Page 24

CHAPTER 24

POV: Cadeyrn

Her essence saturates my skin—copper and heat and mine . Blood thunders through my veins like war drums as I stride through the dense undergrowth, every sense heightened. The forest yields before me—branches lifting, roots flattening—acknowledging what I've become.

What she's awakened in me.

Seven centuries of perfect restraint, shattered in mere days.

I halt at the boundary of my territory, testing the air currents. Two Winter Court alphas have crossed my markers. Their presumption would be amusing if it weren't so infuriating. Have they misunderstood the meaning of the nine corpses arranged with such deliberate precision? The ice sculptures of rivals who dared encroach on what belongs to me?

No alpha touches what is mine.

I climb up to a vantage point in the gnarled branches of an ancient blackthorn, its bark weeping red sap. Below, Lord Frostbaine confers with Lord Glacius, a minor Winter Court noble I would barely have acknowledged before the Hunt began. They speak in hushed tones, oblivious to my presence above them.

"His behavior defies explanation," Frostbaine says, his voice carrying clearly to my enhanced hearing. "The territorial displays, the systematic killings—he's abandoned all Hunt conventions."

Glacius nods, his slender frame dwarfed by Frostbaine's enforcer physique. "The Winter Court has always valued control above all. This deviation is... worrisome."

"Worrisome?" Frostbaine's lip curls in disgust. "It's catastrophic. Seven centuries of meticulous breeding, of preserving bloodline purity, and our prince loses himself over some common village omega?"

My fingers pierce the bark as anger courses through me. Some omega? Briar? The defiant blacksmith who infiltrated the Hunt wearing another's face? Who defies her nature with a ferocity no court-bred omega has ever displayed? Who stirs dormant magic in my blood that court physicians claimed didn't exist?

They comprehend nothing.

"She's not ordinary," Glacius acknowledges, voice thoughtful. "Her scent profile is different. Uncommonly strong.”

"Nevertheless," Frostbaine continues, "we presented perfectly appropriate winter-compatible omegas. His fixation on this particular female threatens everything we've built."

A harsh laugh nearly escapes me. What they defend as "everything" is a prison of diminishing returns—each generation producing offspring with weaker connections to magicr. They've mistaken rigid control for strength. The Winter Court withers, has been decaying for centuries, yet none admit it.

But I see it now, with rutting clarity that burns through generations of court deception like the midday sun through winter ice.

"Her glamour technique was clever," Glacius observes. "Using deception to appear more appealing—unusually sophisticated for a village omega."

They fail to understand her. She wasn't attempting to seem more desirable. She sacrificed herself for another—a concept their calculating minds cannot imagine.

“The diplomatic complications of his actions multiply daily," Frostbaine mutters, lowering his voice further. “The Summer Court demands explanations for their dead alphas. The Autumn Court threatens trade sanctions. The Spring Court is dispatching representatives."

"Will he attend the council meeting?" Glacius asks, anxiety threading through his words. "He hasn't abandoned his hunting grounds in days."

Frostbaine's expression hardens. "He must. The Hunt has protocols. Our entire breeding program depends on multiple alphas accessing the omega pool. His claim of exclusivity undermines centuries of careful planning."

The branch beneath my grip shatters as I freeze it from the inside. They speak of her as breeding stock, as if any alpha should claim equal right to mount and seed her. The thought ignites fresh waves of possessive fury inside me.

"His physical changes are… unexpected," Glacius notes, gesturing vaguely at nothing. "Court physicians always maintained that rutting would deteriorate him, drain his magical reserves, as it has every other male in his bloodline. Yet..."

"Yet his power grows," Frostbaine completes, obviously uncomfortable. "The ice sculptures alone show an exceptional control with his magic despite his degeneration into such a primal state."

They discuss my transformation as a disease, a weakness, when every fiber of my being resonates with newfound vitality. The physicians deceived us—or perhaps remained ignorant themselves. Rutting hasn't diminished me; it has stripped away artificial constraints, reconnected me to ancient power that flows in Winter Court bloodlines but has been methodically suppressed for generations.

And it responds to her. To Briar. To something in her blood that calls to mine across our claiming bond, between one heartbeat and the next.

"We should inform the Council," Frostbaine concludes. "If the prince persists in this behavior, we may have to alter the line of succession to remove him.”

A growl builds in my chest, deep and menacing. They would replace me? After centuries of flawless service, of maintaining the restraint they demanded, of denying my essential nature to uphold court politics? Because I've claimed one omega as exclusively mine?

The mere thought of Briar beneath another alpha sends fresh frost cascading down the tree trunk. Nine dead rivals doesn’t touch what I would do. I would slaughter thousands, freeze the entire forest into eternal winter, tear down the very boundaries between realms before allowing another to touch what belongs to me alone.

I descend silently from the branch, landing behind them with unnatural grace despite my enlarged frame. Both alphas whirl, instincts alerting them to the danger they’re in.

"Prince Cadeyrn," Frostbaine drops immediately to one knee, head bowed. Glacius follows a heartbeat later, trembling visibly as I approach.

"Discussing succession, Lord Frostbaine?" My voice emerges rougher than before, permanently altered by days of primal sounds torn from my throat during claiming. "A curious topic during the Wild Hunt."

Fear sharpens his scent. "A theoretical discussion only, my prince. We were merely?—"

"Merely questioning my fitness to rule," I complete his thought, circling them with predatory deliberation. Ice forms beneath my bare feet with each step, spreading in patterns that echo the cillae growing on me. "Merely suggesting my choice of omega endangers court breeding programs."

"Your exclusive claim breaks precedent," Glacius offers cautiously. "The Hunt traditionally allows multiple alphas to?—"

"I know what the Hunt traditionally permits," I cut him off, my patience evaporating. "Just as I understand what court physicians traditionally claim about rutting. That it weakens. That it diminishes." I extend my fingers, frost gathering around them like living extensions of my will. "They were profoundly mistaken."

The two alphas exchange nervous glances, fear radiating from them in waves.

"We serve the Winter Court," Frostbaine says carefully. "Our concern is for its continued success, my prince."

"Then perhaps reconsider what true power is,” I reply, magic pulsing visibly beneath my skin as I speak. "Your meticulously calculated breeding programs have yielded generations of declining magical potency. Our power wanes with each supposedly perfect pairing."

My thoughts turn to Briar—her copper hair wild as flame, her amber eyes flashing defiance even as her body yielded beneath mine, the way Wild Magic erupted around us during claiming, awakening dormant plants and causing ancient trees to bow in recognition.

"She carries something unique in her blood," I continue, speaking more to myself than to them. "Something ancient. Something that resonates with dormant elements in my lineage. I sense it through our claiming bond."

Glacius leans forward despite his fear. "You believe she possesses fae heritage?"

"I know she does," I state with absolute certainty. "Just as I know neither of you will ever touch her."

The threat hangs between us, unmistakable though unspoken. Frostbaine swallows hard, while Glacius pales to the shade of fresh snow.

"The council still requires your presence," Frostbaine ventures after a tense silence. "The other courts are demanding explanations about their deceased alphas."

I laugh, the sound harsh and unrestrained. "Let them demand. I'll attend their meeting and explain my position with sufficient clarity for even the Spring Court representatives to comprehend."

Relief flickers across Frostbaine's features. "Thank you, my prince."

"But understand this clearly," I step closer, frost spiraling from my feet to surrounded them menacingly. "My claiming of this omega isn't temporary. She is mine , exclusively and permanently. Any alpha who approaches her will meet the same fate as the others."

Through our bond, I feel Briar stir at the surge of possessive energy. Miles away from me in the forest, she senses my declaration, responding with a pulse of irritation and—beneath it but unmistakable—a flicker of arousal that sends fresh heat coursing through my veins.

She still resists our connection. Fights her nature, fights her response to me, fights what we both know is inevitable. The thought curves my lips into a smile, anticipation building as the crimson moon creeps toward the horizon. Tonight I'll find her again, remind her body who it belongs to while her mind continues its futile rebellion.

"Is there anything else?" I ask, already turning away, already envisioning copper hair spread across forest moss, amber eyes hazed with reluctant pleasure, my teeth breaking her skin as my knot locks us together.

"The Council specifically inquired," Glacius ventures cautiously, "about your interest in this particular omega. Her coloring contradicts our court aesthetic, especially now that her glamour has faded. They wish to understand what qualities make her worthy of such... attention."

I pause, considering how to articulate what I barely comprehend myself. How to describe the instant recognition that struck me at the Gathering Circle, seeing through her glamour to the copper-haired strength beneath. How to explain the scent that incinerated seven centuries of control, awakening instincts I'd been taught to suppress since childhood.

"She fights," I say finally. "Even as her body surrenders to mine, even as pleasure shatters her voice, even as my knot locks within her—she fights. She is strong, and that is… appealing to me.”

The two alphas stare, clearly failing to comprehend.

My mind floods with memories of our first claiming—the sensations remain so vivid they nearly bring me to my knees before these lesser alphas.

I recall finding her in that moonlit clearing beneath the massive blackthorn, copper hair finally breaking through the glamour as her heat peaked. Her scent hit me like physical impact—honey and metal and readiness —burning away rational thought as my cock hardened painfully against my makeshift clothing.

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.