Page 47 of Blood & Claw

Ailsa frowned. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head. “Stay by the fire,” he said, his voice oddly harsh. “I’m going to scout around for a bit.”

Before she could answer, he walked off into the darkness.

Ailsa watched him disappear. Her bodyguard was acting strangely; maybe the attack had rattled him.

It shouldn’t have done. The man was a mercenary, after all. Death should be commonplace for him.

Her lips thinned as she stared at where the night had swallowed him. She’d hired him to protect her—and although he’d demonstrated impressive blade skills tonight, something about him was off.

She’d keep an eye on him.

Alone by the fire, she waited.

A chilling shriek cut through the silence, making her startle, and somewhere out in the dark loch, something splashed.

Drawing her blade once more, she kept it in her hand as she edged as close to the flames as she dared. Then, with her free hand, she fumbled with the pouch on her belt and grabbed some salt, sprinkling it liberally in a semi-circle around her.

One night out from Gateway, and the faerie creatures and spirits that inhabited Albia were growing restless. Eager to prowl into Marav settlements and cause trouble. This camp might attract some nocturnal visitors.

She grew uneasy. It wasn’t a night she wanted to spend on her own, but her bodyguard had disappeared.

Ailsa kept glancing in the direction Dale had gone, yet as time slid by, he didn’t return to the fireside.

She didn’t sleep that night.

The howls and shrieks beyond the firelight made sure of it.

Every time the wind shifted, a new sound carried through the darkness—snarls, chattering, something screaming far out on the hills. Ailsa stared into the black beyond the flames, certain that sooner or later a threat would emerge.

It was a distraction, at least, from the mire of her own thoughts, yet as the night inched on, exhaustion pulled at her.

Rùn stood tethered nearby. Now and then, the stallion snorted or stamped. The sound should have been comforting—another living thing close by—but it wasn’t.

The darkness pressed close, almost suffocating now.

She fed another branch onto the fire. Sparks leapt upward, briefly lighting the golden willow leaves overhead.

Still, time dragged.

Dale should have been back by now.

A tight knot formed in her chest. What if something has happened to him?

She jabbed another branch into the fire hard enough to scatter sparks.

Curse him. Why was she worrying about the mercenary? She’d paid him well to protect her, yet he’d disappeared on their first night out on the road. When—if—she saw him again, she was going to give him a piece of her mind.

An instant later, the skin on the back of her neck prickled.

Ailsa turned slowly, staring into the curtain of willows. The darkness beneath them felt thicker somehow, as if something stood there just beyond the firelight.

Watching.

She snatched up the knife she’d laid down next to her. Come on then.

Nothing moved. No shape stepped forward. Only the hiss of the fire and the restless murmur of the loch behind her.