Page 62 of Blood & Claw

She clutched at the furs, which had fallen away, and yanked them against her chest while trying to push the bloodthirsty images from her mind.

A dream.

A vivid—awful—one.

Sucking in a deep breath, she grappled with the panic pounding through her.

But worse still was the arousal that pooled in the cradle of her hips, the ache between her thighs.

That vile dream had excited her.

A cold sweat bathed her skin, and she began to shiver.

The Mother forgive her. Had seeing him half-naked affected her so strongly that it had resulted in this sick fantasy?

Steeling herself, she shifted her attention across the room to where Dale slept, oblivious to what she’d just woken from. He trusted her enough to sleep. To lie there unguarded, throat bared, his dagger within reach but not in his hand.

He lay sprawled on his back. The furs had slipped down, exposing his naked torso. His chest rose and fell, shallowly. His head was thrown back, exposing his neck. Firelight caressed the column of his throat.

Her fingers curled into the fur instead.

Bile hit the back of her throat, and she cut her gaze away.

Disgusting bitch.

She started to shiver then.

Gods, she was in trouble.

Urges were one thing, but vivid dreams that were so realistic she could almost taste his blood, even now, were something else. Ailsa had no experience with sex, and yet she’d known what to do. How to rub against him. How to move her hips.

But what she’d done next. How she’d sliced open his neck and then drunk from him.

She had no experience of such things either.

And it terrified her how right it had felt.

Muffled shrieking intruded then. Blinking, she paid attention to the world beyond their lodgings.

For a moment, she didn’t move. The room lay heavy and still around her, while outside the walls, something restless circled. She listened, every muscle drawn tight, tracking each sound as it shifted—there, above … no, dragging low along the western wall … now, on the other side of the door.

The Slew.

While she’d been dreaming, they’d come out to hunt.

Her gaze flicked toward the door, then the smoke vent, then back again, as if looking hard enough might let her see through the stacked stone. Her heart beat too loudly in her ears. If they found a weakness—if the latch splintered, if the hinges gave—what then? There was nowhere to run in this room. Nowhere to hide.

She swallowed, forcing the thought down, but it coiled tighter instead.

She had seen one once, a dark shape against the night sky. Just a glimpse had been enough.

She’d never forget the wraith’s long limbs that bent at unnatural angles. A face stretched like melted candle wax. Leathery wings and a mouth open in insatiable hunger.

The memory pressed close, as vivid as the darkness around her.

Outside, the shrieking sharpened—closer now, more eager—and something rasped against the door.

Claws. Testing. Scraping.