17. Chapter 17

Cianán

I brush my hand along Cathal's flank before swinging up onto his back. He has been a loyal steed, one of the few constants in my life for a century, but he too will retire when I do. There's an almost bittersweet edge to this moment as I prepare him for what will be my final hunt. The knowledge weighs heavily on me, though not unpleasantly. It's simply the end of an era—one I've grown tired of.

The hounds circle near, nipping playfully at each other. Their sleek black fur bristles, their excitement mirroring the pulse beneath my own skin. I click my tongue at them, and they immediately halt their roughhousing, ears pricked and red eyes glowing with anticipation, waiting for my command. They've felt the tension building in me, the shift in the air.

There's an electric energy coursing around me, thrumming in the space between the shadows. It's not the kind of energy that Lorcan commands, the controlled storm of his powers. This is something older, more primal. A fire that's been rekindled inside me after too many years of being dulled by routine.

I can feel his presence, though, from where he stands on the balcony of his chambers. Lorcan watches everything from above, his pale eyes gleaming, observing me with that sharp, calculating gaze. He doesn't need to say anything; we both know tonight will be different. He can feel it as much as I can.

Tonight isn't about the hunt. Not really. The crackling anticipation that simmers under my skin has nothing to do with the prey that awaits me, the one The Hunt marks. No, this energy comes from knowing what will happen afterward. Once we have done our work, once the blood has been spilled and the prey brought back to Faerie.

It comes from her .

McKenna. The one who lingers in the back of my mind with every thought, every breath. She has no idea what awaits her tonight. What I've planned for her. The thought of it is pulling at me even now, as though some invisible thread tugs me back to her.

The memory of her body beneath mine, the way she responded to my touch, to my commands—it gnaws at me in a way I haven't felt in centuries. It's a hunger, a need to finish what I started. And once The Hunt is complete, I will return to her, and for one night, I will let go of every restraint I've held onto.

For one night, I will cut into her flesh, savor her pain and pleasure, and drown in the taste of her blood. The thought of it sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine, my hand tightening on Cathal's reins.

This is the first night in a century I will indulge this deeply, the only night where the oath of the Huntsman cannot touch me. The hunt allows it, permits me to take what I want without the repercussions that normally tie me down. I can let loose every dark desire I've locked away, every urge I've suppressed.

The hounds whine softly, sensing my shift in focus. I click my tongue again, and they settle, their red eyes fixed on me, ready for The Hunt to begin.

I glance up at Lorcan one last time. His lips curl into the faintest of smiles, the only acknowledgment he gives, but I see the icy fire burning behind his eyes. He's waiting for me to return as well, though his reasons are different. He knows what tonight will mean, not just for the hunt, but for everything that follows.

He'll be waiting when I return. He will allow me the time I need to rest, but I know he won't wait long. A day, give or take, will be all he will allow me I'm sure.

The excitement courses through me. For a moment I allow my thoughts to linger briefly on McKenna. When I go to her tonight after The Hunt, it will be different. I will take everything I've held back, every dark, twisted urge, and unleash it upon her.

But for now, The Hunt calls. A shiver of power goes through me, signaling that the sun is setting, that the time is almost upon us. The hounds begin to grow restless, the thrill of the chase pulsing through the air. I may be able to go between at will as the Huntsman but the Host, the animals that join The Hunt with me, can't.

I tilt my head from side to side, feeling the tightness in my neck loosen before I let go of the reins for a moment. My hands rise to the pendant at my neck, the ancient symbol cool against my skin as I press my fingertips to it. The black metal claws I wear click against its surface, and I close my eyes, focusing. Power pulses through the pendant, flowing into me like a long-forgotten river surging back to life. It responds instantly, coursing through my veins, sharpening every sense, every instinct.

Dressed for the hunt, I can already feel the weight of the night ahead. My black leather pants cling tightly, allowing for the necessary 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 as they 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 eyes filled 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.