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The Ragged Wood

Chapter Three: The delicate-stepping stag and his lady

Content warning: This story contains paranormal sex that may offend some readers.

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The voice was male, rich and languid, as if the speaker could care less if one hurried, and maybe he might not bother to drive those lovers out, after all. And it was Irish: soft and rounded as it travelled around and above the rough granite. The accent had always made Quinn think of poetry and having a cheeky good time.

Truth be told, under circumstances when she wasn’t terrified, the sing-songy laughter of the accent made her crave a cheeky good time, especially if it was with a Domhnall Gleeson or Barry Keoghan. She’d take General Hux over Kylo Ren any day.

But here, in the suddenly silent forest, the voice was as ominous and inexplicable as the mist now hiding her ankles and feet from her view. A shiver of fear joined her shivers from the cold.

“Who’s that?” she barked, trying to sound annoyed and impatient instead of terrified. “Come out!”

“No, cailin, you come to me,” the voice said brightly, and now Quinn was sure it was coming from the…