Page 10

CHAPTER 10

POV: Briar

Morning mist clings to the forest floor and swirls around my ankles with every step that I take. My muscles scream from a night spent curled up in the hollow of a tree, and the silver bracelet feels heavier today, almost as if it's anchoring me to the forest. According to Fergus's contraband maps and Sera's compass, the first haven should be nearby.

I pause, listening. The forest has changed overnight. The birdsong and rustling leaves have given way to an eerie silence broken only by distant sounds that turn my stomach—guttural growls followed by high-pitched keening, the unmistakable rhythm of flesh striking flesh.

The sound of ripping fabric cuts through my awareness somewhere to my left, followed by a strangled cry and rhythmic grunting. Bodies slap together as the low, deep voice of an alpha in rut snarls: "Cock-hungry little omega. So tight and slick around me. Your body knows what it wants." The victim's sobs turn to choked moans—the sound of someone being broken. I freeze, bile rising in my throat, reaching down for my makeshift knife where I tied it to my thigh.

As I turn towards the sound and see movement through the trees—muscle bunching, backs bowed, small, feminine hands scrambling in the dirt—the urge to run is overwhelming. Instead I get closer step by step, taking my time, because running triggers the chase instinct.

Though based on the flash of a swelling knot at the base of the alpha's cock, visible between brutal thrusts into the omega trapped beneath him, soon he won't be able to run or chase anything.

I recognize her as I get closer: Sera, the survivor. Alarm curls in my belly at the sight of her being subjugated beneath the alpha's grip. His grunts and snarls are a counterpoint to her quiet moans of pain and unwilling pleasure. The alpha isn't one I recognize, but based on the pattern of autumn leaves cascading down his spine, he's from the Autumn Court.

The omega who gave me the compass—who seemed to know more than she let on—is being reduced to breeding stock before my eyes. My hand tightens around the iron token at my belt. This isn't what I planned, but plans change in the forge all the time. Sometimes you have to adjust the metal while it's still hot.

Before I can think better of it, I fling the iron token. It strikes the alpha's shoulder, burning into fae flesh with a sizzling hiss. He rears back, howling, his claiming interrupted. His head whips toward me, pupils narrowing to feral slits.

"Run, Sera!" I shout, already backing away.

The alpha snarls, yanking himself free from Sera with brutal force. "Two omegas," he growls, lips stretching over teeth too sharp for a human mouth. "How fortunate."

I turn to flee, but I've miscalculated. Though his knot was beginning to swell, it wasn't fully locked. He can still chase—and now he's fixated on me. My scent, even suppressed, must be stronger than I realized.

I sprint through the trees, leaping over fallen logs, ducking under branches. The forest closes around me, paths narrowing where moments before they'd been wide. The alpha's breathing grows closer—too close.

His weight crashes into me from behind, driving me face-first into the loamy earth. The impact knocks my knife from my grip, sending it spinning into undergrowth. His weight settles over me, iron-hard muscles pinning me down as his breath scorches my neck.

"Sweet little troublemaker," he purrs against my ear, voice thick with rut. His hips grind against me, the hard length of him pressing against my clothed backside. "Your scent is... unusual. Masked somehow."

I thrash beneath him, but it's like fighting the anvil itself. His hands tear at my clothes, ripping fabric like paper. Panic surges through me, but I force it down. Panic makes you stupid, and stupid gets you killed. I need to think.

"Get off her!" Sera's voice cuts through my terror. She staggers toward us, swaying on her feet, blood trailing down her thighs. In her hand, she clutches my fallen knife.

The alpha laughs, not even bothering to look up as he continues shredding my clothes. "Wait your turn, little one. I'll finish what we started after I claim this one."

Sera's expression hardens with determination I wouldn't have thought possible for someone half-claimed. "You won't claim either of us," she says, her voice steadying. She lifts a small pouch from her belt. "Not today."

Before the alpha can react, she hurls the pouch directly into his face. It bursts on impact, releasing a cloud of fine powder that fills his eyes and nostrils. He rears back, screaming, clawing at his face as the powder burns into his skin.

I scramble out from under him, my clothes hanging in tatters around me. Sera grabs my arm, yanking me to my feet. "Run," she commands. "Now!"

We flee together through the trees, the alpha's agonized shrieks fading behind us. Sera moves with surprising speed for someone who just survived a brutal assault, pulling me along unfamiliar paths.

"The haven," I gasp. "We need to reach?—"

"No time," she cuts me off. "He'll recover soon. Autumn Court alphas metabolize toxins quickly."

A vicious roar behind us confirms her warning. The alpha's footfalls crash through the forest, gaining rapidly.

"Here," Sera pulls me behind an ancient oak. Her fingers press against the bark in a pattern, and a section of the tree swings inward, revealing a hollow passage. "Get in!"

I hesitate. "What about you?"

Her eyes meet mine, resolute and calm. "The path will only open for one. His teeth broke my skin—he's already marked me. He'll track me no matter what."

"Then I'll stay with you. We'll fight together?—"

"No." She presses the compass into my palm, closing my fingers around it. "Find the central haven. The old woman there—she knows things." She pushes me toward the opening. "She might be able to help with your..." Her eyes flick to the bracelet on my wrist, where strange frost-like patterns have begun to form. "Just find her."

The alpha's snarls grow closer. Before I can protest, she shoves me into the hollow. The bark swings shut, sealing me inside darkness. Through the thin barrier, I hear the alpha crash into the clearing.

"Where is she?" he demands, his voice distorted by fury and thwarted rut.

"Gone," Sera answers calmly. "Somewhere you can't follow."

His growl rises into a roar of rage. "Then you'll pay for both."

What happens next will haunt my dreams forever. The sounds of fabric tearing, of Sera's initial struggle giving way to screams, of flesh striking flesh with bruising force. Her cries grow increasingly desperate as the alpha reclaims her with brutal efficiency, punishment evident in every sound.

I press my hands over my ears, but it doesn't help. Tears stream down my face as I listen to someone dying to protect me—not a physical death, but the death of self that comes with violent claiming.

The sounds that follow make me retch. Bone snapping. A final, gurgling cry. The wet, meaty sound of flesh tearing beyond repair. The Autumn Court alpha has done more than claim—he's destroyed.

Silence falls.

Eventually, the tree passage reopens of its own accord. I stumble out on shaking legs, bile burning my throat.

Sera lies broken on the forest floor, her body twisted unnaturally, her throat torn open to the spine. Beside her, the alpha crouches, his cock still inside her cooling body, his face buried in the ruined flesh of her neck as he laps at the wound. Blood coats his mouth and chin, dripping onto his chest in crimson rivulets.

He hasn't noticed me yet.

I back away silently, one step at a time, clutching Sera's compass in one hand and my makeshift knife in the other. Branches shift in the wind, thankfully masking the sound of my retreat.

When I'm far enough away, I run.

Sera died because I tried to help her—because I underestimated the savagery of the Hunt. Guilt and rage burn in my chest like hot metal. I won't let her sacrifice be meaningless.

The compass needle spins wildly before settling southeast. According to Sera, that's where I'll find the first haven. The central haven, where an old woman might explain these strange frost patterns on my arm, must lie deeper in the forest.

The silver bracelet on my wrist pulses with cold fire. Magical patterns spiral outward from the metal, climbing up my forearm in delicate whorls—not geometric Winter Court patterns, but something else. Something I don't understand.

I press forward, finding paths through the dense undergrowth. The first haven appears before me like a mirage—a perfect circle surrounded by white-barked trees glowing like polished bone in the filtered morning light. The protective barrier shimmers subtly, visible only as a heat-haze distortion in the air.

I approach cautiously, circling the perimeter rather than walking directly in. Inside, six omegas have already gathered. Some bear fresh claiming marks—deep puncture wounds where alpha teeth broke skin. One woman's shoulder hangs at an unnatural angle, clearly dislocated. Another rocks back and forth, her small body wracked with silent sobs.

I step through the barrier. Magic washes over me like water that doesn't wet, probing, identifying, allowing passage when it confirms my omega status. For a moment I fear it will detect my glamour, but the barrier accepts me without incident.

Inside, the air feels different. Cleaner somehow, as if the magic cleanses more than just threats.

"Another one," says an older woman grinding herbs between smooth stones. Blood cakes her fingernails and speckles her forearms. "That makes seven of us. How many left out there, I wonder?"

No one answers her question. We all know the numbers—nearly a hundred omegas released into the forest at the start of the Hunt. Seven here. Perhaps a similar number at each of the other six havens. The rest...

"Thank you," I say, settling on a flat stone near the edge of the clearing. Close enough to appear social, far enough to make a quick exit if needed. "I'm Willow, from Thornwick."

"Marta," the older woman replies, not looking up from her work. "This is my third Hunt."

I try to hide my shock but must fail, because she chuckles dryly.

"Yes, some of us survive. Not many, but some. The courts need caretakers for their breeding stock, after all." Her voice is matter-of-fact, without bitterness. "I tend to the claimed ones now. It's a sort of... position."

My gaze drifts to a young woman sitting alone, staring at nothing. Her once-fine clothes are torn and dirty, but the quality of the fabric is still evident. Her platinum blonde hair hangs in tangled waves around a face too perfect to belong to a common villager. A trickle of blood runs down her inner thigh, slow and steady, disappearing into the dirt beneath her.

"That's Ivy," Marta says, following my gaze. "Daughter of the magistrate from Silverdale. Volunteered to save her younger sister." She lowers her voice. "The Huntsman took her last night. He was gentler than most, but the first claiming is always a shock to the system."

I watch as Marta rises and approaches Ivy with a small clay pot of salve. The younger woman doesn't resist as Marta applies it to the angry red puncture wounds on her neck, but she doesn't acknowledge the care either. Her eyes remain vacant, looking at something none of us can see.

"Will she...?" I begin, then find I don't know how to finish the question.

"Recover? In body, yes, probably. In mind?" Marta shrugs. "Some do. Some don't. The Huntsman likes to break them slowly, piece by piece. He claims with a smile, tells them how special they are while he tears them open. His kindness is more devastating than other alphas' violence."

I swallow hard, resisting the urge to touch my own neck. This is what awaits all of us, sooner or later. The thought of teeth breaking my skin, of being held down and?—

No. I didn't enter this Hunt to become a victim. I came to buy time for Willow and others like her. I came to defy the very system that treats us as breeding stock.

I stand up, shaking off the momentary paralysis. "Is there anything I can do to help while I'm here?"

Marta gives me an appraising look. "You're stronger than most who come through," she observes. "Good. We need people on watch. The barrier keeps alphas out, but they sometimes circle the perimeter. We like to know who's hunting nearby."

I nod, grateful for the task. "I'll take first shift."

"The tall rock at the north edge gives the best view," she says, turning back to her herbs. "And girl? The protection only lasts twelve hours for each omega. It's designed that way—to ensure the Hunt proceeds as the courts intended."

Of course it is. Even our safest refuge is just another part of their game.

From my perch on the tall rock, I have a clear view of the surrounding forest while remaining mostly hidden within the barrier's shimmer. The sun has burned away most of the morning mist, revealing a landscape transformed by the Hunt's magic. The trees seem more alive somehow, their branches reaching toward each other like conspirators sharing secrets.

Movement flickers at the edge of my vision—something large and graceful slipping between distant trees. I tense, but it doesn't approach. Just a scout, perhaps, marking the haven's location for later.

Below me, the haven has settled into a quiet routine. Omegas take turns standing watch, sharing limited supplies, and treating injuries. The herbs and bandages were presumably provided by the courts as minimal humanitarian consideration—just enough care to keep their breeding stock alive and healthy enough to carry fae offspring.

A woman stumbles through the barrier, her naked body a canvas of violence. Bite marks cover her breasts and inner thighs, the impressions of teeth so deep they've left perfect indentations in her flesh. Her throat bears multiple claiming bites, each more savage than the last, as if the alpha kept trying to find the perfect spot to mark her as property. Her legs give out immediately and she collapses, trembling, curling in on herself as if trying to disappear. Three omegas rush to her side, lifting her gently. As they carry her to a pallet near the central fire, her thighs part slightly, and alpha seed gushes from her in alarming quantities—more than enough to breed her.

The thought makes anger flare hot in my chest, a smith's fire burning away fear. We're not animals. We're not vessels. We're people.

Two omegas near the central fire pit are talking in low voices, unaware that their conversation carries to my position.

"...Summer Court has claimed the eastern sectors," one says, a thin woman with nervous hands that never stop moving. "They hunt near the hot springs. The heat makes them stronger. Greta made it there yesterday—they passed her around like a wineskin, each taking turns until she stopped screaming."

"Better than the Autumn Court," replies her companion, shuddering. "They've taken the western ridges. I saw them moving through the canopy like spiders, watching from above. They like to drop down without warning. Elise never even saw the one that took her—one moment walking, the next pinned beneath him, her spine snapped so she couldn't even struggle while he claimed her. I watched him use her broken body for hours. When he finally knotted her, her mouth opened in a silent scream—she couldn't even make a sound anymore. After he finished, he just left her there, still alive but paralyzed. The forest animals found her before another alpha could claim her. Small mercies, I suppose."

I lean forward slightly, straining to hear more.

"Spring Court has the southern valleys," the first continues. "All those flowers seem pretty until you realize they're carnivorous. And the Winter Court?—"

"Shh," the other hisses. "Don't speak of them. Especially not the prince."

But I need to know about the prince. About Cadeyrn. The memory of his ice-blue eyes following me at the Gathering Circle sends an unexpected shiver through me—not entirely from fear.

I climb down from my post when another omega arrives to relieve me, but I make sure to position myself near the gossiping pair as I accept a bowl of thin herb broth.

"Thank you," I say, deliberately brushing against the sleeve of the thin woman. "I'm Willow."

"Lira," she replies, then gestures to her companion. "This is Dara."

There's something unsettling about Lira—her fingers bear calluses from some musical instrument, yet she holds herself with an unnatural stillness now, as if her body remembers rhythms it can no longer express.

I sip the broth, keeping my expression neutral. "Have either of you seen any of the fae up close?" I ask, injecting just the right amount of worried curiosity into my voice. "I—I want to know what to expect."

Lira glances around nervously before leaning closer. Her once-musical voice drops to a whisper, "I caught glimpses of three Summer Court alphas yesterday. Skin like burnished gold, hair the color of fire. They move like flames, quick and unpredictable. They claimed a girl from my village—held her down in a field of wildflowers while they took turns. Her screams attracted two more alphas. By the time they finished with her, the flowers had turned red with her blood."

"The Autumn Court is worse," Dara whispers. "They blend with the forest. Their skin patterns shift like fallen leaves. You don't see them until they're already upon you. They don't just claim—they collect. Trophies. Fingerbones, teeth, locks of hair. Adornments for their nests."

I nod, filing away this information. "And the Winter Court?" I ask, keeping my voice light despite the sudden acceleration of my pulse.

Lira pales visibly, her musician's fingers trembling against her bowl. "They hunt in the northern territories, near the underground ice caves. White skin, hair like night, eyes so blue they burn. They're the coldest, the most calculating. They don't participate in the frenzy that drives the other courts. Their claiming is methodical, deliberate. They leave marks like frostbite on omega skin—black patches that never heal, permanent reminders of their touch."

"The prince hunts alone," Dara adds, her voice dropping so low I barely catch the words. "He's broken tradition. The other fae whisper about it, when they think no one is listening."

"Alone?" I ask, unable to hide my surprise. "Where?"

"His territory extends along the frost-lined river that cuts through the forest's heart," Lira says. "No other alpha will go near it now. They say..." She trails off, looking around again.

"What?" I prompt.

"They say he's hunting something specific," Dara finishes for her. "Or someone. That he's ignored multiple omegas who crossed his path. Lara from Westhill walked right in front of him yesterday—said he looked through her like she wasn't even there. But the omega he tracked..." She swallows hard. "They found her later. Or what was left of her. Frozen solid, expression fixed in a scream. He'd claimed her so brutally the ice beneath her body was stained crimson."

My hands tighten around the wooden bowl, nearly spilling the broth. Is it possible? Could he be looking specifically for me? But why would the Winter Prince break centuries of tradition to hunt a single omega from a forgettable border village?

Unless he saw through my glamour. Unless he knows I'm not what I appear to be.

"You should avoid the river entirely," Lira advises, misinterpreting my reaction as fear. "Stay in the southern territories if you can. The Spring Court at least makes the claiming quick."

I nod absently, my mind racing with implications. The courts have divided the forest into territories, with natural features marking boundaries. Summer in the east by the hot springs. Autumn in the western ridges. Spring in the southern valleys. Winter in the north by the ice caves.

And Cadeyrn along the central river, hunting alone.

I memorize these boundaries as I finish my broth, knowing I can't remain in the haven long. Its protection extends only twelve hours for each omega, and I've already used several. Besides, staying in one place—even a supposedly safe one—goes against every survival instinct I possess.

As the sun climbs toward noon, I gather my meager supplies and prepare to leave. Marta approaches as I adjust my pack.

"Leaving so soon?" she asks, though her tone suggests she already knows the answer.

"I need to keep moving," I reply simply.

She studies me with shrewd eyes that miss nothing. "You're different from the others," she observes. "Most omegas run from something. You seem to be running toward it."

I hesitate, unsure how much to reveal. "I have my reasons."

"We all do," she says with a thin smile. "Here. Take these." She presses a small pouch into my hand. Inside are bundles of herbs—some familiar, others I've never seen before. "The brown ones mask scent temporarily. The red ones help with heat symptoms. The white ones..." She pauses. "The white ones dull pain. Save them for after."

After claiming, she means. After I've been caught, held down, bitten, knotted. After my body has been used until it breaks.

"Thank you," I say, tucking the pouch into my belt.

"One more thing," Marta says as I turn to leave. "The forest is changing. The Hunt this year feels different. Even the alphas seem unsettled by it."

"Different how?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "I don't know exactly. Just... watch the trees. They're more aware than they've been in previous Hunts."

Before I can ask what she means, a commotion breaks out on the far side of the clearing. An omega has collapsed, her heat symptoms suddenly intensifying. Her back arches unnaturally as she claws at her own skin, the scent of desperate omega need filling the air like something physical. The haven erupts in controlled chaos as others rush to help, applying wet cloths to her feverish skin and administering herbs to dampen the symptoms.

It's the perfect distraction for my departure.

I slip through the barrier without looking back, the magic washing over me in that strange waterfall sensation again. Once outside, I stand perfectly still, getting my bearings. The forest seems darker beyond the haven's protection, the shadows deeper, more watchful.

My time within the haven wasn't wasted. I've gathered valuable intelligence—not just about territories and hunting patterns, but about the unusual circumstances of this particular Hunt. Cadeyrn hunting alone. The forest itself changing, becoming more aware.

And most importantly, I now have a clear vision of where I need to go.

Away from the central river. Away from the Winter Prince's territory. Away from those ice-blue eyes that seemed to see straight through my disguise.

I set off southward, toward the Spring Court territories. The claiming there is supposedly quicker, less brutal. But I have no intention of being claimed at all. My path will skirt territories, cross boundaries, use the courts' own divisions against them. Where territories meet, confusion reigns, and in confusion lies opportunity.

As I walk, the haven disappears behind me, swallowed by the forest as if it never existed. Ahead, the trees grow thicker, their silver-edged leaves whispering secrets to each other in a language I can't quite understand.

But I'm beginning to learn.