His Snowbound Omega (Beguiled Omegas #2)

Chapter 1

Thorn Winters was freezing. Already.

He cupped his hands and blew into them, shifting closer to one of the dozen or so space heaters that had been set beneath the large forest green tent. Omegas crowded around them, desperate for a small slice of comfort in an otherwise bleak situation.

It wasn’t just the dropping temperatures or the fact they’d soon be running through the snow like frightened rabbits that had tensions high.

From the outskirts of his line of sight, Thorn could sense them there. The real cause for alarm. The true reason everyone around him was stiff and silent and afraid.

Alphas.

Not just any alphas. Mafia.

Never in a million years would Thorn have guessed he’d end up here, involved with one of the planet's largest criminal organizations, and yet he stood amongst the rest of the prey all the same. Freezing his ass off, waiting for the clock to tick down and for the White Hunt to begin.

A twisted take on a cultural—and officially sanctioned—event, the White Hunt made a mockery of all things good in their society.

It set them back decades, if not centuries, as far as equal rights were concerned, and it lacked all the precautions and safety measures the true Wild Hunt provided its participants.

But then, only a fool would expect fairness from the White Frost Mafia.

Everyone knew what they were, behind the shiny veneer, the pressed suits and ties. As the largest moneylender on the planet Synastry, they were well known and dealt with clientele ranging from the poor to the wealthy. From the pitiful to the greedy.

Perhaps Thorn’s father had landed somewhere in the middle. Pitiful, because he’d obviously taken the money to pay off his child’s hospital bills.

Greedy, because he’d done so knowing full well there was no way for him to pay it back.

And now Thorn was the one who would suffer the consequences.

Things had already been difficult for him before Jack Winters was discovered dead behind the local pub, half frozen, surrounded by a dozen empty bottles.

For years, they’d barely kept themselves afloat, his little brother’s rare pheromone disorder keeping him hospitalized and the bills coming.

Their mother, unable to take the pressure, had fled as soon as the illness had been discovered, leaving them to fend for themselves.

With their father gone too, that left just Thorn, Aster, and the mountain of debt neither had been aware of.

They hadn’t even had the chance to properly mourn before the White Frost had barged into their lives, crashing the funeral with paperwork signed by Jack.

In a moment of weakness, or possibly desperation, he’d borrowed a sum of thirty thousand coin.

Thorn didn’t even make a fraction of that working the three part-time jobs that’d been willing to hire him without a college degree. There was no chance of him ever paying it off himself, and he’d been drowning under the weight of reality for days.

Until the letter arrived.

Receiving an invitation to the White Hunt was either a blessing or a curse, he’d yet to find out.

The event was said to take place every year, and acted as a Yuletide gift from the White Frost Mafia’s Dominus, Leviathan Morningstar.

The guest list was created from the list of borrowers who owed them money, and only omegas were eligible to attend.

The invitation had been made to look like a regular holiday card, but inside, there’d been a detailed description of the event written alongside the time and location.

The White Hunt was just as it sounded, a mock version of the Wild Hunt, with none of the added protections the Imperial-sanctioned event promised. In an attempt to solve the planet's dwindling birthrate problem, the rules of the Wild Hunt had been stripped back more and more each year.

The official event welcomed participants from every sex—first and secondary—alpha, omega, and even beta, though there were no betas born on Synastry.

Participants could choose if they wanted to be the one hunting or if they wanted to be hunted, and it was basically a free-for-all, with the understanding that joining meant legally allowing yourself to be overpowered and taken.

Thorn had never joined, not once, and now…

The White Hunt would be more dangerous, more calculated. This wasn’t a game created to protect their species, it was one of pure sport. Only omegas were allowed to attend, and they had one rule and one rule only.

Run.

If they made it to one of the cabins hidden within the forest on the mountain range before morning, their debt would be wiped clean. Fully forgiven. Just like that. But in order to do it, they’d have to brave the cold, the snow-covered terrain, and the alphas who would be ruthlessly hunting them.

All evening Thorn had tried—and failed—to block out the whispers from other participants, ones who spoke of past friends or family who’d joined and gotten caught. If the stories were to be believed, not everyone made it out of this fully intact. Some were maimed, others killed…It was harrowing.

If not for Aster, Thorn might have tried his luck. Might have attempted to slip past the guards currently patrolling the entrance. It wasn’t like he stood a chance against any of them, but even if he had…What would escaping this change?

This was his only hope. Instead of whining, he should be grateful he’d been born a coveted omega in the first place and given this opportunity.

Born on Synastry, Thorn was used to the classism and the sexism.

Used to being stared at like a slab of meat, fresh for the taking.

Laws had kept him safe enough, but now that he’d fallen this low, he doubted anyone would come to his defense if he had the misfortune of meeting a powerful enough alpha.

Love and romance weren’t in the cards for him. He’d accepted that. Hell, his boyfriend of three years had even dumped him the second after the representative for the White Frost had left his father’s funeral. No one wanted to be with a liability.

If Thorn wanted even a small chance at a future, this was his only option. Run for the sick fucks his father had borrowed coin from, and pray he made it to the safe zone before one of them caught him.

Technically, the event didn’t end until morning, but Thorn wasn’t na?ve enough to believe he’d be able to last that long out in the open. No, anyone who didn’t find shelter would be hunted down and taken.

Or they’d die of hypothermia.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky,” a female omega comforted a male standing close to Thorn. “Maybe the alpha who catches you will be…gentle.” It was obvious she hadn’t been able to bring herself to say the word nice.

“My cousin ran in the White Hunt four years ago,” another voice chimed in, a pretty male omega who stepped closer so they could hear his whispers.

“She told me there’s a chance you can still get your debts cleared.

When you’re caught, do everything they tell you.

If the alpha is satisfied, he’ll cover the costs of your debt for you. ”

“That can’t be true,” the female said hesitantly, and it was obvious that she wished it was, despite her skepticism.

“It is,” another omega a few paces away chimed in. “I knew someone who bedded one of the alphas and he really did wipe her debt clean.”

“Leviathan allows that?”

“Yes, it’s part of their bonus.”

Thorn had heard the rumors before; it’d been one of the reasons he’d taken the chance to come here.

The other had been the location.

His head tipped back, and he stared across the blanket of white toward the mountain that stood proudly beyond the tree line. Wintersoll Peaks was far from the city, and not a typical spot for hikers or the like, but when things had been better, Thorn’s father used to bring him out here to hunt.

The connection between their last name and the mountains had been the reason, a funny little similarity his father used to find entertaining. That’d been years ago, too far back for anyone in his current life to know about it.

Including the mafia.

The omegas weren’t given maps or clues. The man who’d gone over the rules with them a little over half an hour ago had made a point to explain that was by design. They wanted them frantic and scrambling. Wanted this to be as realistic a hunt as possible. Primal and raw.

Thorn shivered. How long had it been since he’d last had sex? Things with his boyfriend hadn’t been great in the months leading up to his father’s death. They’d probably only done it a handful of times.

Since the breakup, he’d taken to going through most of his heats alone, so his last one-night stand had probably been…Six months ago?

Shit.

Maybe he should have prepared himself, just in case…

No.

No, he could do this. No doubting himself now. Unlike those around him, Thorn knew these woods.

He knew where at least three of the cabins were as well.

That was his big plan. His ace in the hole.

As soon as the hunt began, he’d make a beeline for safety, and maybe, just maybe, luck would finally be on his side.

He didn’t want presents or a feast, all he wanted for Yuletide was to clear his debts and get back to his brother. Fate had already made him an omega on a planet where domineering alphas were considered culturally appropriate. Given him parents too weak to stick around and protect their children.

Surely he was due some good.

Surely the fact the White Hunt was being held here, of all places, was a sign his fortune was turning around, right?

Was that really so much to ask?

“Good Light, is that the Leviathan?” one of the omegas who’d been chatting grabbed the arm of another and shook them. They were staring at the wooden building roughly sixty yards away from their tent.

Two alphas had just stepped outside, both in crisp suits under thick winter coats. They were about the same imposing height, though one had hair pale enough to rival falling snow, and the other had dark, inky locks that fell just past their ears.

“Which one is he?” Thorn forced himself to ask no one in particular. It was too important to stay quiet though. He needed to know which man to avoid at all costs.

Levi Morningstar was said to be the devil incarnate, cruel to the bone, and quick to anger.

“The white-haired one, of course,” the closest female omega replied.

Right. The White Frost.

Figured.

How ironic that the Dominus of the mafia had the same interest in connecting names as Thorn’s father had.

“The man with him is Baal, right?” a male omega asked, earning himself an elbow from his friend.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned. “They’re both gorgeous, but don’t let that fool you. This isn’t meant to be enjoyable for us. These alphas don’t care about our pleasure or our consent. Remember that.”

The alphas of topic didn’t seem like they cared about anything really. Neither seemed all that interested in checking out the omegas, gazing out at the landscape instead, having a calm conversation between them.

Thorn didn’t know why that pissed him off so much, but it did.

Sure, many of the omegas here were here because of their own choices, but there were others who’d merely ended up in the same shitty situation he had.

Forced, for one reason or another, because of a family member who couldn’t pay.

But those alphas, the ones in charge…They couldn’t even be bothered to spare them a glimpse?

“Assholes,” the word was out before he could stop it, fortunately spoken low enough that only those closest to him could hear.

There was no way either of the alphas had heard him, and yet Thorn stiffened when the dark-haired one tipped his head in their direction.

The man, Baal, scanned the crowd as if searching for someone in particular, and Thorn held his breath, knowing he should, and yet somehow unable to look away.

Fortunately, a whistle sounded, shocking him out of the trance and signaling the start of what was undoubtedly going to be the worst night of his life.

As he moved toward the starting line with the rest of the omegas, Thorn forgot all about the dark-haired alpha, filling his mind with a mental layout of the land instead.

When the whistle blew a second time, instructing them to start running, Thorn took off, surrounded by panicked omegas, determination spurring him across the snow-covered clearing and deep into the forest with only one goal in mind.

If anyone was going to be winning tonight, it was going to be him.

He had too much to lose not to.