Page 41 of To Hunt a Demon King

“What is it?” I asked, taking the glass and sniffing the sparkling liquid. It smelled sweet, and I took a tentative sip. Bubbles danced across my tongue, and the tart flavor of berries made me sigh with pleasure.

“Bloodberry wine,” Hunt said, taking a sip from his own glass and raising his brows at me above the glass. “The name is unpleasant, but the berries are sweet. They only grow here in the Darklands.”

“The Darklands seem the opposite of dark,” I said, taking another sip and looking around at the merriment.

“A smart strategy then,” Hunt agreed, clinking his glass against mine. “To keep unwanted visitors out.”

“Like me?” I asked, shooting him a grin.

“Your words, not mine,” he said, smiling back at me. Something eased in my chest as I sipped the wine, and I felt inexplicably light.

“Pardon, my Lord,” a young man asked nervously. He was a nice looking boy, a full foot shorter than Hunt, and only a little taller than I was. He smiled jovially. “Would the lady like to dance?”

“You’ll have to ask the lady,” Hunt replied, nodding down at me. I looked to see several young people filling the floor, many of the girls in white dresses as they danced merrily to the fiddle and drums. I downed my wine and smiled at the boy.

“I’d love to,” I said, letting him take my hand and lead me to the floor. Hunt watched with an amicable expression, seemingly unbothered as I was passed around from partner to partner as we spun around the maypole. Back home, Beltane was a time for praying to the Goddess, thanking her for her blessings, and performing fertility rituals to guard the next generation of witchlings. But in the human villages, it was more about frivolity and celebrating the beginning of warmer weather. I kind of preferred the mortal version, honestly.

The night became a bit of a blur as I danced along with the crowd. Hunt was a statue at the edge of the square as he watched. He was perfectly polite to anyone who spoke to him, but he refused to dance or take part in any particular merriment, other than having a second glass of wine. I was already on my third when I sat down heavily next to him for a break. My feet were aching without shoes, but I was having too much fun to care.

“How many of those have you had?” Hunt asked darkly, frowning and lifting the glass from my hand.

“Only two,” I replied, a little more fuzzily than I might have otherwise.

“And a half,” Hunt said, still frowning. “Bloodberry is extremely potent, Red.”

“I’m fine,” I said, rolling my eyes so hard I almost tipped over. Hunt caught me before I fell.

“You’re drunk,” he said, being far too serious for such an occasion. As much as I loved and honored the Goddess, mortals might be right about this kind of celebration. Beltane was never this much fun. “You should stop, Red. Bloodberry can have unpleasant side effects on mortals if they drink too much. I’m guessing they are the same for witches.”

“Like what?” I asked, lifting the glass from his hand and downing the rest of it. He rolled his eyes.

“Like giving you a hell of a hangover, for a start,” he said. I smiled. Everything seemed so pleasant, it was hard not to smile. And he was pleasant. And his face was pleasant.

“You have nice eyes,” I said dreamily. I sat in shock for all of one second before clamping my hand over my mouth, eyes wide in horror. Hunt burst out laughing.

“Uninhibited truth-telling is also a side effect,” he said. “And thank you for the compliment.”

“Oh, Goddess,” I groaned, making him laugh again.

“What else do you like about me,” Hunt asked, crossing his arms and looking at me expectantly.

I pursed my lips hard, but to no avail. The truth spilled out of me anyway.

“Your shoulders,” I said, clapping the hand back over my mouth. Hunt grinned.

“And?” he pressed, downing his own glass of wine.

“Your backside,” I said behind my muffling hands, my face flushing as crimson as the Bloodberry wine as Hunt laughed again.

“Just kill me now,” I groaned, dropping my face into my hands.

“Come on, Red,” he said, taking my hands as he stood and pulling me to my feet. “I’d better save you from yourself.”

He put a strong hand on my waist and clasped my other hand.

“What are you doing?” I asked, still red with embarrassment.

“Dancing it off is the best cure,” he replied, leading me onto the floor and moving with feline grace I hadn’t expected. “And you’ll almost certainly embarrass both of us if you dance with anyone else right now.”

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