15 JUST A TASTE
STEPPING BACK INSIDE, and drawing the door closed behind her, Ailsa’s attention flicked to where Dale had pulled a couple of furs off the pile in the corner.
To her relief, he was making a second bed for himself.
But to her consternation, he was shirtless.
His leather vest hung with his cloak, above his boots and weapons, next to the door. The muscles of his bare back flexed and bunched as he arranged the furs.
His leather breeches had been loosely retied and sat low on his narrow hips.
Distractingly low.
And when he turned to her, she couldn’t help it—her gaze roamed over the hard planes of his chest. Dark bruising shadowed his ribs. Fresh scratches crossed one shoulder. Nonetheless, it was hard not to stare. He was quite a sight.
And to her horror, a melting sensation gathered in her lower belly. Her body hadn’t gotten the message that this wasn’t the time or place for such a reaction.
She was suddenly, painfully, aware that they were about to bed down next to each other within a confined space. She’d never been in such quarters with a man before.
“What is it?”
His voice made her chin kick up, heat flushing across her chest.
Dale cocked an eyebrow, a challenge glinting in his eyes.
Shit. He’d caught her admiring him.
Ailsa cleared her throat. “That’s quite a scar you’ve got.”
Fortunately, she’d seen the deep mark that slashed down one side of his chest. It was the perfect excuse for why she’d been gawking at him.
However, when his lips curved slightly and his gaze hooded, mortification rolled over her.
He wasn’t fooled.
Dale’s eyes glinted gold in the firelight, and something stirred within Ailsa in response. Her awareness of him sharpened further.
This wasn’t good.
Holding her eye, he slid his thumb down the scar, following its length. “Courtesy of my brother,” he murmured.
She jolted from whatever unsettling effect he seemed to have on her. “Your brother tried to kill you?”
He nodded.
“Well, I hope you made him pay.”
Something flared in the depths of his tawny eyes—a violence that made her pulse leap—before his lips quirked once more. “Not yet … but I will.”
Their stare held for a heartbeat longer, and then Ailsa dragged her gaze away.
Flustered, she turned and moved to the washbowl. She then focused on washing her under-tunic before hanging it up by the hearth.
Dale had added another brick of peat to the fire. Blue-grey smoke drifted up to the vent. Nonetheless, some of the fug remained, and it caught in the back of Ailsa’s throat. She coughed.
“It’s likely to get a bit smoky in here,” he said behind her. “But better that than something forces its way in through that vent in the night.”
She didn’t argue with him.
Carrying the washbowl outdoors—and taking care to avoid looking in Dale’s direction as she did so—she tipped the dirty water away.
Ailsa looked up. The sky had turned indigo, and in the distance, to the west, a faint shriek made her pause.
The faerie world was stirring.
Time for them to do the opposite.
Retreating indoors hurriedly, she drew the iron bar across the door and wedged it in tightly. She then sprinkled salt in front of it. After that, she laid some more around the hearth.
While she’d been outside, Dale had climbed into his pile of furs, pulling them up around his chin. However, she’d noted he’d put one of his weapons—a long-bladed dagger—within arm’s reach.
A soft snore rumbled through the room.
Ailsa halted, her gaze narrowing as she rested it on the figure draped in furs.
Some bodyguard.
She had barely been gone, but the man was already asleep.
She was hardly surprised though. He’d looked done in. It was a relief too—for their short exchange earlier had unsettled her.
There was no love lost between brothers. And from the look she’d glimpsed in Dale’s eyes, he was marking the days until he could get even.
Ailsa frowned then.
Not for the first time, she wondered what sort of man she’d tangled herself up with. She’d known she was hiring a mercenary, but nothing about her bodyguard quite added up. There were too many contradictions and odd behaviors.
Her temples started to throb then. She wanted to get to the bottom of it, yet was too tired to think.
With a sigh, she crawled fully clothed into her own furs, pulling them close to form a cocoon. They smelled musty and likely hadn’t been aired in a while, but she didn’t care. It was a place to sleep. Somewhere to seek oblivion for the night.
Gods, she was exhausted. This forced rest made her nerves unravel for the first time in days. They’d catch up with Kayla soon, and then they could go home—they could put all of this behind them.
No sooner had she snuggled into the furs than sleep yanked her down into its embrace.
Firelight burnished naked skin.
Her hands traced the sculpted muscles of his arms and torso, a slow exploration, for she wanted to commit every inch of him to memory.
His skin was warm, his body hard.
He wore nothing but the leather breeches he’d gone to sleep in, although his shaft strained against them. And she sat astride him, naked, rocking against the iron column of his erection.
Dale was a sight indeed. Reclining in the furs, his head thrown back. Eyes closed as he gave himself up to the delicious friction, to the glide of her fingertips on his skin.
Her fingernails raked gently up the scar on his chest and across his pebbled nipples, and he shivered.
Hunger twisted low in her belly.
How she wanted him.
“Ailsa.” He groaned, his eyes opening to find hers. His hand came up then and cupped her cheek. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth with a tenderness that made her chest ache. “I want you,” he said huskily.
She whimpered in reply, gyrating against him.
He gripped her hips now, helping her find her rhythm.
Groaning, his eyes fluttered shut once more. His head fell back farther to expose the smooth column of his throat.
Her gaze fastened upon it.
Upon the vein that pulsed under his lightly tanned skin.
A different kind of hunger clawed its way up then, and saliva flooded her mouth.
Swallowing hard, she leaned forward, her hands sliding upward as she began to rub herself harder against him.
Wet heat built between her thighs.
Oh, this was so good. She never wanted it to end.
Her fingernails brushed his throat. Silvery claws glinting in the firelight.
Her finger hovered above his skin.
She could stop.
She should stop.
His pulse thudded beneath her fingertip—strong, trusting.
Just a taste.
And then she pressed down. Her nails were razor-sharp. Just one firm swipe of her forefinger opened a crimson ribbon on his skin.
His eyes snapped open, his big body stiffening under her.
Shock flared in those golden-brown eyes.
Blood welled instantly. Hot and crimson—its coppery scent hit her like strong wine.
Need crashed through her so violently that her hips jerked against him, and she rocked hard against his prick.
His lips parted. “Ail—” But she lowered her mouth to his bleeding neck, cutting him off, and began to suck.
Ailsa lurched upright, heart pounding.
By the Five!
She clutched at the furs, which had fallen away, and yanked them against her chest while trying to push the bloodthirsty images from her mind.
A dream.
A vivid—awful—one.
Sucking in a deep breath, she grappled with the panic pounding through her.
But worse still was the arousal that pooled in the cradle of her hips, the ache between her thighs.
That vile dream had excited her.
A cold sweat bathed her skin, and she began to shiver.
The Mother forgive her. Had seeing him half-naked affected her so strongly that it had resulted in this sick fantasy?
Steeling herself, she shifted her attention across the room to where Dale slept, oblivious to what she’d just woken from. He trusted her enough to sleep. To lie there unguarded, throat bared, his dagger within reach but not in his hand.
He lay sprawled on his back. The furs had slipped down, exposing his naked torso. His chest rose and fell, shallowly. His head was thrown back, exposing his neck. Firelight caressed the column of his throat.
Her fingers curled into the fur instead.
Bile hit the back of her throat, and she cut her gaze away.
Disgusting bitch.
She started to shiver then.
Gods, she was in trouble.
Urges were one thing, but vivid dreams that were so realistic she could almost taste his blood, even now, were something else. Ailsa had no experience with sex, and yet she’d known what to do. How to rub against him. How to move her hips.
But what she’d done next. How she’d sliced open his neck and then drunk from him.
She had no experience of such things either.
And it terrified her how right it had felt.
Muffled shrieking intruded then. Blinking, she paid attention to the world beyond their lodgings.
For a moment, she didn’t move. The room lay heavy and still around her, while outside the walls, something restless circled. She listened, every muscle drawn tight, tracking each sound as it shifted—there, above … no, dragging low along the western wall … now, on the other side of the door.
The Slew.
While she’d been dreaming, they’d come out to hunt.
Her gaze flicked toward the door, then the smoke vent, then back again, as if looking hard enough might let her see through the stacked stone.
Her heart beat too loudly in her ears. If they found a weakness—if the latch splintered, if the hinges gave—what then?
There was nowhere to run in this room. Nowhere to hide.
She swallowed, forcing the thought down, but it coiled tighter instead.
She had seen one once, a dark shape against the night sky. Just a glimpse had been enough.
She’d never forget the wraith’s long limbs that bent at unnatural angles. A face stretched like melted candle wax. Leathery wings and a mouth open in insatiable hunger.
The memory pressed close, as vivid as the darkness around her.
Outside, the shrieking sharpened—closer now, more eager—and something rasped against the door.
Claws. Testing. Scraping.
She held her breath, eyes fixed on the wood as if she could feel each drag of talon through it.
They were looking for a way in.
Trembling, Ailsa struggled from the furs. Then, pulling one around her shoulders, she moved close to the fire and put on some more peat. The flames licked higher, and the shrieking drew back.
Exhaling sharply, she sat down on the hard-packed earthen floor, letting the fire’s warmth suffuse her. However, it couldn’t melt the icy lump that had settled deep in her chest.
Urges were one thing, but vivid dreams that were so realistic she could almost taste his blood, even now, were something else.
What sort of woman dreamed of cutting open a sleeping man’s throat?
Worse still—what sort of woman enjoyed it?
Her eyes started to burn, and she blinked furiously, trying to hold back the tears.
She wasn’t a weeper. Nor was she easily frightened.
Not until tonight. Suddenly, it was all too much.
The tears slipped free, running down her face in scalding rivulets.
Jaw clenched, she clutched, white-knuckled, at the fur.
Where are you, Kayla?
How she needed her. She had to talk to her. Kayla would have answers; she always did. She was practical too and clever. She’d been a druid once, had studied Albia’s lore and history. She’d be able to help. She’d make everything right—as she always had.
A sob welled up, and Ailsa stuffed her fist into her mouth to stop it. Biting down on her knuckles, she squeezed her eyes shut, even as more tears rolled down her cheeks.
What was happening to her?
What would she become?
The fire cracked and spat.
Across the room, Dale slept on.