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And somewhere above him, the axe was about to fall.

The odds were not in Ailsa’s favor.

Circines closed in now, and without the bavaan’s cold certainty guiding her hands, she was too slow to take any of them on in direct combat.

Think. She couldn’t out-fight them like this. She had to gain herself time instead.

She remembered Darach’s advice then—short and fast, don’t try to look graceful—and used it, driving her blade in a short arc rather than a wild swing.

It still wasn’t enough. Moments later, she lost her footing again and slammed into the mud. She gasped, winded, but there was no time to recover. Rolling once more, she managed to stab someone’s foot—not a killing blow, but sufficient to make him stumble and give her time to avoid the sharp edge of his broadsword—and scramble to her feet again.

A blade bit into her thigh, through her leathers then. She hissed as white-hot pain shot down her leg.

Reeling from the huge warrior who’d just wounded her, she flexed her sweat-slick fingers around the grip of her dagger.

He came at her again, boots sucking free of the churned mud.

Ailsa raised her dagger. The roar of battle around her pulsed in her ears.

The bavaan had deserted her, but that didn’t mean she was a fucking coward. She’d die fighting.

A blur of black barreled into the warrior, just as he rushed at her.

One moment, he’d been a heartbeat away from knocking her shaking dagger aside and taking her head off with his broadsword.

The next, he lay on his back while a clag-doo closed its jaws over his face and tore him backward through the mud.

Around them, the other Circines warriors staggered back.

The beast’s long whip-like tail thrashed from side to side as it pushed itself off the corpse.

Blood dripped from its fangs, and it cast a baleful look around.

And then, its gaze settled on Ailsa.

Their eyes met—and held.

Her breathing caught, even as her pulse went wild.

Darach was there. In control.

Around them, the Circines faltered. Several took involuntary steps back. One actually lowered her sword—but then Gregor’s binding dragged them all forward again.

Their eyes glowed. Their tattoos pulsed as if in time with their heartbeat.

Blood trickled from their noses and mouths.

Ailsa’s nostrils flared as the coppery scent hit her.

And then, the bavaan side of her returned.

Calmness descended, and her racing heartbeat settled. Her grip tightened on her dagger, while her other hand flexed at her side.

The fear was still there; it just wasn’t in charge anymore.

Without thinking, she moved forward and leaped onto the clag-doo’s back, grabbing hold of the thick ruff around his neck to steady herself.

The beast’s tail began to lash once more. However, it didn’t stiffen or try to throw her off.