Page 31 of Blood & Claw

“What’s your name?” he asked as they walked.

“Ailsa,” she said stiffly. “And yours?”

“Dale.” This lie came easily. He’d been using false names for years now. He had to. His brother already knew he was alive; he couldn’t make himself easy to find. His mood darkened then, and he pushed thoughts of that murderous sack of shit aside.

He didn’t want to think about his brother. Not now.

“You’re not from around here,” Ailsa said, cutting him another of her sharp looks.

“No.”

“Your accent … the southern burr … you’re from Braewall too, aren’t you?”

He stiffened. “Aye … once.”

“Why did you leave?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

Her brow furrowed. “I’m hiring you. I want to know whom I’m trusting.”

That last word sat heavily between them, and Darach fought a lip curl.

She shouldn’t trust him—shouldn’t trust anyone—but circumstances had forced her hand.

They climbed the winding wynds up through the fort’s tiers in silence, accompanied by the whispering wind. The labyrinthine lanes of Farnoch were largely deserted now that night had settled. The only people they passed were the odd drunk or cloaked figure lurking in shadows. It certainly wasn’t safe for a young woman to wander about unescorted. When they reached the third level, they made their way up to the roundhouse, halfway up the hill.

“This is it,” Ailsa said, stopping before the door.

He turned to face her. “I’ll be here at dawn.”

In truth, he wasn’t sure he would. It all depended on how tonight went. But the promise slipped easily off his lips, nonetheless.

She nodded, studying his face in the dim light from a nearby torch. “Thank you.” Her voice held a husky edge now. “For helping me … and before, in the ale-hall.”

He waved aside her thanks, his mind already tracking ahead to where he’d begin his search. “Good night, Ailsa.”

Turning, he walked away. Behind him, the door whispered open and closed with a soft thud.

Once he was alone, he broke into a jog.

Enough delays. Time to get to work. He had until dawn to find those mercenaries; to discover where they were keeping Kayla. Luckily, he knew Farnoch well, and he’d start with that ale-hall near the market ground Ailsa had mentioned.

By dawn, her abductors would be bleeding out somewhere in the dark, and the tattooist would be free.

Free to help him.

Pain stabbed through his thigh then, causing his stride to falter.

He clenched his jaw. The beast was stirring earlier each night now. Clawing at him. Demanding release.

Fuck.

He had to find Kayla before it was too late.

9: AN EARLY START

SITTING CROSS-LEGGED ON a fur near the banked fire, Ailsa drew the small file across her thumbnail. The rasp of metal was the only sound besides Talia’s gentle snoring behind the hare-skin curtain. The woman worked hard and had to get up well before dawn to bake pies. As such, after Ailsa had filled her in on how things had gone at the Cutthroat Wynd ale-hall—and after a brief prayer before her shrine to The Five in the corner—she’d retired early.