Page 37 of Run Little Omega

The Collector. A Summer Court alpha known for keeping trophies from claimed omegas—hair, personal tokens, even small bones arranged in disturbing shrines. I heard whispers about him from other omegas at the haven, saw the fear in their eyes when his name was mentioned.

He's approaching from the west, his movements methodical and unhurried. He knows there's prey nearby and feels no need to rush. The calm confidence in his pace is more terrifying than any frantic pursuit.

Mira has sensed him too. Her eyes meet mine, panic rising once more. I press a finger to my lips, then point southeast, toward the haven. She needs to run, now, while his attention is somewhere else.

I lean close to her hiding place, my lips nearly touching the branches as I whisper: "When I say go, head straight for the lightning-struck oak we passed. Beyond it, follow the stream southeast. The haven is marked by stones arranged in a circle. Don't stop for anything."

She nods, trembling but determined.

"I'll draw him away," I continue. "No matter what you hear, don't look back."

The alpha's scent grows stronger, his footsteps audible now as he stalks through the underbrush. I need to move, to become the more tempting target.

My plan from the beginning was to draw alphas away from weaker omegas, to use my strength and knowledge to give others a chance at reaching havens safely. But now, with my heat intensifying by the hour, the risk has grown exponentially. My scent alone will draw The Collector like a beacon, making me the perfect distraction—and the perfect target.

A wave of dizzying heat washes through me, making my vision blur momentarily. Not now. Please, not now. I force myself to focus, to push through the symptoms that threaten to overwhelm my rational mind.

"Go," I whisper, and Mira slips from her hiding place, crouching low as she scurries toward the path I've given her.

In the same moment, I stand and deliberately snap a branch beneath my boot, then take off running in the opposite direction. The sound works—I hear The Collector change course, his pursuit now fixed on me rather than Mira.

I run recklessly, making enough noise to hold his attention. I use every trick Fergus taught me to keep distance between us. My heat symptoms flare with the exertion, a fresh wave of warmth flooding through me as my pulse quickens. The silver bracelet seems to respond to my elevated heart rate, cillae pulsing with blue light that seeps through the fabric of my sleeve.

The Collector's pursuit is relentless and controlled. He doesn't rush, doesn't expend unnecessary energy. His confidence is that of a predator who knows his prey has limited options. He's right, in a way—the forest continues to restrict my movement, blocking certain paths while leaving others wide open.

I find myself being herded again, this time northwest. Away from where Mira fled, which serves my immediate purpose, but also deeper into territory I'm increasingly certain belongs to the Winter Prince.

A ravine appears ahead, its steep sides slick with moss. At its bottom, a stream rushes over smooth stones, the water clear and cold even from this distance.

I skid to a halt at the edge, then glance back to see The Collector emerging from the trees behind me. In the daylight, I get my first clear look at him—imposingly large, skin perpetually sun-bronzed, amber eyes containing flecks of actual gold. Elaborate tattoos cover his massive arms, pictographs that I realize with horror must catalog each successful claiming.

There's no time to count how many omegas he's taken. His nostrils flare as he scents the air, a smile spreading across his face as he registers my heat.

"Little flower," he says, his voice surprisingly melodious for someone so physically intimidating. "You've led me on quite the chase."

I back up until my heels touch the ravine's edge, stones crumbling beneath my boots to fall into the rushing water below. With a sense of betrayal, I realize that the forest has led me to aliteraldead end, trapped between The Collector and a dangerous drop.

"Your scent is... unusual," he continues, taking a step closer. "Different from what I expected when I observed you at the Gathering Circle. More complex. More... valuable."

Damned my impossibly strong heat. I press my advantage, faking confidence. "Valuable enough that the Winter Prince has already claimed this territory—and me with it. Look around you. See the warnings."

The Collector pauses, his gaze flickering to the trees where, yes, blood symbols mark boundaries I hadn't noticed in my flight. We've crossed into Cadeyrn's explicitly marked hunting ground.

"The Winter Prince has never entered rut," he says, though uncertainty has crept into his voice. "His interest in the Hunt is academic onlyl."

"Things change," I reply, taking a calculated risk. "He's hunting alone this cycle. Breaking tradition. Haven't you wondered why?"

The Collector's expression darkens. "Winter Court politics don't concern me. What concerns me is completing my collection." His gaze fixes on my hair, visible beneath the hood of my cloak. "Platinum strands from a claimed omega will make a fine addition."

He steps forward again, and I realize I've fucked up. The warnings won't deter him—his obsession is far too strong. I have seconds, not minutes, before he's going to be on me.

My heat symptoms choose this moment to surge again, a wave of dizzying need that nearly brings me to my knees. My inner thighs are damp with evidence of my body's treacherous response to alpha proximity, the omega in me recognizing a potential mate despite my mind's vehement rejection. The scent must be overwhelming to him now, drawing him forward like a shark scenting blood.

The ravine behind me is steep but not impossible. The water below might break my fall enough that I can swim away. And if the alternative is dying with The Collector’s knot inside me…

Without any hesitation, I turn and leap, plunging toward the rushing stream below.

Cold water shocks my overheated system as I crash into the stream, going completely under before struggling back to the surface. The current is strong, violently sweeping me downstream. I hear The Collector shout in frustration, but I'm already being carried around a bend in the ravine, out of his sight.

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