Page 61 of Run Little Omega

Fear is currency in the Bloodmoon Forest, and I'm suddenly wealthy.

"I'm sure there's easier prey somewhere else,” I suggest. "Unless you'd like to join the gallery of examples?"

The alpha retreats slowly, clearly cross. “The Winter Court will answer for this,” he snarls, but the threat rings hollow.

When he's gone, I find Wren studying me, her gaze lingering on the claiming mark at my neck.

"You carry his scent, and that glamour you were wearing has dissolved," she says simply. "After just one claiming. Remarkable."

"Don't read too much into it," I mutter, uncomfortable with her scrutiny. "One alpha's bite doesn't make me special."

Her lips quirk in what might be a smile. "Keep telling yourself that, 'Willow.' And thank you for saving me from him, though like us all, I will be claimed one way or another.”

When she extends her hand in thanks, I hesitate before taking it. "It's Briar, actually."

"When your time comes," she says, “go to the oak with twin trunks, three days north. Not all births require court assistance."

"I'm not getting pregnant," I snap, the denial sharp even to my own ears. "I'd rather die than bear his young."

The pity in her eyes is worse than fear would be. She knows better—has delivered enough babes to recognize the inevitable when she sees it.

"Nevertheless," she continues, unfazed by my denial, "the offer stands. Some things are worth the pain of bringing them into the world."

She vanishes into the undergrowth with surprising stealth for a woman her age, leaving me alone with uncomfortable possibilities and the tender ache between my thighs. I force myself to keep moving, no longer certain of my destination, only that I must not remain still.

Last night's claiming didn't quench my heat—it amplified it. Each hour brings sharper awareness, more desperate yearning. My skin registers every whisper of air like a lover’s caress. Scents paint vivid images behind my eyelids. My inner thighs grow slick with evidence of my body's treacherous readiness.

I brace against the rough bark of a blackthorn tree as dizziness threatens to topple me. Through the fog of heat, a strange realization surfaces—I no longer want to hide completely. Part of me—the part I've denied for eleven years—wants to run precisely so he'll chase me. Wants to feel the thrill of pursuit, the exquisite tension of being hunted by something powerful enough to catch me.

The thought should horrify me. Instead, it sends another rush of warmth to my core.

The claiming bond hums between us, that unwanted connection linking me to Cadeyrn despite the distance separating us. North and east, stationary for now, but alert. Waiting. I sense his awareness of me through that invisible thread, a predatory focus that makes my stomach twist with something not entirely dread.

I step out of my hiding place, letting silver leaves brush my feverish skin. The forest responds to me, paths opening that didn't exist moments before. Twisting paths show up at my feet, ones that dodge back and forth, as if meant for prey.

A game trail. But not for deer or rabbit.

For me.

A thrill races up my spine, disturbing in its intensity. I've spent my life concealing what I am, suppressing omega instincts that might expose me. Now those same instincts surge within me, no longer content to be denied. The omega in me wants to run, to be pursued, and ultimately claimed.

"This is madness," I whisper to the listening forest.

The silver leaves rustle in response, as if laughing at me. Of course it's madness. Heat is designed to overwhelm reason.

I take off running. My blacksmith's strength propels me through the undergrowth faster than a typical omega could manage. I deliberately choose challenging routes—a stream to splash through, a fallen log to balance across, a rock face requiring actual climbing skills.

I want him to work for his prize. Want him to remember I'm not some pampered court omega bred for submission, but a blacksmith with iron in my blood.

And gods help me, I want the chase itself—the exhilaration of moving through forest and field, pushing my body to its limits while something magnificent pursues me. Heat may have awakened this craving, but it feels older than biology, more fundamental than instinct.

The claiming bond flares suddenly, alerting me that Cadeyrn has begun to move. His awareness sharpens, focuses entirely on me with an intensity that steals my breath. Through our connection, I feel his pleasure in the hunt, satisfaction at my boldness in running rather than hiding.

He's enjoying this. And despite everything, so am I.

I increase my pace, heart racing with exertion and something darker, more primal. My body responds to his pursuit with embarrassing eagerness—breasts heavy and tender, fabric chafing sensitive nipples, dampness spreading with each stride.

The forest guides my flight with subtle assistance—branches bend out of the way, roots flatten where they might trip me, undergrowth parts just enough to create passages.

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