Page 50 of Blood & Claw

He burst from the willows at a dead run.

For an instant, relief hit her so hard her knees nearly buckled.

Mud streaked his clothes, his face pale and wild—but his sword was already in his hand, his gaze locked on the shape climbing from the water. “Stay behind me.”

He moved between her and the loch.

Ailsa ignored him and stepped to his shoulder.

The beast came low and fast.

Dale drove left, drawing its head, while Ailsa went right.

Striking out blindly, she punched her knife into the soft place where neck met shoulder. The creature lurched, nearly wrenching her arm from its socket. Dale’s sword sliced down across its spine.

The body collapsed, and a hush fell over the loch-shore.

Ailsa stood there, lungs burning, her knife buried to the hilt. Yanking it free, she rounded on her bodyguard.

Dale stared back, chest heaving, sweat slicking his face. “That was close,” he panted. “You’re handy with a blade, but lucky for you, I—”

“Where the fuck have you been?” The words tore out of her.

His face stiffened. “On patrol.”

“All fucking night?”

“Aye.” He swallowed. “I wanted to make sure that the attacker was alone.”

“And you didn’t think to come back and check on me?” Her left fist balled at her side. Gods. She wanted to flatten the bastard’s nose.

He hesitated. “No. I thought the salt circle and the fire would hold until dawn.” He dragged a hand through his tangled hair. “Look, Ailsa. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you that long.”

“No. You shouldn’t have.” She bit each word out, yet as she did, the heat bled out of her.

And as the red haze cleared, she took a good look at him.

Gods. He looked awful. His face had gone grey beneath the grime. A bruise darkened his cheekbone, and a long scratch cut across his temple.

“What happened to you?”

He grimaced. “Last night’s wee skirmish.”

“But you didn’t have that when—”

“It was dark,” he cut in. “You likely didn’t see.”

Ailsa stiffened. She had seen, but she wasn’t going to waste her breath arguing with him about it. Instead, she turned to the corpses lying on the stones.

In the growing light, she could see them clearly now—long pale bodies, black crosses running along their backs. Their heads were heavy and houndlike, their claws long enough to gouge stones.

A chill slid through her. “What are they?”

“Reedohran,” Dale replied.

The word meant nothing to her.

“Water hounds,” he added. “They rarely hunt alone.”