Page 20 of Run Little Omega

Because of that, I ignore the obvious paths and push through the thick growth instead, my thin shift catching and tearing on grasping branches. The glamour makes me look like fragile Willow, but my blacksmith’s muscles power me forward far faster than any normal omega could manage. I hear the others falling behind—panicked breathing stumbling steps, terrified whimpers echoing through the unnaturally quiet forest.

My plan comes together with every step. Lead the nastiest alphas on a wild chase, far from the weaker omegas, buying them time to find the havens. The iron tokens I gave out last night should help some of them survive. With any luck, more than usual will live through the first deadly hour until things calm some, once the alphas have had their first taste of omega slick and are less… hungry.

The silver bracelet pulses on my wrist with its own heartbeat, keeping me leashed to this forest. It feels almost as if it’s tightening like a noose, keeping me leashed.

I push harder, savoring the burn in my muscles. All those years hammering at the forge gave me a body no ordinary omega possesses. My strength, my knowledge, my iron tokens that disrupt fae magic—they’re all weapons the alphas won’t expect from the thin dying blonde they’ll see when they look at me.

The forest deepens around me, trees growing older and more massive the further in I get. An eerie silence descends, the sounds of other omegas fading until all I can hear is my own breathing and footsteps. Even those sounds are swallowed by the thick silver leaves overhead, creating an ominous silence that presses against my skin.

I pause briefly to orient myself. Scanning the undergrowth, I check for landmarks from Fergus’s maps. There’s the twisted oak with three trunks. The stream that flows uphill. The clearing where nothing grows despite the sunlight overhead. I’m heading straight for the forest’s heart, where the oldest and most powerful magic resides.

A high, thin scream rips through the silence before cutting off abruptly. First injury of the Hunt, most likely. The alphas aren’t even loose yet, but they aren’t the only dangers here. Sometimes the forest itself claims an omega with a deep pit or another, animalistic predator.

By my count, fifteen minutes have passed since the horn blast. Forty-five minutes before they release the alphas. Not long before the carnage begins.

I increase my pace. The terrain grows more challenging, soggy and mossy in places, roots erupting from giant blackthorn trees. The forest is untamed and wild, few paths breaking through the undergrowth, often vanishing and twisting back on themselves.

I check Sera’s compass to confirm my direction. The needle jumps erratically, swinging back and forth before it settles somewhere northeast, where the nearest haven is according to the map, maybe an hour away at my current pace.

I turn southwest instead, away from safety, straight into the danger zone of the hunting grounds.

The silver bracelet pulses harder, its magic seeping into my bloodstream with each beat of my heart. A warm sensation spreads from my wrist up through my arm—early warning signs of heat. The Hunt’s magic is accelerating it dangerously closely despite the shadowroot tea fighting back. I have hours, at most, before the serious symptoms hit.

One way or another, my body will betray me, transforming me from predator to prey. I’ll have to make sure I’m ready to defend myself before then.

The ground slopes into a small vallley filled with black thornbushes bearing blood-red berries. I don’t trust it, especially when the plants seem to part, creating a path where none existed before. Definitely a trap—probably one that will hold me captive for waiting alphas. I ignore the easy route and force my way through the thick undergrowth instead.

Branches claws at my hair and clothes until my white shift is ripped and filthy. The glamour still makes me appear as will with her platinum blonde hair, but the strands turn their real copper as they’re pulled from my head.

A horn sounds in the distance—a low, deep, animalistic sound that vibrates through the entire forest. A warning. Thirty minutes have passed, and there are thirty more before the alphas descend on us. No doubt the alphas are restless, their ruts beginning as they inhale our scents on the wind.

I push even harder, trusting my instinct and memory, no longer stopping to consult the map in my head. I climb a hill to survey my surroundings. The Bloodmoon Forest stretches in every direction, the silver leaf canopy shifting like liquid. Through the trees, I can just make out the stone circle where we started—I’m not nearly as far into the forest as I’d like to be.

Movement in the trees catches my attention—flashes of white from omega shifts, each running blind with terror. The sight strengthens my resolve. They need time, a distraction, strength. I’ll provide all of it.

I rush down the slope, plotting a course deeper into the forest where the most dangerous alphas will hunt. I’ll make myself the most tempting target, draw the predators away from weaker prey, use my stamina and knowledge of the terrain to draw them towards me.

And if one of them takes me… if my body gives in…

I try not to think about that too hard.

A second horn sounds as I make trails through the forest, deeper and more resonant than the first. Fifteen minutes before the alphas are released. I make more noise now—snapping twigs, rustling bushes, leaving a trail.

I leave bits of hair and clothes behind. Things to carry an omega’s scent on the wind. Make extra paths for them to track, ones that will lead them in the wrong direction.

It’s not enough to spare them all. But this is all I have, all I can do for them.

I’ve barely even begun when the final horn sounds: deep, resonant, primal in its call. The hour of grace is over. The Hunt has now begun.

And I’m ready to hunt back.

CHAPTER9

POV: Briar

Sunlight slicesthrough the forest canopy in dappled patterns, making the hunting grounds look almost peaceful. Sweat runs down my spine in rivulets as I drag a heavy tree branch behind me, meticulously creating false trails, ones that only several omegas running could leave behind. From time to time I stomp a heavy-footed footprint out or leave fiber strands on the bushes.

It’s my third false trail this morning, and my shoulders burn with the ache of all my effort. I’ve left behind twigs, heavy trails, scent markers, and whatever else occurs to me.

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