The night of the summer solstice has arrived.
You and the other willing unmarked are sitting at the main burrow. Waiting. You were prepared by the elders of the Warren. You were bathed in salts and herbs and told to wear your scent proudly. Your hair was let loose and your body purified by the chanting and the burning sandalwood incense around you.
You can hear the rest of the Warren outside. They're laughing, chanting, and singing. You know they're marching to the bonfire. You know they're there to witness and cheer for what's about to come. You know it's too late to back down now. You ask yourself if you would, given the choice.
No time to think about it, the Head Omega and their handmaidens knock on the door. They enter and inspect you from head to toe along with the others. They ask if everything is ready, if this year's harvest can be presented to the Warren and its hunters.
The elders say yes. The time has come.
You're lined along with the other Omegas. Betas bearing flower crowns are brought in to escort you and your fellow Omegas to the festival. To make sure you're safe, 'til time comes you can't be anymore.
The Head Omega leads the procession along with their maidens. Your assigned Beta leads you gently behind them. At the procession's tail-end the Omegas elders that helped prepare you follow in line. Candles in hand for the goddess of fire, and prosperity and protection prayers on their lips in a sibilant wave of whimpering.
The crisp night air and your bare feet on the cold grass make you shiver. You can smell the smoke, you can see the light at the bottom of the slope.
Everyone is there. Faces adorned in the goddess's symbols and colours. They're dressed in their ritual clothing of the festival, green crowns of leaves on their heads contrasting with the vivid yellow one you are decorated with.
They're all excited to see you. This year's harvest was bountiful, the goddess has touched many Omegas to partake in their honour. The Warren is in favour and is blessed. You're a goddess-given gift to the Pack.
You look around. There's tables and more tables of food and drink, but no one is eating yet. Drums and a gong are a further back, but no one is playing yet. There's ribbons and flowers hanging from the frame around the site, swaying in the wind. And in the middle of it all is a tall, raging bonfire. The only light around. The only thing illuminating the dark forest that circles the festival. Your soon-to-be destiny.
Suddenly howling breaks from the crowd, your neck snaps in the direction they're all looking at. From the other side of the fire and down the opposite slope, in a similar procession to your own, are descending this year's hunters. Led by the Head Alpha and their first and second in command.
Unlike you though, they're led to the other edge of the bonfire. Away from the rest of the pack. Older Alphas keep a siege around the young hunters. Oppressing looks keeping their youngling in check. The hunters don't look up at you or any other Omega. You know they can't. You know they want to. You know this just fuels them further for the hunt.
They are trying their best to keep still. But you can see the lust coursing through their veins through the dancing hot air around the bonfire. You know it's like a rope pulled taught, about to snap as soon as the night truly starts.
After the Head Alpha and Head Omega announce the beginning of the festival and offer their blessings and wishes for this Year's participants and the Warren as a whole, your assigned Beta hands you a shallow dish with a colourful liquid. It smells and tastes funny. It makes your body buzz and your mind swirl a little. After you drink everything, your Beta leads you to the edge of the forest. They offer their blessings and wishes for a good match. They kiss your forehead and your hands and depart to join the crowd.
No more laughing or singing is coming from the pack. They're all waiting in anticipation. There's silence for a long while. The wind is making you shiver. You can feel the lingering eyes behind your back. The wait feels eternal.
The howling Head Alpha and Omega break the spell. It started. The hunt has begun and you need to run. Now.
You and the other unmarked Omegas are given a head start. The hunters wait back at the festival patiently, eyes cast down, as the forest veils your form. Howls from everyone in the Warren join the Heads of pack in a deafening call for savagery. The full moon is now your only guardian and the dark your only protection.
You run around in the blackened florest, bare save for the flower garlands adorning your hair, wrists and neck. You need to find somewhere to hide. You need to keep moving or any ordinary Alpha might catch up with you. You need to be nimble like a hare and clever like a fox. You need to outsmart your predators.
But your mind is swirling and your legs feel like stones tied to your hips. Every corner looks the same in the dark. You can't tell if you passed here already. If you're walking in circles or if you're far enough from the fire already.
The drums have been going back at the bonfire, you can hear them from afar. The starting gong rings, it vibrates down your spine. The hunters are released in the dark. Your time is up.
Alphas invade the forest. The shadows sway along the primitive rhythm of the music. Your breathing gets louder, your heartbeat floods your ears. It makes it difficult to tell apart the sounds of the night and the stalking of the hunters behind you.
You run for what feels like forever. More howls fill the night as the first of your kin are caught. You can't tell where you are. You can't tell how close they are to you. You don't know if the flowers around your neck are helping to hide you or just signaling where you are to all the moon-drunk Alphas hunting you down.
You run and run and without noticing you've reached a wall. The earth is too slippery to climb. There are no burrowing spaces around and the forest floor looks like a treacherous ocean of fallen trees. You don't know where to go. And just as you think you've found a narrow escape path you suddenly hear behind you: The snap of a twig on the floor. You've been found.
There's no time to think. You take your shot and run towards the path. You're fast. You're clever. You can outsmart them if you only continue running. It seems you'll make it, it seems you've lost them. But as you're running you're caught on the thick weave of roots on the hard-to-see floor. You fall. There's silence. You can't see anyone.
You try getting up and continue moving. But before you can get further, from behind a tree a hand snaps around your arm. Before you know what's going on your back is against the rough bark of the tree. Your wrists are being held above your head and the flowers around your neck are being ripped away by urgent teeth.
You struggle and fight with all your strength. You manage to land a kick on their gut. You scratch away with your claws when their hands loosen up, not caring what you catch in the process. Sliding away from them you try running again. But a strong hand slithers around your neck from behind. You're pulled tight against a solid unyielding body. Hands stuck, locked firm behind your back. Their other hand grabs your hair firmly, and tugs roughly to reveal your now exposed neck glands. This makes you whimper, and that in turn makes them growl. You can feel something warm dripping on your shoulder. It's the blood you drew from their face in your struggle. You can't tell if they're angry.
You wait for the bite to come at once. But it doesn't. Instead the Hunter just buries their nose in your glands. Taking in your chosen scent. Their teeth only graze your mating glands. Their hand detangles itself from your hair and travels down your chest, caressing it gently. This elicits a moan from you. They growl back again. Encouraged by your response, they circle your hips, and squeeze firmly. It feels like they're testing you. Studying you. Making sure you're ripe and ready. They don't bite still. As they lick your neck they seem to only care to take in your responses. You're shivering. You're hot. And when their surprisingly gentle hands travel further south, between your legs, you realise you're also dripping wet.
Your sopping parts are all they were looking for as confirmation. They bring you down to your knees with them still pressed hard against you. You can feel their arousal radiating from their body. They spread your legs as they drape their own body over your back. Forcing you in a presenting position. Their mouth finds its way to your ear.
"Ask for it" they whisper. You shake your head no. But your hips betray you as you press closer to them.
"Yield. It's done. Call for the hunter that earned you" They move their teeth back to your neck. Their canines prickling at your glands. Waiting patiently for your reply.
"Please" You beg. You are still deciding what you're begging for. Release or consummation.
You can't handle it anymore. Your hands hurt, their teeth are driving you crazy, and you never leaked so much in your life needing to be bred.
"Bind me" you cry at last.
And as their teeth sink into your neck, breaking the skin and spilling your blood on the earth. You know it is over. You've been caught. You've succumbed as the prey.
That's just the beginning, however.
The night is filled with your whimpers and moans as they bite you, kiss you and ravish you. Marking you with their fingers, their tongue, their mouth and their own leaking genitals. Shaping you into their perfect prize.
Your climax sobs mix themselves with their own possessive growls and the howls of the warren in the distance. You collapse tired and spent on the forest floor. You're nearly dozing off as your Alpha picks you up in their arms and carries you back to the festival.
The howling that welcomes you makes your head hurt. Your Alpha has you secured though. They take you to a bench closer to the fire, they sit with you on their lap still holding you tight. The warmth feels good on your sore body. They hand you a bowl of water and prod you to eat something. You don't want to eat, but they insist and so you do. You watch as other Omegas around the fire seem to be in similar positions. Some are already asleep. While the ones with more energy occupied themselves with more rounds of mating. Calling for the goddess and their new partner like their life depended on it.
You let yourself be lulled to sleep by the warmth of their body and the fire, the howling, moaning, laughing and music around you slowly fading into your brain like a single homogeneous call to oblivion.
"Rest, my Omega. I'll be here when you wake".
Before you can help yourself. Without thinking, the words slip from your lips. Naturally, like they've always belonged there. Like they'd always be uttered from then on.
