Page 32 of Blood & Claw

Ailsa didn’t mind. It gave her much-needed time alone, time to file her nails with grim determination. She’d seen uneasiness in Talia’s eyes when she’d looked at her hands, twice, today. She’d hidden them away, ashamed.

Why didn’t she have nails like other women? If she didn’t file them regularly, they’d end up like claws.

Her hand stilled. Claws?

A short while ago, in that ale-hall, she’d wanted to rake her fingernails down that creep’s face.

Not merely strike him, but tear him.

And she’d never forget the attack in that wynd earlier on in the day either.

On both occasions, the certainty that she could do harm and enjoy it had seized her.

An oily sensation slid through her stomach then.

Gods.

Shakily, she collected the filings in her palm, studying them in the firelight. The curved slivers gleamed. Swallowing hard, she flung them into the embers, where they briefly flared and vanished.

Rubbing her palms on her skirts, her gaze traveled to the low table in the corner where four of Albia’s five Gods stood in a row. Polished rosewood gleamed in the firelight. The fifth deity—The Reaper—was never represented in art, as to do so was to invite bad luck. His presence was always felt though. Always respected.

Ailsa’s brow furrowed. She should have brought Kayla’s figurines with her, for she needed The Five’s blessing more than ever these days. The Hag presided over this time of year, a fickle goddess who could give with one hand and take with the other.

What did The Hag think of Ailsa’s choice of bodyguard?

Dale.

She wasn’t sure what to make of the man.

Arrogant. Aloof. Impatient. Aye, there had been moments when she sensed irritation in him, as if it chafed him to humor her.

Ailsa pursed her lips then. How she wished she didn’t need his help.

Hiring him should have brought relief, but it hadn’t. He’d offered her his blade, had walked her home, and agreed to meet her at first light. Yet something about him wasn’t quite right.

It all seemed a little too easy. The man should have been harder to convince. The silver must be tempting, but the job was a dangerous one. Many mercenaries would have baulked or demanded more coin once they learned that they’d be up against six warriors. But Dale had barely hesitated.

Perhaps he had debts—or was just stupid.

She frowned.

He hadn’t seemed slow-witted. Those honey-colored eyes had been sharp, assessing. How in The Mother’s name had he known where she kept her knife?

Her frown deepened as she moved on to her next nail. You shouldn’t be surprised … he’s a killer.

She paused then, her pulse jolting as a strange tremble of excitement went through her.

Could I kill too?

Her stomach clenched.

No, she was nothing like him. She couldn’t take someone’s life. She’d hired Dale to protect her, to ensure she wouldn’t need to wield that blade in her boot. Let him be the one to spill blood.

All she cared about was getting Kayla back.

Finishing the last nail, she tossed the filings into the fire and slid her file back into her bag. Drawing her cloak tight around herself, she stared at the glowing embers.

And as she did, something else tickled at her.