Page 2 of Consumed (Shot in the Dark)

L ove was poison—and I was an abomination for allowing such primal stirrings to control me.

But what choice did I have? Countless men had passed through my forest. Hunters. Druids. Fools. They rushed and ravaged. They marched too loudly along the fallen leaves without care for the creatures sheltering nearby—but not him .

None were like my Eoin.

I couldn’t remember how long I had been here. I had once tried to count the seasons, but they folded in on each other, harsh winters blurring into mild summers. Over and over. I knew I had been here a long time—perhaps centuries.

Lately, I wondered if I had been waiting for Eoin all this time.

From the forest, my sisters and I had watched his village grow.

Where once a few simple cottages had been scattered around a central, hearty fire, dozens now sprawled over the land.

Dwellings ranged from simple thatched-roof structures to manors in the hills that boasted fields of livestock.

Further in the distance, a castle took form, harsh lines barely visible through the fog.

The massive structure leeched more from the earth than the village itself.

As the humans’ presence grew, the borders of the forest shrank. Yews, ash, and oak slowly vanished, like a festering wound. It took many decades—and a few brutal reminders—for balance to settle across the land.

Despite their ignorance and inclinations toward cruelty, humans were never short of activity: battles, celebrations, feasts, famine.

Watching them from afar, I had always found myself torn between detached fascination and heartbreak.

I could scarcely remember my time as one of them.

It felt like someone else’s distant dream.

Flashes of rain on bare skin. Fingers in mine.

Blood on moss. A gasp taken by the wind.

I was the forest now, or the forest was me. The lines blurred moment to moment.

Until him , nothing outside the forest had sparked joyful drumming in my chest.

And he would soon be here again.

The cool morning breeze curled through my unbound hair.

I shut my eyes against the hazy glint of first light filtering through the trees and listened to the whisper of leaves all around.

Ancient oaks groaned faintly, grass bowed, and the underbrush shifted as small creatures moved about in search of food.

Then, footsteps —the slow, steady rhythm of someone carefully plowing deeper into the woods.

I crawled higher on the wide, sloping oak branch, my bare feet digging in against the moss.

The tree— our tree—stood as tall as the largest manor on the hill, providing me a bird’s eye view of the ground below.

I sensed Eoin before I saw him. His presence disrupted the birdsong and sent small animals fleeing to hide.

The faint crunch of fallen leaves beneath his boots shattered the stillness, but he did not mean to cause commotion.

His respect for my forest was reciprocated, and the trees seemed to bend around his presence, pleased.

A mop of tousled, ashy blond hair came into sight as Eoin tread into the grove of massive, moss-cloaked trees.

I watched how he chose each step with such care, even as his weight sank into the earth the way my body never would.

He had the lean, strong build that was common to craftsmen, with arms that pulled taut against the simple tunic tucked into his belted trousers.

A half cloak was slung over his broad shoulders, protecting him against the early bite of autumn.

The glint of his woodcutting axe was just visible beneath the folds of his cloak.

The smell of him caught the air—woodsmoke and spice.

Each week without fail, his work brought him to the forest. He always remembered the proper blessings before he took his axe to my brothers, using their wood for his craft.

Today, he carried something in his arms, covered in cloth and bound by twine.

As I watched him take a seat beside the ribboning creek and turn his gaze patiently all around him, I was no longer content to watch from afar.

I descended to a lower branch and willed my form to be visible to mortal eyes—though he had likely sensed my stare by now, whether he could see me or not.

“What have you brought for me today?” I called down.

Eoin lifted his gaze, a smile brightening his stoic features as our gazes met. He held up the bundle, a challenge as much as it was an invitation.

“Come and see . ”

I dismounted, lowering myself down the centuries-old oak. His eyes flooded with gentle awe, as if he were watching silk itself unspool.

My bare feet hit the ground noiselessly.

He straightened his shoulders at my approach—he always did, even though his fears that I was a vengeful banshee were long behind him.

Years had passed, but it was as unsettling as it was beautiful for him to see how the earth responded to me.

As I approached, the grass straightened, the water’s gurgle brightened.

Primrose and clover unfurled along my path, quiet as a whisper.

“Show me,” I demanded, beaming as I dropped beside him on the mossy earth. I placed my hands on his thigh with an impatient tug. “Have you crafted another gift?”

Eoin smiled, his eyes tracing the wild, silvery locks that hung over my shoulders. “How could I resist? ”

He offered the package to me. I gave a chirrup of delight as I tore off the twine and unwound the cloth, revealing a rectangle of ash wood with a female figure carved into its surface.

Garlands of primroses and ivy were sculpted around her like a frame.

I traced my fingertips over the woodwork, where a faint etching of a face stared back at me.

“It’s you, little niamh.” Eoin’s arm settled around my waist, pulling me into his side. He inspected his handiwork proudly. “What do you think? Have I captured your beauty?”

“Quite an impossible feat for mortal hands,” I answered. “But a very good attempt. Thank you.” I clutched the piece to my chest, gifting him a wide smile. The thought of him toiling away by the fire’s light, etching my likeness with delicate strokes… I nearly purred at the flattery.

“And for me?” Eoin had grown delightfully bold in the last few months. He put his hand over mine, lifting his brow. “Have you brought me riddles or treasures today?”

My hand looked as weightless as a child’s compared to his—larger and calloused, shaped by years of labor. He was warm and coarse and alive, so unlike the marble sheen of my complexion. Though his touch had become familiar, the juxtaposition made my heart drum.

He was everything I was not, and where my sisters might find disgust in the contrast, I found delight.

Flecks of greed entered his gaze when he looked at me sometimes, and I treasured that, too.

He prided himself on being the only villager with such a secret waiting for him deep in the woods. His little niamh.

Day by day, I found I did not mind the concept—belonging to him.

“I do have something for you,” I said. “I will give you a tear.”

Eoin’s eyebrows pulled together. “A tear?”

I nodded, letting the woodwork rest in my lap so I might pluck at the base of his throat, where the glorious thrum of his pulse hummed, quickening. “If you accept it, you’ll not age a day,” I told him. “You’ll never grow ill, never bear weathered skin.”

My touch strayed to his cheek. He recoiled as though my soft skin had burned him. Shadows crossed over his handsome face, giving me pause.

“Keep your tear, little niamh . I would never want to make you weep,” he said, offering a shaky laugh.

Such compassion. So kind, my Eoin. But I knew fear when I heard it.

Fear was simply the natural order for humans when it came to entities far beyond their understanding. Fear meant power, meant respect.

Why did it wither me to hear it from him?

“I’ve thought of another gift, then,” I pressed, intent on deterring him from taking his leave. “You may give me a name. ”

Again, Eoin’s eyebrows lifted—but this time, his smirk returned. “After these years, why now?”

His fingers were heavier on my waist.

I shot him a feline smile. “Do you want it or not?”

“Give me a moment! Let me think,” Eoin chuckled.

His gaze went distant with thought. For a moment, the bright gurgle of the creek was all that could be heard throughout the clearing. I relished the pause—every moment of musing prolonged our time together.

“I think I’ll call you… Róisín ,” Eoin said at last, giving me an all-too stoic stare—the one that masked a playful glitter behind his eyes.

A shiver of pleasure raced through me.

“Róisín,” I murmured, feigning uncertainty. Little Rose.

He watched me with careful reverence, awaiting my approval. The name hung in the air between us, and I had no reason to dwell in its silent echo, but I couldn’t deny myself the delight of watching him squirm. My smile was carefully subdued. “It is acceptable.”

His lips parted, and he appeared to wrestle between relief and disappointment before settling on the latter. “ Acceptable? I dare you to find a name that suits you more.”

He’d grown bold, my human. I recalled a time when he wouldn’t have dreamed of voicing disagreement with me.

The name he’d chosen was perfect—absolutely perfect —but my mask refused to slip and reveal the blessing he’d given me.

None of my sisters had names. We had no need for such mortal trifles, not when we were all pieces of the same forest. Fragments of one divine being.

But I was different. He had made me different, and with each visit, whether he knew it or not, he coaxed me further from my true nature.

My smile sharpened into a grin. “Come now, I’ve given you a marvelous gift, allowing you to name me. To change it now would be unfair.”

His eyes met mine, searching. When his features relaxed, I wondered if he’d seen through my facade and found the elation buried beneath. “Róisín,” he said firmly, leaning closer. “I can think of no greater gift, my little rose.”

The ground shivered beneath us. Eoin drew back, scanning the forest floor with wide-eyed wonder until he found the source of the commotion directly beside us: branches sprouted from the earth, climbing and thickening until the tops were level with his chest. Vibrant leaves burst out in clusters first, followed by roses of the deepest red—dozens from bud to blossom in a matter of seconds.

“You are a marvel,” Eoin said with untethered wonder as he reached for one of the blooms.

He hissed upon contact and flinched, leaving the rose. A wet touch of red marred the tip of the thorn that had bitten him. At once, a ravenous sensation flamed through me, and I only had eyes for the fresh bead of crimson dotting the base of his finger .

I leaned across him to take his hand tenderly in mine. “Allow me,” I said. I kissed the wound, tracing the tip of my tongue over the dewdrop of blood, savoring its taste.

“You’re too kind,” he murmured as the wound closed beneath my affection. I suppressed a shiver, desperate for more, more , but I couldn’t bear the thought of frightening him away. Not my Eoin. I released his hand.

“I suppose I should apologize for that,” I said, peering at the wickedly sharp thorns of the rose bush. “But the forest must protect itself, after all. What good is a plucked rose?”

He chuckled. “Don’t be so cynical. A cut rose is the sort of gift that makes my people happy.”

Sniffing, I shook my head. “A gift which withers for the sake of momentary wonder. How very mortal of you.” My hand floated up to trace his jawline with my fingertips. I stared hard into his eyes. “You sound far too familiar with the notion. Don’t tell me you’re offering such gifts to others?”

That hint of caution returned, hardening in the dawn light flecking across his face.

He caught my hand and brought it to his lips, kissing my knuckles tenderly.

“I have little time for such things when I’m so busy perfecting your gifts, my little rose.

Speaking of—” Eoin released my hand to scoop up the engraved panel resting in my lap.

He skimmed his handiwork with a proud gleam in his eyes before looking back at me. “Where shall you place this one?”

I squeezed his leg. “Perhaps you can help me decide.”

I rose to my feet, dancing from one mossy stone to the next. My steps were weightless, my ivory skirts swirling like ripples of water around my legs with every nimble stride.

“Slow down!” Eoin barked, having barely risen to his feet in the time I was halfway across the brook. “Don’t leave me in your shadow again. I swear I heard a Formorian last time.”

He followed me, trodding on the mossy rocks that jutted over the shallow water.

Several steps had to be recalculated, as he was too cumbersome to use the same slivers of stone that I could balance on.

When he was nearly to the bank, he chose a weak formation for his next step.

The rock snapped, half crumbling into the water, leaving Eoin windmilling for balance with the wooden etching still clutched protectively in his grasp.

I leaned out and caught his free hand in mine, clasping firmly.

I won’t lose you, I thought, smiling up at him.

Something softened in his expression, like he understood me.

Even if he had the human inclination to fear the forest and its obstacles, perhaps I was slowly awakening his true nature as much as he was awakening mine.

Surprise mingled with the relief in Eoin’s face—hesitant to lean his full weight against me, as though it might hurt me. His grip strengthened, and I hauled him to the bank beside me.

With his strong fingers still wound through mine, I led him onward, deeper into my home.