Page 60 of Run Little Omega

"I'm notjustan omega," I say, the words coming out fiercer than I meant them to. "And you're notmyalpha. This"—I gesture to the frost marking on my collarbone—"doesn't change that."

His expression darkens, territorial rage flickering beneath his control. For a heartbeat, I think he might claim me again right here, pin me against this tree and remind my body of the pleasure it found in surrender.

Instead, he steps back. I should be relieved. Instead I just feel… frustrated.

"You've been running all your life, little deceiver," he says, the nickname somehow more intimate than my actual name would be. "From what you are. From what you want. Don't imagine that changes now."

He turns away, moving back toward the frozen corpse that stands as a testament to his possessive nature. "Run if you wish. Hide if you can. But remember this"—he gestures to the corpse—“when you consider letting another alpha near enough to scent you."

The dismissal in his tone ignites my stubbornness. "And if I do? Will you kill every alpha in the forest? There are dozens still hunting."

His smile is terrifying in its certainty. "If necessary."

"The courts won't permit it. Even a prince must follow the rules.”

"The courts," he says, the words dripping with dark contempt, "have fabricated many things. What this rutting would do to me. What claiming would mean. What flows in my blood—and now in yours." He looks back at me, ice-blue eyes burning with intensity. "Run, little omega. I'll chase you down and show you how much you need my claiming."

With that, he turns and vanishes into the forest, frost melting from the trees with each step he takes. The air temperature rises gradually as his presence fades, though the ice sculpture remains, an unmistakable warning to any who might cross this path.

I stand alone by the stream, shivering despite the warmth. The claiming bond pulses between us, stretching as Cadeyrn moves away. My fingers rise to touch the cillae on my collarbone, the patterns seeming to writhe beneath my fingertips.

What have I gotten myself into?

And why does part of me still want more?

CHAPTER23

POV: Briar

Midday sunlight bathesthe forest in warmth as another wave of heat courses through me. I curl tighter beneath a blackthorn's sprawling roots, sweat dampening my skin. The break I'd hoped would follow claiming has been nowhere to be found. My body burns hotter than before, as if Cadeyrn's touch awakened something dormant rather than satisfying it.

I press my forehead against the cool earth, jaw clenched as emptiness throbs between my thighs. Each muscle contracts around nothing, tightening with painful need.

A distant cry pierces my heat-fog—distinctly human, definitely omega. My body tenses, instincts waging war within me. Hide. Run. Help.

I find myself drawn toward the sound, a moth to deadly flame. The claiming mark at my neck pulses in warning, as if Cadeyrn's magic senses I’m about to get into trouble. One more rebellion to add to my growing list of suicidal choices. At least this one isn't purely self-destructive.

I follow the sound to a small clearing and find Wren—the midwife omega—cornered against an ancient oak by a Spring Court alpha whose skin shimmers in green and gold colors. The spiral tattoos that mark her as a healer are stark against a complexion blanched with fear.

"Your knowledge of birthing makes you uniquely valuable," he's saying, voice melodic and horrifying in its gentleness. "The offspring you bear would inherit healing gifts that would strengthen our bloodlines."

"I volunteered to save another," Wren replies, her steady tone belying her trembling hands. "Not to bear spawn for the courts."

His laughter is grating. “What you wanted doesn’t matter at all. Your bloodline has been watched for generations."

I should leave. My thighs still bear evidence of Cadeyrn's claiming, my neck throbs with his bite, and my body craves another dose of whatever dark magic we've awakened between us. Interfering can only invite trouble.

And yet.

"Three against one seems like poor sport," I call out, stepping into view with more confidence than I actually feel.

The alpha turns, confusion flickering across his too-perfect face. "There are only two here, little omega. Heat has addled your counting skills."

"The forest makes three." I gesture to the silver leaves that seem to bend toward us with unusual interest. "And it's clearly taking my side."

I’m making shit up, but delivered with enough conviction that he hesitates. His nostrils flare as he scents me. Recognition dawns in his too-green eyes.

"The Winter Prince's claimed one," he says, taking an instinctive step back. "He's left a trail of mutilated alphas."

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