Page 149 of Run Little Omega

"Lady Briar?" Lysandra's attention shifts to me, her healer's instincts noting my discomfort before I've voiced it. "Are you well?"

All eyes turn toward me. I resist the urge to shrink from their scrutiny, standing taller despite the considerable effort it requires.

"I'm fine," I lie, though the heat building beneath my skin tells a different story. "Continue."

Cadeyrn studies me with narrowed eyes, perceiving what others cannot through our claiming bond. "Perhaps we should conclude for today. Lady Briar requires rest before?—"

"I don't require coddling," I snap, then immediately regret my sharpness. These mood shifts—another gift of carrying four lives that shouldn't exist. "I apologize. The weight of our situation affects us all."

A diplomatic save that seems to satisfy the court, though Cadeyrn's expression remains skeptical. The meeting continues, discussions shifting to resource allocation and communication protocols. I try to focus, to contribute meaningfully to plans that might mean life or death for everyone in this room, but the sensations intensify—heat pooling low in my belly that has nothing to do with the babes and everything to do with something I'd thought impossible during pregnancy.

Heat. I'm going into heat.

Panic rises alongside desire, twin flames consuming rational thought. How is this possible? I'm already nurturing four lives. My body shouldn't be capable of triggering another cycle, especially not with less than two days until birthing.

Unless this isn't a normal heat at all.

The Wild Magic has been transforming me for months—silver streaking my copper hair, cillae covering my skin, magical abilities manifesting without training. This feels like another transformation pushing through, something fundamental changing at a primal level.

A sharp pain lances through my gums, momentarily stealing my breath. I raise my hand to my mouth, fingers encountering unexpected sharpness where my canine teeth should be.

Fangs. I'm growing fucking fangs.

The court discussion fades to background noise as I probe the newly elongated teeth with my tongue. They're unmistakably predatory—sharp points that could easily break skin. Another change reveals itself as intense pressure at my ears, the cartilage reshaping itself beneath my touch into delicate points.

Wild Magic isn't just enhancing my capabilities—it's physically transforming me into something beyond human. Something more fae than omega. The blacksmith's apprentice who entered the Hunt on borrowed time is being reforged entirely.

The heat intensifies, liquid warmth pooling between my thighs. Despite the physical impossibility of it, my body is preparing itself for claiming—demanding it with the same biological imperative that drove me during the Hunt. But this is different. Focused. There's only one alpha my transformed body wants, and he stands less than three feet away.

My body temperature rises visibly, the usual coolness of my cillae now underlaid with a warmth that radiates outward. The conflicting sensations—ice and fire simultaneously—make my skin hypersensitive, every brush of fabric against my flesh almost painfully intense.

I try to maintain my composure, to focus on the guard captain's report about defense rotations and weapon distributions. But my newly pointed ears pick up sounds I couldn't hear before—the quickened heartbeat of the omega servant standing nearest the wall, the subtle crackle of frost forming where Cadeyrn's emotions affect the air around him, the whispered currents of magic flowing through the throne room itself.

My scent must have changed, because Cadeyrn freezes mid-sentence, nostrils flaring as he inhales sharply. His cillae flare in immediate response, ice-blue eyes darkening as pupils dilate. The atmosphere in the throne room shifts instantly, courtiers sensing the change before they understand it.

"Leave us," Cadeyrn commands, his voice dropping to a rumbling register that sends shivers down my spine.

No one moves for a suspended moment, shock overriding court protocol.

"NOW." The single word contains enough power to crack the nearest ice column. Frost explodes outward from his feet, coating the floor in jagged patterns that pulse with dangerous energy.

The court erupts into motion, nobles scrambling toward exits with barely maintained dignity. The few who hesitate—either from curiosity or political calculation—find themselves physically pushed toward the doors by a wave of magical force that brooks no resistance.

As the massive doors swing closed, leaving us alone in the cavernous throne room, Cadeyrn turns to me fully. The control he's maintained—even through his transformation—slips visibly, his breathing changing to the shallow pants of an alpha scenting an omega in heat.

"Briar," he says, my name half-question, half-growl. "You're?—"

"In heat," I confirm, hands moving to steady myself against a nearby column. "And growing fangs. And pointed ears. The Wild Magic is—" I gasp as another wave of sensation washes through me, "—transforming me again."

He crosses the distance between us in three long strides, hands grasping my shoulders while his eyes devour the visible changes. One finger traces the newly pointed tip of my ear, the gentle touch contrasting with the predatory focus in his gaze.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, inspecting the fangs when I bare them. "You're becoming what you were always meant to be."

The heat surges higher, my scent changing with it—growing richer, more complex—no longer just fertile omega but something wilder. Cadeyrn's response is immediate and intense, his body pressing mine against the column as a growl builds in his chest.

The Wild Magic races through me in waves of impossible heat, my skin burning everywhere—not feverish sick-heat but primal furnace-heat, as if my bones might melt through my flesh at any moment. The cillae covering me pulse so bright I have to squint against my own glow, my shadow dancing wild across walls that no longer stand still beneath our combined magic.

We stand on the precipice of something inevitable, something transformative. The next phase of whatever we're becoming together.

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