Page 44 of To Hunt a Demon King

“I don’t want your first time to be with someone you don’t really know,” Hunt said, lifting a hand to cup my flushed cheek. “Someone you don’t really trust.”

“I trust you,” I said, a little more defensively than I had intended. He chuckled, stroking his thumb over my cheekbone. I felt it burn as a thought struck me.

“Oh Goddess, unless you don’t want to,” I said, horror making my blood cool.

“I promise you, that’s not it, Red,” he said, looking at me with an amused tilt of his brow.

“Gods, you don’t have to lie to me,” I groaned, putting my face in my hands again.

“Elara,” he said, taking my hands in his and pressing himself against me. I started, first at his use of my real name, and then at the hard evidence that he definitely did want to.

“Oh,” I said in a small voice.

“Oh,” he echoed, the ghost of a smirk still on his face. “You’ve had a lot to drink, and this is a lot to process for someone with very little experience.” I spluttered a protest, but he lifted his fingers to my lips to stop me.

“If,” he said, emphasizing the word with a press of his hips against mine, which did a lot more to silence me than his fingers on my lips. “Ifyou are still interested, andifwe find ourselves someplace that I can do the job properly, then make no mistake, Elara, I will gladly take you to bed.”

“Okay,” I breathed, unsure what else to say to that. My insides had gone a bit molten, and I was fairly sure it was only Hunt pressed against me that was keeping me upright. Vera had told me enough that I knew what the hard press of him meant, and another thrill went through me to think that he wanted me.

“Okay,” he said, stepping back so that I had to clutch onto the wall for support.

He was about to say something else when a thundering boom drew our attention away from each other and toward the Bloodwood. Hunt cursed as a ball of fire lit the sky above the woods. It looked like it was several miles in, and I clutched his shoulder in panic.

“The Hag,” I started.

“She’ll be fine,” Hunt said, striding away from me, his commanding presence taking control of the crowd. “Everyone back in your homes.”

The villagers scattered, screams of terror from children and panic from the elderly warping the festival into a macabre imitation of itself. Hunt strode toward the woods, and I finally came to my senses enough to go after him.

“What are you doing?” I asked, as more fire lit the sky. It was like an eerie sunrise, coming from the wrong direction.

“Is there anything else you want to tell me, Red?” Hunt asked, turning on me, his face livid as he grasped me firmly by the shoulders. I stammered, looking toward the sky above the fire, where words had appeared in scrawling script, written in the smoke and outlined against the flames that lit the night sky.

Bring Her Back

“Well?” he demanded, giving me a little shake. “Elara.”

“It’s my grandmother,” I said weakly, eyes wide at the magic she must have used to send this message, and the cost it must have required. Miles of forest burned, and the lives of the animals and monsters would be the toll the Goddess demanded.

“And who the fuck is your grandmother?” Hunt pushed, giving me another little shake to pull my attention back to him. “Elara, I swear on all the gods, you need to tell me the fucking truth right now.”

“She’s the Crone,” I shouted, interrupting his tirade. “My grandmother is the Crone of the Witchlands Coven.”

Chapter 17

Hunt had wasted no time in taking me and, I presumed, the necklace as far away from Mithloria as he could. Within minutes, he had sent for our things to be brought from the inn, calmed the villagers who were asking all manner of questions, and promised he’d look into the disturbance.

He dragged me along to the farrier, waking the poor old man and insisting that we had to leave at once.

“Get changed,” he growled, throwing me my boots and clothes and the red cloak he had bought that morning. “We leave in five minutes.”

He stomped out to the stable with the dazed old man, and I tore off the dress, holding back tears as I pulled on my traveling clothes. I would not let myself fall apart over this. Over a perfect moment ruined by an awful truth.

“Get it together, Elara,” I growled at myself, lacing the boots and throwing the cloak over my shoulders. It was far finer than the one Vera had given me, with delicate embroidery running all along the edges and seams, but I’d have to admire it when I wasn’t running for my life.

“Come on, Red,” Hunt shouted from the stable, and I stumbled out of the shop to find a single horse, fully saddled and packed, supplies tied neatly to its saddle as it stomped impatiently.

“Only one horse?” I asked in alarm, looking wide eyed at Hunt. It had only faintly registered that Hunt had procured one horse, and the festival had wiped the whole affair from my mind. I realized how awkward my life was about to become. There would be no way to avoid being pressed against Hunt if we shared a saddle.

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