

I shake my head. “I have my own plan.” I don’t elaborate, but something in my expression must come through.

“You’re trying to lead them away from the rest of us,” she says, surprise coloring her voice. “Creating diversions.”

“Something like that.”

Nessa’s eyes narrow, her mouth thinning. “They say no omega has survive the full Hunt unclaimed in over two centuries.”

“Then they’re overdue for another, aren’t they?” I flash a grin that feels more confident than I actually am. “If nothing else, I intend to slow them down.”

She tries to smile at me, then freezes in fear as another howl cuts through the forest—closer this time. “They’re coming.”

“Go,” I urge her. “Get to the water as fast as you can. The cold will help with the heat symptoms too.”

Nessa grabs my hands, squeezing them with surprising strength. “Then you, Willow.”

Then she turns and flees towards the stream, moving with the natural grace of someone who’s spent her life navigating the outdoors.

I watch until she disappears among the trees, then immediately begin laying another false trail that crosses hers and doubles back. With luck, any alpha catching our mixed scents will follow mine instead of Nessa’s.

And if he finds me, he’ll find my blade, too.

As I work, I catch myself wondering if I’m making a difference at all. Will I really help the other omegas escape their inevitable claimings, or am I just postponing the inevitable, for both them and myself? The thought of Prince Cadeyrn’s ice-blue eyes watching me at the Gathering Circle returns unbidden. There had been something in his eyes—recognition, curiosity, a predator’s interest—that suggested he saw through my disguise somehow.

I push the thought away. If he’d seen through Willow’s glamour, I have no doubt he’d have turned me in. And I have better things to worry about right now, like my survival.

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