Page 28 of The Wild Hunt

Dressed for the hunt, I can already feel the weight of the night ahead. My black leather pants cling tightly, allowing for thenecessary movement. Boots, heavy and worn with age, are solid against the stirrups. My long-sleeved shirt fits snugly beneath my cloak, which billows slightly in the cool evening breeze. The gloves fit like a second skin, but the claws on my fingertips gleam the brightest in the fading light as the power continues to wash over me, shifting, shaping, molding me into what I must become.

Then the final piece settles into place, the black stag skull mask. Cold against my face at first, it fuses to me as if it’s always been a part of me, the massive antlers jutting into the night sky like darkened branches. This is the true face of the Huntsman, the guise that strikes terror into those foolish enough to cross our path.

I exhale, the weight of the mask familiar yet still thrilling in its power. With the transformation complete, I am no longer just Cianán. I am the Huntsman, the bringer of fate, of death, of justice. The hounds at my feet whimper and growl softly, sensing the shift in my energy, the crackling intensity now fully unleashed.

Cathal snorts, smoke trailing from his nostrils as the fire in his eyes burns even brighter. His excitement is a reflection of my own, both of us attuned to the electric tension that courses through the air as the last slivers of sunlight sink below the horizon. The black and grey fog spreads out toward the gate as though chasing the sun away, creeping toward the horizon and enveloping the landscape in shadow.

The power surges through the space between realms, and I can feel the veil thinning, the boundary between Faerie and the mortal world becoming as fragile as gossamer. I reach out, pushing my magic forward to part the veil fully, opening the gate wide. My pulse quickens as I release the ravens perched above, their sleek black wings cutting through the thickening fog asthey fly ahead to scout the path, their cries echoing like distant warnings through the darkened landscape.

Cathal scrapes his hoof on the stone path below us, sending sparks into the air. I can’t help but grin, a wicked, hungry smile that mirrors his anticipation. The flames in his eyes flicker with each breath, and the ground beneath us seems to vibrate with the thrill of the hunt. His eagerness pulses beneath me, feeding into my own excitement as we both prepare for what’s to come.

I click my tongue, and the hounds explode into motion, their sleek bodies moving like shadows, swift and silent, barely disturbing the fog as they race ahead. Their red eyes glow with hunger, their claws digging into the earth with every bound. Cathal surges forward, powerful and sure, his muscles coiled with strength as we plunge through the gate and into the mortal realm.

The cold night air hits me like a promise, thick with the scent of earth and fear. The thrill of the chase sends a rush of adrenaline through my veins, and I lean into the movement, letting the energy of The Hunt course through every fiber of my being. This night is ours—mine—and before it’s over, I will take everything The Hunt offers me.

I feel the power of the Host ripple out from us, spreading like a dark cloud over the villages below, seeking, searching. It hunts for the mark—the one who carries fae blood and has broken an oath. It doesn't take long. The moment the target is found, the mark burns into their skin, sealing their fate. The Host knows its prey, and it carries me swiftly toward Ennisvarra.

As we approach the village, I pull back on the reins, signaling for the Host to slow. The wild frenzy of the chase gives way to a more calculated, stealthy approach. I want to savor this moment, to see the fear on my prey’s face before the inevitable.

The village is eerily quiet, its streets empty, save for one. In the center of the village stands a woman, trembling, her wide eyesfilled with fear as she feels the mark burning into her flesh. She is scanning the darkened streets as if searching for an escape she’ll never find. I can feel her fear, taste it in the air. She is unaware that every breath she takes, every tremor in her body, pulls me closer.

I let out a low chuckle, unable to contain my amusement as I take in the sight. At everything falling into place for me. Every dark desire, every twisted dream I’ve harbored swirls in my mind, merging together into one singular focus: her.

My little songbird.McKenna.

She’s been marked as my prey.

Chapter 16

Mac

Irun through the narrow cobblestone streets, the cottages looming on either side, their dim windows like hollow eyes staring into the night. My heart thunders in my chest as I slam my fist against one of the wooden doors. “Help!” I shout, but the only response is silence. Behind the shutters, I can hear the faint sound of shuffling—people are inside, I know they are. But they aren’t coming out. Nottonight. Not forme.

“Run, little prey.”

The dark voice wraps itself around me like smoke, carried on the wind. Terror shoots through my veins, making my skin crawl. No, no—this can’t be real. This has to be some twisted joke. Is this what they do to the poor unsuspecting foreigner? The outsider who doesn’t belong?

Before I can think any more, black birds sweep down out of nowhere, their wings brushing against my face, their claws scratching at my arms. I cry out, stumbling as I try to swat themaway, but they won’t stop. Desperate, I sprint down the street, my legs burning with each frantic step.

I pound on the door of another cottage, but there’s no answer here either. The village seems dead, frozen in time, as if it’s watching me—waiting for something. I pause, listening, and then I hear it–the faint, menacing sound of hounds. Snarling, sniffing. Getting closer.

Panic grips me. This can’t be happening. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I dart into a narrow alley, the walls closing in on either side. I lean against the cold stone, trying to catch my breath, to still my racing heart. But it’s no use, I hear the baying close by, followed by a low growl. The hounds are closing in. I can hear their claws clicking on the cobblestones, then I hear the heavier sound of a horse’s hooves and I know I can’t stay here for long.

I bolt again, my mind spinning. The place always felt strange, even magical in a way, but this? This is too much. I wasn’t expectingthis. Running toward the forest, the birds attack again, snatching at my hair and trying to claw my shoulders. I leave the village behind, sprinting into the narrow path that winds through the forest, branches scrape against my arms, tearing at my skin, and I’m suddenly reminded of the markings. The ones that appeared on my body just after the sunset. The swirling, twisting patterns that burned as they etched themselves into my flesh. They felt so real. Too real.

Just like this.

The hounds’ snarls echo behind me, but all I can think about is the way those markings burned, the way they seared into my skin. And as I stumble through the dark, the air thick with the scent of earth and my own blood, I’m no longer sure if this is a nightmare or reality.

The forest whips past me as I run, desperate, gasping for air. I know where this path leads—back to the cottage, back to safety.If I can just make it there, I’ll be safe. Or at least, I hope I will. But as the branches continue to scratch and tear at me, leaving thin lines of blood in their wake, I can’t shake the feeling that none of this is an illusion. It feels too real. Itisreal.

Then, at the end of the path, I see them—two hulking shadows with glowing red eyes. Hounds. Their lips peel back in a snarl, revealing sharp, gleaming teeth. I try to stop, but my foot catches on something, sending me sprawling to the ground. The sticks and leaves dig into my skin, but the pain is nothing compared to the icy terror flooding my veins. Every weird and unexplainable moment since I arrived comes back to me. Every story I’ve ever heard about the Wild Hunt flashes through my mind. The passion that Nora spoke of it as though she had actually heard it, or seen it.

I scramble to my feet, turning, but there are more hounds right behind me, so close I can almost feel their heavy breaths hot on my neck. And then, through the trees,heappears.

The masked rider. The Huntsman.

He sits atop a massive black horse, the animal’s eyes blazing with unnatural fire. My blood runs cold. The rider moves toward me slowly, his presence pulling at me, freezing me in place. He reaches out, his hand extending toward me, and I see the black claws, long and sharp, at the ends of his fingers.

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