8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Cianán

M y long fingers trail along the wood of the table beside me. A painting rests there, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight streaming through the window, as if offering itself to me. It's unfinished, but I can already tell she has true talent. There's something raw, something intensely personal, captured in the strokes she's laid down. Her artistry intrigues me—it offers a glimpse into her mind, her soul.

I wonder how she would paint me if given the chance, how she sees me. Well, how she sees the visage I present to her, cloaked in glamor to dull the true signs that I'm not from her world. If she were to see me without the glamor, would she look at me in awe or in fear? Would she be one of those humans who became sick with obsession for another glimpse at magic?

The atmosphere in the cottage is still, deep in the heart of the night. The only sound is the distant murmur of waves against the cliffs, though my ears pick up the subtle hum of the forest on the other side—the rustling of leaves, the nocturnal stirrings of creatures. As I draw closer, the steady rhythm of her breathing fills the air, each breath deep and even, a soft symphony of sleep. She is already complacent, leaving the door unlocked, inviting me in without realizing it.

I glide through the cottage, silent as a ghost, taking in the small details that hold traces of her. The faint scent of her lingers in the air, teasing my senses. Bold but with a subtle undertone of smoke, as though she sat too close to a fireplace. Discarded clothes lie draped over the chairs, her presence clinging to them. The fabric is soft against my fingers as I raise it close to my face and breathe in her essence. It's intimate in a way that stirs something darker in me, a sense of possession taking root.

Finally, I step into the bedroom. She lies deeply asleep, her body relaxed and at peace under the blankets, unaware of the danger hovering so close. I take a moment to observe her—how her chest rises and falls in rhythm with her breathing.

The moonlight highlights her pale skin, giving her an ethereal glow, the faint freckles on her cheeks like scattered stars. Even in the faint light, her hair seems to shimmer with deep reds and oranges, like a flickering flame that I want to thrust my fingers into and see if I would get burnt. I can see the curve of her lips, slightly parted as she dreams.

The stillness of the room hums with anticipation. I could reach out, brush her hair away from her face, feel the warmth of her skin beneath my touch. But I remain rooted in place, savoring the moment, the thrill of watching her in her most vulnerable state.

I wonder what she dreams of. Does she sense me here, even in the deepest corners of her mind?

My thoughts drift to a darker fantasy—transporting her to my bed in Faerie. Would she wake the moment I shifted her, or would she remain oblivious, continuing to dream while nestled in silken sheets far removed from this quaint little cottage? The idea of her waking up in my world, disoriented and unaware, sends a shiver of desire through me.

Would her eyelids flutter open the second the atmosphere changed? Would she feel the shift in the air—the intoxicating mix of magic and danger that clings to Faerie? Or would she remain lost in her dreams, her soft breaths steady, as though she were still in the comfort of this bed, unaware that the ground beneath her has transformed into something far more treacherous?

I imagine her, eyes slowly adjusting to the dim, otherworldly glow of my chamber. The cool breeze from the enchanted forest would rustle through the silken curtains, carrying the scent of ancient oaks and wildflowers—so different from the salt and sea of the cliffs beyond the cottage. She would lie there, vulnerable, surrounded by the rich, dark opulence of my realm, her pale skin stark against the deep hues of the bedding. Would she know instantly that something was wrong? Or would she hesitate, thinking it all a strange, vivid dream? It's a standard human quality to dismiss that which you cannot explain as something you imagined or dreamed… a flight of fancy…

I can see it now. Her body would tense, her pulse quickening beneath that delicate skin. Eyes wide, filled with a mixture of awe and terror, searching for an escape that doesn't exist. How long would it take for her to realize the truth? That there's no way back, no safe haven to return to unless I allow it?

If she woke, I would be there, watching, savoring every moment of her confusion. But if she remained asleep, so peacefully unaware, there would be a different sort of thrill in that too. The idea of her resting in my bed, her body so serene, while she slumbered on the cusp of a world filled with darkness and magic—where I could have her entirely under my control—is irresistible.

The need to infuse her scent into my bed overwhelms me, my desires mounting until I take a step closer, allowing my power to rise inside me like a flood. It surges, thick and potent, yet she remains deep in sleep, unaware of the storm building around her.

My hand hovers just above her throat, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her, the steady pulse of life throbbing just beneath the surface. Her skin calls to me, and I lower my fingers slowly, delicately, until they brush against her neck. The contact is electrifying—her lips part, a soft sigh escaping into the night—but she doesn't wake.

I let the power grow, the energy between us thickening like the air before a storm, dark and oppressive, bending the space around us. It's like staring into the depths of a void, reality warping under the strain of magic, until it crests and breaks. Our surroundings shift and melt away, and we are no longer in her quaint cottage. My own chamber takes shape around us—draped in shadows and the glow of Faerie magic.

My eyes fall on her, laid out before me. As I imagined, her beauty is startling against the deep brown sheets. She must have been naked beneath the blanket—now revealed in all her glory, her body on full display, skin pale and glowing like moonlight itself.

The sight sends a wave of heat through me, my body reacting instantly. Her breasts rise and fall with each steady breath, perfect in their shape, inviting my touch. My hands ache with the desire to cup them, to feel the softness beneath my palms, to squeeze until her rosy nipples harden and blood rushes to the surface, turning them darker, more sensitive.

She shifts slightly, her legs brushing together, a quiet movement that sends a thrill through me. My cock throbs, pushing and straining against the confines of my pants, wanting to be buried in her wet heat.

But no. Not yet.

I force myself to resist, to draw the blanket from the end of my bed up and over her body, hiding what is mine to claim in due time. The temptation gnaws at me, but I savor it, knowing that waiting will make the eventual moment that much sweeter.

I step back from the bed, allowing the hunger within me to simmer, tightly reined in for now.

She stirs slightly, her brow furrowing as if sensing the change even in her slumber. I hold my breath, wondering if this will be the moment she wakes. But she merely sighs, turning her head to nestle deeper into the pillow, her flame-red hair spilling across it like liquid fire.

If she wakes, it won't matter. With a mere touch of my power, I can lull her back into a deep sleep. It's one of the advantages of being the Huntsman, just like the ability to move her between realms at will. And when she wakes again in the morning, this entire visit to Faerie will be nothing more than a fleeting dream—vivid, perhaps, but easily dismissed in the light of day.

I move to the window, gazing out at the enchanted forest beyond. The trees here are ancient, their branches twisting in impossible ways, leaves shimmering with their own light. Creatures flit between the shadows—some beautiful, some terrifying, all dangerous in their own ways. It's a stark contrast to the mundane world she knows, and I wonder how she'll react when she finally sees it.

A soft moan from the bed draws my attention back to her. She's restless now, her body moving beneath the blanket as if trying to escape some unseen force. I hold my breath as I watch her, waiting.