Page 75 of Run Little Omega

"Winter Court magic lingers here," the one on the left calls, head lifting as he samples the air. "But something else too. Something... unexpected."

"Three against one seems unsporting," I call down, revealing my position. No point hiding when they've already caught my scent.

Their heads snap up in unison, eyes widening at finding me above rather than cowering below. Traditional omegas run; they don't seek advantageous terrain.

"The claimed omega," Lord Thorn says, recognition darkening his features. "The one the Winter Prince violates protocol to possess exclusively."

"That's me. The special one." I maintain casual tone despite my thundering pulse. "Worth killing for, apparently, given how many alphas he's destroyed for approaching me."

The brothers exchange glances, something like doubt passing between them. Lord Thorn, however, shows no hesitation.

"The prince has broken the Hunt's fundamental purpose," he says, beginning to climb toward my position. "No omega gets exclusive claiming. Your tight little cunt belongs to any alpha strong enough to mount it."

"Maybe your traditions are the real problem," I counter, retreating as he advances. The ledge offers limited maneuvering space. "Seven centuries of court breeding has made each generation weaker than the last. Your courts are dying, Thorn."

He pauses, genuine surprise crossing his features before hardening to rage. "Know your station, bitch. Omegas don't discuss court matters. They spread their legs and take what alphas provide."

The cillae beneath my clothing pulse with sudden intensity, responding to my rising fury. Ice-blue flecks in my eyes flash like trapped lightning as anger courses through me at his crude dismissal.

Lord Thorn continues his approach, the brothers fanning out to cut off potential escape routes. "Your omega biology betrays you," he says, close enough now that heat radiates from his skin in uncomfortable waves. "We'll fuck that defiance out of you. All three of us taking turns filling that pretty pussy."

"I think not." I draw Lira's bone knife, holding it before me. It appears pathetically small against three full-grown alphas in rut, but I've never surrendered without resistance.

Lord Thorn laughs, the sound rumbling from his massive chest. "Spirited. I appreciate that in breeding stock. Makes the eventual submission more gratifying."

He lunges with surprising speed for his size. I slash with the bone knife, catching his forearm. He hisses as it cuts deeper than expected—the bone somehow more effective against fae skin than metal. Silver-blue blood wells from the wound, but he barely slows, seizing my wrist and twisting until the knife falls from my grip.

"Such fierce resistance," he purrs, dragging me against his overheated body. "Let's see how long it persists when all three of us mount you in sequence."

Panic surges through me, not just at his words but at the memory of Lira passed between the Raveling Brothers, torn from one knot to another like property rather than person. I struggle against his grip, my strength making me a more challenging capture than anticipated. When his fingers dig painfully into my flesh, something inside me fractures.

I press my free hand against his chest, and frost erupts from my palm—not the delicate crystals of earlier, but a surge of winter magic that spreads across his bronzed skin in jagged patterns. Lord Thorn cries out, releasing me as the frost climbs his neck toward his face, overheated skin crackling as ice penetrates beneath the surface.

I stare at my hand in shock. The cillae on my skin glow with blue-white light, responding to the power flowing through me. This isn't Cadeyrn's magic working through our bond—this belongs to me alone.

The brothers hesitate, clearly unprepared for this development. Lord Thorn recovers quickly, rage replacing surprise as he charges again.

"Insolent bitch," he snarls, fingers curved like talons. "I'll breed that defiance out of you. All three of us will."

I retreat until stone presses against my spine—nowhere left to run. As Lord Thorn reaches for me again, the temperature plummets so suddenly our breath clouds before us. Frost races across the ledge, encasing stone in glittering ice that creeps toward the Summer Court alphas like sentient fingers.

"You trespass," says a voice from below—rough with rut yet cold as midwinter midnight. "Again."

Cadeyrn stands at the ridge's base, transformed further since I last beheld him. His body radiates power that distorts the surrounding air, frost spreading from his bare feet with each deliberate step. His eyes burn—ice-blue nearly consumed by expanded pupils that fix on the scene above with predatory focus.

The brothers withdraw immediately, some primal survival instinct overriding whatever orders brought them here. Lord Thorn, however, stands firm.

"This transcends territorial dispute," he calls down. "Summer Court has resurrected me at significant cost to address your Hunt violations. The omega must be properly claimed by multiple alphas to ensure bloodline diversity."

"She bears my mark," Cadeyrn replies, ascending the ridge with unnatural grace. "My seed. My frost. She is mine alone."

"No omega belongs exclusively to any alpha," Lord Thorn insists, though he retreats as Cadeyrn reaches the ledge. "That principle forms the Hunt's very foundation."

"Perhaps the Hunt's foundation requires reexamination." Cadeyrn's gaze shifts to me, noting the frost still emanating from my palm with evident approval. "Ancient ways reawaken. Wild Magic returns to bloodlines long suppressed by court breeding programs."

He shows no surprise at my newfound abilities. If anything, he seems pleased, as if I'm developing exactly as anticipated—as if this emergence of winter magic fulfills some prophecy only he comprehends.

Lord Thorn's expression darkens. "The courts won't tolerate this heresy."

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