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“Yes,” I breathed, looking up at him and biting my lip. “I’m perfect. I mean fine. I'm fine.”

Hunt smirked, his hands still at my waist.

“I guess your truth isn’t good anymore,” he said, looking down at me, his own face looking a little flushed. “Sorry for ruining it.”

“I'm not,” I blurted, before clapping my hand over my mouth again. The damn wine was still affecting me. Rather than looking mortified at my confession, Hunt laughed.

“Come on, Red,” he said, putting an arm around my shoulders to lead me away from the festivities. The sun had fully set now, and the sky was all purples and blues in the dying light. “I think you may have had enough celebrating for one day.”

“I think you might be right,” I said, brushing my fingers over my lips, still feeling the ghost of the kiss.

“In the name of the Horned God, Red, are you well?” Hunt asked, stopping me with his arm and placing a hand on my forehead. “You’re agreeing with me.”

I pushed his hand away irritably. “I…” I said, breaking off for fear of letting slip another unintentional truth.

“You what, Red?” Hunt asked, taking a step closer to me. I stepped back, cursing my misfortune that we had arrived at the inn and he had managed to back me against a wall.

The smirk fell from his face, replaced by a contemplative frown. Unlike when we had first met and he had backed me against a tree, Hunt didn’t retreat when he sensed my discomfort. Instead he stepped closer, snaking his hand around my waist again.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, putting my hands on his wrists to stop their movement.

“Waiting for you to answer,” he said, looking down at me seriously.

“I don’t want to answer,” I said, still holding his wrists and praying to the Goddess silently. I couldn’t decide if I was praying for this to stop or to continue, and that worried me.

“Why?” Hunt pushed, head tilting down toward mine as he waited for me to speak.

“Because it will be the truth,” I said honestly. “And the truth scares me.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, his eyes boring into mine. They looked dark green in this light, like a summer forest, and the glint in them might have promised mischief if he hadn’t looked so serious. “A truth for a truth then,” Hunt rumbled, bending low enough that his lips just barely brushed mine. I sucked in a breath, trying to stay perfectly still. “I wasn’t annoyed that you picked me because I didn’t want to kiss you.”

“You weren’t?” I breathed. I felt his lips turned up in a slight smile, still unbearably close to mine.

“I was annoyed,” he said, “because I didn’t want the first time I kissed you to be in front of an audience.”

He backed away then, removing his hands from my waist and taking a step back. I felt suddenly that there was far too much space between us.

“Your turn,” he said. He was giving me permission to walk away, I realized, and whether it was the damn wine or the festivities or my own inexperience, I let the reckless part of me take control as I lifted on my toes and kissed him.

His hand went around my back as he lifted me to him, and this kiss wasn’t the same sweet, gentle brushing of lips in front of the May Day crowd. This kiss grew, becoming an exploration of lips and tongues and bodies as he pressed me back to the wall, one hand behind my head to cushion it, and the other roaming over my bodice and around my waist, pulling me close.

I moaned a little, and Hunt chuckled against my lips, ending the kiss far too soon.

“Why did you stop?” I asked, a little breathless and a lot unsatisfied. Warmth had pooled low in my belly, and desires that I hadn’t felt before were making themselves known.

“Because you’re drunk,” Hunt said, pressing his forehead against mine to stop me from chasing his lips. “And we’re still strangers, Red. You don’t even know my name.”

“Then tell me and we won’t be strangers anymore,” I said breathlessly, earning another rough laugh. Hunt brushed a whisper soft kiss across my lips that did nothing to calm the urgent beating that had taken up residence in my chest.

“If you still want to know in the morning,” he said, “I’ll tell you then.”

“That’s hours away,” I whined.

He groaned feelingly. “Believe me, I know,” he said. “And I have a torturous night of keeping my hands to myself before me. You’re not making it easy.”

“You don’t have to keep your hands to yourself,” I breathed, lifting my own to his chest to feel the hard planes of muscle there. Mortal boys werenotbuilt like this in the Witchlands.

“You’re a virgin, Red,” Hunt said, leaning back to look at me. “Unless you were lying about that?” I shook my head, biting my lip. This felt like a very sharp turn from the direction we had been heading in this morning, and my stomach swooped excitedly at the thought.