Page 87 of Run Little Omega

Cadeyrn doesn't respond, his attention fixed on a figure at the clearing's far edge. I follow his gaze and recognition floods through me immediately.

The Survivor stands between two of the largest stones, observing our approach with unnatural stillness. Her silver-shot hair remains bound in that same intricate knot, iron pins glinting in the filtered light. Her eyes shift color like mercury as we near, responding to the ambient magic.

"You found your way after all," she says, addressing me before her gaze shifts to Cadeyrn. Her expression transforms from cautious welcome to naked revulsion. "You," she hisses, voice fracturing with emotion I can't decipher. "Winter Prince."

Cadeyrn inclines his head, the gesture measuring rather than respectful. "Elder. We seek sanctuary."

The Survivor's eyes dart between us, lingering on the cillae connecting our skin, the silver threads in my copper hair, the ice-blue flecks in my amber eyes. Understanding dawns in her expression, followed by something darker—fear, perhaps. Or hatred.

"The claiming bond," she states flatly. "It's awakened in you both."

I step forward, positioning myself slightly between them. Old instinct—shield the vulnerable party. Except nothing about this woman radiates vulnerability. Power emanates from her in waves, different from Cadeyrn's winter magic but equally potent.

"Your map guided us here," I say, pulling the worn hide from my pack. The secret paths she'd shown me in her cottage had led us through the worst of the pursuit. "You knew I'd need it."

Her quicksilver eyes fix on me. "I guide all omegas who demonstrate survival potential. You," her gaze traces the cillae twisting up my arms, "have surpassed even my expectations."

"The courts hunt us," I press. "We need sanctuary."

"Of course they hunt you." Her laugh splinters like ice. "You embody everything they've spent centuries suppressing."

Cadeyrn moves beside me, his presence an anchor. The cillae across our skin pulse in tandem, responding to proximity. The Survivor's eyes narrow at the display.

"The Wild Magic awakens in you," she states, not a question but an observation. "The true claiming bond, not the perverted version the courts maintain."

"Will you grant us sanctuary?" Cadeyrn repeats, his voice carrying an edge I haven't heard since our first encounter—uncertainty.

The Survivor studies him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she nods once, a sharp, reluctant gesture.

"Three days. No more." She turns, walking toward the stone circle at the clearing's center. "Come. The boundary must recognize you both."

We follow, my hand finding Cadeyrn's instinctively. His fingers lace through mine, squeezing gently. The gesture feels strangely vulnerable from someone who hours ago had me pinned beneath him in savage claiming.

As we approach the central stones, power surges through the clearing, tangible as a thunderstorm though not a leaf stirs. The cillae across my skin blaze with sudden intensity, ice-cold fire racing through my veins. Beside me, Cadeyrn inhales sharply, his patterns responding in kind.

"What—" I begin, but words fail as the magic crests within me, filling spaces I never knew existed. It's like the first moment of Cadeyrn's claiming but magnified beyond measure—raw power flooding every cell, awakening abilities I've only glimpsed in our most intimate moments.

Frost blooms from my feet, crystallizing the grass in spiraling patterns that echo those on my skin. I lift my hand in wonder, watching ice form around my fingertips without conscious effort. This isn't Cadeyrn's winter magic flowing through our bond—this is something uniquely mine, responding to ancient power buried in my bloodline.

"The haven recognizes you," the Survivor says, watching with that same inscrutable expression. "Both of you."

I recall her words from our first meeting—about the Hunt being an ancient ritual honoring balance, not the corrupted breeding program it's become. The magic surging through me now feels like validation of that forgotten purpose.

Cadeyrn's eyes meet mine, a question in their ice-blue depths. I nod slightly, answering the unspoken communication. This connection between us deepens by the hour—thoughts and feelings flowing through the bond with increasing clarity.

The Survivor leads us to a structure I hadn't noticed before, nestled between massive tree roots at the clearing's edge. It resembles her cottage in the forest but larger, constructed of living wood that seems to have grown into form rather than being carved.

"Rest here," she says, gesturing to the entrance. "The haven's protection covers all within the boundary. No court magic can penetrate these trees."

"Thank you," I say, genuinely despite the tension crackling between her and Cadeyrn.

She nods stiffly, then gestures to me alone. "A word, omega. Privately."

Cadeyrn tenses beside me, a low growl building in his chest. I place a hand on his arm, feeling the muscles coil beneath my fingers.

"It's fine," I tell him, projecting more assurance than I feel. "I'll return shortly."

His eyes flick between me and the Survivor, calculations running behind that feral gaze. Finally, he nods, withdrawing into the shelter with a last warning look at the older woman.

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