Page 26 of Blood & Claw

She handed the payment over and picked up her cup. The ale tasted like it had been brewed in a boot, but she forced herself to swallow. Meanwhile, the proprietor retreated.

The conversation in here was muted, a rumble of quiet voices discussing things they didn’t want overheard.

Turning, she scanned the room, trying to pick out which of these individuals might be willing to help. Her gaze halted on a warrior slouched at the nearest table. A woman, rawboned and hatchet-faced. Clad in leather armor, scarred hands wrapped around her cup, and a sword propped against the bench beside her, she looked capable enough.

Ailsa’s shoulders lowered slightly. After growing up in Kayla’s company, she was naturally more comfortable around women. And, unlike the men in here, she wasn’t staring.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Ailsa rose from her table and approached. “I have work. Good coin for—”

“Not interested.” She didn’t even look up.

Ailsa hesitated before trying again. “Don’t you want to know what the job is?”

“No. Piss off.”

Ailsa frowned. However, something about the woman’s manner warned her not to insist.

A creaking sound intruded then as the wattle door opened behind her, bringing in a blast of cold night air. Another customer.

Ailsa didn’t glance their way; she couldn’t be distracted from her task.

The woman’s curt response had shaken her a little, yet she’d push on. There was a crowd of people in here tonight; she was just getting started.

Moving on to the next table, she stopped before a lean man with a pockmarked face. His lips curved into an oily smile. “Work, you say?” he greeted her. “What sort?”

“I need someone who can handle a blade. A bodyguard.” She cleared her throat. “There’s someone I must rescue. Men I need … dealt with.”

His smile widened, revealing blackened teeth. “Interesting. And what’s a pretty thing like you willing to pay for such … services?”

Ailsa stared him down, even as her pulse quickened. “Twenty silver pennies.”

The sum was sizeable, nearly everything she had. But the moment the words slipped from her lips, she regretted them. The interior of the ale-hall had gone ominously silent.

The quiet conversations had all died.

She clenched her jaw. Curse it. Talia had told her to be careful, and here she was letting everyone in this foul pit know that she carried enough coin to merit being killed for.

Cutthroat Wynd indeed.

“Twenty?” He leaned forward, and she caught the stench of rotting teeth and sour ale. “That’s a fair sum. What else comes with it?”

Nearby, someone snorted a laugh.

A pulse started hammering at the base of Ailsa’s throat. Her jaw locked so tightly her teeth ached.

Her nails dug into her palms, painfully this time. “Nothing,” she ground out, trying to keep a leash on herself.

“What if I want more than coin?” He reached out, fingers brushing her arm. “Something to make it really worth my while.”

She jerked back, but his hand shot out once more, gripping her wrist hard enough to hurt. His smile turned goading. “Skittish, aren’t you?”

“Let me go,” she hissed as a familiar red veil fell across her vision.

His grip on her wrist turned bruising. “Not until we strike a deal.”

Something inside her splintered.

Snarling, she lashed out with her free hand, nails raking toward his face.