Page 35
Story: Run Little Omega
CHAPTER 35
POV: Briar
I run until my lungs scorch and my legs threaten collapse, until the central haven diminishes to memory and Cadeyrn exists only as the painful stretching of our bond—a wound refusing to seal. With each footfall, ice erupts across the forest floor—no longer elegant spirals but jagged formations that fracture beneath my next step.
Grief surges through me like molten metal, threatening to consume rational thought. My mind replays the Vale of Culling in merciless detail—unmarked graves stretching toward the horizon, strange death blooms pulsing with harvested magic, the contaminated stream carrying poison toward Thornwick. Toward my mother. Toward Willow.
And beneath every horror, Cadeyrn's elegant signature authorizing it all.
I stumble over an exposed root, barely catching myself against ancient bark. The rough texture beneath my palms anchors me momentarily in physical sensation rather than emotional chaos. I press my forehead against the living wood, struggling to draw breath through the vice tightening around my ribs.
"He killed her," I whisper to the watching forest. "Not with his hands, but with his signature. With his calculated indifference."
The betrayal cuts deeper than expected. I've known Cadeyrn barely a fortnight, yet the bond between us had grown into something I foolishly believed transcended our brutal beginning. Each claiming brought us closer—minds entangling alongside bodies until his thoughts brushed against mine, his emotions coloring my own.
All while his past actions poisoned my mother's water. While his court protocols ensured Willow would never see another crimson moon.
A sound tears from my throat—raw and feral, neither fully human nor animal. It echoes strangely in the hushed forest, absorbed by the ancient trees rather than reflected back. Only then do I notice the unnatural silence surrounding me—no birdsong, no rustling undergrowth, no distant howls of hunting predators.
Just silence, watchful and aware.
I straighten, suddenly conscious of my vulnerability. I've fled the central haven's protection with nothing but the clothes on my back and the Survivor's pendant hanging heavy around my neck. Darkness approaches quickly, shadows lengthening between the massive blackthorns that dominate this region of the Bloodmoon Forest.
Being alone in these woods after nightfall is a death sentence. The Hunt may have transformed into something unprecedented between Cadeyrn and me, but other fae alphas still prowl these shadows, seeking unclaimed omegas to breed.
And I, despite the cillae marking my skin, have effectively rejected my alpha's protection.
The thought brings fresh confusion. I don't want to think of Cadeyrn as my alpha, not after what I've discovered. Yet our claiming bond remains, stretched painfully between us but unbroken. Through it, I sense his distant presence—a cold, muted awareness at the edge of my consciousness.
He isn't following me. I should feel relieved, but the knowledge only deepens my isolation.
I need shelter before nightfall. Pushing away from the tree, I orient myself using what fragments I remember from Fergus's contraband maps. The central haven lies somewhere west, which means the nearest border village would be...
A twig snaps behind me, and I whirl, frost gathering instinctively between my fingers. Nothing visible moves among the shadows, yet I sense a presence watching with deliberate intent.
"Show yourself," I demand, voice steadier than I feel.
No response comes, but undergrowth to my left rustles slightly. I pivot, raising my crystalline hands in what I hope appears threatening rather than desperate.
A small red fox emerges from between ferns, amber eyes regarding me with unsettling intelligence. Nothing about its appearance suggests fae glamour or shapeshifting—just an ordinary woodland creature, save for the fearlessness with which it approaches me.
"Shoo," I mutter, trusting nothing in this forest. "I'm not in the mood for cryptic animal guides or whatever you're supposed to be."
The fox tilts its head, ears twitching as if considering my words. Then it turns and trots several paces away before looking back expectantly.
"You've got to be kidding me." I cross my arms, refusing to follow. "I'm not some fairy tale princess who follows random animals through enchanted woods."
The fox makes a sound suspiciously like a sigh, then approaches again. This time it circles my legs once before heading in the same direction, stopping to ensure I'm watching.
Something about its behavior tugs at memory—a story my mother told before illness claimed her. She spoke often of forest guardians who took animal form to guide lost travelers, of magic existing beyond court control.
Wild Magic.
The thought sends electricity through my veins. Is this another manifestation of the power awakening in my blood? Not just frost abilities but a deeper connection to the forest itself?
The fox yips insistently, breaking my reverie.
"Fine," I relent, taking a tentative step forward. "But if you lead me to some fae alpha's lair, I'm turning you into a fur muff."
The threat doesn't concern the fox, who sets off at a pace forcing me to hurry. We move through the forest with unnatural ease—undergrowth parts before us, creating paths where moments before dense vegetation blocked passage. Even stranger, massive blackthorn branches bend and shift above, their movements subtle but deliberate, as if consciously clearing our route.
The forest responds to me. Or perhaps more accurately, to the Wild Magic now flowing through my veins.
I've felt hints of this connection since Cadeyrn first claimed me, but always attributed the sensation to our bond. Now, moving without him through these ancient woods, I realize the connection extends beyond our claiming. The forest recognizes something in me—something awakened but not created by Cadeyrn's bite and knot.
Something that was always mine.
The fox leads me downward, following natural contours until we reach a small valley sheltered by a horseshoe of towering blackthorns. At its center stands an ancient oak, its trunk wider than three men standing arm to arm. The tree's enormous roots have grown in peculiar formations, creating a natural shelter—a hollow large enough for a person to crawl inside, protected from elements and prying eyes.
My guide sits before this opening, tail curled neatly around its paws, looking for all the world like a host presenting accommodations.
"Is this where you live?" I ask, approaching cautiously.
The fox simply watches as I inspect the hollow. Inside, dry leaves have collected, forming a surprisingly comfortable bed. The space smells of earth and growth, with none of the rot permeating other parts of the forest. Most importantly, the hollow provides clear sightlines to any approach while remaining nearly invisible from outside.
Perfect shelter for someone who wishes to remain hidden.
"Thank you," I tell the fox, meaning it despite my earlier suspicion.
It blinks slowly, then rises and trots away without looking back, disappearing into the underbrush as silently as it appeared.
Alone again, I crawl into the hollow, settling against the inner curve of the massive root. Only then does everything crash over me—Cadeyrn's betrayal, my mother's poisoned death, infants buried alive for generations, and my own precarious position as an unclaimed omega in a forest ruled by ruthless alphas.
Tears come hot and fast, no longer held back by the necessity of flight. I curl into myself, frost spreading from my body across the hollow's interior, crystallizing grief into physical form.
"I'm sorry, Mother," I whisper into gathering darkness. "I'm sorry I didn't know. I'm sorry I couldn't save you."
The oak responds with a subtle creaking—a sound like a long, sorrowful sigh. Perhaps merely wind through ancient branches, but in this moment of raw vulnerability, I choose to believe the tree offers what comfort it can.
As twilight deepens into true night, movement surrounds my shelter—not threatening but protective. Small woodland creatures gather nearby, announcing themselves through gentle rustlings and occasional soft calls. A pair of owls settles in the branches above, wide eyes scanning the surrounding forest. A family of rabbits nestles in the undergrowth, unafraid of predators who would normally hunt them.
The forest stands guard.
I should be terrified—alone in the Bloodmoon Forest at night, rejected by the alpha whose claim should protect me. Instead, a strange calm settles over me, as if the woods themselves wrap around me like a protective cloak.
Through our stretched bond, I sense Cadeyrn's distant awareness, his concern pulsing across the space between us. He could find me if he wished; our connection would lead him directly to this hollow. Yet he maintains distance, respecting my need for separation despite what must be physical pain for him as well.
That consideration only complicates my feelings. The Cadeyrn who authorized cullings and poisoned waters seems irreconcilable with the man who respects my autonomy even at cost to himself. How can both exist in the same person? How can the bond between us feel so genuine when built upon such a foundation of horror?
The cillae across my skin pulse faintly in darkness, responding to my troubled thoughts. They've changed since I fled the central haven—no longer following the elegant spirals of our claiming bond but forming new patterns resembling the wall carvings depicting original Wild Magic. My body rewrites our connection, transforming it into something neither fully his nor mine, but a third thing altogether.
I trace these new formations with my fingertips, feeling the slight ridges across my skin. "What are you?" I whisper to the magic flowing through me. "What am I becoming?"
No answer comes but a subtle intensification of the frost's glow, illuminating the hollow with soft blue light. In that gentle radiance, I notice something I missed earlier—carvings in the inner surface of the massive root, ancient symbols nearly identical to those covering my skin.
This tree has sheltered others like me before—vessels of Wild Magic seeking refuge from court control.
The realization brings profound understanding. I'm not alone in this awakening. Others have traveled this path, have struggled with the transformation consuming me from within. The forest remembers them, has preserved their presence in living wood.
And now it offers me the same shelter, the same recognition.
I press my palm against the carved symbols, feeling resonance between the patterns on my skin and those etched into ancient oak. A whisper of connection forms, not words exactly but impressions—memories of others who rested here, their emotions preserved in living wood.
Fear. Determination. Hope. Defiance.
The same emotions warring within me now.
Through this strange communion, I sense my situation is both unique and part of a pattern centuries old—the perpetual struggle between Wild Magic and court control, between genuine connection and forced submission. My bond with Cadeyrn represents both traditions simultaneously—the claiming imposed by court protocol and the true connection awakening primal magic.
The contradiction exhausts me. I curl tighter, frost spiraling outward to coat the hollow with delicate patterns reflecting my turbulent emotions. Outside, animals maintain their vigil, a circle of unlikely guardians keeping watch through the dangerous night.
Sleep comes reluctantly, dragging me under despite my determination to remain alert. In that space between waking and dreaming, I feel the forest's consciousness brushing against mine—ancient, patient, aware in ways I barely comprehend. It recognizes the Wild Magic awakening in my blood, sees beyond the cillae marking me as claimed.
To the forest, I am more than omega or human or vessel. I am possibility. Renewal. Revival of what was lost when courts divided magic for their own purposes.
This understanding follows me into dreams where my mother walks whole and healthy beside a woodland path, her smile sad but proud as frost spirals from my fingertips. Where Willow stands tall and strong, her illness banished by water running clear from forest springs. Where Cadeyrn appears not as Winter Prince but as something new—court regalia replaced by living vines, crown of ice melted away to reveal pointed ears identical to those now forming at the tips of my own.
"The Wild Magic chooses its own vessels," my dream-mother tells me, her voice exactly as I remember. "The courts can only delay, never prevent."
I reach for her hand, but she dissolves into mist that reforms as the ancient trees surrounding my shelter. Even in dreams, the dead remain beyond reach.
I wake to early light filtering through massive roots, momentarily disoriented. The hollow's interior glitters with frost formations created during troubled sleep—complex patterns unlike anything Cadeyrn ever taught me. Wild Magic flows differently than court magic, responding to emotion rather than calculated control.
The animal guardians have departed with night, returning to their lives now that daylight makes me less vulnerable. All except one—the red fox sits at the hollow's entrance, amber eyes regarding me with that same unsettling intelligence.
"Still here?" I ask, voice rough from sleep and dried tears.
It yips once, then turns to look pointedly into the forest beyond. Warning or invitation, I can't tell which.
The claiming bond pulses suddenly with increased awareness—Cadeyrn moves, no longer maintaining his position at the central haven. Whether toward me or away remains unclear, but the change jolts me fully awake.
I need to decide my next steps. Returning to the central haven means confronting Cadeyrn again, something I'm not prepared to do. Continuing alone through the Bloodmoon Forest carries its own dangers, despite the unexpected protection the woods seem willing to provide.
My hand falls to my stomach, a gesture that has become unconscious since learning the truth about the cullings. If I'm pregnant with Cadeyrn's child—a strong possibility given how often he's claimed me—what future awaits us? Would the Winter Court deem our offspring acceptable, or would they become just another unmarked grave in the Vale?
The thought hardens something inside me. Whatever path I choose, it cannot include returning to court structures that murder children for unpredictable magic. The bond between Cadeyrn and me has awakened Wild Magic precisely because it falls outside court control—a connection neither sanctioned nor fully understood by those who divided power for centuries.
"I won't let them have my child," I promise the silent forest. "I won't let them decide who lives based on court protocols."
The fox yips again, more insistently, then disappears into the undergrowth with a flick of its russet tail. A moment later, I understand its warning—a sound reaches me, too deliberate to be natural forest movement. Someone approaches my shelter, moving with the confidence of a predator who believes its prey unaware.
I press deeper into the hollow, frost gathering at my fingertips as I prepare to defend myself. The central haven's protection no longer surrounds me. Whatever comes through those trees, I face it alone.
Except I'm not entirely alone. The forest stirs around me, branches shifting to better conceal my position. Roots creep imperceptibly across the floor, creating subtle traps for unwary feet. Even morning light seems to dim, shadows deepening to hide my shelter from searching eyes.
Wild Magic recognizes me as its vessel, offering protection I never thought to ask for but desperately need.
I steady my breathing, gathering power into my hands while listening intently to approaching footsteps. Not Cadeyrn—our bond would flare with proximity. Someone else stalks these woods, seeking what doesn't belong to them.
The cillae across my skin pulse with renewed determination. I may be alone in the wild, rejected by the alpha whose claim should protect me, but I am far from defenseless.
The Wild Magic flows through me now, answering to no court and no alpha. Only to itself—and to me.
Table of Contents
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- Page 35 (Reading here)
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