Page 78 of Run Little Omega

"That's it," he encourages as my inner muscles begin to tighten around him. "Fight, then yield. As you always do."

My climax crashes like a storm tide, originating deep inside and radiating outward until every nerve ending sings with pleasure. Frost spreads from my fingers across the blackthorn's bark, the tree's red sap flowing more freely in response to our magic.

Cadeyrn's rhythm grows erratic as his knot begins to swell, catching on my entrance with each thrust. The added friction sends another wave of pleasure through me, my body drawing him deeper with each movement.

"Going to lock inside that sweet pussy from behind this time," he promises, voice strained with restraint. "Going to pump you so full of cum you'll drip for days."

With a final powerful thrust, his knot secures, stretching me so completely I feel claimed from within. As his seed floods me in hot spurts, his teeth find my neck again, reopening the mark in a bite that transforms pain into transcendent pleasure.

Our minds connect as we remain joined, his chest pressed against my back, both panting with exertion. Through our bond, I sense his satisfaction, his pride, his growing attachment beyond mere possession. Beneath it all, genuine wonder at what awakens between us—Wild Magic responding to compatible bloodlines united after centuries of separation.

As we stand locked together, the crimson moon ascending above the forest canopy, I understand that survival marks only the beginning of what awaits. Whatever grows between us—whether child or magic or revolution—will transform everything the courts have constructed over centuries.

And for the first time since entering the Hunt, I find myself anticipating the future with something like hope.

CHAPTER28

POV: Briar

Morning arriveslike a sigh through the silver leaves, daylight filtering through the canopy in broken fragments that dance across my skin. I lie still, mapping the new aches in my body—evidence of last night's claiming that lingers in bruised hips and the sweet soreness between my thighs. Fourteen days into the Hunt, and my body has become a battlefield where pleasure and pain wage constant war.

The cillae covering my left side pulse gently with my heartbeat, no longer alien but increasingly part of me. Silver threads now streak through my copper hair, catching light like metallic filament, while ice-blue flecks dance in my amber eyes. The changes aren't just superficial—I can feel the magic beneath my skin, responding to emotion in ways I'm only beginning to understand.

Beside me, Cadeyrn sleeps with the deep stillness of predators—a false peace that could shatter into violence at the slightest provocation. His transformation continues to fascinate and terrify me. The elegant Winter Prince I glimpsed at the Gathering Circle has been consumed by this new being—broad with muscle where he was once slender, skin etched with glowing runes, frost trailing from his fingertips even in sleep.

I should run while I can. Put distance between us before the claiming bond draws us together again with magnetic inevitability. But my legs ache with yesterday's chase, and something heavier than exhaustion pins me to our makeshift nest of moss and fallen leaves.

It's not submission. Not exactly. It's... curiosity. About what's happening to us both. About the Wild Magic awakening in our blood, connecting us beyond mere biology.

"Your thoughts are loud," Cadeyrn murmurs, eyes still closed. "Like ice breaking on a frozen lake."

I prop myself on one elbow, studying his face. "You can hear my thoughts now?"

"Not specific words." His eyes open, ice-blue nearly consumed by expanded pupils that never fully recede anymore. "Impressions. Intensity. You're wondering if you should leave."

"I'm wondering what's happening to us," I correct him, though he's not entirely wrong. "The silver in my hair. The frost from my fingertips. The way the forest responds to our passage."

He sits up, cillae pulsing across his chest as he stretches. "The Wild Magic grows stronger with each claiming. Our compatible bloodlines are awakening abilities long suppressed by court breeding programs."

The casual way he references our repeated matings sends an unwanted flush of heat through me. My body remembers each encounter with vivid clarity—pinned against trees, bent over fallen logs, spread across moss-covered stone. The omega in me preens at these memories, while the blacksmith's daughter still fights for independence.

"Ember Farren mentioned something before you killed him," I say, changing the subject. "About me being a descendant of the original Wild Hunt. What did he mean?"

Cadeyrn's expression shifts, calculating whether to share knowledge or keep me in the dark. That, at least, hasn't changed—the prince beneath the primal alpha still weighs each word for strategic advantage.

"The Hunt wasn't always as it is now," he says finally. "Before the courts divided magic by seasons, before omegas became mere breeding stock, there was balance. The chase had meaning beyond rutting."

He rises, moving to the small stream nearby to rinse night sweat from his skin. I follow, wrapping myself in the ice-fabric he conjured for me yesterday—a garment that somehow remains cool against my heat-flushed skin while providing modest coverage.

"The original Wild Hunt was a ritual of transformation," he continues as water sluices over his muscled back. "Alphas and omegas both changed through the experience, their magic strengthened rather than constrained."

"What happened?"

"Court politics." His face hardens with contempt. "Seasonal divisions. Breeding programs designed to create perfect subjects rather than powerful individuals. The Wild Magic was deliberately bred out of court bloodlines, seen as too unpredictable, too dangerous to control."

I splash water on my face, watching frost form and melt where my fingers touch the surface. "And now it's returning. Through us."

"Through you," he corrects, turning to face me fully. "Your bloodline carries traces of the original Wild Hunt participants—omegas who were partners in the ritual, not victims. Somewhere in your ancestry, a fae omega escaped the culling, bore a child in the human world, passed that heritage through generations until it surfaced in you."

---