26 I DON’T LEAVE PEOPLE BEHIND
Farther south …
DARACH SHIFTED BACK, just as the first rays of grey sun pierced through the treetops. The weather had turned this morning, a thick misty rain falling in a silent curtain.
Naked, on his hands and knees, he struggled to catch his breath. And then he began to shiver.
Despite the cool kiss of the rain, sweat bathed his bare skin, which felt as if it were on fire from the change.
The Warrior’s Balls. He would never get used to this. It was brutal.
Eventually mastering himself, he sat back on his heels, taking in his surroundings.
It was as if he’d lost time overnight; he always did when the beast took him.
Snatches of memories from the night returned.
Some of them—the savaging and the feeding—made his gorge rise, but others elicited a strange longing. The clag-doo’s speed, strength, and single-minded purpose had driven everything else away.
In the aftermath, he almost missed that oblivion.
The musky scent of deer clung faintly to his skin now, and he shuddered. At least it had only been a hind he’d ripped to pieces last night.
Not Ailsa.
Closing his eyes, he saw her there, crouched beside the fire, the night before. His gaze had swept over her—dark hair, pale throat, and black eyes reflecting the flames—and saliva had filled his mouth.
The beast had hungered for her.
His stomach turned at the memory.
Swallowing, Darach looked down at his hands.
He lifted them then, examining them.
There was blood under his nails. He remembered what his hands looked like after he changed into the beast. Huge and covered with short black fur. With claws that never sheathed, curving like meat hooks into the earth. A clag-doo was cursed with vicious talons that never stopped growing.
He remembered then—brief flashes amongst the sensations—savagely blunting his claws upon tree trunks.
It was an irony that he’d found Ailsa’s pointed fingernails disturbing, when a clag-doo’s claws were far worse. He was cursed and succumbing to the beast that had been etched onto his thigh.
But he didn’t carry his secret alone any longer. Someone else knew.
Ailsa. Would she even be there when he returned to that knoll?
She’d promised him she would, but once the full weight of his news sank in, she might change her mind. She might decide the bodyguard she’d hired was too much of a liability.
A lost prince with a price on his head.
A cursed warrior with a beast beneath his skin.
She’d have been wise to flee.
Silently cursing himself for a string of poor choices that had led him to this point, Darach shakily rose to his feet.
He then moved over to the edge of the clearing, limping as the tattoo on his right thigh burned.
Even in the dim dawn light, he could see how inflamed it looked, the red lines that now crept out from the edges like a soured wound.
His pulse stuttered. I don’t have much time left.
Swallowing his dread, he stopped at the base of the old pine where he’d left his clothing and reached for his breeches.
Although it had sat under the tree, the garment was damp from the rain, clammy against his skin as he pulled it on.
The material chafed against his overly sensitive skin.
His linen tunic, leather vest, and fur cloak went on next, followed by his sword belt and the knives that he strapped onto his body. After that, he tugged on his boots.
And all the while, exhaustion dragged at him.
It was always like this after he changed back. Not surprising, really, since the beast hunted relentlessly all night. His body was bruised, and his limbs ached down to the bones. All he wanted was to crawl into some dark corner and sleep for a day.
But he couldn’t.
He had a task to fulfil. Ailsa had offered to help him—and maybe she could—but they both needed Kayla. He’d already let Ailsa down enough on this journey.
He wouldn’t do so again.
He just hoped she’d give him another chance.
Leaving the woodland of birch and conifers behind, he emerged onto a scrub-covered hill. He walked north, wet ground squelching underfoot, crossing a burn before he climbed the knoll.
The mist was clearing now, drifting away like steam from a cooling cauldron of water, and yet the rain continued to fall, harder now. It pattered on his shoulders and slicked his hair against his skull.
Pain clutched at his thigh, and he stumbled.
A muscular bay stallion cropped at grass a few yards distant. Rùn lifted his head, whickering in greeting.
And there, halfway up, he came upon a figure hunched over the smoking remains of a fire.
His heart lurched.
She waited.
Wiping rain from her eyes, Ailsa watched Darach approach. She marked his pronounced limp, his rumpled clothing, and the hollow-eyed exhaustion on his face.
It all made sense this morning, although she couldn’t look at him in the same way.
Not when she knew that beast lived beneath his skin.
“I thought you’d be gone,” he greeted her hoarsely, stopping before the hissing embers.
Ailsa pulled a face. She’d considered it—a few times during the night as she’d waited alone by the fire and listened to blood-curdling yowls splitting the night—but something had made her stay.
“I paid you too much for that … and besides, I can’t rescue Kayla alone.
” She hesitated. Her words had come out harsher than she intended.
Her cheeks warmed then. “And … I don’t leave people behind. ”
Their gazes met and held for a long moment.
The intimacy of it made Ailsa’s pulse quicken.
Out here in the wilds, this man was all she had, yet there was more to it than that. She couldn’t just walk away from someone in trouble. She hadn’t turned her back on Fern, and she wouldn’t abandon him either.
People were cruel to those they didn’t understand, but she wasn’t like them.
The urge to spill her own secrets reared up then.
She wanted to tell him about how the smell of blood made her mouth water. How the thought of tearing a man’s throat open excited her. And about how frightened she was.
And yet, she held her tongue.
Massaging his shoulder, Darach cast a glance over at the corpse still sprawled a few feet away. “At least, he didn’t give you any trouble.”
“No … the dead don’t.” Rising to her feet, Ailsa brushed off her skirts.
Pointless really, since her clothing was already travel-stained and soaked.
Wet wool itched and scratched against her skin.
She was sure she reeked. What she wouldn’t do for a steaming bowl of water and a cake of soap right now.
Pushing the longing aside, she then picked up her satchel and slung it over her front. “Let’s go.”
“Aye.” He kicked earth over the smoldering embers and glanced north.
Ailsa followed his gaze, taking in the dark wall of granite peaks that pierced the lightening sky. “Not much longer, is it?”
“No … those whoresons are so close I can almost smell them.”
She cut him a sidelong look, noting the dried blood on his hands and a bruise that was coming up on his left cheekbone. The man looked as if he’d spent the night wrestling a troll.
How close was the beast to taking him completely?
Their gazes met, and neither of them looked away this time.
Despite the pattering rain and her clammy clothing, warmth suffused Ailsa’s chest.
Last night had changed things.
She no longer watched him, wondering what he was hiding.
He’s been honest with you … maybe you should do the same.
Her chest constricted. Gods. How she wanted to, but she couldn’t.
How could she tell him about that obscene dream?
He had an explanation for his behavior. She didn’t.
Ailsa stood back as Darach examined the dead man.
Not the one they’d left behind on that hillside at dawn, but a warrior with curly black hair they’d come upon in the clearing, next to the cold remains of a fire. The rain pattered down, glistening on the corpse’s waxen skin. A smashed vial of pigment lay a few feet away.
It was just after midday, and they were in a wooded corrie within the mountains now. Steep slopes covered with scree and wreathed in mist reared above them.
Darach had tracked the mercenaries to this spot.
“He’s dressed the same as that warrior we found after Gateway,” Ailsa said finally.
“Aye, he’s one of them,” Darach answered, frowning. “What’s that in his eye?”
Ailsa moved closer and lowered herself to a crouch next to Darach. She then stilled. The bone handle of a knife protruded from the man’s left eye, while its length had driven straight through the socket and into his brain. “A tattooist’s blade.”
Darach murmured an oath. “Kayla?”
Ailsa stared at the blade lodged in his eye. That was her mentor’s work all right.
Her heart started to pound. Hold on. I’m coming.
“Aye.” Her gaze lowered to a fresh cut upon the warrior’s neck. “Looks like she was tattooing him.”
Darach’s lips lifted at the edges. “Until she killed him.”
“Kayla’s a survivor … resourceful.” Ailsa looked around then. Unfortunately, this was just one of them. Where were the others? She tensed. Had they punished Kayla for killing one of their own?
“It was the idiot’s own fault.” Darach stood up and did a slow circuit around the fire pit, searching for clues. “He shouldn’t have let her get a blade in her hands.”
“Not a mistake he’ll be making again.” Ailsa glanced back at the dead man. “How far ahead are they?”
“There’s still a hint of warmth on his skin … so I’d say we’re closer than I thought.” His gaze met hers. “Come on,” —he nodded north— “the trail leads this way.”
He crossed to where Rùn waited on the edge of the clearing and swung up onto the stallion’s back. Then he held out a hand to Ailsa. “They’ll not outrun us for much longer.”
Approaching him, she took his hand and placed her foot on top of his.
A moment later, she was seated behind him, and they were trotting out of the clearing.
The horse’s jolting gait threw her up against Darach’s broad back—pressing her against him with every stride—until Rùn broke into a smooth canter.
Heat seeped through her damp clothes.
Ailsa shifted back slightly. Shades. This was neither the time nor the place. However, the contact stirred memories of Ardroth. Her up against the wall, gyrating against his erection. Him devouring her mouth.
Her breathing grew shallow, warmth spreading between her thighs.
Gods. She needed to focus on something else.
At least it’s better than imagining you’re drinking his blood.
Aye, it was, but her lust was ill-timed.
Darach had a serious problem. The beast was close to claiming him completely—and she wasn’t sure they’d reach Kayla in time.
Something had to be done.
Clearing her throat, she leaned forward. “I can help you.”
Darach stiffened against her. “With the tattoo?”
“Aye … I’m not as experienced … or as skilled …
as Kayla,” she replied, hesitating now. She didn’t want him to get his hopes up too high.
“But I’ve given it some thought. I’m able to channel earth magic with the help of the tattoo on my calf …
and I can ink a binding pattern around the clag-doo, to stop it from taking any further hold. ”
“You could manage that?”
“I don’t see why not. The binding pattern would allow you to stop the beast from emerging … yet you could still call upon it if necessary.” His body tensed further at these last words, but she pressed on. “It should also make it easier for you to shift back.”
“Really?”
“Aye.” She paused then, suddenly less sure of herself. “I can’t rid you of the beast … but once Kayla takes a look at it, she might be able to.”
He didn’t answer immediately, although his stillness indicated he was thinking her suggestion over. “What do you need?” he asked finally.
Ailsa hesitated—doubt suddenly stirring—then pushed on anyway. “Nothing more than I already carry.” Her hand strayed to the bulging satchel that lay against her hip. “I brought Kayla’s tattooing kit with me. When we stop for the day, I can get to work.”
Darach didn’t reply, and as the pause drew out, she tensed.
Was he nervous about letting an apprentice work on him, concerned she might botch things further and make things worse?
“I know it’s risky,” she said then. “But I wouldn’t make the offer unless I thought I was up to it. Kayla always hesitated to let me use my skills to the fullest … but I know I’m capable of it.”
Aye, she was. But only if he let her work on him.
“I trust you, Ailsa,” he replied eventually, his voice oddly subdued. Then, to her surprise, he lifted his hand and placed it over where hers rested on his hip, squeezing gently. “Very well … let’s do this.”