Page 12 of Of Shadows & Ash (Land of Shadows #1)

Chapter Eleven

FELICITY FORREST

“Mastering the ability to athrú crutha is a mark of skill and maturity. The involuntary loss of control over one’s shift is a rare and deeply significant phenomenon and evidence of fated bonds. Losing control is not a weakness. It’s the most telling sign of the deep, intrinsic connection shared with your partner.”

Book of Shadows ( Tír na Scáil Lost History), Forgotten Tomes Archive

W hat. The. Actual. Fuck. If someone told me earlier that I’d be standing face-to-face with a man-turned-stallion, I’d have laughed, flipped them off, and told them to take their meds. Now? There’s no room for laughter—just this stifling awareness that my entire world has tilted on its axis.

I’ve investigated ghosts, poltergeists, and the odd demon or two, but this? This is something else. He’s huge—easily a hand taller than any normal horse I’ve ever seen, with lean muscle rippling beneath a coat so black it could swallow the moonlight. His mane spills down like ink-made flesh, rustling over powerful shoulders that look capable of trampling a car if he so desired. And those eyes…they’re still his. Onyx with amber, predatory, boring into me like he can read every frantic thought skittering through my head.

A strangled laugh slips out. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

My instincts say I should be running, screaming, but to where? It’s not like I can outrun him. Not when he could cross the distance in a few strides of those hooves. And the truth is—part of me doesn’t want to run. I’m too fascinated. Too…enthralled.

The stories I’ve dug up, the rumours I’ve chased—they never felt this real. They warned, Never trust the fae. Never show them your fear. But none of those dusty tomes described standing in front of a púca as a midnight-black stallion with a gaze that pins you like prey. My pulse hammers in my ears, and I force myself to breathe.

“Alright,” I mutter, voice cracking around the edges. “It’s fine. Totally fine. I’ve seen weirder, right?” A lie, obviously. But…acknowledging that I’m dealing with a centuries-old fae asshole (well, probably, but I’m not going to ask about his birthday because that’s rude, right?), and he decided a horse body would be a fun party trick to make my head explode. Yeah, no.

He shifts, moonlight rippling over his sleek flank. A ripple of raw power courses through him. Heat rolls off his body, colliding with the night’s chill until I feel like I’m caught between two extremes. A bond —or whatever the hell this pull is—presses in on me, a silent force that makes my skin prickle.

I take another small step back, swallowing a snide remark about how I didn’t exactly sign up for Bestiality 101. “So what now?” I manage with an impressive amount of poise given the what-the-fuckery that just happened. “You gonna trample me? Or are you waiting for me to saddle up and ride off into some fucked-up fairytale?”

His breath ghosts over my face in a hot cloud, and I catch a hint of cedar and smoke. It’s disturbingly inviting—like stepping into a bonfire you know will burn you alive but not caring because the flames look so damn good. My gut clenches. He’s waiting. That’s the maddening part. Waiting for what? Permission? Curiosity? Fear?

I let out a sharp, bitter laugh, one that scratches against the silence. “This is ridiculous,” I say, more to myself than him. “I’ve made a career out of finding shit like you and now I’m just standing here. Brilliant.”

He exhales again, ears flicking forward, amber-flecked eyes never leaving mine. There’s a challenge in that gaze. Something that says I could destroy you, but I won’t—yet.

My heart thuds painfully. If I had any sense, I’d run. I close the gap by a single step. A suicidal move, but I’m compelled. My fingers twitch at my sides, itching to verify this isn’t a booze-fuelled hallucination. I reach out, letting my fingertips brush the edge of his mane.

It’s impossibly soft—like black velvet spun from nightmares. A tremor races up my arm, sparking adrenaline that sets my nerves alight. I can practically feel the magic coiled beneath his skin, vibrating against my touch.

“What are you waiting for?” I murmur, forcing steel into my voice. My hand lingers on his mane, a dare if ever there was one. “If you’ve got a grand reveal tucked away, just fucking show me. I’m not about to keel over from shock.”

Not yet, anyway.

He shifts again, muscles rippling under his glossy hide. Something hungry flashes in his gaze—a reminder that the man inside this beast might still be there, deciding my fate. The power radiating off him is suffocating, terrifying, and weirdly exhilarating.

My throat is as dry as a desert. “Christ,” I whisper. “You’re actually real.”

If horses could smirk, this one does. His head dips, the motion almost…human. My stomach twists, my brain screaming that I’m in way over my head. But I can’t bring myself to regret stepping into the deep end.

“Right,” I say, half to him, half to myself. “So what’s the plan, oh mighty nightmare stallion? Because I’m all out of clever ideas, and I’d rather not end up trampled to death tonight.”

Silence. The wind picks up, carrying a biting chill off the water, and for a moment, I notice how small I am in his shadow. He’s a creature of legends I’ve spent years chasing—a lethal, living myth that could tear me apart.

And gods help me, I don’t know if I’m terrified or enthralled. Because the worst part? I want to know. I want to touch him again and feel that impossible heat. I want to see just how far I can push this. Maybe it’s adrenaline, or maybe I’m every bit as crazy as my friends have always said.

But if he wants me to run, he’s going to be disappointed. I’ve come too far, dug up too many graves—sometimes literally—to baulk now.

I square my shoulders, meeting his onyx gaze head-on. “Alright, then,” I whisper, my voice a thread in the dark. “I’m here. You’re here. Show me what else you’ve got.”

Because for better or worse, I’m committed. And if this is how I die, well…at least it’ll make one hell of a headline.

-Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.- His voice rattles inside my skull like thunder too close for comfort. My willpower to run inside Pier House like a sensible fucking person wavers. -Get on my back.-

I pinch my brows together. I give him a look that screams he’s delusional if he thinks I’m climbing on.

He begins to sink down, forelegs bending as if to kneel. I shake my head, torn between calling it graceful or downright terrifying. Then I feel it—a sizzling line of magic tugging behind my ribs, dragging me forward half a step before I can stop myself. My rational mind screams at me to stay put, but some wild, reckless part of me wants to close the distance…no matter the cost.

Uh. No thank you.

I can’t believe I’m not screaming yet. Instead, I stand here like a stunned idiot. It’s a dream . I exaggerate a blink. Dammit. The very attractive, and ridiculously arrogant prick is still a bloody horse. I look, but there’s no one else experiencing one hell of a delusion.

-One way or another, you’re riding me tonight.-

He did not just threaten me in my own mind.

My chin snaps up and I mentally push outward. I may need some quality time on a psychiatrist’s couch very soon, but right now, no fucking horse is telling me what to do. That bastard is not getting inside my head again. Dark, thorny vines—why is that my go-to mental visualisation?—twist into a thick wall, shutting out his voice. Mind control. I’ve read about that ability. ‘The Other Crowd Guidebook for Mortals’ mentions it a lot. Hell, I’ve seen it in movies. And yet…he’s not the only problem. It’s that invisible thread that sprang into existence the moment I saw him. It’s drawing me to him for reasons I can’t explain.

-Don’t make me ask twice.- His mental command is staticy and laced with too much amusement. That tosser is enjoying this way too much.

I weave the vines tighter. He’s not getting through.

I still feel that strange pull in my gut, but I don’t get the sense it means harm to me. The vines thicken. He’s not dangerous. I’m the dangerous one. That thought feels like a punch to the ribs.

Something in me flares, like a hairline crack in a fortress wall. I can almost see it—shadows of vines twisting around my consciousness, trying to shut him out completely. But there’s a split second where I feel an opening, small but unmistakable. And my indignation surges through it before I can stop myself.

-Why should I trust you?- I snap, and the moment the words ricochet through our connection, I realise I’ve just launched them past my own defences.

His stallion eyes flicker. -Because I’m asking you to take a leap of faith. Is this not what you came here for?-

I’m no expert on mental wards, yet somehow, I’m holding him at bay and letting my anger slip through but shutting down everything else he might use against me. There’s a tiny gap in my defences, big enough for a whisper of his thoughts to seep in, like a ghostly breeze brushing past my mind. I can’t say I understand how I’m doing it, but right now, I’m not about to question a good thing.

I cross my arms. -So, my vacation now includes a ride on a magical fae. What’s next? GPS navigation by fairy dust?-

His laughter coats the inside of my head. -Your ability to mindspeak and crack jokes, even when facing the inexplicable, only deepens my interest. You wanted to investigate, so come with me.-

He’s got a point. As weird as this conversation with a fae who’s half-man, half-ghostly stallion is, something about it is reassuring. His midnight eyes hold more honesty than I’m used to seeing in people, and they draw me in with a comforting glow. Maybe the whole absurdity of the situation is making my brain give up trying to make sense of it.

I don’t trust him, but I can’t fight the pull. It’s a morbid fascination or the strange sense that something beyond me is waiting, and this moment might change everything in my life.

I take a long, steadying breath. This is a terrible idea—an epically horrible idea. Anyone with a drop of self-preservation would run. I should be bolting the other way. The dark, thorny vines in my mind start to ease back. No idea how I’m doing it, but I know it’s a choice. A choice that feels way too reckless, but I’ve already made it.

I step closer to Niall. His coat shimmers, a dark void swallowing the light, glinting back at me like it holds the night sky. A thousand stars reflect in his coat’s smooth, midnight black as though the darkness is alive.

-Alright- I say, or project, or whatever. This is too bloody weird to analyse the correct terminology. -I’ll trust you. For now.-

It’s not like I can really say “no.” I want to think I’m making an intelligent decision, but the fact that I’m letting a massive, wraith-stallion fae talk me into climbing onto his back doesn’t exactly scream good life choices.

His response is a nudge on my shoulder with his nose, a surprisingly gentle gesture that belies his size. It’s a move that makes me want to roll my eyes, but also…I can’t help it. It’s sweet in a weird way.

“Note to self: add ‘horse-friendly’ to the dress code next time,” I mutter as I prepare to climb onto his back, I wonder how my life became a circus act.

Surprisingly, I get on with a bit of grace. Maybe it’s because I’ve been riding horses for as long as I can remember. I tell myself it’s like riding a bike, except with more magical, potentially deadly consequences. My heart is hammering, but my muscles know exactly what to do. That’s one advantage of being an avid rider. I’m still thankful the púca has a broad back and low withers, but no reins? Even when I rode bareback, I always used them. What the hell?

His voice fills my mind like it’s no big deal. -Grab onto my mane.-

I blink at the concept. -Fucking, hell. Nothing says trust like grabbing a guy’s hair. I hope you like a firm grip, big guy.-

I hesitate. I’m not riding him. He’s a fae who could probably snap me in half without breaking a sweat. I’m not digging this whole situation. It’s probably best we call it a night and leave it at that.

I can almost hear his smirk in my head. -A little late for that, love.-

I let out a huff, glaring at him. “It’s rude to read a person’s mind without her permission. Are you sure about this?”

Laughter vibrates through him or me. Fuck, if I know.

He snorts. -Do it.-

‘Do it,’ he says. I must be out of my flipping mind, but curiosity is getting the better of me, which is probably how people end up eaten by trolls or marrying warlocks with dodgy morals. But here we are. And now I’m questioning everything I’ve ever known because fae? Absolutely bananas. Reading about it in my handy little guidebook is one thing—hopping on for the ride? That’s a whole different kettle of fish. And by a kettle of fish, I mean I might need to book myself a bed in the nearest psychiatric ward.

“Right,” I mutter, gripping that impossibly thick mane for balance.

I wind sections of long hair around each hand, surprised at how soft it is. I should’ve expected it, what with him being some magical creature, but still. His mane is softer than some of the blankets I own. I’m not equipped for impromptu midnight horse-riding adventures. All I can do is hold on and hope for the best. I wish I had my camera with me. It would make for an exciting blog update, that much is sure.

-You feel okay?-

I let out a snort. I hear a fae’s voice in my head, and he asks if I’m okay. Sure, why not? This night is totally normal. “Oh, I’m grand—just trying to remember how to breathe and not hyperventilate. It’s a process.”

-Hold on tight.- Before I can respond, Niall jolts forward.

We’re off, racing through the brisk summer air. I clench my teeth, my muscles taut and trembling as I clutch his mane. He picks up the pace while I’m trying to stay on a horse like this isn’t the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t press my thighs too hard because that would make him buck, and I’d fall off. I’m not really in the mood to face-plant in the middle of the night.

Pretending I’m riding a regular horse helps a little, but the whole mystical fae beast thing keeps getting in the way. I have no idea how I will explain this to Cyn, let alone Nathan when I write my next article. How do you casually mention that you rode a fae ghost horse through the night and that, by the way, he’s also the guy you were flirting with at the bar? It’s completely bananas.

At least I’ll have something to amuse my readers. I’m all about content creation.

When Niall shifts into a canter, I let go of my mental grip on sanity (mostly) and adjust, leaning back enough to follow his movements.

-Yes, like that.- His satisfaction fills the space between us.

I let myself relax into the rhythm, even if the landscape around us keeps changing, shifting, as though it’s not quite real.

The road beneath us is rougher now, my body bouncing with each trot, but I can’t deny that everything grows more vivid. It’s like the mundane world around us is slipping away, and magic is pouring in. The world is breathing, alive with power, and every stride takes me farther away from the world I know.

I feel oddly safe with him. It’s terrifying how much I want to trust him, even though I shouldn’t. His power and the strange connection we have wrap around me. I’d be a fool to think I can control it. Somehow, I feel like I might be willing to try.

His thought crashes into my mind. -I’m looking for a solution, but you? You turn every plan I have on its head with that damned smile. And the more ground I give, the more I can’t ignore that you might twist these secrets into your next story—at my own bloody peril.-

The trace of contempt takes me by surprise, but suddenly, he shields himself. A solid, impenetrable mental wall comes up between us. It’s a sharp, painful silence.

The magic in him thrums like a pulse beneath my skin. I feel it in my bones, the raw power that he holds. A part of me wants to reach for it, to understand it. Another part, the more rational part of me, pulls back. It’s overwhelming. I’m afraid to lose myself in it, but that part of me who doesn’t fully trust him is starting to crumble. And the wall that wasn’t there before fucking hurts.

I can’t help it. A thousand questions rise to the surface, questions that have been there all along, hidden under layers of doubt. What am I doing here? Why do I feel this strange, magnetic force between us? What role do I even play in all this?

The night deepens, and the stars above feel so close I could touch them. But the reflection I keep catching in glass and mirrors lingers at the edges of my mind. Indigo coloured horns curving where none should be, and eyes the colour of lavender. What…?

Fear claws at me, not about him, but about me. About what those reflections mean. Am I some sort of demon? An evil witch dragged from the wrong story? The idea twists deep in my chest, but I shove it down before it can take root. I won’t let myself spiral into that particular rabbit hole.

-Let go of your fears.- He’s not demanding, but his quiet certainty makes my heart flutter.

I almost let go. Almost, but everything is overwhelming. For now, I hold on to the last thread of who I think I am, even as the boundary between my past and whatever the hell this is begins to blur. The difference between belief and scepticism, between what’s real and what’s magic—those lines are fading. And somehow, for the first time tonight, I feel like I’m actually breathing.

We move together, my hips rocking with the rhythm. I can’t ignore the pressure building between my thighs. The seam of my jeans presses just right, and the friction sends a jolt of heat straight through me. It’s like scorching lava, but god, it’s good. So deliciously good, like when I touch myself in the quiet darkness of my bedroom. Not uncomfortable, but it’s definitely not innocent.

A flush creeps up my neck as the sensation spreads, pooling low in my belly. This has no business happening while I’m on the back of a fae stallion. The pressure shifts again. Bouncing up and down is too provocative, too direct. The feverish tension between us turns ravenous, raking through me with sharp claws. My fingers curl into his mane, another round of heat blazing through me to my thighs. My breath hitches. I can’t even tell myself I’m imagining it when something starts to build…what? That’s absurd.

I’m riding a horse, a mythical one, sure, but still a horse. There should not be anything remotely sensual about it.

And yet I’m clinging to this creature, feeling a wave of heat that I can’t escape. The sensation is so unexpected it’s almost laughable. I’m not getting mystical chills. I’m getting real, physical chills. The kind that makes my skin flush with something too familiar for comfort. A moan leaks past my lips, and his muscles tense beneath me. My body is alive in a way that it hasn’t been in a while, and I know, deep down, I will feel this for days.