Page 67 of Run Little Omega

Her eyes met mine with defiance even as slick gathered visibly between her thighs, her body betraying her while her mind fought on. This contradiction intoxicated me more than any court pleasure I'd ever experienced.

When I finally claimed her, pinning her against that ancient tree whose sap ran red with our joining, the sensation was exquisite. Her tight heat gripped my cock like a sheath crafted for me alone, her inner walls clenching with each thrust as I drove deeper than any alpha had right to penetrate.

I remember how her back arched when my teeth broke her skin, the way her blood tasted of metal and magic on my tongue. How she screamed—not in terror but in unwilling ecstasy—as my knot swelled inside her, locking us together while magic exploded around us, dormant plants erupting into impossible bloom.

For that perfect moment, as my seed flooded her womb in endless pulses, our minds connected across barriers I didn’t know could fall. I saw her completely as she saw me—pretense stripped away, court manners forgotten, reduced to our most primal and most authentic selves.

And when it ended, when the magic settled into our blood like cillae across skin, I knew with absolute certainty that I would destroy any alpha who attempted to experience what was mine alone.

The satisfaction of those kills still resonates through my veins. Each death was necessary. Each kill was justified. With each rival eliminated, my power grew stronger, my rut deeper, my connection to Wild Magic more profound.

"Your breeding program has produced perfect submission," I explain, impatience rising. "Omegas who know precisely how to position themselves, who make the expected sounds, who perform claiming rather than experiencing it. Briar offers something none of your carefully selected breeding stock could ever provide."

"Which is?" Frostbaine asks, confusion evident in his scent.

My smile widens as cillae pulse across my skin, the bond between Briar and me flaring with renewed intensity. The crimson moon will rise soon, and I will hunt again, track her through the forest until I catch her unique scent, until I pin her beneath me and remind her exactly who she belongs to.

"A worthy adversary," I tell them, already turning toward her direction, already feeling the magnetic pull between us. "And a transformation no court could possibly anticipate."

I leave them standing in the clearing, whispers resuming the moment they believe I'm beyond hearing range. Let them plot and scheme and worry. Let the courts demand explanations. All of it pales to insignificance against the pull of crimson moonlight and copper hair and the Wild Magic awakening in both our blood.

Tonight, I hunt again. Tonight, I claim what's mine.

And no court protocol will stand in my way.

CHAPTER25

POV: Briar

My priority should be puttingleagues between myself and any alpha's territory. But the forest seems determined to shepherd me toward places I shouldn't venture. Typical of my luck, really.

A distant melody grabs my attention—haunting notes incongruous with this deadly wilderness. Music. Someone is performing during the Hunt, which means they’re either brave or dumb as hell.

Apparently I’m dumb as hell too.

I track the sound, moving carefully through thickets and underbrush. The melody becomes clear—a bone flute playing a mournful and defiant song. I recognize the musician from the Gathering Circle: Lira, the village artist whose song lyrics subtly undermined the fae a little too often.

The music stops abruptly, replaced by sounds that freeze my blood—rhythmic movements, flesh meeting flesh, and beneath it all, a woman's broken sounds that blur the boundary between pleasure and pain.

"Shit," I whisper, even as I creep closer. Every instinct screams to run. Instead, some grim compulsion draws me forward.

What I discover at the clearing's edge will haunt my nights for years to come.

Lira kneels on moss-covered ground, her dark hair unbound, falling around her face in disarray. Her body rocks forward with each powerful thrust from the magnificent alpha mounted behind her—his russet hair cascading to his waist, skin bearing subtle patterns of fallen leaves.

His brother—identical in every perfect detail—kneels in front of her, one hand twisted in her hair while the other strokes his engorged length, his expression one of anticipation. Both alphas are unnaturally beautiful—lean muscle beneath skin glowing with vitality, faces impossibly symmetrical, their arousals thick and alert in a way that would make any omega's body respond

The Raveling Brothers of the Autumn Court. Not twins, but bred so similar they share nearly identical features—and apparently, they share their prey as well.

"That's it, little songbird," the one kneeling before her murmurs, his voice like honey warmed before the fire. "Take my brother deeply. Show him how sweetly you sing."

His grip tightens in her hair, forcing her face upward. The expression I glimpse turns my stomach—eyes glazed with unwilling pleasure, tears streaking her cheeks even as her lips part in sounds she cannot suppress. Omega biology betraying her mind's resistance.

"Prynn," she gasps, the name torn from her throat. "Please..."

The alpha behind her—Prynn, apparently—laughs, the sound melodic and chilling. "She begs so beautifully, doesn't she, Blaim?" His hips drive forward with renewed force, drawing a startled cry from her. "I think she's ready for the transition."

Blaim smiles, somehow both charming and predatory. "I've been anticipating since you began." His arousal twitches in his hand, flushed and swollen, glistening at the tip. "She smells divine in heat."

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