Page 14 of Of Shadows & Ash (Land of Shadows #1)

Chapter Thirteen

FELICITY FORREST

“Memory spells prune the thorns of recollection, but the heart remembers what the spell conceals.”

Aisling Talamhain, Revered Seer

I t’s the middle of the night, and I’m a stone’s throw from a man who—moments ago—was literally a horse. And now he’s standing here, fully human, radiating heat and hedonic power like it’s the most normal thing in the world. And now he wants to talk about his… attributes ?

I glance at the rock he’s holding—his only concession to modesty. Honestly, I can’t even pretend I’m not aware of the situation. The heat creeping up my neck is something I don’t want to label. I definitely don’t need to unpack it right now.

I give him my best deadpan stare, schooling my expression into a sarcastic smile. “You’re awful.”

He grins, that damn self-assured smirk tugging at his lips. “But tell me, love, is that a yes, I’m hung like a horse, or do I need to give you a little more… evidence ?”

I let out a sigh, trying to roll my eyes like I’m unimpressed. But my lips twitch, betraying me. It’s absurd, but the pull I feel toward him is anything but. “Sure, Niall, you’re hung like a horse. But, and this is key, can you actually carry the weight of your own ego?”

“You’re the one determined to write about me on Everyday Supernatural ,” he says, his voice dipping into that low, dangerous register that feels like a physical caress. He leans in, his heat wrapping around me as his lips curve into a wolfish grin. He grabs my hand, trailing it down his bare chest—and lower. “But now? I think you might need…a hands-on sample. Maybe give the goods a proper review, love. Call it an exclusive advance reading copy just for your blog.”

His powerful, scarred body is inked in dark magic symbols, virile and damp with sweat. His grip on my hand is firm but teasing, guiding me across the intricate lines inked into his skin. The tattoos almost hum under my fingertips, as if they’re alive, magic sparking against my nerves. It’s too much and not enough. My fingers flex against the smooth, powerful expanse of his chest, sliding over one of the symbols. Damn it. I should shove him off, laugh in his face, but the heat between us has turned into a wildfire.

He steps closer. His lips hover near my ear, his breath hot and maddening. “Careful, love,” he murmurs.

My pulse pounds in my throat, every nerve ending screaming at me to explore what he’s daring me to take. I meet his gaze, my fingers slipping lower, just shy of where he’s leading them. His grin widens, all teeth and sin, like he knows exactly how badly I’m losing this battle. I lick my lips, trailing down the hairline until the hair is thicker. With a smirk, my fingertip traces back up, and I snatch my hand back.

“I’d hate to give a bad review,” I whisper, my voice trembling with conflicting desire and defiance.

His growl reverberates through my skin, sending shockwaves straight to my core. “Oh, love, I’ll make sure it’s five stars all the way.”

A raw want I can’t ignore hits me. The pull to be ravaged by him, to feel his weight on top of me. To hear the sounds of clothes being ripped away. I’m on the edge of losing control. The next step, the one I’m not ready to take, hangs in the air like a promise that’s too tempting to resist.

His grin widens, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Smug bastard. He’s too aware of the effect he has on me, and I hate how much I want to lose myself in it.

This can’t be real. Maybe I’m dreaming, or worse, imagining it. The rational side of my brain— the journalist in me —reminds me I only had one drink.

I shake my head, trying to clear it, and look him dead in the eyes. “A blog post? Really, Niall? That’s your concern right now?”

He smirks. The moonlight casts shadows across his features, accentuating the arrogance as it curves lips. I need to stop staring at them before I do something stupid. “I’d say it’s valid. You wouldn’t want to misrepresent such an extraordinary creature, would you?”

I cross my arms, trying to maintain some semblance of control over the situation and, frankly, over myself. I still don’t know what to do with the knowledge that fae are real and, apparently, shapeshift.

“Oh, trust me, Niall. The world is probably already overwhelmed by your glory .” I wave a hand dismissively. “But, mate, I think the rock’s doing a better job of blocking the view than your charm ever could.”

He shrugs, tossing the rock aside like it’s an afterthought. “Is that better? Wouldn’t want anything to get in the way of my charm.”

Insufferable. Arrogant. Smoldering. And gods help me, he knows it. My mouth goes dry. Don’t look down. Don’t look down. I look down. Bloody hell.

This would be surreal if it weren’t for the fact that I write about things like haunted battlegrounds and cursed artifacts. But even those stories pale compared to the fae standing before me. I’ve dealt with the unexplainable before, but nothing prepared me for this.

And nothing explains why my thighs are still humming from the ride, or why my body feels like it’s caught in a magnetic field, pulling me toward him. Isn’t that proof enough?

You wanted concrete evidence, I tell myself. Well, here it is. Now stop staring.

Despite the shock, I want him. Right here. In this field. My stomach twists with the admission, my rational mind railing against it. Is it him, or is it magic?

I take a step forward before I can stop myself, closing the gap between us. His cocky grin falters, his confidence slipping just enough to satisfy me. Good. Let him squirm. He deserves to be taken down a notch.

I stop inches from him, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You think I haven’t seen a naked man before?” My eyes flick down deliberately, then back up. “Trust me, it’s nothing new.”

His hand catches mine mid-jab, his grip firm but not rough. A shiver races up my arm at the contact. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His gaze darkens, the teasing light replaced by something hungrier. “Aye, but I imagine you’ve never ridden one like me before.”

I should pull my hand back. I should run. Scream. Do anything but stay rooted in place, my body betraying me. Instead, I stand there, held by the intensity in his eyes. Hot enough to scorch the entire field to ash.

He moves closer, so close that my breasts brush against his chest. I freeze, my pulse racing. “And you want me. Admit it, love,” he whispers, his voice low, dangerous, pulling me in like gravity.

“Is this a trick?” My voice wavers despite my best effort to sound strong. “Some kind of magical mind control? You must have done something to get me out here alone with you.”

It’s almost impossible to think when his erection presses against my stomach. The pulse between my legs intensifies. I want to feel him move to relieve it.

He laughs—a low, dark sound that curls through me like smoke. “I didn’t trick you, a stór . You came willingly, whether you’ll admit that to yourself or not.”

“I didn’t—” I start, but he cuts me off, his voice dropping to a possessive murmur.

“If I wanted you, love, you’d already be half-naked in the grass, begging for more.”

My breath catches. I don’t know if I want to slap him or pull him closer. Probably both.

“It’s because you’re fertile,” he continues, his tone laced with dangerous certainty. “You can bond with me. It’s instinct. You feel it, don’t you?”

His whisper lingers, sinking deep under my skin. My gloved hands twitch, wanting to touch him, to trace the hard lines of his body. I can’t defy the heat pooling between us.

I open my eyes. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

“Aye.”

I bite my lip, forcing my gaze to stay steady. “Prove it.”

Amber flecks in his eyes darken. He holds the hand I jabbed into his chest, but instead of letting go, he clasps it harder. What I want is to feel his hands press into my hips, to grip me like he means it. He pulls my body flush against his. I fit into him, a perfect match, like my body is made to fill his hard grooves.

He doesn’t grab my hips like I crave. His hands cup my face, his thumb grazing over my lips, like he’s afraid of breaking me.

I could die right here, if he doesn’t kiss me right now. -I won’t unless you make the first move, a stór. It has to be you.-

His eyes lock onto mine. His touch is still gentle, but there’s nothing gentle about what’s happening between us. My hand, the one I jabbed into his chest, finds its way to the hard planes of his abdomen. My fingers trail the ripples of his muscles.

-I want you.- I hear myself say it, but it’s not out loud. It’s a confession that sinks deep into my bones.

It’s enough.

His mouth crashes down on mine. He’s all hunger, and I meet it, my restraint crumbling under the force of it. Everything I’ve been holding back dissolves. I wrap my arms around him, my nails digging into his back as I pull him closer.

A groan escapes him. His arm snakes around my back, pulling me tighter, and then his hand moves lower, cupping my ass, grinding me against the hard bulge straining against my stomach. He kneads me, pulling me deeper into him. I ache for more. I want his hands on me. I want them inside me. I want to feel all of him.

But a sharp, nagging thought hits me.

It’s because you’re fertile. You can bond with me.

This. This is mating chemistry . Not real desire. If that’s all it is, then it doesn’t mean anything. He doesn’t want me . He’s driven by instinct, by some primal fae need for the bond, for the magic. It’s not real.

I break the kiss, my chest heaving. I push myself out of his arms, stumbling back a few steps, trying to put space between us, trying to breathe through the thudding in my chest.

His eyebrows knit together, a frown tugging at his mouth, and for a moment, I see a flicker of hurt. “What’d you do that for?”

“What? You didn’t expect me to drop my panties and fuck you right here, I hope. Because if you think you can bend me to your will, you’ve got another thing coming.”

He takes a step toward me. He reaches out his hand, his voice low, almost too calm. “I don’t think that.”

I stand my ground, even though every part of me wants to melt into him. “It’s not real. None of it.”

He stops dead in his tracks. “What?”

“You said it’s because I’m fertile. So it’s not real.”

Is that a cop-out? I’m not sure. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel, not with him standing in front of me, looking like something out of a dream I didn’t want to have.

“Aye, you are, but that’s got nothing to do with this .”

Before I can say another word, he’s there. One second, he’s standing a meter away. The next, he’s pulling me into him, his lips crashing down on mine with a force that makes my knees buckle. His kiss is relentless. Possessive. Hungry. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I want to pull away, but I don’t. I can’t. His touch sets something inside me on fire. I push at his chest, desperate for air, but my hands get lost in his chest, in his skin, in the heat.

I finally pull away, gasping. My pulse is racing, and my heart is in my throat. “I certainly have no intention of bonding with you ,” I snap, my voice trembling. “Whatever this is, it’s not happening.”

For a moment, something flickers across his face—hurt, maybe—but it’s gone before I can be sure.

His eyes harden. “Then you can forget about tonight. Forget about me.”

It stings more than I care to admit. The tension is so palpable, it feels like it might snap at any moment. I want to scream at him, demand answers, and make him stop looking at me like he knows what’s going on, and I’m the one left trying to figure it all out.

A lump rises in my throat, but I swallow it down, forcing myself to meet his gaze. I don’t want to forget him. Not really. I want to tell him I’ll take the risk, that whatever this is between us—it matters. The words won’t come. Not with the way his expression shifts, hardening, like he’s made a decision. One he doesn’t want to make.

He steps closer. I fight every instinct to pull away. My body betrays me with a shiver. His energy, his raw fucking magnetism. It’s too much.

“Felicity, there’s something you need to understand,” he says, his voice rougher now, as if he’s trying to keep himself together. “What happened tonight…You’re right. It can’t go beyond this field, this moment.”

My heart skips a beat. Panic claws at my insides. “What do you mean?”

His jaw tightens. Pain flashes across his face. His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks again. “I mean, this— us —it’s dangerous. For both of us.”

Every part of me aches to tell him how I feel. The pull between us is the most alive I’ve ever felt, but before I can even breathe, he murmurs something in a language I don’t recognise. His hands move with precision, weaving a symbol in the air, and suddenly, everything shifts.

The world tilts on its axis. Power surges around us.

“Niall, wait—” I start to protest, but I know I’m too late. His magic is already at work.

I feel the world around me start to slip away. The magic of the night, the rush of the ride, his hand gripping mine, the desire building between us blurs like a dream fading when you wake up. The sensation of his body and the way he felt beneath me vanishes like sand through my fingers.

But I lift my chin, matching his icy rejection. “Fine by me. Trust me, you’re not that memorable.” The connection between us begins to dim. I regret it, but I don’t stop.

I turn on my heel and walk away, my feet finding their way across the field, praying the darkness doesn’t betray me, that I don’t trip or twist my ankle in some hole. The last thing I need is to be stuck out here. Vulnerable.

“Fine, ye stubborn pain in me hole. Suit yer self and walk back for all I care. Stubborn arse woman,” he calls after me.

“You’re a real charmer, aren’t you? Hope you find your manners before your pants!” I toss back over my shoulder. When I glance back one last time, his face is hard. His eyes are dark, burning with fury and pain. Sorrow is etched into his features like a mark I can’t erase from my mind.

I turn away and stomp towards town, my legs wobbling from the ride, though I refuse to show it. The satisfaction is small but tucked away in the back of my mind. I smile to myself, even if I won’t admit that hearing him curse at me, his thick Irish accent wrapping around the words like a goddamn spell, has anything to do with the curve of my lips.

I can’t help it. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want him . I keep moving, but I’m angry by the time I’m halfway back to town. I’m wondering how much of this I’ll remember tomorrow. Bastard. My head swims in a haze, but I cling to my memories with a vice grip, refusing to let them slip away.

The cold night air wraps around me like a pelerine, chilling my skin, but something else tingles at the back of my neck. I stop dead in my tracks. The hairs on my skin stand up, a sense of being watched. I feel it before I hear it. A low, gurgling croak rises in pitch.

I spin around, heart hammering.

Flap.

I look up. Black feathers are silhouetted against the moon. A raven is perched on a tree nearby, staring at me with eyes too intelligent for comfort. My shoulders drop in relief. My heartbeat is still erratic, but at least the tension begins to fade. A bird. Nothing more.

“It’s you,” I mutter, half-amused, half-exasperated.

The bird tilts its head, giving me what feels suspiciously like a judgemental look.

“Right, because I needed a feathered stalker tonight,” I add, the corners of my mouth twitching. “What’s next? Are you going to start giving me life advice?”

It caws loudly, like it’s laughing at me. Excellent, that’s exactly what I need.

“Just my luck,” I say, shaking my head. “Even the bird version of a wise old sage is roasting me. Shut it. I don’t need your crap tonight.”

The raven makes a squawking sound like it’s genuinely shocked that I’m not all about its wisdom. It flaps its wings and almost loses balance like it’s struggling not to fall off the branch from sheer disbelief.

I roll my eyes. Sure, that’s normal. “Real smooth, mate. Real smooth.”

Something about the whole thing feels…weird. It’s almost like this isn’t some random bird but someone—or some thing— lurking in the background of my life.

I quicken my pace, trying to shake off the strange vibe, but exhaustion hits me like the flu. When the town comes into view, I feel like I’ve been walking for miles. I stop dead in my tracks, looking around. Something is wrong.

How the hell did I get here? One second, I was with Cyn. The next, I’m standing outside the town with no memory of how I got here. There is a gnawing, stubborn confusion because I can’t fill the gaps.

What the hell happened?

A dark feeling settles under the frustration and anger, like I misplaced something or it was stolen. It sinks into my chest like a cold stone. Beneath the confusion, there’s a kernel of something else—something that feels a lot like loss.

* * *

To be continued…

Continue the series with:

A COURT OF RAVENS