Page 26 of Run Little Omega

I lean forward slightly, straining to hear more.

"Spring Court has the southern valleys," the first continues. "All those flowers seem pretty until you realize they're carnivorous. And the Winter Court?—"

"Shh," the other hisses. "Don't speak of them. Especially not the prince."

But I need to know about the prince. About Cadeyrn. The memory of his ice-blue eyes following me at the Gathering Circle sends an unexpected shiver through me—not entirely from fear.

I climb down from my post when another omega arrives to relieve me, but I make sure to position myself near the gossiping pair as I accept a bowl of thin herb broth.

"Thank you," I say, deliberately brushing against the sleeve of the thin woman. "I'm Willow."

"Lira," she replies, then gestures to her companion. "This is Dara."

There's something unsettling about Lira—her fingers bear calluses from some musical instrument, yet she holds herself with an unnatural stillness now, as if her body remembers rhythms it can no longer express.

I sip the broth, keeping my expression neutral. "Have either of you seen any of the fae up close?" I ask, injecting just the right amount of worried curiosity into my voice. "I—I want to know what to expect."

Lira glances around nervously before leaning closer. Her once-musical voice drops to a whisper, "I caught glimpses of three Summer Court alphas yesterday. Skin like burnished gold, hair the color of fire. They move like flames, quick and unpredictable. They claimed a girl from my village—held her down in a field of wildflowers while they took turns. Her screams attracted two more alphas. By the time they finished with her, the flowers had turned red with her blood."

"The Autumn Court is worse," Dara whispers. "They blend with the forest. Their skin patterns shift like fallen leaves. You don't see them until they're already upon you. They don't just claim—they collect. Trophies. Fingerbones, teeth, locks of hair. Adornments for their nests."

I nod, filing away this information. "And the Winter Court?" I ask, keeping my voice light despite the sudden acceleration of my pulse.

Lira pales visibly, her musician's fingers trembling against her bowl. "They hunt in the northern territories, near the underground ice caves. White skin, hair like night, eyes so blue they burn. They're the coldest, the most calculating. They don't participate in the frenzy that drives the other courts. Their claiming is methodical, deliberate. They leave marks like frostbite on omega skin—black patches that never heal, permanent reminders of their touch."

"The prince hunts alone," Dara adds, her voice dropping so low I barely catch the words. "He's broken tradition. The other fae whisper about it, when they think no one is listening."

"Alone?" I ask, unable to hide my surprise. "Where?"

"His territory extends along the frost-lined river that cuts through the forest's heart," Lira says. "No other alpha will go near it now. They say..." She trails off, looking around again.

"What?" I prompt.

"They say he's hunting something specific," Dara finishes for her. "Or someone. That he's ignored multiple omegas who crossed his path. Lara from Westhill walked right in front of him yesterday—said he looked through her like she wasn't even there. But the omega he tracked..." She swallows hard. "They found her later. Or what was left of her. Frozen solid, expression fixed in a scream. He'd claimed her so brutally the ice beneath her body was stained crimson."

My hands tighten around the wooden bowl, nearly spilling the broth. Is it possible? Could he be looking specifically for me? But why would the Winter Prince break centuries of tradition to hunt a single omega from a forgettable border village?

Unless he saw through my glamour. Unless he knows I'm not what I appear to be.

"You should avoid the river entirely," Lira advises, misinterpreting my reaction as fear. "Stay in the southern territories if you can. The Spring Court at least makes the claiming quick."

I nod absently, my mind racing with implications. The courts have divided the forest into territories, with natural features marking boundaries. Summer in the east by the hot springs. Autumn in the western ridges. Spring in the southern valleys. Winter in the north by the ice caves.

And Cadeyrn along the central river, hunting alone.

I memorize these boundaries as I finish my broth, knowing I can't remain in the haven long. Its protection extends only twelve hours for each omega, and I've already used several. Besides, staying in one place—even a supposedly safe one—goes against every survival instinct I possess.

As the sun climbs toward noon, I gather my meager supplies and prepare to leave. Marta approaches as I adjust my pack.

"Leaving so soon?" she asks, though her tone suggests she already knows the answer.

"I need to keep moving," I reply simply.

She studies me with shrewd eyes that miss nothing. "You're different from the others," she observes. "Most omegas run from something. You seem to be running toward it."

I hesitate, unsure how much to reveal. "I have my reasons."

"We all do," she says with a thin smile. "Here. Take these." She presses a small pouch into my hand. Inside are bundles of herbs—some familiar, others I've never seen before. "The brown ones mask scent temporarily. The red ones help with heat symptoms. The white ones..." She pauses. "The white ones dull pain. Save them for after."

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