Page 104 of Blood & Claw

The musky scent of deer clung faintly to his skin now, and he shuddered. At least it had only been a hind he’d ripped to pieces last night.

Not Ailsa.

Closing his eyes, he saw her there, crouched beside the fire, the night before. His gaze had swept over her—dark hair, pale throat, and black eyes reflecting the flames—and saliva had filled his mouth.

The beast had hungered for her.

His stomach turned at the memory.

Swallowing, Darach looked down at his hands.

He lifted them then, examining them.

There was blood under his nails. He remembered what his hands looked like after he changed into the beast. Huge and covered with short black fur. With claws that never sheathed, curving like meat hooks into the earth. A clag-doo was cursed with vicious talons that never stopped growing.

He remembered then—brief flashes amongst the sensations—savagely blunting his claws upon tree trunks.

It was an irony that he’d found Ailsa’s pointed fingernails disturbing, when a clag-doo’s claws were far worse. He was cursed and succumbing to the beast that had been etched onto his thigh.

But he didn’t carry his secret alone any longer. Someone else knew.

Ailsa. Would she even be there when he returned to that knoll?

She’d promised him she would, but once the full weight of his news sank in, she might change her mind. She might decide the bodyguard she’d hired was too much of a liability.

A lost prince with a price on his head.

A cursed warrior with a beast beneath his skin.

She’d have been wise to flee.

Silently cursing himself for a string of poor choices that had led him to this point, Darach shakily rose to his feet. He then moved over to the edge of the clearing, limping as the tattoo on his right thigh burned. Even in the dim dawn light, he could see how inflamed it looked, the red lines that now crept out from the edges like a soured wound.

His pulse stuttered. I don’t have much time left.

Swallowing his dread, he stopped at the base of the old pine where he’d left his clothing and reached for his breeches. Although it had sat under the tree, the garment was damp from the rain, clammy against his skin as he pulled it on. The material chafed against his overly sensitive skin. His linen tunic, leather vest, and fur cloak went on next, followed by his sword belt and the knives that he strapped onto his body. After that, he tugged on his boots.

And all the while, exhaustion dragged at him.

It was always like this after he changed back. Not surprising, really, since the beast hunted relentlessly all night. His body was bruised, and his limbs ached down to the bones. All he wanted was to crawl into some dark corner and sleep for a day.

But he couldn’t.

He had a task to fulfil. Ailsa had offered to help him—and maybe she could—but they both needed Kayla. He’d already let Ailsa down enough on this journey.

He wouldn’t do so again.

He just hoped she’d give him another chance.

Leaving the woodland of birch and conifers behind, he emerged onto a scrub-covered hill. He walked north, wet ground squelching underfoot, crossing a burn before he climbed the knoll.

The mist was clearing now, drifting away like steam from a cooling cauldron of water, and yet the rain continued to fall, harder now. It pattered on his shoulders and slicked his hair against his skull.

Pain clutched at his thigh, and he stumbled.

A muscular bay stallion cropped at grass a few yards distant. Rùn lifted his head, whickering in greeting.

And there, halfway up, he came upon a figure hunched over the smoking remains of a fire.