Page 88 of Fang & Fury

The creature had sensed danger and was now bounding away through the trees.

Darach lunged after it.

Gods. He was fast. Breathtakingly so.

The hare didn’t have a chance. The ground blurred beneath him. A savage joy surged as he moved in a body built to hunt. For one exhilarating heartbeat, understanding dawned. The clag-doo wasn’t cruel; it was simply following instinct.

And then he was on the hare, pinning the hapless creature to the damp ground, ripping into it with teeth and claws, swallowing warm, writhing meat down. His brief flash of understanding winked out, horror rushing in to replace it.

Darach’s gorge rose, his gut twisting.

Enough.

For the first time since changing, he pushed back.

The clag-doo stilled in its feasting. A moment later, it gave a soft growl. A warning. Back off.

Darach wouldn’t. Change.

He felt it resist him, as if they were both gripping either end of a rope, which now snapped taut.

Darach leaned onto his end, pulling steadily.

The clag-doo yanked back. Hard.

And then, suddenly, the metaphorical rope yanked from Darach’s fingers.

Snarling its victory, the clag-doo returned to its feasting.

Angry now, Darach pushed once more. We’re done, you fucker. Time to shift back.

The clag-doo snapped at him. He ignored it, pushing against it with brute force now.

Only death would separate them—Kayla had confirmed it. He was going to carry this thing inside him for the rest of his life, however long or short that turned out to be. No herb, sigil, or prayer would take it away.

And that meant he had to master it.

The clag-doo had to learn its place.

Still, they wrestled, neither yielding, until, suddenly, Darach won.

One moment, he’d been locked in combat, the next, he was on his hands and knees on the cold ground, the odor of rotting leaves in his nostrils, and blood in his mouth.

Panting hard, he let himself settle into his own body, allowing the clag-doo to recede.

Shit. That had been much harder than he’d expected. Would he have to wrestle with it like that every time?

Moments slid by, and he remained where he was, his heart hammering in his ears, until he trusted himself to stand.

Ailsa walked the ramparts alone. The wind whistled overhead, blowing her hair around her face as she breathed in deep lungfuls of cold, smoke-laced air.

She’d left the archives a short while earlier, abruptly. Gil had said he’d continue alone, but the others had decided to stay and help him. With their departure from Duncrag looming, it should make things faster.

Ailsa had told them all she needed to clear her head, but that wasn’t the whole truth.

The endless searching didn’t wear on her so much as watching everyone else contribute something while she only grew increasingly frustrated. Kayla and Mairead had both studied tattoo lore, and Gil was an expert in old texts.

After a while, she’d started to feel like a spare hand no one needed.