Page 39 of Run Little Omega

Perfect.

I reach for a stone, testing its weight in my palm. The movement sends a fresh wave of heat through my body, my skin flushing hot as my symptoms flare. The cillae around my wrist pulse in response, momentarily bright enough to be visible through my sleeve.

Gritting my teeth against the brutality of my own biology, I take aim and throw.

The stone arcs through the air, striking the hornets' nest with a satisfying crack. The reaction is immediate and chaotic—angry insects boil out in a furious cloud, descending on the closest target.

The Huntsman's gentle mask slips as he's engulfed in hornets. He curses and snarls as he swats angrily at the swarm. The flowers on his skin wither and blacken, vile poison dripping down his arms.

Lira doesn't waste the opportunity. She bolts toward the tree line, away from both the hornets and her pursuer. As she passes near my hiding place, I catch her eye and gesture urgently toward a game trail partially hidden by undergrowth—a path that will lead her toward one of the havens marked on my stolen map.

She hesitates only a heartbeat. With a quick nod of gratitude, she changes course, disappearing into the dense foliage.

My momentary triumph sours quickly as the Huntsman regains control of the situation. With a pulse of Spring Court magic, he surrounds himself with a cloud of pollen that drives away the hornets. His expression has transformed completely—the mask of kindness replaced by cold calculation as he scans the clearing.

"Clever," he says in a cold, unfeeling voice. "But unwise to interfere with a claiming."

He inhales deeply, nostrils flaring as he scents the air. I press myself lower behind the log, painfully aware that my heat-scent grows stronger with each passing hour despite the herbs I've used to mask it. The Huntsman turns slowly, his unnatural green eyes passing over my hiding place once, then returning with interest.

"I smell you, little trickster," he says softly. "Sweet omega in heat, hiding where you shouldn't be."

Fuck.I prepare to run, muscles tensing. The Huntsman takes one step toward my position, then another, the ground beneath his feet blooming with tiny flowers. The hunt has shifted, his focus now entirely on me rather than Lira.

"Come out," he croons. "I won't be angry about the hornets. In fact, I appreciate the spirit it shows. So much more satisfying than those who simply surrender."

He's close enough now that I can see the flowers blooming across his skin have changed. Their colors shift from crimson to deep purple, their scent thickening the air between us.

I draw my makeshift knife, wondering if I can use it as a throwing knife, but he's still too far away for it to be effective. If I throw it now, I won’t have it if he grabs me. My window for escape narrows with each step he takes. I need a distraction far bigger and more violent than hornets.

That's when it happens.

The air temperature plunges so rapidly that my next breath turns to fog. The ground beneath the Huntsman's feet crackles as it glazes with ice, a frozen sheet spreading outward from where he stands. He stumbles, losing his footing on the suddenly slick surface.

Frost forms on the tree trunks all around us, ice creeping up stems and across leaves. Even the flowers on the Huntsman's skin seem affected, their vibrant colors dulling as their edges crisp with frost.

"Winter Court," he spits. He regains his balance, eyes darting around the clearing with new wariness. "This isn't your territory, Prince."

No answer comes from the silent forest, but the temperature drops further. I can feel it even through my heat-fevered skin—a cold so intense it burns.

The Huntsman's confidence falters visibly. The flowers on his skin retreat beneath the surface, leaving only faint outlines like scars across his forearms. He backs away one careful step at a time, scenting the air continuously.

"Keep your stolen prize, then," he says to the empty clearing. "There are easier claims to be made."

With that, he turns and retreats toward his established territory, disappearing among the trees. The clearing falls silent except for the soft crackle of frost slowly receding from the vegetation.

I remain hidden, heart hammering against my ribs. Only when I'm certain the Huntsman is gone do I move, my stiff muscles protesting as I carefully stand.

The ice is already melting, disappearing with unnatural speed. Within minutes, the only magic left is a lingering chill in the air and a few frost-damaged flowers scattered across the ground.

Prince Cadeyrn. It must have been him.

My fingers trace the cillae visible beneath my sleeve, identical to those that just covered the clearing. The Winter Prince is watching over me—though whether to protect me or simply reserve me as his prey, remains unclear.

"I know you're there," I say to the silent forest, clenching my fists in anger at the damned prince’s intervention. "I don't need your protection."

No answer comes, but the silver bracelet pulses once, a brief flare of cold that shoots up my arm and settles somewhere beneath my breastbone. A reminder that I'm already marked by the fucking bastard.

The forest whispers around me, silver leaves rustling with secrets just beyond my understanding. I should feel frightened by this clear evidence of the Winter Prince's attention, but another emotion threads through my fear—a strange, reluctant gratitude that makes no rational sense.

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