Page 81 of Run Little Omega

With that, he melts back into the forest shadows, his departure as silent as his arrival was unexpected.

For several minutes, neither Cadeyrn nor I speak. The revelation that we've become the focus of coordinated hunting parties changes everything. My plan to survive the Hunt by outlasting or outrunning pursuers seems suddenly naive in the face of organized opposition.

"We should leave now," I finally say, rising to my feet. "Before they close in."

Cadeyrn remains seated, his expression thoughtful as he stares into the dying embers of our fire. "The Hound is not known for deception," he says slowly. "But his loyalties have always been... complex."

"You think it's a trap?"

"I think nothing in this forest is simple." He stands in one fluid motion, cillae pulsing across his skin with hypnotic rhythm. "But he's right about one thing. We cannot fight every alpha simultaneously."

I hold up the compass, watching its needle tremble before settling southwest again. "Then we follow this. Get to the central haven before they organize fully."

His hand covers mine, warm skin against the bone casing. Through our bond, I feel his conflicted emotions—the territorial alpha reluctant to retreat from challengers, the strategic prince recognizing the wisdom in temporary withdrawal.

"We leave at first light," he decides. "The paths he showed us may avoid court territories, but they likely have dangers of their own."

I don't argue. After what I've seen in this forest—the brutality of alphas like the Raveling Brothers, the manipulative cruelty of Lord Varen, the clinical violence of Cadeyrn himself—I harbor no illusions about the risks that await us.

That night, I sleep fitfully, the birthing charm clutched in my hand like a talisman. Dreams come in fragments—glimpses of ancient stone circles, of wild hunts that end not in claiming but transformation, of frost and fire merging to create something new and terrible and beautiful.

I wake before dawn to find Cadeyrn watching me from across our small camp, his eyes reflecting starlight with unnatural brightness. The cillae covering his skin pulse in time with his heartbeat, matching the rhythm of those spreading across my own body.

"You dreamed," he says, not a question but an observation.

I nod, still disoriented by the vivid images fading from my mind. "About the forest. About... older things."

"As did I." He rises, offering his hand to help me up—a strangely human gesture from a being who's becoming less civilized with each passing day. "The Wild Magic grows stronger."

I take his hand, and the contact sends sparks of awareness skating across my skin. The heat that has tormented me since entering the forest shifts, becoming something more focused, more deliberate in his presence.

"Do you think the Hound is right?" I ask, gathering our meager supplies. "About what's happening between us?"

Cadeyrn's expression remains carefully neutral, but through our bond, I feel his uncertainty—an unusual sensation from someone who's projected nothing but absolute confidence until now.

"The courts have many secrets," he says finally. "Traditions altered or suppressed to maintain power structures. It's... not impossible that what we're experiencing connects to something older."

The admission costs him, I can tell. Seven centuries of belief in court supremacy doesn't crumble overnight, even with evidence literally written across his skin.

As the first hint of dawn lightens the eastern sky, we extinguish all traces of our camp and prepare to move. I check Sera's compass once more, confirming our direction.

"Southwest," I murmur, orienting myself by the fading stars. "Through the heart of territory no court claims."

Cadeyrn stands at the edge of our small clearing, his transformed body a study in lethal grace as he scents the air. "They're still distant, but approaching from multiple directions," he observes. "The Hound wasn't exaggerating about coordinated hunting parties."

A week ago, that knowledge would have terrified me. Now, after surviving multiple encounters with alphas determined to claim or kill me, after watching the Winter Prince tear apart anyone who threatens what he considers his territory, I feel something different.

Determination. Defiance. And beneath it all, a strange, wild hope that what grows between us might be more significant than merely surviving the Hunt.

"Then let's not be here when they arrive," I say, tucking the compass securely into my pocket.

As we move into the pre-dawn forest, following paths invisible to ordinary perception, I feel the trees watching our passage with ancient awareness. The silver leaves turn to track our movement, branches shifting to clear our way, roots flattening beneath our feet.

The forest knows what we carry within us—this growing power marked in frost across our skin, this bond that deepens with each passing day despite my attempts to resist it. The question that burns in my mind, that I'm not yet brave enough to voice aloud, is whether what awakens between us will save us or destroy us when the four courts unite against the threat we represent.

But as the compass vibrates against my hip and the birthing charm warms against my skin, guiding us deeper into territory unmarked on any map, I realize one thing with startling clarity: there's no going back. Not to who I was before entering this forest. Not to the carefully constructed deception that protected me in Thornwick. Not even to the defiant lone omega who thought she could outsmart the Hunt through sheer determination.

Whatever I'm becoming—whatever we're becoming together—it's something new. Something the courts fear enough to set aside centuries of rivalry to eliminate.

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