Blood and Feral Claw

1 THE TRUTH OF THINGS

Braewall

The Realm of Albia

JAW CLENCHED, AILSA made her way down to the market ground.

The argument with Kayla still rang in her ears.

“You won’t enjoy yourself tonight.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I’ve lived longer than you.”

“Aye … and you seem determined to live my life too.”

The memory of the censure on Kayla’s face made Ailsa’s pulse kick.

She loved the woman who’d raised her—Gods, she did—but sometimes Kayla’s protectiveness suffocated her.

At two and twenty summers, she was tired of being watched over, of feeling as though life was happening somewhere beyond the walls of Braewall while each day slid into the next.

Tonight, she planned to finally approach Lewis, but her decision to attend the festivities wasn’t entirely about him.

No, it was about proving to herself that she could step beyond the narrow life she’d always known. That she could stand on her own two feet.

Earlier, as they’d worked alongside each other—Ailsa tattooing a fertility bracelet upon a newlywed woman’s wrist—she’d told her mentor that she’d be attending Harvest Fire.

Alone.

Immediately, Kayla had tried to dissuade her, and when that hadn’t worked, she’d insisted upon accompanying her. Ailsa had refused. The last thing she needed was Kayla hovering nearby, glowering at any man who looked her way.

The hurt in her mentor’s hazel eyes had almost weakened her resolve.

Almost.

No, some things had to be done alone. Fire festivals were a time for boldness, weren’t they? For years, she’d stood on the fringes of gatherings, watching others flirt and laugh. Watching them dance, fall in love, and make mistakes.

Live.

Meanwhile, she remained tucked safely beneath Kayla’s wing.

There was more to life than tattooing. More to life than Braewall.

Her belly pitched as she navigated the narrow dirt wynds, but determination burned hotter than fear of the unknown.

“You’ve sat around pining long enough,” she muttered. “If you don’t act tonight, you never will.”

A flicker of doubt surfaced. What if Lewis rejected her?

Her hands curled into fists. Then she’d survive it. Embarrassment wouldn’t kill her, but spending the rest of her life wondering what if just might.

Lewis had smiled at her, hadn’t he? He’d laughed at her awkward jokes while she inked the hammer on his arm.

But maybe I misread him?

Her step faltered, and for one weak moment, she considered turning back. She could be sitting before the hearth now, fingers wrapped around a warm cup of caudle, listening to Kayla coax a haunting tune from her lyre.

Catching herself, Ailsa marched on. Maybe she’d make a fool of herself, or maybe she wouldn’t. Either way, she was done hiding, cocooned by safety and comfort. Exactly as she’d always been. If Kayla had her way, another year would pass. Then another. She’d remain trapped.

Ahead of her, the fire at the heart of the market ground roared, flames licking high into the inky sky. Its brightness called to her while the jaunty strains of a bone whistle drifted upon the night air.

Ailsa drew a deep breath.

She could do this.

She’d talk to him, damn it.

Entering the market square, she squared her shoulders and sucked in a lungful of air scented with woodsmoke.

It seemed as if everyone in Braewall had squeezed into the dirt space lined by stacked-stone roundhouses with turf roofs.

Ale and mead flowed, drawn from oak barrels at the edge of the ground, and women in dyed tunics, bronze and iron rings upon their bare arms, handed out thick slices of oaten bread slathered with butter and honey.

One of the women offered Ailsa some bread, but she shook her head.

Her belly was too tight to eat.

Setting off through the crowd, she cast her gaze around, searching. A moment later, she spied a tall, dark-haired man standing on the other side of the fire, cup in hand, by the dancers.

Lewis!

She stumbled, and an elbow jostled her. “Watch where you’re putting those big feet, lass,” snarled a rough, drunken voice.

Ailsa cut the man a glare. “Rude bastard,” she snapped back, yet he’d already moved on.

Leashing her simmering temper, she cast her gaze across the crowd once more.

Gods, Lewis was a fine sight. Clad in leather, his skin tanned from the long, hot summer.

Blue woad tattoos covered the young blacksmith’s brawny arms. Kayla had done most of them, but Ailsa had inked the hammer on his left bicep.

It had been the most distracting job she’d ever done.

His nearness, the scent of him—smoke and leather and raw male heat—had made her sweat.

Lewis had stayed on after the tattoo was done. Kayla had offered him a cup of ale, and they’d drunk together around the fire. He’d tried to converse with Ailsa, yet she’d gone tongue-tied, cheeks burning as she responded in breathless half-sentences.

That had been six moons earlier, and she’d kicked herself for not responding properly to him. Lewis had shown interest in her, and she’d sat there, stammering like a halfwit. He’d caught her off-guard, but that was no excuse.

What was the matter with her? They’d been bairns together, run barefoot through the wynds of The Reek. Then they’d grown up, and things had changed.

After he’d left the workshop, she made herself a vow: she’d approach Lewis at a gathering and make it clear she was interested.

Swiping a cup of mead as she threaded her way through the crowd, she took a fortifying gulp.

Too late, she realized Lewis wasn’t alone.

Curse her. She should have been paying more attention. A group of lasses and lads their own age had gathered behind him, and Ailsa’s gut clenched.

None of these people were her friends.

One of the lasses, Una, saw her, smirked, and whispered to the girl next to her. Una was a beautiful lass with thick fair hair and curves. All the lads lusted over her, and yet growing up, she’d always been the worst of the bullies.

Ailsa’s skin prickled, her fingers tightening around her cup. The bonfire’s heat licked her face, and sweat dampened her skin.

Hold your ground. You have as much right to be here as anyone else.

Drawing in a steadying breath, she cleared her throat. “Good eve, Lewis.”

He turned, eyebrows raising when his gaze settled upon her. “Don’t usually see you at these gatherings, Ailsa?”

“No.” She lifted her chin and smiled. “But I thought that should change.”

She noted the unfocused gleam in his eyes then.

He was drunk.

Unease stirred in her gut. She’d hoped he’d have his wits about him.

He drained his cup before his lips curved. “Want something?”

Ailsa jolted. She hadn’t realized she was staring.

She swallowed, nerves fluttering up once more. “How … how are things at the forge?”

“Busy.”

“We’ve had a lot of customers lately too,” she said, wishing she didn’t sound so breathless. “Everyone seems to want a prosperity sigil inked onto their arm these days.”

He huffed. “Maybe I should get one of those. I could open my own forge and stop taking orders from Drec.”

Warmth suffused her chest. Finally. They were actually talking. Encouraged, she took a step forward. “Are you—”

Una’s snigger intruded. Her friends joined in.

Ailsa stilled, glancing over at them.

Why were they laughing?

She hadn’t said anything strange. Had she?

When she looked back at Lewis, she noticed he was observing her, dragging his gaze down from the crown of her well-brushed, long black hair to the toes of her leather sandals.

She wore a pine-green sleeveless tunic, belted at the waist, and a copper arm ring in the form of a serpent—her only jewelry.

Glancing in Kayla’s looking glass earlier, she’d told herself she looked pretty, but now, she wasn’t so sure.

Was that interest she saw in his eyes, or dismissal?

Don’t let his sneering friends put you off, she told herself firmly. You know he’s interested.

She cleared her throat. “Would you like to dance?”

Laughter eddied once more around them, and her pulse quickened.

Underneath her embarrassment though, anger sparked. She’d had enough of being made fun of. How dare these people try to make her feel small?

Lewis glanced around at his friends, and then he pulled a face.

Her belly dropped. Shit. That wasn’t the response she’d been expecting.

“Look, Ailsa,” he said after a heavy pause. “You’re a comely lass and all that … but I think you’ve mistaken things.”

The words struck like a slap. It was hard not to flinch. Mistaken? “I only asked for a dance,” she replied tightly.

Behind Lewis, someone snorted. “Gods, she’s after him.”

Heat washed over Ailsa. Her cheeks started to burn.

Meanwhile, Lewis rubbed the back of his neck. He looked as if he wished she’d disappear.

Right now, she was wishing the same thing.

Una cast her a pitying look. “Do you really think he’d look twice at you?”

More smirks and murmurs followed. Around them, a few of the lads and lasses exchanged glances. Meanwhile, Lewis stared at the ground.

Ailsa waited for him to step in, for him to put his friends right, but he didn’t.

He simply stood there.

“Aye, there’s always been something uncanny about you.” Una’s friend flashed her a patronizing smile. “Everyone knows it.”

Ailsa fought a flinch and backed up a step. She knew she was different. Years earlier, when the whispers about her had started, Kayla had withdrawn Ailsa from the cruelty of others. Nonetheless, her self-consciousness had lingered.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, lass,” Rabbie, a carpenter’s apprentice, called out. “Lewis isn’t desperate.”

“No one likes you, Ailsa … with your vulgar red lips, creepy eyes, and sneaking ways,” Una added, her gaze hardening. “Why don’t you just piss off?”

Unpleasant laughter followed, but Ailsa barely noticed.

Instead, the world narrowed.

The fire, the music and voices all faded.

Anger rolled over her in a scalding tide, twisting her up inside.

Her breathing seized. Where had this rage come from?

She tried to throttle it, but she couldn’t. It consumed her, setting her veins alight.

Suddenly, she was fearless. Reckless. She wouldn’t let these shit-eaters get away with humiliating her. No, she’d make them sorry.

Raising a shaking hand, she swept her finger from left to right, encompassing them all.

The group stared back. Some smirked. Others shook their heads. Lewis’s face had gone red now, but she ignored him.

“You think there’s something wrong with me,” she bit out the words, loud enough to cut through the surrounding din. “Maybe there is.” She hesitated as the fire sent up a spray of sparks next to her. “Maybe I could curse you all. Maybe I will.”

Their amusement vanished.

Heartbeats slid by. Faces paled and eyes widened.

The folk of Braewall were a superstitious lot.

For a brief instant, victory surged through her. They feared her, and it made her feel powerful.

The elation only lasted a few moments before the righteous anger gave way—a hollow chill rushed in to fill the void.

A shudder rippled through her body, bile stinging the back of her throat.

What had come over her?

Since when did she go around threatening to curse people? Since when did she let venom spew from her mouth?

All her life, she’d been an outsider. She’d never quite fit in. Kayla had told her it didn’t matter, that she didn’t need other people anyway, but she’d still longed to feel like she belonged.

Tonight had revealed the truth of things though.

She’d never be accepted here.

Blood roaring in her ears, she took a step back.

Lewis was staring at her now, eyes wide as moons. He looked as if he’d just shat his breeches.

Fucking coward.

She’d been wrong about his interest in her—she’d been wrong about everything—but he was a turd anyway. To think she’d wasted moons pining for him. What a fool she was.

Something hot and violent surged through her chest.

It made her want to break something … hurt someone.

Dizziness swept over Ailsa, her breathing coming in short, sharp bursts.

By the Reaper’s scythe, she had to get out of here before she did something she truly regretted.

Turning, she pushed blindly through the crowd.