Page 27

CHAPTER 27

POV: Briar

Seven days left. Two-thirds of the Hunt now behind us.

I stand knee-deep in a cool stream, watching my reflection fracture and reform on the water's surface. The woman staring back barely resembles the one who entered this forest. My copper hair now threads with silver strands that catch the morning light. My amber eyes hold flecks of ice-blue that weren't present when the Hunt began.

"What's happening to me?" I whisper to the wilderness.

No answer comes, but silver leaves rustle around me. Blackthorn trees shift subtly, trunks bending to create dappled light across my skin. The forest speaks a language I'm only beginning to understand.

I cup water in my palms, washing away the night's grime. The cool liquid soothes my fevered skin, offering momentary relief from the persistent heat that's become my constant companion. As I straighten, something unexpected occurs—frost spreads from my fingertips across the water's surface, delicate crystals forming and dissolving in the same breath.

This is new. The cillae Cadeyrn placed on my skin have been expanding, now covering most of my left side from shoulder to hip, but this marks the first time the magic has extended beyond my body.

Cautiously, I press my palm against a nearby stone. Frost blooms beneath my touch, spreading in feathery whorls before fading. Not Cadeyrn's power working through our bond, but something distinctly mine—subtler, less intense, but unmistakably magic.

Movement in the undergrowth draws my attention. I reach for Lira's bone knife, but instead of a threat, a young fox emerges between the trees. Its russet coat gleams in the dappled light, eyes fixed on me with unnatural intelligence. Rather than fleeing, it approaches, sniffing curiously at my outstretched hand.

"Hello there," I murmur, surprised by its boldness. "Shouldn't you be avoiding predators like me?"

The fox tilts its head, then deliberately presses its muzzle against my palm. The contact sends a ripple of awareness through me—not words exactly, but impressions: curiosity/safety/recognition .

Before I can process this connection, the fox's ears prick up. It turns sharply towards the eastern treeline, hackles rising in warning before darting away, disappearing as silently as it appeared.

I'm immediately alert, gathering my meager supplies and moving into deeper cover. Something approaches—something that frightens even the forest animals.

The air shifts first, unnatural warmth cutting through the morning cool, carrying the scent of summer spices and male musk. Not one alpha, but several, their combined pheromones setting my teeth on edge.

Summer Court alphas. Multiple. Hunting together.

This violates Hunt tradition. Alphas might converge accidentally on the same omega, might even battle for claiming rights, but they never hunt together. Something about this feels… targeted.

I run through options quickly. The stream leaves me exposed, but higher ground would offer visibility. I choose the ridge rising to my right, scaling its rocky face with the blacksmith's strength my body no longer conceals.

From my defensible position—a narrow ledge backed by stone that prevents approach from behind—I observe them. Three Summer Court alphas move through the forest with synchronized precision of predators who've hunted together before.

At their center walks a massive alpha whose bronzed skin bears ritualistic scarring—one mark for each omega successfully bred across dozens of Hunts. Lord Klairs Thorn, whose eviscerated body Cadeyrn arranged as territorial display days ago. Apparently, death proved temporary. Resurrection magic must have been employed at significant court expense, suggesting his value to Summer Court exceeds normal limits.

The two flanking him appear younger but equally dangerous—lean muscle beneath skin that radiates visible heat, dark hair falling to their shoulders in identical braids interwoven with small trophies. Brothers, perhaps, or court-bred companions designed to complement their lord's hunting style.

"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."

"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.

"Going to fill your tight pussy with my cum," he growls, teeth grazing my neck in warning. "Going to lock inside you so deep you'll feel me for days."

With a final powerful thrust, his knot secures inside me, stretching beyond what seems possible. The pressure against places never before touched triggers another climax, this one so intense my vision dims at the edges, a sound escaping my throat that seems hardly human.

His teeth sink into my shoulder as his release begins, hot cum flooding my depths in powerful jets. The dual claiming—his knot secured within me, his teeth in my flesh—forges connection beyond physical. Our minds merge, barriers dissolving as magic flows between us like living current.

The world shifts as we remain joined, locked in vulnerability. The forest responds to our union—dormant plants erupting into impossible bloom, silver leaves turning toward us as if drawn by the power we generate together.

Gradually, his body relaxes above mine, though his knot remains firmly embedded. Cadeyrn shifts us to our sides, careful not to pull against our sensitive connection. His hand rises to stroke my hair with surprising gentleness after such forceful claiming.

"You're changing," he murmurs, fingers tracing silver strands now woven through copper. "Wild Magic awakens in your blood, just as I anticipated."

"What's happening to me?" I ask, voice raw from exertion.

"You're becoming what you were meant to be. What the breeding programs tried to eliminate from our bloodlines." His thumb brushes my cheekbone with unexpected tenderness. "Magic flowing naturally, answering need rather than rigid structure."

His knot pulses inside me, another wave of cum releasing into my body. The sensation sends aftershocks of pleasure rippling through me, drawing a soft sound from my lips.

"This is how it should be," he continues, holding me close as his knot maintains our connection. "Not just fucking, but something more. Not just breeding, but bonding."

Through our link, I sense his genuine belief—that what grows between us transcends court politics and breeding programs. I glimpse his emerging doubts about traditions upheld without question, his longing for a mate rather than merely a vessel. The centuries of isolation beneath perfect control, now shattered by whatever awakens between us.

And he sees me—defiance born of self-preservation, refusal to be defined solely by biology, fear that surrender means losing identity. The frost magic now responding to my emotions, dormant power awakening through compatible bloodlines.

For these quiet moments, joined by biology and something far more complex, we exist in truth. No pretense. No resistance. Only communion.

His knot eventually recedes, our bodies separating with a slick sound that should embarrass but somehow doesn't. His cum marks my thighs as he withdraws, prompting something primal within me to purr with satisfaction.

Cadeyrn helps me stand, his touch surprisingly gentle following such passionate claiming. "Rest," he suggests, voice still rough. "The magic takes a lot out of both of us."

I meet his gaze, our temporary peace already yielding to my inherent defiance. "Trying to tame me already, Prince?"

His laugh holds genuine delight. "Never. Your wildness calls to mine." He brushes hair from my face, examining the silver streaks with evident pride. "I merely want you strong enough for what follows."

"And what follows?"

His smile turns predatory, canines still elongated from claiming. "That depends on you, little deceiver. Will you run again, or have you accepted the futility of resisting what we've become to each other?"

His challenge ignites something within me—not just defiance, but playfulness beneath the intensity. I take a deliberate step back, maintaining eye contact.

"Catch me if you can, Winter Prince."

I break away, darting into the forest with unexpected laughter. The chase becomes part of our dance now—not merely predator and prey, but equal participants in ancient ritual predating court protocols.

I don't make it easy for him, employing every trick learned during my days in this wilderness, body still humming with pleasure from our first joining while mind anticipates the second. This isn't about escape but making him earn what we both desire.

When he captures me again, it's with a growl of triumph that sends shivers down my spine. His hands grasp my hips, spinning me to face a massive blackthorn tree. Without ceremony, he kicks my legs apart, positioning me with palms braced against rough bark.

"Mine," he snarls again, one hand tangling in my hair to pull my head back while the other guides his already-rigid cock to my entrance. "Like this. So I can drive this cock deeper than you've ever been fucked before."

He fills me in a single powerful stroke, the angle allowing penetration so deep I feel him impossibly far inside. The bark scrapes my palms and breasts as he drives into me from behind, each thrust rattling bones and drawing raw sounds from my throat.

"Yes," I hiss, pushing back against each forceful movement. "Show me what that alpha cock can do."

The taunt achieves its purpose—he growls, pace intensifying to punishing force. One hand slides around to find the sensitive bundle at my center, circling in tight motions that have me seeing stars.

"You want it rough?" he growls against my ear, teeth catching the lobe hard enough to draw blood. "You want this big cock to ruin that tight little cunt? Then take everything I've got."

His other hand encircles my throat, applying just enough pressure to heighten sensation without restricting breath. The controlled violence should terrify me, but instead propels me toward another peak with alarming speed.

"That's it," he encourages as my inner muscles begin to tighten around him. "Fight, then yield. As you always do."

My climax crashes like a storm tide, originating deep inside and radiating outward until every nerve ending sings with pleasure. Frost spreads from my fingers across the blackthorn's bark, the tree's red sap flowing more freely in response to our magic.

Cadeyrn's rhythm grows erratic as his knot begins to swell, catching on my entrance with each thrust. The added friction sends another wave of pleasure through me, my body drawing him deeper with each movement.

"Going to lock inside that sweet pussy from behind this time," he promises, voice strained with restraint. "Going to pump you so full of cum you'll drip for days."

With a final powerful thrust, his knot secures, stretching me so completely I feel claimed from within. As his seed floods me in hot spurts, his teeth find my neck again, reopening the mark in a bite that transforms pain into transcendent pleasure.

Our minds connect as we remain joined, his chest pressed against my back, both panting with exertion. Through our bond, I sense his satisfaction, his pride, his growing attachment beyond mere possession. Beneath it all, genuine wonder at what awakens between us—Wild Magic responding to compatible bloodlines united after centuries of separation.

As we stand locked together, the crimson moon ascending above the forest canopy, I understand that survival marks only the beginning of what awaits. Whatever grows between us—whether child or magic or revolution—will transform everything the courts have constructed over centuries.

And for the first time since entering the Hunt, I find myself anticipating the future with something like hope.