Page 77 of Blood & Claw

Sweat bathed her skin, and her heart beat too fast. The room felt too warm, and every laugh assaulted her ears.

Every time someone glanced her way, she wondered what they saw.

The village elder sighed, gnarled hands tightening around his own cup. “Aye … Gateway brought its usual strife … and then we had a group stay here yesterday. Warriors. They took lodgings, food, and drink … and left without paying. They had a woman with them … a captive.”

Ailsa’s already unsteady pulse lurched, giddy relief flooding through her. Yesterday. Since finding that dead warrior and trows after Gateway, they’d pushed on in pursuit, always behind their quarry, yet now they were finally gaining on them. “When did they leave?”

The village elder glanced her way. “At first light this morning.” His gaze narrowed. “Friends of yours?”

“Only the woman,” she replied.

He grunted. “Aye, well … there was a scuffle just after they arrived. You’ll be glad to hear, she got free of her restraints in the stable yard and stabbed one of them in the leg with a pitchfork.”

Ailsa’s spine straightened, her breath catching.

“Did she kill him?” Dale asked. In the light of the lantern hanging overhead, his eyes looked almost gold. He hadn’t relaxed after the fight either. He gripped his cup tightly, and his shoulders were tense.

“No, he rode out with the others this morning … but the bastard bled all over the floor in the room. My daughter’s spent all day scrubbing and can’t lift the stain.” The village elder’s face screwed up. “Relieved to see the back of them.” His features tightened then. “I’m sorry to hear about your friend though.”

Ailsa took this in, her pulse drumming in her ears now.

Kayla was just a day ahead.

19: EYES DON’T LIE

AILSA TOOK A bite of pie and tasted nothing. She couldn’t enjoy the meal.

Not when Kayla was still held captive.

Not after what she’d done.

They’d found a corner at the edge of the ale-hall, a rough-hewn table half in shadow, and were pressed close enough that their knees brushed beneath it. Around them, the place heaved with noise—voices rising, cups slamming, bursts of conversation and laughter—but they paid little attention to their surroundings.

Dale was plowing his way through his pie. A long day of travel and nothing besides some bread and cheese just after dawn had clearly left him ravenous. He ate like a man who had learned not to waste food or time, head bent, shoulders hunched slightly forward.

She should be hungry too, but her gut still churned in the aftermath of the fight.

She felt stunned, as if her body was going through the motions of eating and drinking, but her mind was elsewhere.

I killed a man … and I enjoyed it.

And then she’d hungered for his blood. How she’d wanted to bend over him, to fasten her lips to his throat and drink.

The memory of that craving turned her cold.

She’d wanted his blood more than she’d wanted to breathe.

“You didn’t tell me your mentor taught you how to fight dirty.” Dale’s voice was casual, suspiciously so. It was pitched low, meant only for her, lost beneath the swell of laughter and drunken song spilling from the far side of the hall. No one spared them a glance.

Her chin lifted, and she found her bodyguard watching her. There was a stillness to him that made her pulse spike. Despite the food and ale, he still hadn’t relaxed. Not like the others in here—those already flushed with drink, their laughter loud and careless. Dale remained coiled and watchful.

Ailsa reached for her cup, noting the slight tremble there. “You’ve seen me fight before.” Good. At least her voice was steady. She needed to hold herself together.

“Aye.” He rubbed his chin as he eyed her. “But it was different when we faced the Reedohran.”

She snorted. “No, it wasn’t.”

“You were vicious.”