Page 18 of To Hunt a Demon King

“Good night,” I bit out, determinedly closing my eyes and resting my head against the trunk of the tree. Hunt’s reply was a low chuckle.

“Sleep well, Red.”

???

Only minutes seemed to have passed when I woke up with a start, Artemis’s screech was like some kind of bizarre alarm clock in the middle of the woods.

I sat up, realizing I had been lying on the ground, my face buried in Akela’s warm fur as he slept under me. Hunt was gone, but his cloak was draped over me like a blanket, so I assumed he was nearby. I rubbed my face, feeling my eyes itch from being pressed against fur half the night, and looked up.

The strix was perched on the tree above me, gazing down with her pale eyes as if I were a curiosity to puzzle out. She hooted softly, ruffling her feathers as she settled more comfortably, her bat-like wings folded in close to her body.

“You’re still on my list,” I said irritably to the bird. “Don’t even try to ingratiate yourself to me.” She tilted her head and hooted again.

“Is it normal for witches to talk to animals?” came a smooth, slightly accented male voice. It had a soft, lifting quality to it, and I was annoyed that my heart gave a little leap when I heard it.

Hunt reappeared, moving forward and holding out his arm for Artemis to flap down to. In the dim, reddish morning light, he looked less fearsome without the cloak, his hair slightly out of place from sleeping upright and his shirt unbuttoned at the throat.

He crouched, letting Artemis hop up to his shoulder as he studied me.

“You look less like a corpse today, at least,” he said in a voice that made it seem like he believed this to be a compliment. With his cloak off, I could study the broad cut of his shoulders and arms beneath the leather. He was clearly used to physical activity, and it was annoying that he looked so well-rested after a night on the forest floor. I scowled, throwing his cloak at him.

“Still grumpy like one, though,” he added, throwing the cloak around his shoulders, making Artemis hop lithely away and back to the branch of the tree above me.

“Maybe I’m grumpy because you called me a corpse,” I grumbled, stretching and hearing more joints than was probably normal popping and cracking.

“I said you lookedlesslike a corpse,” he corrected, smirking when I continued to scowl and crouching down before me. “Will breakfast improve your mood?”

“Maiming you would improve my mood,” I said, shaking out my hair to remove the twigs and leaves and rebraiding it a little more tidily.

“Alas, there will be no maiming,” Hunt said genially, as if we were discussing the likelihood of finding sausages lying about the woods. “What do you have in that basket?”

I pulled out the now slightly stale bread and a hunk of cheese and split it between us. I gave Hunt the slightly larger halves as I studied him. He was a large man, and I assumed he needed more food than I did to power his muscular frame. His square jaw had a hint of stubble that wasn’t there the day before, so I assumed he must have a more permanent camp somewhere nearby. He wasn’t carrying supplies other than his weapons.

“It’s rude to stare,” Hunt said, snapping me out of my reverie. I scowled again, biting into a chunk of bread. “And your face will stick like that if you keep it up.”

“Would you prefer I smile?” I asked, forcing my lips into the parody of pleasantness.

“I prefer you not bite my head off first thing in the morning,” he replied dryly. “Especially if we will be forced to spend several mornings together.”

“Several?” I asked, raising a brow at him. “How long exactly will it take to get to the Darklands?”

“From here,” Hunt said, looking around thoughtfully, “probably three days or so.”

“Three days?” I exclaimed. That seemed like a ridiculously long time to traverse a forest. Hunt looked at me skeptically.

“Do you have any idea how big the Bloodwood is?” he asked, taking a large bite out of the cheese. “It’s fifty miles across at least.”

“Fifty miles?” I asked incredulously. I had never seen a proper map of the Bloodwood, and I wasn’t even sure one existed. The Demons had created the wood to trap us in the Witchlands, but fifty miles of Bloodwood seemed to be a little much. “Why is it so big?” I asked, chewing on my bread.

Hunt frowned. “You’re a witch,” he said. “You tell me.”

“How should I know?” I asked irritably. “You seem to know a lot about demons. I thought perhaps you’d know.”

Hunt continued frowning at me.

“What?” I asked, lowering my bread and frowning back.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head as he finished his share of the breakfast. “It’s just…” he looked at me with a smirk.

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