Page 76 of Run Little Omega

"Then they will crumble." Cadeyrn positions himself between us, his back to me as he faces the Summer Court alpha. "Final warning, Thorn. Abandon what's mine, or join your brethren in eternal ice."

For a moment, I believe Lord Thorn will engage—his golden skin flushes with heat, flames gathering around his clenched fists. Then his gaze drops to my hands, still trailing frost, and genuine fear crosses his features.

"This isn't concluded," he growls, backing toward the ledge. "The courts gather against you. Against this abomination you create."

With that, he leaps from the ridge, the brothers following immediately. They vanish into the forest below, golden skin flashing between dark trunks before the trees conceal them completely.

Silence descends between us, weighted with unspoken questions and electric awareness pulsing through our claiming bond. Cadeyrn turns to me slowly, eyes tracking the frost that still curls from my fingertips.

"You're transforming," he says, voice roughened by weeks of rut yet somehow gentler. "The Wild Magic responds to your command now."

"What's happening to me?" I ask, echoing my earlier question to the forest.

"You become what you were always meant to be," he replies, moving closer. "What court breeding programs attempted to eliminate from our bloodlines. Magic that flows naturally, answering need rather than rigid formulae."

His scent surrounds me—winter wind and metal and alpha musk—triggering immediate response in my heat-primed body. Wetness gathers between my thighs, but it feels different than before—not merely blind biological imperative, but something connected to the cillae that pulse with my quickening heartbeat.

"This extends beyond claiming, doesn't it?" I ask, holding his gaze. "Something bigger is happening here."

"Yeah," he says, his hand hovering near my face. "Something the courts have feared for centuries. Wild Magic coming back through bloodlines they tried to bury. Through us."

The crimson moon begins its ascent as we face each other on that narrow ledge, bloodred light painting us in hues of violence and desire. Cadeyrn's pupils expand further, black consuming ice-blue until only a thin ring of color remains. His body radiates cold that somehow burns where it passes close to my skin.

"Run," he commands, voice dropping to something primal and hungry. "Give me the chase before I claim that sweet pussy again. Let me earn what I take."

I consider refusing—standing my ground, denying him the satisfaction of pursuit. But something within me responds to the challenge, to acknowledging we both desire this. My resistance isn't about rejection but about preserving identity even in surrender.

I break away, diving past him and descending the ridge with reckless speed. The forest parts before me—branches lifting, roots flattening—as if conspiring in this ritual. Behind me, Cadeyrn's growl of approval resonates, his predatory focus surging through our bond.

This time, when he catches me, it feels like mutual victory rather than defeat.

His body crashes into mine from behind, driving us both to the moss-covered ground. The impact should hurt, but frost cushions our fall, spreading in intricate patterns across the forest floor. He flips me onto my back, eyes wild with rut as he tears away what remains of my clothing with urgent, desperate hands.

"Mine," he growls, teeth finding the claiming mark at my neck and biting down hard enough to break skin.

Unlike our first claiming, pain transforms instantly to pleasure—bonding hormones flooding my system as his canines pierce the scent gland where neck meets shoulder. The sensation tears a cry from my throat, back arching as my body offers itself while my mind maintains its resistance.

"Not yours," I gasp, words contradicted by how readily my thighs part. "Never just yours."

He laughs against my throat, the vibration sending shockwaves down my spine. "Keep fighting, little deceiver. Your eventual surrender becomes that much sweeter."

His cock presses against my entrance, engorged and insistent, the head already leaking essence that mingles with my abundant arousal. There's no gentleness in how he claims me—just raw dominance as he fills me completely in a single powerful motion.

The stretch and fullness blend pleasure and pain, my body adjusting to accommodate his rut-swollen size. I cry out, sound caught between ecstasy and discomfort as he establishes a relentless rhythm that steals breath from my lungs with each thrust.

"So fucking tight," he growls against my neck, hips driving forward with merciless force. "Your cunt grips my cock like it was made for me."

His hands pin my wrists above my head, holding me open beneath him as he takes what he's fought to possess. Through our bond, I feel his satisfaction at having me at his mercy—his pride at being the only alpha to mark me, to fill me, to claim me in this primal way.

Yet even in this forceful taking, something has changed from before. Each thrust communicates more than possession—each drag of his length against my sensitive flesh carries intention beyond mere rutting. Magic awakens between us, cillae on our skin pulsing in synchronization as our bodies speak in language older than words.

My climax crashes through me unexpectedly, shattering and remaking me. My inner muscles contract around him in rhythmic waves, drawing a growl of satisfaction as my body wrings pleasure from his. Frost erupts from my fingertips, spreading across the forest floor in crystalline patterns that mirror those marking our skin.

"Yes," he praises against my ear, pace unrelenting. "Come for me. Squeeze that sweet cunt around my cock. Show me how much you need this."

The words should offend, but in this moment of raw honesty, they intensify the pleasure consuming me. My back arches, pressing against his chest as the orgasm rolls through me in merciless waves.

Just as sensitivity threatens to overwhelm me, his rhythm falters, thrusts becoming deeper, more deliberate as the base of his massive cock begins to swell.

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