Page 127 of Blood & Claw

She wouldn’t lie; it had hurt. But at the same time, she’d understood. Kayla was so close; a fight was coming, and they needed to ready themselves.

He wasn’t keeping his distance now though.

His kiss claimed her.

Melting into him, she devoured his mouth with equal enthusiasm, her fingers threading through his hair.

He groaned, stepped in closer, and hauled her toward him, his tongue sliding against hers.

Her belly clenched.

All it took was one kiss, and she ached for him.

Tearing his lips from hers, Darach buried his face in her hair. His breathing was ragged, and she could almost hear the pounding of his pulse. “I shouldn’t be mauling you like this,” he rasped. “We need to stay alert now.”

She exhaled a shaky breath, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the heat of his body flush against her, the now familiar scent of leather, horse, and warm male invading her senses. He was right, of course—even if she wanted nothing more than for him to haul her over to the nearest tree, lift her skirts, and take her against it.

In the fading light, with icy mist wreathing through a hazel thicket and their quarry so close, this wasn’t the right time.

Even so, disappointment tugged at her when he stepped back.

“I’ll scout on foot before it gets any darker” —he motioned then to the shadowy outline of a hunter’s hut visible through the trees— “in the meantime, you might as well take shelter out of the cold in there.”

Ailsa nodded, her stomach tightening once more, in nervous anticipation this time.

Not long, Kayla.

Darach led Rùn forward, and she followed. They wended their way through the spindly hazels to where a squat stacked-stone shieling with a sod roof in dire need of repair crouched in the gloaming.

“This hut is likely used by deer hunters,” Darach whispered as he drew the sword strapped to his back. “But let me check first that powries haven’t decided to make it home.”

Ailsa nodded, taking hold of the stallion’s reins while Darach moved stealthily forward. Reaching the door, he nudged at it with his foot, and it creaked open. He then peered inside.

His shoulders went rigid.

Ailsa frowned.

Something was wrong.

Darach didn’t move, his gaze held by whatever lay inside the shieling.

“What is it?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer, pushing the door open instead and slipping inside.

Frowning, she quickly tied Rùn to a tree and followed, even as her fingers itched to draw the blade in her boot. Darach hadn’t told her she was in any danger though, and no sound emitted from the shieling. Only a cloying silence.

Blinking, as her eyes struggled to adjust to the murk, she stepped inside.

The sharp iron scent of blood assaulted her.

Not fresh. A day old at least.

By the Gods.

How did she know that?

The table was still set with wooden cups and trenchers. Bones from a finished meal lay scattered across unsanded oak.