Page 25
Dimly, she was aware of the heavy thud of approaching boots. They were about to have more company. Meanwhile, the warrior she’d just attacked crumpled, gurgling as he clutched at his ruined throat.
Ailsa’s belly clenched at the sight of gushing blood between his fingers before she hurled herself at the door behind him and yanked it open.
They had just moments.
The rush of cold, damp air hit her in the face as she raced down the steps beyond. The others were with her, but more warriors were just behind.
She reached the foot of the steps in the wide yard in front of the broch just as Darach moved past her.
He then cast aside his own weapon. It slapped into the mud, and he cut his companions a warning look, his gaze stopping upon Ailsa. “Stay back out of my line of sight, or you know what will happen.”
She nodded tightly, motioning to Fern and Kayla. The three of them skirted around him and headed toward the stables.
Meanwhile, behind them, Darach choked out a curse that broke apart halfway through, mangling into something closer to a scream.
Ailsa knew she shouldn’t look—knew what she’d see—but she couldn’t help herself.
Cutting a glance over her shoulder, she saw him doubled over, both arms wrapped tight around his chest, as if he were trying to hold himself together. A tremor ran through him, violent enough that his knees buckled.
Gods.
His shoulders rounded, bunching beneath skin that seemed suddenly too tight. Muscle flexed and rippled in ways no one’s should. His spine arched, roaching upward, and a sound tore out of him—raw, wordless, half pain and half fury.
Ailsa’s stomach clenched as she stumbled to a halt. She was unable to take her eyes off him.
Turns earlier, she’d been perched in that tall pine, and had watched him shift. She’d braced herself for it, but this time, it seemed even more brutal.
His fingers clawed at the air, hunting for something to grip even as the bones beneath them began to shift and lengthen. His jaw worked, teeth bared. Another spasm hit him, and this time, the agonized cry that ripped free of him made her flinch, made her want to go to him, to help him.
Stay back.
He collapsed onto all fours then, chest heaving, black fur already erupting along his forearms in patches—just as the warriors spewed out of the broch and descended upon him.
A shout tore from Ailsa’s throat.
Gods, he’d left it too late.
They’d rip him to pieces.
She couldn’t see Darach at all now, for a wall of leather-clad bodies swarmed around him.
And then, something changed.
The warriors nearest Darach recoiled.
One woman screamed and stumbled backward, while the man next to her dropped his axe.
A deep, rumbling growl rolled through the damp air, so powerful that Ailsa felt it vibrate in her chest.
Something big surged upward in their midst.
Someone shouted, “Gods, save us!”
Claws flashed. A warrior cried out, the sound ending abruptly as blood sprayed.
Another was hurled sideways as if he were no more than a poppet.
Panic rippled through those remaining.
