Page 44 of Run Little Omega

I continue my journey, one careful step after another, fighting against the heat that threatens to consume both body and mind. Ten days down, eleven more to survive. Each day brings me closer to freedom or to claiming—and with each passing hour, the line between those outcomes blurs in ways I never anticipated.

Whatever happens next, one thing becomes increasingly clear: the rules of this Hunt have changed. Tradition means nothing in a game where the Winter Prince slaughters his own kind to claim one omega, where the forest itself takes sides, where magic spreads across my skin like living frost.

I've entered territory uncharted by any village tales or contraband maps. All I can do now is keep moving and hope my strength lasts until I figure out what the forest—and its most dangerous alpha—truly want from me.

CHAPTER17

POV: Cadeyrn

The crimson moonhangs like an open wound in the night sky, its light transforming the Bloodmoon Forest into a realm of shadow and blood. Every sense I possess has sharpened beyond recognition—scents carve distinct pathways through the air, sounds penetrate my consciousness with painful clarity, and my vision cuts through darkness as though it were merely dusk.

Seven centuries of perfect control lie in ruins around me.

I am transformed. Not weakened as the court physicians warned, but reforged into something wilder, stronger, more primal than the controlled prince who observed the omegas at the Gathering Circle with detached interest. The rut pulses through me like liquid fire, reshaping muscle and bone. My frame has expanded beyond what should be possible, destroying the fine garments I wore when the Hunt began. What remains hangs in tatters, barely containing the raw power beneath.

My skin burns from within, a fever that cannot be quenched by the night air. Cillae spread across my chest and arms, pulsing with blue-white light that matches my erratic heartbeat. Veins are prominent beneath my skin, carrying magic more ancient than the courts themselves—something that responds to her, to the copper-haired deceiver who shattered everything I thought I knew about myself.

Her scent calls to me through the endless trees, more intoxicating than any wine, more compelling than any court summons. Copper and fire and defiance, laced with the unmistakable sweetness of omega heat. I track it like a physical thread woven through the forest, noting with reluctant admiration how she attempts to mask her path, doubling back across streams and laying false trails that would confound lesser alphas.

But I am Winter Court royalty, trained in the hunt since before her ancestors drew breath. And now, with rut burning through my carefully maintained restraint, my tracking abilities have grown even greater than before.

Each step sends jolts of awareness through my body, clothing a torment against rut-sensitive skin. Between my thighs, my arousal strains painfully against the crude animal hide I fashioned to replace my ruined garments. The rut-state has caused an enlargement that would shock even experienced alphas—my length throbbing with each heartbeat, the base already showing signs of the knot that will eventually form.

My jaw aches, canines elongated and sharpened for the claiming bite that will mark her as mine. Saliva floods my mouth at the thought of breaking that perfect skin where neck meets shoulder, of feeling her pulse against my tongue as the claiming bond forms between us.

The silver bracelet's magic flows between us, a connection forming before physical claiming. Through it, I sense her general location, her fear, her stubborn resistance against the heat consuming her. Most remarkably, I feel the cillae spreading up her arm, matching those that cover my own skin. She fights this connection, just as she fights her own nature, unaware that resistance only strengthens what grows between us.

I pause at the top of a small ridge, inhaling deeply. The air carries so much information—the musk of another alpha who passed this way hours ago, the sharp tang of fear from a claimed omega fleeing deeper into the forest, the metallic scent of blood where territorial displays turned lethal. Beneath it all, threading through it all: her.

My body responds instantly, painfully, to the scent. Muscles coil tight with readiness, skin flushes hotter, arousal throbs with renewed intensity. A growl builds in my chest, tearing free before I can suppress it. The sound carries through the night, freezing the air around me into ice crystals that fall like deadly rain.

The forest helps me in ways I've never witnessed during previous Hunts. Branches part before me, creating clear paths toward my quarry while closing behind to prevent retreat. Roots flatten beneath my feet, allowing silent passage where other alphas would crash noisily through underbrush. Silver leaves turn like sentinels, tracking my movement with ancient awareness.

Something awakens between us—the copper-haired deceiver and myself—something the forest remembers though we ourselves have forgotten. The blackthorns whisper as I pass, conveying secrets just beyond comprehension. They guide me toward the ancient clearing where the heart-tree grows, where red sap flows like blood from bark black as a moonless night.

Through our strengthening connection, I sense her growing closer to this sacred place. Her heat intensifies by the hour, overwhelming her defenses despite herbs and iron tokens. The forest leads her exactly where it wants her—where it wants us both.

The rut clouds my thoughts with images of claiming—my hands pinning her wrists, my teeth breaking her skin, my body joining with hers in savage union. I fight to maintain enough clarity to track her efficiently, to separate the hunter's purpose from the alpha's need. The battle for control rages within me even as I pursue her.

Night deepens around me, shadows lengthening as I stalk through ancient groves. The sounds of the Hunt echo through the darkness—distant cries of claimed omegas, growls of satisfied alphas, the brutal rhythm of flesh against flesh. Each sound sends fresh fire through my veins, my body responding with primal need.

I am close now. So close.

The blackthorn branches quiver with anticipation, silver leaves rustling. The ground beneath my feet pulses with subtle magic, recognizing my passage as something significant beyond normal Hunt participation. My frost magic responds instinctually, crystals of ice forming in the air around me with each exhale.

Through the trees ahead, crimson moonlight illuminates a small clearing. And there—there she is, her copper hair breaking through the failing glamour as she stumbles forward, heat finally overwhelming her remarkable strength. She collapses against the massive blackthorn tree at the clearing's center, red sap flowing more quickly at her touch.

I remain in shadow, watching her struggle against biological imperative. Even now, even as her body betrays her with desperate need, she fights. Her hands clench into fists as she tries to stand again, cursing her weakness with language no proper omega would use.

Beautiful. Magnificent in her resistance.

My arousal strains painfully against the hide loincloth, pre-seed leaking from the tip as my body prepares for claiming. My muscles tremble with the effort of remaining still, every instinct screaming to rush forward, to overpower, to take what is mine.

Not yet. The hunt itself carries pleasure—the chase as sweet as the capture.

I will observe a while longer, savor her magnificent struggle, witness the moment her stubborn will finally bends under heat's relentless pressure. Then, when she reaches breaking point, when defiance gives way to desperate need, I will emerge from shadow to claim what has been mine since she first stepped into the Gathering Circle wearing another's face but carrying a scent that shattered seven centuries of perfect control.

Mine. Soon.

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