Page 78 of Blood & Claw

A shiver rippled through her. “Aye, well,” —she cleared her throat— “the bastard vexed me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Remind me not to piss you off.”

Ailsa looked away, nausea biting once more. “In truth, I can’t really explain what happened out there,” she admitted, her voice suddenly scratchy. “I was scared at first … and then I wasn’t.”

Gods, that was an oversimplification. She couldn’t tell him the truth though. To do so would make it real. Permanent.

Even so, her words felt too loud, too exposed, even though they barely carried beyond the table. She rounded her shoulders then, wishing she’d said nothing.

Dale’s gaze sharpened at her revelation, and Ailsa’s misgivings grew.

Maybe it was a mistake to confide in this man.

“You enjoyed that fight then?” he asked, putting down his eating knife. The dull thud of metal on wood was swallowed instantly by the din around them. Still, it made her flinch. The question hung between them.

Ailsa grimaced, and she cut her gaze away once more.

No, she hadn’t enjoyed it. She loved it.

Her stomach dropped.

Suddenly, she could see the dead outlaw again. His torn throat. The hot blood.

She’d heard about rare individuals, those who grew up twisted and wrong. Those who took pleasure in causing pain, in torture and killing. Was she one of those? There had been a killer in Braewall once. A man who’d carved people up and kept pieces of them. They’d called him the Beast of the Reek.

Sweat trickled down her spine.

Maybe there wasn’t a cure for what was happening to her.

Maybe this was simply what she was.

Across the table, Dale’s expression turned speculative. He then picked up his cup and took a swallow of ale. “Don’t look so worried, Ailsa.” His voice had dropped even lower, almost lost entirely beneath the roar of the room—words meant only for her ears. “Better that than you freeze when faced with danger.”

Ailsa’s fingers clenched tightly about her cup. Was it?

She cleared her throat then, desperate to change the subject now. “Good to hear Kayla’s been busy again.”

Dale’s lips curved. “Aye … a pitchfork, eh? Nasty.”

“She didn’t kill him though.”

“No, but the wound is likely to sour. He might slow them down.”

Ailsa nodded. It probably would. That was good news.

Dale leaned forward then, his gaze ensnaring hers. The movement brought him closer still, crowding her space. The rest of the hall fell away. “We will catch up with them. I swear it.”

They stared at each other.

Ailsa stilled. There was something different about his eyes. They glowed gold in the torchlight, their rims edged in black, their pupils almost … elongated.

She blinked. Surely not?

“Didn’t you file your nails down a couple of days ago?”

The intrusion of Dale’s voice made Ailsa glance up. He was standing by the fire, warming his hands. However, his stance wasn’t relaxed, and his locked jaw caused her heart to thump. He was gnawing on something.

Maybe it was her.