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What I hadn’t anticipated was his slimy tongue flopping inside my mouth, much less all that saliva and the aftertaste of gravy. Who knows what the boy and his tongue had been searching for, but I don’t think they found it.

I had pulled back and given the kiss its due consideration. Then I’d wiped my hands and said, “Well, that’s done. You may go now.”

I won’t discredit Lark’s testimonials, but in hindsight, something had obviously gone amiss during that episode. My sister wouldn’t gush over an experience so mediocre. That’s why I had never told her about the event. I hadn’t been able to admit this shortcoming—that perhaps, I’d put my head into it rather than other parts of me.

Since then, kissing hasn’t interested me, nor any carnal activities. I’ve never had time for hobbies.

I say, “My lips are off limits.”

Puck swoops in, his mouth stalling a hair’s breadth from mine. “Now,” he murmurs over my parted lips, “who said anything about kissing youhere?”

My head swims. Embers flare across my lips, firecrackers bursting when his breath sails there. Plastered against the tree trunk, I want to shove him away, and I want to punch the smugness from his visage, and I want to take one other action.

One that I can’t bear to acknowledge. One having to do with the taste of him, the heat of him.

The barest of shudders tracks along Puck’s limbs. His gaze catches my mouth, his eyelids sinking to half-mast a moment before he inches away.

The movement knocks me out of my stupor. I scrutinize his question. What is he talking about? Where else would he kiss me?

Whatever shows on my face, it wipes the hubris from Puck’s features. “Fables. Verily, you smell and speak like a virgin. But still—”

“But what?” I demand.

“But you don’t know what I mean.”

“Of course, I do,” I snap. “I know what you’re referring to.”

Three seconds later, I’m no longer lying. Realization sizzles across my cheeks, burning bright. I do know what this libertine means. One can’t have a sister like Lark and not be educated on the ways of the wanton.

Puck’s referring to oral ministrations. Although mortification heats my complexion, I refuse to let that blush travel. I tamp down the reflex with a proper glare.

The satyr may have inserted a fraction of space between us, yet he continues to fence me in, his frame enveloping me in balmy warmth and spices. “A smoky voice that crackles and spits embers. Spruce green hair and eyes that flare behind spectacles. That said, your vision seems fine, considering how many daggers your eyes have thrown my way. What are the delectable lenses for?”

So he remembers the wooden case that Cypress had pulled from my supplies. “They’re for the notebook that’s no longer in my pack.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve rendered you bowless and bookless. And before you ask—no, I haven’t read the notebook. Your privacy is intact there. But until you reclaim what’s yours, I guess you’ll have to use your imagination.”

Or I’ll just have to use the dagger propped at my ankle. “My imagination doesn’t need your help.”

Puck’s tone comes out hoarsely. “Prove it.”

In that case, I’ll go with option number two. But although he means for the archery round to be sportive rather than a physical clash, that sounds too much like a deal, which isn’t a safe avenue with him.

Wisely, I amend his proposition. I shift my limb, snatch the blade from my boot, and thrust. Thanks to Cove’s pickpocket lessons, the weapon’s teeth pause just shy of his jugular.

Puck blinks, dumbstruck. Then he beams, elated.

Damn him, he’s going to deflect. And he’s stronger than I am.

Time for the second phase of my plan. The Faeries may have taken my prized possessions, but they’ll never take my words.

Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize you?

I flex my mouth until the reply sits there steadily. “I recognized you first.”

Taking advantage of his momentary surprise, I drop the dagger and ram my fist into his mandible. Puck curses, but I duck under his arm before he can turn. I vault to the ground, reclaim the blade, spring into a tumble, and roll straight into the bush where I’d stashed my supplies before ascending the tree.

I jam the dagger into the lace sheathe at my boot. I don’t require the blade anymore, since I’ve got something better.