Page 135 of Blood & Claw

“No,” he replied. “There are too many … even for the beast.” He hesitated then. “And you know I can’t control it.”

Kayla stiffened. “What?”

Ailsa didn’t answer as she stared at the line of warriors.

The odds should have terrified her, but they didn’t.

The silver glow in their eyes no longer mattered either. All she could focus on was the thud of each heartbeat calling to her.

Right hand tightening around her new dagger, left hand flexing, she took a step forward, yet Darach’s hand snapped out, his fingers fastening around her wrist.

Meanwhile, a tall, broad man had stepped forward from the line.

The others stepped back, giving him space.

He was older than his companions, around Kayla’s age, and heavily tattooed with high cheekbones and a shaven head. Cool, dark eyes assessed them as he halted a few yards back.

Kayla hissed a curse. “Gregor?”

The warrior’s gaze narrowed, slicing into her. “So … the famed tattooist of Braewall is you, Kayla mac Muir.”

Ailsa cut her mentor a look, even as her pulse thundered in her ears. “You know him?”

Kayla’s lips pursed. “Aye, unfortunately.” She continued to stare the man down. “Last I heard, you served the High King … what happened?”

“After his daughter took the throne, she made choices I didn’t agree with.” He spat on the ground then. “Can’t abide the unnatural bitch.” His dark eyes grew hard and bright then. “So, I found myself people I could believe in … and here we are.”

Kayla’s fingers flexed around the dagger she still gripped. “Whatever you’re up to, I’ll have no part of it.”

Gregor gave a thin smile. “We’ll see. I’m bringing you to the man in charge. You can talk to him about that.” He nodded then to the warriors, who’d closed in on them while he and Kayla had spoken. “Bind their wrists.”

Ailsa raked her gaze over Gregor, marking a vein in his temple. Another in his throat. Plump. Pulsing.

She’d open his neck up, and hot blood would gush down his chest.

She lunged forward once more, forgetting that Darach still held her wrist fast.

He hauled her back against him, his fingers tightening.

Snarling a curse, she looked up, and their gazes locked.

“Know when to pick your battles,” he growled back. “This isn’t one you’ll win.”

The snow arrived as they walked north, iron collars about their necks, wrists shackled behind them.

Fat flakes fluttered down from a black sky, as crisp as apple blossom in the guttering torchlight.

Under other circumstances, Ailsa would have found it beautiful. Now, she barely noticed.

“That warrior … Gregor,” she said, moving closer to Kayla as they walked. “How do you know him?”

Kayla blinked and looked her way.

Her ordeal had left its mark on her. A bruise marred one cheekbone. Her lower lip was scabbed, and she was thin and pale. “We trained together,” she replied huskily. “Years ago … on the Isle of Arryn.”

Ailsa cut a glance ahead at where Gregor stalked just a few strides before Darach. The black mink cloak around his shoulders billowed, white flakes settling upon its plushness. “He’s a druid?”

“Aye, a sacrificer … like me.” Kayla’s expression changed then, her jaw tightening. “I can’t believe you came after me. It was stupid.”