Page 28
Story: Run Little Omega
CHAPTER 28
POV: Briar
Morning arrives like a sigh through the silver leaves, daylight filtering through the canopy in broken fragments that dance across my skin. I lie still, mapping the new aches in my body—evidence of last night's claiming that lingers in bruised hips and the sweet soreness between my thighs. Fourteen days into the Hunt, and my body has become a battlefield where pleasure and pain wage constant war.
The cillae covering my left side pulse gently with my heartbeat, no longer alien but increasingly part of me. Silver threads now streak through my copper hair, catching light like metallic filament, while ice-blue flecks dance in my amber eyes. The changes aren't just superficial—I can feel the magic beneath my skin, responding to emotion in ways I'm only beginning to understand.
Beside me, Cadeyrn sleeps with the deep stillness of predators—a false peace that could shatter into violence at the slightest provocation. His transformation continues to fascinate and terrify me. The elegant Winter Prince I glimpsed at the Gathering Circle has been consumed by this new being—broad with muscle where he was once slender, skin etched with glowing runes, frost trailing from his fingertips even in sleep.
I should run while I can. Put distance between us before the claiming bond draws us together again with magnetic inevitability. But my legs ache with yesterday's chase, and something heavier than exhaustion pins me to our makeshift nest of moss and fallen leaves.
It's not submission. Not exactly. It's... curiosity. About what's happening to us both. About the Wild Magic awakening in our blood, connecting us beyond mere biology.
"Your thoughts are loud," Cadeyrn murmurs, eyes still closed. "Like ice breaking on a frozen lake."
I prop myself on one elbow, studying his face. "You can hear my thoughts now?"
"Not specific words." His eyes open, ice-blue nearly consumed by expanded pupils that never fully recede anymore. "Impressions. Intensity. You're wondering if you should leave."
"I'm wondering what's happening to us," I correct him, though he's not entirely wrong. "The silver in my hair. The frost from my fingertips. The way the forest responds to our passage."
He sits up, cillae pulsing across his chest as he stretches. "The Wild Magic grows stronger with each claiming. Our compatible bloodlines are awakening abilities long suppressed by court breeding programs."
The casual way he references our repeated matings sends an unwanted flush of heat through me. My body remembers each encounter with vivid clarity—pinned against trees, bent over fallen logs, spread across moss-covered stone. The omega in me preens at these memories, while the blacksmith's daughter still fights for independence.
"Ember Farren mentioned something before you killed him," I say, changing the subject. "About me being a descendant of the original Wild Hunt. What did he mean?"
Cadeyrn's expression shifts, calculating whether to share knowledge or keep me in the dark. That, at least, hasn't changed—the prince beneath the primal alpha still weighs each word for strategic advantage.
"The Hunt wasn't always as it is now," he says finally. "Before the courts divided magic by seasons, before omegas became mere breeding stock, there was balance. The chase had meaning beyond rutting."
He rises, moving to the small stream nearby to rinse night sweat from his skin. I follow, wrapping myself in the ice-fabric he conjured for me yesterday—a garment that somehow remains cool against my heat-flushed skin while providing modest coverage.
"The original Wild Hunt was a ritual of transformation," he continues as water sluices over his muscled back. "Alphas and omegas both changed through the experience, their magic strengthened rather than constrained."
"What happened?"
"Court politics." His face hardens with contempt. "Seasonal divisions. Breeding programs designed to create perfect subjects rather than powerful individuals. The Wild Magic was deliberately bred out of court bloodlines, seen as too unpredictable, too dangerous to control."
I splash water on my face, watching frost form and melt where my fingers touch the surface. "And now it's returning. Through us."
"Through you," he corrects, turning to face me fully. "Your bloodline carries traces of the original Wild Hunt participants—omegas who were partners in the ritual, not victims. Somewhere in your ancestry, a fae omega escaped the culling, bore a child in the human world, passed that heritage through generations until it surfaced in you."
The revelation sends a chill down my spine that has nothing to do with the morning air. "Is that why you claimed me exclusively? Why you're killing any alpha who approaches me?"
"Partly." His honesty surprises me. "I recognized something in your scent at the Gathering Circle—a compatibility stronger than court-arranged pairings. When I claimed you beneath that ancient blackthorn, the magic that awakened confirmed what I suspected."
"And the courts don't want this. This... revival."
"They're terrified of it." His smile is sharp with satisfaction. "Seven centuries of careful control, of diminishing bloodlines and weakening magic, threatened by a copper-haired blacksmith with defiance in her eyes."
A twig snaps in the distance—too deliberate to be animal, too subtle for careless movement. We both freeze, instantly alert to potential threat. Through our claiming bond, I feel Cadeyrn's predatory focus narrowing, his body tensing for violence.
"Stay behind me," he murmurs, frost gathering around his clenched fists.
I ignore the command, drawing the bone knife Lira gave me. We stand back-to-back, scanning the treeline for approach. The silver bracelet pulses against my wrist, sensing danger in a way that transcends normal perception.
"I come alone and unarmed," calls a low voice from the shadows. "May I approach without having my throat torn out?"
The figure that steps into our small clearing makes me inhale sharply. He's clearly fae in his otherworldly beauty—tall and powerful with perfect symmetry to his features—but something about him seems almost... human. His eyes shift between normal fae appearance and an animal-like reflective quality as he surveys our makeshift camp, and his movements combine predatory grace with practical caution.
"The Hound," Cadeyrn says, recognition rather than greeting in his voice.
"Prince Cadeyrn." The newcomer inclines his head, the gesture containing just enough deference to acknowledge rank without suggesting submission. His gaze shifts to me, curiosity evident. "And the copper-haired omega who's turned the Hunt upside down. I've heard much about you."
"Wish I could say the same," I reply, not lowering my knife.
His laugh is surprisingly warm, with none of the cold mockery I've come to expect from fae nobility. "Fair enough. Most omegas are too busy running to exchange pleasantries." He gestures to our small fire pit from the night before. "May I?"
Cadeyrn gives a slight nod, though I feel tension coiling through him. The claiming bond transmits his readiness to attack if this visitor makes one wrong move.
The Hound settles across from us, movements deliberate and unthreatening. Up close, the contradictions in his appearance become more apparent—fae beauty tempered by something almost human in his expressions.
"You're not pure fae," I observe, curiosity briefly overriding caution.
"No." His smile carries a hint of pride. "Born to a human omega during a Hunt three cycles ago. In the forest itself, not in the fae courts."
The revelation surprises me. While I'd heard whispered stories of omegas who survived giving birth to fae children under the careful watch of court physicians, I'd never encountered anyone born during the Hunt itself, outside the controlled environment of fae medical chambers. "She survived wilderness birth? How?—"
"A story for another time," he interrupts gently. "I haven't come to discuss my lineage, fascinating though it might be."
"Why have you come?" Cadeyrn asks, voice carrying the chill of his court despite the heat his body radiates.
The Hound's expression sobers. "To deliver information. And a warning." He leans forward, firelight catching the unusual flecks of gold in his otherwise fae-green eyes. "The courts are in crisis over what's happening here."
I feel Cadeyrn stiffen beside me, though his face reveals nothing. "Explain."
"Your transformation has not gone unnoticed, Your Highness." The Hound's voice drops lower. "Seven centuries of perfect control, and suddenly you're tearing through alpha challengers like tissue paper. The courts are... concerned."
"Let them be concerned," Cadeyrn dismisses, but I notice his hand flexing slightly—a tell I've learned means he's more affected than he lets on.
"It's more serious than that." The Hound's gaze shifts to me. "Alphas who normally compete are forming alliances against you both. The typical Hunt politics are suspended in favor of a more unified response to what they're calling an 'unprecedented threat.'"
My stomach drops. "They're hunting us specifically."
He nods. "Multiple hunting parties, coordinated across courts. Summer and Spring have already combined forces—a historic first. Autumn is considering joining them."
"And Winter Court?" Cadeyrn asks, surprising me with the hint of genuine concern in his voice.
The Hound's expression turns grim. "Fracturing into factions. Some remain loyal to you, but others see opportunity in your... distraction." His gaze flicks between us meaningfully. "Lord Varen's disappearance has created a power vacuum that several ambitious nobles are eager to fill."
I think of Lord Varen, frozen into a grotesque sculpture as warning to others who might approach what Cadeyrn considers his exclusive territory. The memory brings a complex mix of fear and satisfaction—I've been taught all my life that claimed omegas are transported to the fae courts for birthing under their physicians' care, the only way to survive delivering a fae child. Yet The Hound's very existence challenges everything I thought I knew. The Winter Prince has made enemies not just in other courts, but within his own.
"You could have sent this message," I point out, studying The Hound's unusual features. "Why risk coming yourself?"
He watches me with those strange eyes—sometimes fae, sometimes animal, entirely unique. "Because I respect courage, little blacksmith. And because I know paths through this forest that even the courts have forgotten."
That captures my full attention. "What kind of paths?"
"Routes that traditional tracking magic cannot penetrate." He reaches inside his leather vest and withdraws a small leather pouch, worn smooth by years of handling. "Though I see you already have means to find the havens."
His gaze falls to the compass at my hip—the one Sera gave me, its needle constantly trembling as it detects the ancient sanctuaries hidden throughout the forest. I touch it instinctively, remembering her warning about fewer havens remaining active than the stories claimed.
"This is something different," The Hound continues, offering the pouch. "Something you may need when the time comes."
I accept it cautiously, loosening the drawstring to peek inside. A small pendant rests within—carved bone wrapped in intricate patterns of woven hair and silver thread, symbols etched into its surface that resemble the cillae spreading across my skin.
"A birthing charm," he explains, his voice softening. "My mother used it to survive delivering me in the forest, away from court physicians and their controlling care."
"Why help us?" Cadeyrn asks, suspicion evident in his voice.
The Hound's gaze turns distant, something like pain flickering across his features. "Let's say I have personal reasons to question court authority." His attention returns to me. "And I recognize echoes of my own unusual origins in what's happening here."
I study the pendant more carefully, running my finger over the symbols etched into its surface. "What exactly do you think is happening?" I ask, though after days of witnessing the Wild Magic's effects firsthand, I have my suspicions.
"The same thing Cadeyrn has already told you," The Hound replies with a knowing smile. "Wild Magic. The original power that existed before court structures divided and weakened it."
The term no longer surprises me. Since our first claiming beneath the ancient blackthorn, Cadeyrn has shared fragments of forgotten history—how the Hunt was once a sacred ritual that transformed both alpha and omega, how court politics corrupted its purpose into mere breeding, how the magic we're experiencing connects to something deliberately suppressed.
"The courts have spent generations controlling what should flow freely," the Hound continues. "They've forgotten that their seasonal divisions are artificial constructs, not natural law."
Cadeyrn leans forward, his interest clearly piqued despite his wariness. "You speak of matters most fae nobles would consider heretical."
"Half-breeds have that luxury," the Hound replies with a sharp smile. "We exist outside the rigid hierarchies that bind pure bloodlines."
I turn the compass over in my hands, studying its unusual construction. The casing appears to be bone rather than metal, inscribed with symbols I don't recognize but which resemble the patterns that sometimes appear in my dreams since the claiming.
"One more thing before I go." The Hound rises fluidly to his feet. "Elder Iris Bloom has called representatives from all courts to discuss what you two represent."
The name sends a chill through me. I remember the Spring Court emissary from the Gathering Circle—her flower-petal skin and deceptively gentle demeanor masking a master manipulator.
"What we represent?" I echo.
"A revival they cannot control." His eyes reflect the morning light like an animal's in darkness. "What grows between you—this bond, these patterns, this magic—it awakens something the courts deliberately buried centuries ago."
The claiming bond pulses between Cadeyrn and me, as if acknowledging the truth in his words. I feel the Winter Prince's reaction—not fear exactly, but a wary recognition that extends beyond his usual arrogance.
"They will unite against this," the Hound warns. "All four courts, setting aside ancient rivalries to eliminate what threatens their very foundation."
"Let them try," Cadeyrn says, frost forming around his clenched fist despite the warmth of the morning. "They'll find I'm not easily eliminated."
The Hound regards him steadily. "Your confidence is admirable, Your Highness. But even you cannot fight every alpha in the forest simultaneously."
I grip the birthing charm tighter, its intricate patterns pressing into my palm. "Then we avoid them. Use these secret paths you mentioned." I look to Cadeyrn, surprising myself with the sudden certainty in my voice. "We need to reach the central haven."
The Winter Prince studies me, something complex passing through our bond—concern, calculation, and beneath it all, a fierce protectiveness he'd probably deny if I named it.
"Your compass already points southwest," I continue, glancing down at Sera's gift hanging from my belt. "Away from the hunting parties, away from court territories. Somewhere they won't expect us to go."
"Smart," the Hound approves. "The pathways I've marked on that compass deliberately skirt territories claimed by court alphas. They're older routes, following lines of power that existed before the seasonal divisions."
He turns to leave, then pauses, looking back over his shoulder. "One last piece of advice: trust what's growing between you." His gaze drops meaningfully to the cillae on our skin. "The courts fear it for good reason."
With that, he melts back into the forest shadows, his departure as silent as his arrival was unexpected.
For several minutes, neither Cadeyrn nor I speak. The revelation that we've become the focus of coordinated hunting parties changes everything. My plan to survive the Hunt by outlasting or outrunning pursuers seems suddenly naive in the face of organized opposition.
"We should leave now," I finally say, rising to my feet. "Before they close in."
Cadeyrn remains seated, his expression thoughtful as he stares into the dying embers of our fire. "The Hound is not known for deception," he says slowly. "But his loyalties have always been... complex."
"You think it's a trap?"
"I think nothing in this forest is simple." He stands in one fluid motion, cillae pulsing across his skin with hypnotic rhythm. "But he's right about one thing. We cannot fight every alpha simultaneously."
I hold up the compass, watching its needle tremble before settling southwest again. "Then we follow this. Get to the central haven before they organize fully."
His hand covers mine, warm skin against the bone casing. Through our bond, I feel his conflicted emotions—the territorial alpha reluctant to retreat from challengers, the strategic prince recognizing the wisdom in temporary withdrawal.
"We leave at first light," he decides. "The paths he showed us may avoid court territories, but they likely have dangers of their own."
I don't argue. After what I've seen in this forest—the brutality of alphas like the Raveling Brothers, the manipulative cruelty of Lord Varen, the clinical violence of Cadeyrn himself—I harbor no illusions about the risks that await us.
That night, I sleep fitfully, the birthing charm clutched in my hand like a talisman. Dreams come in fragments—glimpses of ancient stone circles, of wild hunts that end not in claiming but transformation, of frost and fire merging to create something new and terrible and beautiful.
I wake before dawn to find Cadeyrn watching me from across our small camp, his eyes reflecting starlight with unnatural brightness. The cillae covering his skin pulse in time with his heartbeat, matching the rhythm of those spreading across my own body.
"You dreamed," he says, not a question but an observation.
I nod, still disoriented by the vivid images fading from my mind. "About the forest. About... older things."
"As did I." He rises, offering his hand to help me up—a strangely human gesture from a being who's becoming less civilized with each passing day. "The Wild Magic grows stronger."
I take his hand, and the contact sends sparks of awareness skating across my skin. The heat that has tormented me since entering the forest shifts, becoming something more focused, more deliberate in his presence.
"Do you think the Hound is right?" I ask, gathering our meager supplies. "About what's happening between us?"
Cadeyrn's expression remains carefully neutral, but through our bond, I feel his uncertainty—an unusual sensation from someone who's projected nothing but absolute confidence until now.
"The courts have many secrets," he says finally. "Traditions altered or suppressed to maintain power structures. It's... not impossible that what we're experiencing connects to something older."
The admission costs him, I can tell. Seven centuries of belief in court supremacy doesn't crumble overnight, even with evidence literally written across his skin.
As the first hint of dawn lightens the eastern sky, we extinguish all traces of our camp and prepare to move. I check Sera's compass once more, confirming our direction.
"Southwest," I murmur, orienting myself by the fading stars. "Through the heart of territory no court claims."
Cadeyrn stands at the edge of our small clearing, his transformed body a study in lethal grace as he scents the air. "They're still distant, but approaching from multiple directions," he observes. "The Hound wasn't exaggerating about coordinated hunting parties."
A week ago, that knowledge would have terrified me. Now, after surviving multiple encounters with alphas determined to claim or kill me, after watching the Winter Prince tear apart anyone who threatens what he considers his territory, I feel something different.
Determination. Defiance. And beneath it all, a strange, wild hope that what grows between us might be more significant than merely surviving the Hunt.
"Then let's not be here when they arrive," I say, tucking the compass securely into my pocket.
As we move into the pre-dawn forest, following paths invisible to ordinary perception, I feel the trees watching our passage with ancient awareness. The silver leaves turn to track our movement, branches shifting to clear our way, roots flattening beneath our feet.
The forest knows what we carry within us—this growing power marked in frost across our skin, this bond that deepens with each passing day despite my attempts to resist it. The question that burns in my mind, that I'm not yet brave enough to voice aloud, is whether what awakens between us will save us or destroy us when the four courts unite against the threat we represent.
But as the compass vibrates against my hip and the birthing charm warms against my skin, guiding us deeper into territory unmarked on any map, I realize one thing with startling clarity: there's no going back. Not to who I was before entering this forest. Not to the carefully constructed deception that protected me in Thornwick. Not even to the defiant lone omega who thought she could outsmart the Hunt through sheer determination.
Whatever I'm becoming—whatever we're becoming together—it's something new. Something the courts fear enough to set aside centuries of rivalry to eliminate.
And maybe, just maybe, something worth fighting for.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28 (Reading here)
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62