Page 29 of Run Little Omega

The fading light warns me that I've spent too long investigating. Sunset is coming, and I need to find shelter before it gets dark. Alphas hunt most actively at dawn and dusk, their vision adapted to low light like nocturnal predators.

As I turn to leave, the alpha’s body catches my attention again. His limbs look like they were arranged after his death, his arms positioned straight out from his body, his legs twisted together precisely.

A warning, then. But who is it for? Me, or the other alphas?

I leave the clearing behind with more questions than answers, moving quickly but silently through the darkening forest. The trees continue to part before me, creating a path away from the dead alpha and toward what I hope is safety.

The sense of being watched returns as darkness falls, stronger than before. Eyes follow me from the forest depths—not hostile, but intensely focused. I feel their attention like a physical touch against my skin, a presence as tangible as a hand hovering just above my shoulder.

I stop suddenly, turning to face the sensation directly.

"I know you're following me," I call into the darkness. "I know you killed that Summer Court alpha. What I don't know is why."

I don’t get an answer, and almost feel foolish. But I know something or someone is there.

The silver bracelet around my wrist pulses once, the frost patterns glowing briefly in the darkness like veins of blue fire beneath my skin. A cold breeze stirs the trees around me, carrying the faintest trace of winter magic—clean snow and ice crystals and something else, something masculine and powerful that makes the omega in me respond with frightening intensity.

Prince Cadeyrn. The Winter Prince has been following me, eliminating any alpha who picks up my trail.

The question is whether he sees me as something to protect or merely as his own personal prey. The difference matters, though the end result might be the same.

I back away slowly, maintaining eye contact with the darkness where I sense his presence. "I'm not yours," I say firmly, though my body betrays me with a rush of slick warmth between my thighs. "I don't belong to you or any alpha."

For a moment, I think I see a flash of ice-blue eyes in the shadows, watching me with predatory intensity. Then it's gone, and I'm alone again. Or as alone as anyone can be in a forest that listens and remembers and chooses sides in an ancient game whose rules no human fully understands.

I find shelter for the night in a hollow formed by three trees growing together, their trunks creating an enclosed space barely visible from the outside. As I settle in, pulling my meager shift tight around me against the evening chill, I notice the frost patterns have spread further up my arm, reaching my elbow now in intricate whorls.

The implications terrify me. The Winter Prince has marked me somehow, claimed me without even touching me. It’s starting to feel like the forest is helping me evade him, as if it has its own agenda separate from fae politics and Hunt traditions.

I close my eyes, trying to ignore the persistent heat in my core and the unwanted awareness of the Winter Prince's presence somewhere in the darkness around me. It seems impossible to fall asleep.

I've become the center of something larger than my simple plan to save Willow—something that involves ancient forest magic, fae court politics, and a prince who hunts alone against all tradition.

Whatever game is being played here, I'm no longer merely a pawn. I'm a piece of value, sought by powers I barely understand.

But I didn't survive years as a hidden omega by surrendering to fate. If I'm to be a player rather than a piece, then I'll play to win—even against a prince, even against the forest itself if necessary. I've been hammering unyielding metal into submission my entire life. This is just another challenge to be shaped by will and strength.

CHAPTER12

POV: Briar

Morning light filtersthrough silver leaves, casting dappled patterns across my face and rousing me from uneasy dreams filled with ice and frost and hungry blue eyes.

The forest feels quiet and expectant today. I stretch carefully in my makeshift shelter, wincing as my muscles protest after another night spent in cramped conditions.

"Good morning to you too, body," I mutter, rubbing at a particularly stubborn knot in my shoulder.

The frost patterns have spread overnight, stretching up my forearms towards my elbow. My heat symptoms have intensified as well, and that's putting it mildly. A persistent ache throbs low in my abdomen, and my skin feels like it's been replaced with something two sizes too small and far too sensitive. Every brush of fabric against my breasts sends mortifying shivers through my body. The gathering wetness between my thighs is becoming harder to ignore, as is the empty feeling that nothing in my rational mind wants filled.

"Perfect," I grumble, swallowing another of Marta's herbs. They taste like pond scum but take just enough edge off that I can think beyond the next breath. I'm rationing them carefully—who knows how long I'll need to make them last.

I'm gathering my meager supplies when I notice it—a thin column of smoke rising above the trees about half a mile away. Not the billowing darkness of a forest fire, but the controlled plume of a chimney.

Someone lives within the Bloodmoon Forest. During the Hunt.

I weigh my options. A permanent dwelling could mean safety, information, supplies—or it could be a trap. After a moment of deliberation, curiosity wins. I can always observe from a distance before approaching whoever or whatever it is.

I follow game trails and natural gaps between trees, staying alert for any sign of pursuing alphas. The forest continues its strange behavior, branches shifting subtly to screen my passage, undergrowth parting to reveal clearer paths. Whatever consciousness dwells within these ancient trees, it's still guiding me for reasons I don't fully understand.

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