18. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Mac

I run 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. Not tonight . Not for me .

"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 them away, 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 expecting this . 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. It is real.

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, he appears.

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.

I stare, unable to move. This isn't happening. It can't be happening.

But then his claws graze my shoulder, slicing through my dress, digging into my skin. The pain is sharp, electric, and just like the burning markings, it feels so horribly real. A surge of adrenaline hits me, and I twist away, my body acting on pure instinct. The hounds growl and snap vicious teeth at me as I dash into the thick trees, veering off the path. If he wants to catch me, he'll have to leave his horse behind.

The sound of hooves thunders behind me, the low growls of the hounds growing louder, closer. I'm running on pure instinct now, my legs moving of their own accord, each breath a ragged gasp as my chest burns. The shadows seem to stretch, reaching for me, and the ground feels like it's shifting beneath my feet. The forest is alive, twisting, bending, conspiring against me. The hounds howl again, and I hear the rush of wings, but I can't see the birds through the trees.

My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. I don't know how much longer I can keep going, but I don't dare stop. I can feel The Hunt closing in, the shadows pressing around me. Scrambling to remember the old stories, I know The Wild Hunt never stops, the Huntsman always catches his prey. And deep down, I know—there's no escaping it. But that doesn't mean I'm going to make it easy.

My foot slips on the damp earth, and I barely manage to stay upright. The pain from the Huntsman's claws lingers on my shoulder, a throbbing reminder of who and what hunted me. Keep running. I force the thought into my mind like a mantra. My lungs scream for air, my legs ache, but I can't stop. Not yet. The branches whip against my face, and the sharp sting jolts me into clarity.

The pain isn't just in my imagination; it's carved into me. Whatever this is, whatever nightmare I've been plunged into, I can't deny it anymore. It's real. And I am trapped in it.

The rider's presence feels like a weight pressing down on me, even though I can't see him through the trees. But I know he's there. I can sense him, a dark shadow lingering on the edge of my awareness, always just behind me.

Suddenly, the ground dips, and I nearly lose my footing. The trees grow denser, the branches thicker, but I push forward, veering further off the path. If I stay predictable, I'll be easy prey. And he is right, I am just prey.

If this is my fate, I'll fight it with every last ounce of strength I have.

Maybe the forest will hide me. Maybe I can lose them.

The hope is faint, but it's all I have. I push myself harder, my breath ragged in the stillness of the woods as I move through the tight gaps. The sounds of pursuit are growing quieter, fainter. Could I really be getting away? The forest around me is thick, tangled—maybe, just maybe, it's throwing them off.

I see a dip in the ground behind a rotting tree trunk lying across the forest floor. Without thinking, I dive toward it, sliding behind the decaying wood. My chest heaves as I press myself flat, trying to make myself small and silent. Every inhale burns, my breath loud in my ears, but I force myself to calm down, listening for the hounds, for any sign of the Huntsman. The forest here is darker, denser than any part I've ventured into before. The air feels thick, like the trees themselves are closing in, watching.

Then, without warning, a bolt of lightning rips across the sky, illuminating the forest in a brief flash. I catch glimpses of the tangled branches overhead through the small gaps between the trees. The thunder follows soon after, a deafening crack that shakes the ground beneath me. A charge lingers in the air, sharp and electric, the smell of ozone suddenly overpowering. Another distant rumble vibrates through the earth, and I cling to the thought—maybe the storm will drown out my sounds. Maybe it will wash away my scent. Maybe they won't be able to hear me.

But then again, I won't be able to hear them either.

The first heavy drops of rain start to fall, but the thick canopy above shelters me. Only a few stray droplets manage to sneak through, landing in soft plinks on the damp forest floor. I shift slightly, trying to get more comfortable when I feel something hit my ankle. At first, I think it's just the rain, but then I realize the sensation is wrong. It's heavier, moving against my skin.

Confused, I glance down, my breath catching in my throat. The next lightning strike flashes through the sky, and in that brief light, I see it— a vine . A thorny, dark vine, coiling slowly, deliberately, around my ankle. I reach down to touch it, hoping it's just a trick of the dark, but the moment my fingers brush it, pain shoots through my hand as one of the thorns pierces the skin. I hiss, jerking back, and as the light fades, my heart seizes in terror.

The vine moves, tightening its grip.

A scream tears from my throat before I can stop it, the sound breaking through the steady patter of rain. The hounds start growling and howling again, closer than I thought they were. The vine, no longer bothering with stealth, begins to dig its thorns deeper into my ankle, twisting as if it's alive. I try to pull away, but the thorns bite into my flesh, tearing the skin as I yank my leg free. The pain is sharp, burning, but I force myself to ignore it. I can't stay here.

I scramble to my feet, stumbling over the uneven ground as I lurch forward, adrenaline surging through my veins. My leg throbs where the thorns had torn into it, blood dripping down, but I don't stop. I can't. I have to keep moving.

"You know you can't escape me, little prey. Come back and let me play with you."

The Huntsman's voice echoes through the trees, a dark, mocking whisper carried on the wind. My heart skips a beat, fear tightening its icy grip around my chest. I whimper, the sound barely escaping my lips as I push forward, limbs trembling from exhaustion and pain. Every step feels heavier than the last, my body dragging, but I can't let him catch me. I won't.

I struggle through the dense underbrush, my breath coming in ragged gasps, the weight of The Hunt pressing down on me like a suffocating shroud. The branches scratch at my skin, and I feel the sharp sting of each thorny vine that reaches out, as if trying to pull me back into the depths of the forest. I glance back over my shoulder, half-expecting to see the glowing red eyes of the hounds or the Huntsman looming just behind me, but all I see is darkness, deep and consuming.

With the storm rolling in, I force myself to focus. I need to keep moving, to stay ahead of whatever is hunting me. The world around me is a chaotic blur of shadow and sound—the distant thunder rumbling like a warning, the rain pelting down, and the rustle of leaves that feels almost like whispers urging me to turn back. I push through the fear, using it to fuel my legs, each step a defiance against the fate that feels so close.

As I stumble deeper into the forest, I can't shake the memories of my dreams, the vivid images of Cianán and the way he controlled the vines as if they were extensions of himself. Were those dreams actually real? Is this Cianán, is he The Huntsman? Or is it someone else who has that same strange ability?

"Where are you running to, little prey?" The Huntsman's voice slithers through the trees, teasing and taunting, sending a fresh wave of panic through me. "Nothing will save you from me."

I see an opening ahead, a glimmer of hope that sends a rush of adrenaline through me. My heart soars at the thought of salvation, of finding refuge from the terror that chases me. With a surge of determination, I burst from the suffocating embrace of the forest and into the open air.

Just as I do, a bolt of lightning slashes across the darkened sky, illuminating the scene in a stark flash. In that moment, I catch a glimpse of the masked Huntsman standing before me, his imposing figure silhouetted against the stormy backdrop, an ominous shadow standing directly in my path.

A sinister laugh echoes in the air, cold and mocking, sending chills racing down my spine. My instincts scream at me to stop, to take cover, but the ground beneath my feet betrays me. Mud and rain-slicked leaves conspire to send me skidding, and I struggle to regain my footing as I desperately scramble to change direction.

Suddenly, I see him raise a hand, and in a heartbeat, a dark vine whips through the air, curling over his shoulder with a life of its own. It lunges toward me, sharp thorns glinting as terror grips me like a vice. Without thinking, I pivot and run in the opposite direction, my heart pounding in my chest. I don't dare look back.

But he was right. There is no escaping him. The vine moves swiftly and wraps around my throat like a noose, its grip tightening with a cruel precision. My feet lose their grip on the ground, my momentum carrying me forward, and in an instant, I'm yanked off balance, crashing to the earth. The wind is knocked from my lungs as the vine constricts, leaving me gasping, trapped in a living nightmare.