Page 86 of Run Little Omega

"Most can't," I confirm, watching her expression with satisfaction. "Most are slaves to their biology. But I am Prince of Winter. Master of myself first, before all else."

A shiver runs through her that has nothing to do with the frost surrounding us. "And tomorrow?" she asks, heat rising in her cheeks.

I smile, feeling the predatory edge to it. "Tomorrow I hunt you properly. And when I catch you—" I lean down to bite gently at her claiming mark, "then you'll feel every inch of what I've held back tonight."

The promise hangs between us, charged with anticipation so thick it's almost visible in the frost-laden air.

"We should rest," I say, pulling her closer against me. "Dawn approaches, and we have ground to cover."

As she drifts toward sleep in my arms, her scent wraps around me like a physical thing. I bury my face in her hair, breathing her in. Gods, what is happening to me? The court would call this madness—this need, this hunger that goes beyond the physical claiming. They'd see it as weakness, a prince brought low by omega pheromones.

They're wrong.

I've never felt stronger, never felt more alive than with her frost-marked skin pressed against mine. For centuries, I built walls of ice around myself, believing that's what power meant—control, distance, perfect isolation. Now those walls are melting, and instead of drowning, I'm finally breathing.

Something coils tight in my chest when I look at her sleeping face. It's unfamiliar, almost painful, this feeling. Is this what humans call love? This desperate, primal need to protect, to possess, to belong to another? The thought should terrify me. Seven centuries of existence, and I've never allowed myself to need anyone.

My fingers trace the claiming mark on her neck, and the cillae on our skin pulse in unison. Mine. The word thunders through my blood with each heartbeat. But it's more complicated than that now, isn't it? I'm also hers. The thought doesn't sting like surrender—it burns like power.

There are darker things I'm keeping from her. Things I don't let myself think about when our minds connect through the bond. Ancient warnings about what happens when Wild Magic awakens. Blood sacrifices. Transformations that can't be undone. Secrets the courts buried because they feared what they couldn't control.

Fuck the courts. Fuck tradition. Fuck seven centuries of cold, empty power.

I pull her closer, feeling her heartbeat against mine, our cillae synchronizing until I can't tell where my magic ends and hers begins. Whatever waits for us at the central haven, whatever price we'll pay for this transformation—I've made my choice.

I choose her. Us. This wild, unknown thing we're becoming together.

My rut pulses steady and strong, no longer the frantic desperation of first claiming but something deeper. A connection that feels ancient and new all at once. My instincts whisper that I should be afraid, that I'm stepping into unknown territory without maps or weapons.

Instead, all I feel is fierce, hungry joy.

For the first time in my long, cold life, I'm on fire. And I never want the flames to die.

CHAPTER30

POV: Briar

The forest transformsas we approach the central haven. The blackthorns stand taller here, their trunks thicker with bark that catches light like oil on water. Their red sap weeps more freely, droplets falling in slow arcs to stain the earth. Each footfall feels judged, as if the soil itself weighs our worth with ancient consciousness.

"We're close," Cadeyrn murmurs, his hand at the small of my back. A week ago, I'd have twisted away from that possessive touch. Now I lean into it, craving the connection as the cillae across my skin ignite in response.

The transformation in the Winter Prince still catches me off-guard. That cold, calculating creature from the Gathering Circle has become something both more feral and more present. The cillae swirling across his marble-white skin burn brighter here, synchronized with my own.

"How do you know?" I ask, though I sense it too—a vibration beneath my skin, a pressure against my temples.

"The magic." He tilts his head, attending to something beyond my perception. "It's older here. Untainted."

The undergrowth recedes as we advance, yielding to a path bordered by smooth obsidian stones. Not natural formations but deliberately placed markers. The symbols etched into their surfaces strike me as familiar though I've never consciously seen them.

"These markings," I say, fingers hovering above a spiral pattern that mirrors the frost on my wrist.

Cadeyrn's expression tightens. "Navigation markers. From before the courts existed."

Before I can press further, the path widens abruptly, trees falling away to reveal the haven. I halt, lungs seizing at the sight.

This is no simple clearing—it's a perfect circle carved into the forest's heart, surrounded by ancient blackthorns that reach impossible heights. Their branches weave together overhead, forming a living cathedral that filters sunlight through silver leaves. At the center stands a stone circle—not the precise monoliths of the Gathering Circle, but something rawer, more elemental. These stones erupted from the earth itself, twisted and gnarled like the bones of some primordial beast.

"It's..." Words fail me before the power that thrums through this place.

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