Page 23 of The Wild Hunt

As our dinners arrive, the table fills with enticing aromas. The roast is perfectly cooked and accompanied by a medley of vegetables. Bridget’s chowder, steaming and creamy, looks equally delicious. We dive into our meals, savoring each bite while the conversation flows easily around us.

I share a piece of my roast with Bridget, and she does the same with her chowder. “This is fantastic!” I exclaim after tasting her dish. “You were right about the flavors!”

As we continue to eat, the chatter around us blends into a comforting hum. I catch snippets of other tables' conversations, the clinking of glasses, and the crackle of the fire. The evening wears on and a part of me begins to drift, suddenly eager for the peace of the cottage and the potential dreams that might follow.

I take a deep breath, savoring the moment one last time before I decide to bid everyone farewell. “This has been wonderful, but I think it’s time for me to head back,” I say, rising from my chair.

Bridget looks up, her expression softening. “Are you sure? We’ll be here for a while longer.”

I nod, a smile on my lips. “I’m sure. Thank you all for such a lovely evening. I can’t wait to hear more stories next time!”

“Take care!” Sean calls as I wave goodbye.

Stepping outside, the cool night air greets me, refreshing against my skin. I start my walk back to the cottage, the sounds of the pub fading into the distance and replaced by the calm forest.

I don’t know if I should feel bad for not staying longer with my new friends. They were warm and inviting, but as nice as their company was, there’s a flutter in my chest at the thought of another dream like the one I had the other night—of Cianán, his presence overwhelming and intoxicating. I no longer wish for dreamless sleep, I want burning green eyes filled with a possessive light and elegant fingers that play me like the finest instrument in the world.

As I reach the cottage, the sound of the sea crashing against the cliffs greets me, a steady rhythm that soothes my thoughts. It feels almost like a heartbeat. The air is thick with the salty scent of the ocean, and I pause for a moment, taking in the sight of storm clouds faintly visible in the distance, their dark edges illuminated by the moonlight. They loom like a dark promise, and I can’t help but feel a thrill at the thought of the wild weather to come.

Once inside, I flick on the lights, the warm glow immediately banishing the shadows that lingered at the edges of the room. The familiar surroundings welcome me back, and I breathe in the comforting scent of the space.

I slowly make my way to the kitchen, the thought of a warm cup of tea drawing me in. After filling the kettle with water, I turn on the stove, listening to the gentle hiss as it begins to heat. With my tea in hand, I head toward the bathroom. I fill the tub with hot water, watching as the steam rises in delicate swirls. I add a few drops of bath oil, the scent filling the air, calming my senses. My new routine is something I will need to continue when I return home, a way to settle my thoughts from the day before bed.

As I sink into the warm bath, I let the water work its magic, allowing the heat to unravel the tightness in my muscles. The floral-scented steam surrounds me, coaxing the last remnants of tension to dissolve. I close my eyes, trying to empty my mind, letting go of the stories from the pub, the laughter, the chatter.

Instead, I focus on remembering who I have always been, or at least who I was.

Before Nathan.

The thought presses itself into my mind, bringing with it a wave of memories I had long since buried. I was happy once—truly happy. There was a time before the suffocating shadow of my last relationship, when I lived with ease and joy, surroundedby the love of my family and friends. I recall the sound of their laughter, the way I used to feel free, unburdened by the heaviness that had followed in the years since.

Before Nathan, I had a good life. I had a solid job in finance—not glamorous, not creative like my painting, but stable. It paid the bills, kept me afloat, and allowed me to indulge in my art when time permitted. I wasn’t yearning for anything more back then. I was content.

My weekends were filled with family gatherings, nights out with friends, where we’d laugh until our stomachs ached, like I had been laughing tonight in the pub. That carefree version of myself—had she really vanished? Or had I simply forgotten what it felt like to live without fear, without doubt?

Nathan had changed everything. His charm and confidence had drawn me in like a moth to a flame, but it hadn’t taken long for that initial warmth to turn into something more dangerous. He was possessive, controlling, his words always laced with subtle manipulations that eroded my self-worth little by little, until I could hardly recognize myself anymore.

I had let go of friendships, distanced myself from the family that loved me, and before I knew it, my world had shrunk to just him. There was no space for me. For my joy, my art, my freedom.

The bathwater laps gently against my skin as I take a slow, deep breath, trying to anchor myself in the present. Here, in this cottage, in this moment, I am not that person anymore. I left him. I escaped that life. And with every day that passes, I feel pieces of myself returning, like fragments of a forgotten dream.

Finishing my tea I slowly rise, wrapping myself in a soft towel. The night is quiet, save for the sound of the sea beyond the walls. I drain the tub, watching the water swirl away, taking with it the heaviness of my thoughts.

The bed calls, but not with the heavy weight of exhaustion. No, tonight, there’s an excitement buzzing beneath my skin, a quiet anticipation.

I want to dream again.

Slipping beneath the covers, I let the softness envelop me as I close my eyes. The sea outside is a steady presence, lulling me into the quiet space between wakefulness and sleep.

But it isn’t the dreams I wanted that greet me.

Chapter 14

Cianán

Ihadn’t planned on approaching her during the day, but I couldn’t help myself after my moment with Lorcan. I wanted to see that moment of fear enter her eyes when she saw me, the confusion of not knowing if I am real or another dream.

It surprised me that the fear I saw was fleeting. Even now as I make my way silently through her cottage, I wonder if some part of her is enjoying everything I do with her a little too much. A noise reaches me before I make it to her bedroom. For a moment, I think perhaps I am wrong—that she is afraid of me after all and that some dream she is having of me is perhaps providing the fear I long for.

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