Page 110 of Run Little Omega

The Hound's expression turns sardonic. "Perhaps I'm not as calculating as pure fae." His eyes shift again, that disconcerting change between fae beauty and animal awareness. "Or perhaps, like I told you before, I recognize echoes of my own unusual birth in what's happening here."

He gestures to a water skin resting at the grove's edge. I drag myself toward it, each movement sending fresh waves of pain and heat through my body. The crimson moonlight intensifies as clouds part above, bathing the clearing in red light that seems to sink into my skin, warming me from within while stoking my omega biology to dangerous levels.

"Your heat symptoms are intensifying," The Hound observes clinically, maintaining his position outside the grove. "The crimson moon affects all omegas, but it's especially potent for those with awakening Wild Magic."

I gulp water greedily, trying to cool the fire building inside me. "And you're not affected? As an alpha?"

"Half-alpha," he corrects, his controlled posture suggesting it's not as easy as he makes it appear. "My mixed blood grants certain... resistances. Though I wouldn't test them too severely."

He turns his attention to the poultice, carefully removing it from the heated stones with a stick rather than touching it directly. The salve glistens with an opalescent sheen in the crimson light, herbs and something else—something wild and ancient—combining to create medicine unlike anything village healers could produce.

"The courts have fully united against you," he says as he works, voice deliberately casual. "All four seasonal powers, setting aside centuries of rivalry to eliminate what you and your Winter Prince represent."

"He's not my prince," I snap, the denial automatic though increasingly hollow. The claiming bond pulses at the reference, sending a wave of sensation through my body that makes me shudder.

The Hound's smile is knowing. "Perhaps not. But your bodies and magic tell a different story."

Another surge of heat crashes through me, so intense I cry out. My skin feels aflame, too sensitive for even the light fabric covering me. The silver threads in my hair catch the crimson light, creating a halo effect I glimpse in a nearby puddle's reflection. The pointed tips of my ears have grown more pronounced, undeniably fae in their appearance.

"What's happening to me?" I gasp, wrapping my arms around myself as if physical pressure might contain the transformation.

"The blood moon accelerates everything," The Hound explains, offering the prepared salve by placing it at the grove's threshold. "It's when human omegas can carry fae children to term, when the veil between realms thins, when magic flows most freely between worlds." He pauses, watching me with those unsettling eyes. "And when Wild Magic awakens most powerfully in those with the right bloodlines."

I drag myself toward the salve, each movement sending fresh waves of agony through my wounded back. "Why aren't you trying to claim me? Every other alpha who's found me alone has?—"

"I told you before," he interrupts, backing away as my scent intensifies with each wave of heat. "I know what you represent. What's awakening between you and the Winter Prince." His expression grows serious. "And I know this grove's significance."

I look around at the perfect circle of blood-red flowers, at the white-barked trees forming a natural boundary, at the worn stone dais at the clearing's center where I'd collapsed. "What is this place?"

"The Grove of First Transformation." The Hound's voice drops lower, taking on the cadence of someone reciting ancient knowledge. "Where the original Wild Hunt concluded. Where alpha and omega completed their transformation together, neither dominating nor submitting, but balanced in perfect harmony."

I struggle to apply the salve to my back, the angle making it impossible. The Hound watches my efforts with sympathy but makes no move to enter the grove.

"You can't cross the threshold," I realize, remembering the strange barrier I sensed when I first arrived. "That's why you're staying out there."

"The Sacred Grove has rules even the oldest fae must obey," he confirms. "No alpha may enter without invitation from one who carries Wild Magic in their blood. Not even one of mixed heritage like myself."

The salve burns against my fingers, its wild scent making my head swim. "I don't know how to do this myself," I admit reluctantly, gesturing to my wounded back.

The Hound considers for a moment. "I can enter if invited," he says carefully. "But under crimson moonlight, with your heat intensifying..." He leaves the implication hanging.

I understand his concern. Even with his mixed heritage granting him unusual control, being close to an omega in heat under the crimson moon would test any alpha's restraint. Yet my wounds need treatment, and I can't reach them alone.

"I invite you to enter," I say finally, the words feeling strangely formal on my tongue. "Just to help with the salve."

The Hound inclines his head in acknowledgment. "I accept your invitation, with honorable intent."

As he steps across the threshold, the blood-red flowers turn toward him as one, their perfect circle seeming to assess his worthiness before allowing passage. His movements remain deliberate, maintaining maximum distance while still approaching close enough to help.

"Turn," he instructs, voice tight with the effort of control.

I comply, presenting my wounded back while holding what remains of my tattered clothing against my chest. His fingers work with clinical efficiency, applying the salve to the deep claw marks left by Blaim's attack. The medicine burns initially, then cools, numbing the pain while something in its composition seems to knit the ragged edges of torn flesh together.

"The courts understand now what you two represent," he says as he works, focusing on his task rather than my omega scent, now potent enough to affect even his mixed blood. "The revival of Wild Magic outside their control. The return of the original Hunt's purpose."

Another wave of heat crashes through me, drawing a whimper I can't suppress. The claiming bond stretches painfully between Cadeyrn and me, distance making the connection burn rather than soothe.

"Look up," The Hound suggests, backing away after finishing his treatment. "The blood moon has something to show you."

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