Page 40 of Run Little Omega

He saved me from the Huntsman. He saved Lira too, indirectly.

But why? What makes me worth this intervention when dozens of other omegas are being hunted, claimed, and discarded throughout the Bloodmoon Forest?

The question follows me as I gather my supplies and continue my journey, moving carefully through territories that grow more dangerous by the hour. The Winter Prince's ice magic lingers in the air around me like an invisible cloak, both protection and claim. My body responds to it with shameful eagerness, heat flaring beneath my skin wherever the cold touches.

I refuse to consider what it might mean that my omega instincts recognize his alpha presence even without him physically being there. Refuse to acknowledge the treacherous part of me that's almost disappointed he didn't appear in person.

The Hunt continues, and I with it. One more day survived, twelve more to go.

CHAPTER16

POV: Briar

I wakein a body that no longer feels like my own.

Not even halfway through the Hunt, and my carefully maintained control has shattered like glass. The heat I've suppressed for eleven years has become a wildfire consuming every rational thought. My skin burns from within, each breeze across my sweat-slicked flesh sending conflicting signals of relief and unbearable stimulation.

"Shit," I whisper, curling into myself at the base of the massive blackthorn where I spent the night. Last evening's encounter with the Huntsman and Prince Cadeyrn's icy intervention feels distant, dreamlike compared to the vivid, immediate demands of my body.

I dig through my supplies for the herbs the Survivor gave me. The small leather pouch contains only a pinch now—barely enough for one more dose. I swallow them dry, grimacing at the bitter taste. They barely have an effect, like a drop of water on scorched earth.

"Just hormones," I remind myself, pressing my forehead against cool moss. "Just my fucking biology."

The words ring hollow. Another wave of heat washes through me, settling low in my abdomen with pulsing insistence. Between my thighs, moisture gathers, making my leggings stick uncomfortably together. The emptiness inside me has become a physical ache, a hollow space demanding to be filled.

I force myself to stand, to focus on practical matters. Survival first. Discomfort later.

The forest is awake, just like me. Silver leaves turn to follow my movement, branches shift to clear my path, roots flatten to ease my steps. I've gotten used to it, which is somehow more disturbing than if it distressed me.

Most disturbing is my new awareness of alphas in the forest around me. They're not visible or audible, yet I sense their presence like phantom pressure against my skin. One prowls a half-mile east—Summer Court by the warm spice of his magic. Two more move in tandem to the south—the Raveling Brothers, their movements unmistakable even at this distance.

And somewhere north, a cold presence, vast and patient as a glacier. Cadeyrn.

My body turns toward him instinctively before I force myself back on course. The silver bracelet pulses against my wrist, no longer resembling the device placed on me at the Gathering Circle. Cillae spread from it in delicate crystalline whorls that now reach my elbow, beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

"Not yours," I whisper, though my body's reaction suggests otherwise.

I make my way toward a stream I spotted on the Survivor's map, hoping cold water might provide temporary relief from the heat consuming me. When I find it, the clear water bubbling over smooth stones looks like salvation.

I kneel at the edge, plunging my hands into the blessed coolness. To my shock, tiny ice crystals form around my fingers, across the water's surface before quickly melting. I jerk back, staring at my hands in confusion and growing fear.

"What's happening to me?"

I lean forward, catching my reflection in the still pool. The face staring back flickers and waivers—platinum blonde hair briefly replaced by copper, green eyes shifting to amber-gold before returning to Willow's appearance. The glamour struggles to maintain itself.

Is it the Winter Prince's magic working Across my skin? The fact that I'm in heat now? Or something else, something about the ancient forest around me and how it responds to me?

I splash water on my face, hoping to clear my thoughts. When I lift my cupped hands, frost forms along my fingertips briefly before dissolving. The sensation isn't unpleasant—a cool counterpoint to the burning heat that radiates from within.

After drinking as much as I can and eating a small meal of bread, cheese, and an apple, it’s time to go. I stay alert as I head in the direction that smells the least of alpha rut. I set new false trails, cross streams to break my scent, and use every trick Fergus taught me to confuse potential hunters.

But my heart isn't in it with the same passion anymore. Part of me—a growing, insistent part—wants to be found. Wants strong hands and sharp teeth and the relief of surrender. The thought terrifies me more than any alpha's pursuit.

At midday I find a blackberry thicket and gather handfuls of the sweet fruit, juice staining my fingers purple as I eat. The simple pleasure of food grounds me briefly in something other than heat-fever.

That's when I smell it—heat and rut, so powerful and consuming that it settles into my skin.

Every instinct screams to run in the opposite direction, but curiosity and a strange, compulsive need to know outweigh caution. I move silently toward the source, using trees and undergrowth as cover.

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