Page 57 of Run Little Omega

"I don't need?—"

"Your body is for my eyes only," he growls, wrapping the fabric around me himself when I hesitate. It settles over my nakedness like a second skin, conforming to my curves while providing modest coverage. "No other alpha gets to see what's mine."

His possessiveness should infuriate me—and part of it does—but beneath my indignation lies an unwanted flutter of... something. Not quite pleasure, not quite security, but a primitive response to being so thoroughly claimed. The omega in me, denied for so long, revels in his attention while the independent blacksmith rages against his presumption.

"Run if you want to, little blacksmith," he says, stepping back to admire his handiwork—my marked neck, my frost-patterned skin, my body now wrapped in his magic. "I'll catch you."

I take the opportunity he gives me by stepping back, slipping past him toward the forest path. I need distance to think, to process, to reclaim some shred of the independence that defined me before last night's transformation.

"Your scent carries my mark now," he calls after me, his voice carrying easily through the morning air. "Any who dare pursue you will meet their end."

I pause at the edge of the clearing, looking back at him. The morning light transforms him from last night's brutal conqueror to something equally dangerous but more complex—a being caught between civilization and primal nature, between control and chaos.

"And I will find you again," he continues, certainty lacing every word, "when the moon has risen to bathe the forest in the color of red, dark blood."

It's not a threat. It's a promise. The certainty in his voice sends shivers down my spine—not fear exactly, but recognition that traditional Hunt dynamics have been fundamentally altered between us. This isn't claiming and release, but claiming and... something else. Something new and ancient at the same time..

I don't answer, just turn and disappear into the trees, my feet finding paths with instinctive ease. The forest feels different today—more aware, more responsive to my passage. Silver leaves turn to follow my movement, branches shifting to clear my way, roots flattening beneath my bare feet. Whether this is the forest's doing or some extension of Cadeyrn's influence remains unclear.

As I put distance between myself and the clearing, I feel the claiming bond stretch like an invisible thread, connecting us. It doesn't diminish as I get further away, merely thins. Through it, I sense his satisfaction, his patience, his absolute certainty that I haven't truly escaped.

Most disturbing of all is my body's instinctive response to this connection—not rejection, but anticipation. The omega in me yearns for the alpha who broke through eleven years of carefully maintained walls.

I hate it. I hate that my body betrays me this way, that biology overrides agency so easily. Yet beneath that hatred lies something more complex—a recognition that what happened between us was more than just heat and rutting. The mind-sharing, the Wild Magic awakening through our joined bodies, the transformation of the very ground beneath us—these aren't typical aspects of omega claiming.

The Survivor's warning echoes in my mind. I reach for the small vial tucked into the waistband of the ice-fabric, its silver-blue contents catching the filtered light. "Take this after your first claiming," she'd instructed, her voice uncharacteristically urgent. "Before his seed takes root. It won't prevent what's coming, but it might keep you whole through it."

I uncork the vial and swallow the potion in one huge gulp. It slides down my throat like liquid frost, spreading outward from my core in tingling waves that momentarily overwhelm the claiming bond's pull. I'm not certain what protection it offers, but I'll take any edge in this deadly game.

Whatever this connection is, it binds us in ways that go beyond bite marks and knots. And despite my desperate need for independence, for the freedom I've fought to maintain my entire life, part of me wonders what will happen when the moon reaches its zenith and Cadeyrn finds me again.

Because he will find me. That much is certain.

CHAPTER22

POV: Briar

Every footstep sendsshards of pain between my thighs, the evidence of last night's claiming making itself known.

Morning light fractures through the canopy, turning the forest into a disorienting patchwork of shadow and gold. I stumble toward the promise of running water, following the distant sound of a stream. My body catalogs new aches in places I didn't know could hurt, marked from hip to collarbone with the unmistakable signs of a Winter Court prince's possession.

Hunt lore says the first day after claiming is supposed to be easier. Even the most feral alphas need recovery time, their bodies depleted from the fever of rut. I should be using this precious window to put leagues between myself and the Winter Prince.

Yet the claiming bond refuses to let me forget him. North and slightly east, the invisible tether pulses between us like a second heartbeat. He's not following me—yet—but I know that he will, no matter how far away I get.

I touch the markings spiraling across my collarbone, expecting them to feel foreign, invasive. Instead, they feel like they've always belonged there, melded to my skin like any other birthmark. They feel as natural on my skin as the alpha who branded me felt inside my body, and I hate that more than anything.

My scent has changed. I catch notes of it when the wind shifts against my skin—my natural omega pheromones now carry winter pine and metal beneath the familiar forge fire and iron. To any alpha who crosses my path, the message couldn't be clearer: claimed by Winter Court royalty.

"That should buy me time," I rasp to myself, my voice raw from the sounds that were torn from me throughout the night.

I desperately need water. Not just to drink but to wash away the evidence painting my inner thighs—dried blood and Cadeyrn's seed that flakes away as I trudge forward. When I finally break through the undergrowth into a small clearing, the sight of a stream running over smooth stones nearly buckles my knees with relief.

The forest is holding its breath today, strangely quiet, as if it's gotten what it wanted by bringing me and the Winter Prince together. It concerns me, this change, but I'm so exhausted that all I care about right now is the water.

Stripping off the thin shift Cadeyrn made for me feels like peeling away a layer of skin, that's how close it skims to my naked body. As soon as I'm naked by the cool water, a breeze stirring in the air, goosebumps prickle across my skin and the hair on my arms stands on end.

The water is a relief as I wade in, shocking and perfect against my feverish skin. I sink to my knees in the middle, letting the current wash over my shoulders as I scrub at the dried evidence of the night. Pink tendrils snake downstream, my blood and the prince's seed mixing together.

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