Wild Hunt

It was supposed to be a quick trip through the graveyard, leave some tobacco and booze and take a scoop or two of dirt, easy.  But somehow, I’m squatting behind a copse of ash trees as the Wild Hunt rode through. I knew what day it was, and I should have known better than to go into the graveyard this close to Samhain, but I needed the dirt for a spell, and the moon was almost at the right phase… So I’m praying to every goddess I can name that the Unseelie Court ride past me without noticing me, when the bottle of good whiskey I’d brought as an offering, slipped out of my bag and shattered against a gravestone.

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If they hadn’t noticed me before, they absolutely did now. I rose quickly and bowed my head, wondering if supplication would save me from their wrath. The weight of their inhuman eyes fell upon me, and I looked at them from underneath my eyelashes. I knew the fey were beautiful, but these riders were inhumanly so. So pale their skin was almost silver in the moonlight, with hair flowing in waist length waves of jet, and garnet, and pearl.

“A witch” I heard hissed from their lips, but I didn’t see a single one speak. “Mortal witch.”

Finally, the garnet haired one pointed, “Bring her to me.”

I swallowed hard, and rather than wait to be dragged to over like a slain doe, I stepped toward the garnet haired one. “Forgive me,” I whispered, and knelt before the speaker’s horse. “I meant no harm.” I kept my eyes trained on the ground.

The seated fey, laughed and it sounded like silver coins. “She meant no harm.” The words dripped scorn, and I shivered both in fear and with a longing to see the fey again. “A mortal witch in a graveyard so near Samhain means no harm.”

I knew what was being implied, that anything I was doing in this graveyard was likely dark, if I was being generous. And the faery was right. “No, harm to you,” I fumbled here, I had no idea how to address an Unseelie fey – I didn’t know this fey’s rank. I wasn’t even sure of its sex. “No harm to the Unseelie Court.” Once again, I heard the hissing whispers among the company.

Once again, that silver laugh engulfed me. But the other riders grew impatient. Their horses stamped and pawed at the ground, their yeth hounds, massive black beasts that moved with a feline grace strained at their leads. “Ride,” the garnet haired fey said, “Leave this one to me.”

One of the riders started to protest, but quelled at my fey’s sharp glance. “I will join you soon enough.”

And with that, the hunt turned and loosed their great hounds, and raced through the graveyard.


“Rise mortal witch,” the voice like honey called to me.

I rose, still keeping my eyes on the ground.  Too late I’d realized that looking at them had been my first mistake. The desire to look again was almost overwhelming. “I do not know how to address you,” I blurted out.

I felt a leather gloved finger touch my chin and force my head up. I did not look at the fey’s eyes, but raised my head. “One of your kith called me Le Belle Dame, long ago. That will do.”

My eyes flew to her face then.  I knew this story, and I knew its end. “Oh Lady,” I whispered, caught in her violet eyes, “Forgive me my trespass.”

Her lips curved into a wicked smile. “You know me by that name, mortal witch.” She sounded pleased that I recognized the moniker.  I knew very well it wasn’t her name; the fey used names in their magic, so they never gave them so freely. But I knew the poem, and I knew what happened to the knight in that old tale. “For that, I’ll grant you a chance to win your freedom.”

Trapped in her gaze, I could only nod. Watching her lips, a pearlescent pink, form each word, I wondered what it would be like to kiss such a creature. As if reading my thoughts, she flowed from the horse and drew me into her arms. The scents of vervain and honeysuckle were nearly overwhelming. Standing beside me, she was taller than I, and her silk wrapped arms were like steel. I knew I was well and truly in trouble.

She lowered her head to mine, and I raised my lips to meet hers. It was like I couldn’t help myself. Her kiss was soft, and taste of honey. When she pulled away, I licked my own lips wanting to keep tasting her sweetness. Her laugh rang through the graveyard, and I didn’t care that it still sounded derisive. She pulled me down to the damp, mossy earth, and lay beside me. Once again, I was engulfed in the scent of honeysuckle and lost in her kisses.

Her gloved hands worked their way under my shirt, and I gasped when her fingers found my nipples. The butter soft leather of her gloves contrasted with her cruel tugging and twisting of my flesh. Yet, I moaned and writhed for her pleasure, and the faery queen was pleased.


When the faery lifted her skirts, revealing her long, lean legs as pale as the moon, I knew what she wanted. Even as I moved, her voice like a bell demanded that I please her.

I was almost afraid to touch her. But hearing the command in her voice, I swallowed my fear and ran my fingers lightly over legs, and her skin was softer than the leather gloves she wore. She was nearly hairless, from her legs to her mons. I replaced my fingers with my lips and tongue, overwhelmed by her scent. She smelled of sun warmed honey, and as I dared to extend my tongue, I learned that she tasted of honey and rosemary. I inhaled deeply, her scent making me light headed. My lips and tongue delved between her thighs, tasting her, lapping at her until she moaned.

Her thighs clamped around my head, and her hands grasped my hair. My tongue teased her clit, and I finally drew the nub of flesh between my lips and sucked gently, until she cried out for more. When she orgasms, my lips are coated in her juices, the honey scent clings to my fingers and face.

She holds my head in place, and once again the scent of honeysuckle mixed with the damp night air.

“Good witch,” she purrs to me, finally releasing me. I wonder if I am going to escape this easily, if now sated, she will rejoin the hunt. “I shall send my brother to you, mortal witch.” She said sitting up and rearranging her skirts.

She rose gracefully, and I remained seated on the cold earth, wondering just how many riders of the Wild Hunt I would pleasure this evening.


  1. […] After one night with an elven queen, I was lost. I haunted the cemetery, wan and desperate for her return. Folklore told me that to eat in the fey kingdom, was to be trapped there forever. Yet, I hadn’t taken any food, but the sweet taste of the fairy queen’s sex clung to my tongue. And that was enough. […]

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Lucy this has lost none of its allure and ability to delight, even though it’s my second time reading it. I loved your sequel and had to come back & remind myself how it began. Truly, I kneel at your feet and wish to learn even a fragment of your skill with words.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Oh wow, thank you!!

      This one was inspired at least in part by Keats’ “La Belle Dame Sans Mercy” and Colridge’s “Kubla Khan” and a bit of Tam Lin because I taught it last semester

      Honestly my myth/folklore stories are my favorites to write.

      Liked by 1 person

      • I love a picture called “La Belle Dame Sans Mercy” – I must acquaint myself with the poem. You may remember my mother wrote a novel around the Tam Lin legend, so it was special to me as well as sexy xx


      • I do recall the Tam Lin connection. I think you will like the poem – it has a similar fairy/human connection. I’m guessing the picture you have is one of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood – those guys loved the story.

        And of course the Romantics are some of my favorite poets

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