Page 34 of The Wild Hunt

I reach up, tracing the vines with my fingers, feeling a slight tingle as if the markings are still alive, still moving under my skin. I know they will fade soon as he said, but a strange urge stirs within me—I need to remember this. Not for the pain or the terror, but for the beauty of it, for how it felt like a part of me.

I should paint this. I want to recreate the pattern, let my hands capture the design before it disappears completely. A piece of The Hunt, immortalized on canvas.

But there’s no time for that now. The clock is ticking, and I still have to pack. My flight is early in the morning, and I’ve lost nearly an entire day to... whatever that was. I linger for a moment longer in front of the mirror, the weight of it all sinking in. As terrifying and painful as the night was, I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything.

But leaving also means saying goodbye. I know I won’t ever see Cianán again, and the thought makes my chest tighten with something close to sadness. It took me longer than I care to admit to piece everything together, but now it’s clear—it was him. It had to be. I recognized his touch, the way he made my body hum with pleasure, the way he held me in a delicate balance between fear and something far deeper. Even now, the memory of his fingers sends a shiver down my spine.

It was him all along.

A part of me wishes I could stay—just to see him one last time. But the rational part of my mind knows I can’t. I have to go. All I have left are memories, vivid and impossible to forget, but they’re mine.

I resolve to take a photo of the markings before they fade completely, a reminder of what I survived, of what I experienced. After that, there’s nothing left but to pack and leave this place behind.

As I start to tuck my clothing back into my suitcase, the single fabric pouch I left in there when I unpacked catches my eye. My thoughts go to the question the Huntsman posed, about the oath that I broke, as I let the contents slide out onto my palm. The pendant and necklace in my hand seem to glow with their own light, something I never noticed before, but then everything here seems to be like that since I arrived.

But the memory of my great-grandmother pressing it into my hand is as clear as though it were yesterday and not years ago. Before she died.

“Swear it to me,áedán,” her voice was still strong though her body was frail. “Swear you won’t ever take it off, it will protect you.”

I had sworn and worn the pendant for a long time. I can’t even recall why I removed it, what could have made me go against my word to someone I loved so dearly.

With a sigh, I put it back on, feeling the warmth and reassuring weight of it against my skin. I run my thumb over the pendant, tracing the delicate engravings that I never really studied before. It had always just been there—something I wore out of love for my great-grandmother, not because I believed in its supposed power.

But now, in the wake of everything that’s happened, I wonder if she knew more than she ever let on. If she understood what lay ahead of me, what this place could bring into my life.

Either way, I won’t take it off again. Not after this.

Cianán

Fingers trail down my bare back, leaving a trail of heat and sparks in their wake, and I groan at the familiar sting. The Hunt had drained more of my power than usual, every ounce of energy spent on claiming my prey. Normally it would be as simple as hunting the oath breaker down and bringing them back to Faerie, but this time was different, and this time I chose to leave her behind.

My body feels heavy, and all I want is to sink deeper into the bed beneath me, letting sleep pull me under once again. But Lorcan has never been one for patience. I can feel him reclining beside me in the bed, his body brushing mine where he hovers over my back.

His nails scrape along my skin next, sharper this time, and I shiver involuntarily. I can sense the irritation simmering in him, but I still don’t respond. He is in my chambers, in my bed, and though I’ve been aware of him for some time, I’ve yet to acknowledge his presence.

"You’ve been asleep far too long,mo shealgóir," his voice slides over me like velvet, smooth and rich with a touch of warning. It drips into my ears, coaxing, demanding. I hum in response, the barest sound of acknowledgment escaping my lips, but still, I don’t move. He grows more impatient.

Lorcan’s fingers curl, nails pressing harder now, dragging across my skin in a way that both stings and tempts. He’s always had a way of making pain blend so exquisitely with pleasure, but after The Hunt, my body craves rest, even as my instincts warn me that rest will not come now that he has sought me out.

His fingers shift, reaching beneath me to grip my throat with a growl that reverberates through the air, sending a thrill of excitement racing down my spine. “You seem to forget that I feel your high emotions,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin.

I can’t resist the smirk that tugs at my lips, instantly knowing what he’s referring to. He leans in closer, our faces just inches apart, his icy eyes fierce, a wild hunger glimmering in their depths. “I almost left Faerie simply to join you between her thighs. You’re lucky I showed enough patience not to seek you out the moment you returned. I let you rest for almost two days, I have no patience left.”

The words hang between us and I can feel the energy radiating from him, the static charge that tingles along my skin. My heartbeat quickens, and suddenly, sleep is the last thing on my mind. I roll to face him on the bed, forcing him to release my throat as I give him my full attention.

His eyes rake down my naked body as he starts to reach out, and I know what he intends to do. To touch our bond marks, to reinforce the connection between us. But his hand freezes before making contact with my skin, a flash of shock and something else I can’t identify crossing his face. “You bonded with her?”

I freeze. Even the breath in my lungs stops as I look down at my chest, my heart skipping a beat. Intricate vines and thorns weave across my skin. They glow faintly, pulsing with an energy that seems to echo my heartbeat. It’s both beautiful and utterly terrifying.

“Cianán!”

In a split decision, one I know I will probably regret, I let my power flood my body. I concentrate, clothing myself and forcing a shift in location, the familiar pull of magic wrapping around me. In a heartbeat, I am gone from the lavish room, and when I open my eyes again, I find myself in the little cottage I’d long since memorized.

But the woman standing with her back turned to me, pulling sheets from the bed isn’t my little songbird. My heart sinks, and a growl builds in my chest as I take in the sight of her. She turns, startled, and the moment our eyes lock, I see the pure fear seep into her features.

“My lord,” she breathes, dropping to her knees before me, the tremor in her voice unmistakable. It’s the lesser fae woman who owns this dwelling—the one who gets foreigners to stay here as a form of offering to The Hunt.

“Where is she?” I demand, the edge in my voice sharp enough to cut.

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