Page 38 of Run Little Omega

I fight to keep my head above water, gasping for breath as the stream carries me further into Winter Court territory. The cold should be uncomfortable, even dangerous given my drenched state, but the silver bracelet pulses with warmth that spreads through my entire left side, protecting me somehow.

Eventually, the stream widens and slows enough for me to drag myself onto a pebbly bank. I collapse there, my clothes plastered to my skin. The cold water has temporarily dampened my heat symptoms, a small mercy.

As my breathing steadies, I take stock of my surroundings. The ravine has opened into a small valley, the trees taller here, their silver leaves larger and more lustrous. The air carries a distinct chill despite the summer season, a hint of the Winter Court's influence.

I've helped Mira toward safety, escaped The Collector, and survived another day of the Hunt. In the same action, I've been driven deeper into the Winter Prince's territory, exactly where the forest seems determined I should go.

Is this part of some greater pattern? Am I being manipulated by forces beyond my understanding, guided toward a connection I've been fighting to avoid?

One thing is becoming increasingly clear: in the Bloodmoon Forest, during the crimson moon's reign, there's no such thing as coincidence. Every path, every encounter, every escape feels orchestrated by something larger than human or fae design.

I push myself to my feet, wringing water from my clothes and hair. Damn fate, and damn forest magic. I still have choices. I still have strength. I still have thirteen days to survive before the Hunt is over.

And if my path crosses with the Winter Prince's, then I'll face him on my terms—not as prey driven into a trap.

The cillae pulse once along my arm, as if in response to my determination. Challenge accepted.

CHAPTER15

POV: Briar

I've seen predators before.You grow up in a border village, you learn to recognize the wolf in the woods, the snake in the grass. But nothing prepares you for a hunter who uses kindness to lure his prey in.

The Huntsman earns his reputation through deception. While other alphas prowl with open hunger, he uses gentleness as his weapon.

I crouch behind a fallen log at the edge of a small clearing, my muscles cramping from holding still too long. This clearing popped up before me as I skirted the forest’s path, attempting to avoid the Winter Prince and his cold scent. Somehow I wound up returning to the Huntsman’s territory instead, not far from where he lured young Mira towards him.

That’s what I get for avoiding one predator: another one appears before me instead. The forest’s sick way of punishing me, I suppose.

The flowers here bloom in impossibly saturated colors—violet and crimson and gold, their perfume almost overwhelming my heat-heightened senses. Too perfect to be natural. Their beauty must be another layer of the Huntsman's trap.

Through a gap in the rotting wood, I watch him track his prey across the clearing. An omega I recognize from the Gathering Circle—Lira, a village musician with dark hair that falls in elaborate braids around her slender shoulders. I'd heard whispers about her—how the lyrics of her songs subtly insulted and mocked the fae courts, how she was selected for the Hunt as a punishment.

The Huntsman moves with casual grace, his chestnut hair falling across eyes that glow an unnaturally bright green. Unlike the other alphas I've seen, he projects an aura of calm concern. His face, arranged in perfect sympathy, would be beautiful if it weren't so terrifyingly faked.

"You're hurt," he calls to Lira, his voice melodic and soothing. "Let me help you."

My jaw clenches as I watch Lira hesitate, her flight instinct warring with exhaustion and the magnetic pull of a seemingly kind voice after days of terror. She clutches a small bone flute in white-knuckled fingers—her only possession from home, no doubt.

"I won't harm you," the Huntsman promises, extending his hand palm-up in a gesture of peace. "The others might, but I'm different. I can protect you until the Hunt ends."

Lira takes a half-step forward, hope flickering across her face. My heart pounds harder. I want to scream at her to run, to tell her it's all lies, but even that small sound would give away my position.

That's when I see it—the first sign of his true nature. As Lira comes close, small flowers begin to bloom across the Huntsman's forearms. They emerge from beneath his skin, unfurling in delicate spirals of color that shift from pale pink to deep crimson as he draws closer to her. The colors deepen the closer she gets, the blooms becoming more vibrant with each flicker of terror that crosses her face.

He feeds on her fear. The realization hits me like ice water. Those flowers are a warning sign, blossoming in response to her distress. An emotion he no doubt feeds on when he takes his prey, the callous, manipulative fucker.

Lira sees it too. Her body tenses, preparing to flee. I drop my hand to the sheath at my thigh, desperately wondering if there’s a way I can help her, knowing that my small makeshift blade would be useless against a powerful fae alpha. The only chance I have of using it is if I wait until he’s vulnerable—and that will only happen when he’d knotted her, at which point it’ll be too late to save her from his brutality.

"Don't be afraid," he soothes, the flowers on his skin dripping red petals as he speaks. "The blooms are part of Spring Court nature. They're harmless."

Another lie. I've never seen anything less harmless in my life.

I need to act. Now. Before he gets any closer to her.

If I can’t take him out with my knife, maybe I can help her run from him and get to safety, like I helped Mira. Like I failed to help Sera.

My eyes scan the clearing, looking for anything that might create a distraction. In a nearby tree, just above where the Huntsman stands, hangs a large hornets' nest.

---