Page 15 of The Wild Hunt

And then, everything goes black.

Chapter 9

Mac

Iwake up gasping, my body still humming with the remnants of the intense dream. My skin tingles, the aftershocks of pleasure rippling through me as I curl up under the blanket, seeking the comfort of its warmth. A soft moan escapes my lips as I try to ground myself, taking in the soft light starting to creep through the window of the cottage. The early morning glow filters in gently, casting long shadows across the floor, a stark contrast to the dark, vivid images of the dream.

I’ve only been here two days, and already I’m fantasizing about a random stranger? My mind lingers on Cianán—the feel of his touch, the commanding way he moved through my dreams, the strange intensity of his gaze. I can’t shake the feeling of how real it all was, how the line between the dream and waking world felt blurred, as though I could still feel his breath against my skin.

Frustration wells up inside me, and I bury my face in the pillow, groaning softly.This is ridiculous, I think to myself.I came out here to get away, to clear my head, to find myselfagain after everything with Nathan.This was supposed to be my time to finish healing, to focus on what I want, on reclaiming my life after a relationship that had drained me dry.

But here I am, getting lost in some fantasy about a man I met for five minutes in the woods, a stranger who somehow managed to creep into my subconscious with a magnetic force I can’t explain. It feels like some twisted joke, my mind latching onto the first man I come across in this new, isolated place.

I sit up, pulling the blanket tightly around my body, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep and the vivid sensations still haunting me.It was just a dream, I remind myself, but the heat in my cheeks and the way my heart still races betrays how affected I am by it. My fingers move to rub my wrists subconsciously, seeking some sort of comfort. It takes a moment before I realize what I’m doing, the motion absentminded, but when I glance down at my wrists, I freeze.

Slight red marks.

I frown, blinking in confusion. The skin looks tender, as if it’s been chafed, the marks faint but undeniable. The images of the vines wrapping around my wrists in the dream flood back to me, vivid andall too real. My heart skips a beat as I trace the lines with my fingers.It can’t be…

It’s impossible.I must have rubbed them too hard without realizing it, maybe in my sleep or when I woke up thrashing. That’s the only logical explanation.

Shaking my head, I dismiss the thought, pushing it aside along with the unease gnawing at me.I’m overthinking this.I’ve been stressed, and now I’m overwhelmed by the change of pace and isolation here. It’s not surprising that my dreams have taken on a more vivid, bizarre edge.That has to be it.

Throwing off the blanket, I’m determined to shake off the remnants of the dream that clings to my skin like mist.It wasn’t real,I tell myself, standing up and dressing in a longflowing dress before moving to open the window, letting the cool morning air fill my lungs.This is real. This is where I am—alone in this cottage, far away from everything that I know, from everyone that knows me.

When I told my family I was going to visit Ireland within days of moving into my new apartment, they had supported my trip wholeheartedly. They had helped me heal, protected me when Nathan came looking for me, going so far as to call the police when he wouldn’t leave. My mother even rented the apartment I moved into so that my name wasn’t traceable on the lease, and my father encouraged me to take some time to myself before starting my new job. My grandmother went so far as to tell me to ‘say hello to the fairies’ while I’m here.

That’s what I’m here to do. Take time to remake myself into the woman I want to be. An artist, someone who appreciates the beauty around her and has learned to love the life she has.

I make my way to the kitchen, determined to move forward with my day. After slicing off a large piece of the bread from Bridget and warming it up, I spread a decent amount of honey over it. I nearly moan at the flavor when I take a bite, the sticky sweetness melting on my tongue.

Once breakfast is done, I set my plate by the sink and move to the door leading outside. The day looks different from yesterday—more overcast, the sky a pale, muted gray, the sun hidden. There’s a chill to the breeze that wasn’t there before, the lack of sun stealing the warmth with it.

I grab my art supplies from the table and head outside, setting up my easel on the grass. My half-finished painting of the cliffs waits for me, the sweeping expanse of the Irish coast captured in soft brushstrokes. I’m hoping to capture the raw beauty of this place, the wildness of the sea as it crashes against the rocks.

The colors feel different today, though. The sky isn’t as bright as it was in my original vision—its softness dulled by the thickclouds rolling in from the horizon. The sea looks colder, too, the waves choppier, darker. I mix my paints, adjusting the palette to match the mood of the day. Grays and blues take over the paper as I lose myself in the rhythm of painting, the feel of the brush in my hand steadying me.

As I work, I sing, and I find my thoughts drifting back to Cianán, despite my best efforts to push him out of my mind. His face flashes behind my eyelids, the way he looked at me—possessive, almost hungry. His vivid green eyes that seem to glow.

I force my attention back to the painting, determined to finish it. The brush glides over the paper, adding texture to the waves, giving shape and shadows to the cliffs. My voice picks up just as the wind picks up, rustling the trees behind me and sending a shiver down my spine. I can’t shake this odd feeling, one I have feared ever since running from Nathan. It feels almost as though something, or someone, is watching me from the edge of the woods.

I glance over my shoulder, my heart skipping a beat, but there’s nothing there. Just the stillness of the forest and the faint murmur of the sea.

Shaking off the eerie sensation, I return to my painting. Once again, time slips away as I get lost in the process, each stroke of the brush pulling me further into the scene. The cliffs are nearly finished now, the darkened sky above them lending an air of brooding mystery to the landscape. When I step back to admire the final touches, I feel a sense of accomplishment.

The smile that stretches across my face is the reason I came here. This is who I am. Painting is grounding, but the art also helps me discover myself. Once a piece is finished, I’m proud of what I created. And that has been a rare feeling for me lately.

As I clean my brushes, I think about my next project, already chasing the high of another accomplishment. I pack up mybrushes and palette, wiping the paint from my hands before retreating inside for a late lunch. A simple meal of fresh fruit is enough to satisfy me, though my mind is already on my next project.

The forest.

After taking a moment to think about it, I resolve to start on the forest painting tomorrow. There’s something about it that feels too intense right now, the thought of the trees and vines making my heart race. Perhaps a bit of distance, some time to clear my head, will help. Besides, I can’t shake this restless energy that has settled under my skin, like I need to do something, go somewhere.

A walk into Ennisvarra seems like the perfect distraction.

I tidy up the easel and brushes, cleaning off the last bits of paint and organizing my supplies for tomorrow’s work. As I slip on a light jacket and head out the door, the crisp breeze greets me, carrying the faint scent of sea salt and damp earth. The sky is still heavy with clouds, though the muted light somehow makes the world feel more intimate, quieter.

The path through the trees seems darker with the dull sky barely offering light between the swaying branches. Thankfully it isn’t long, and soon I can see the cluster of stone cottages and shops. There’s something about this village that feels timeless, as if it has remained untouched by the outside world for centuries.

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