Page 57 of The Wolf in My Tavern

Yet the irrational part of me still needs to see her with my own eyes before I can be calm.

“Thanks, Tim,” I say. “I’ll have a quick look to see if I can spot them.”

I head outside into the cold streets. The snow’s been falling steadily for days, and it’s starting to form drifts against the buildings. Pulling my cloak tightly around me, I head for the part of the market where the craft stalls are found.

I walk up and down, asking at stalls, but I don’t see them anywhere, and no one remembers seeing them, either.

A strange premonition of danger settles in my belly, along with a restless need for action and for the relief that will be mine only when I see Ada’s pretty face—her smile.

On the third pass, I admit defeat. For all I know, they’ve gone off to look elsewhere. Maybe they went to the workshop, wondering where I am. I take a final look over the crowd to see if I can see their heads anywhere, and as I turn, a woman barrels straight into me.

“Whoa.” I take her shoulders, and she steps back, trying to dart around me.

“Betsy?” My confusion lasts only long enough for me to realize she is alone. “Where is Ada?” I demand.

Her whole body sags when she recognizes me, and then she starts to stammer, her eyes wide, chest heaving but not getting a single word out.

“Where the fuck is Ada?”

“Gone,” she finally bursts out. “He took her.”

“Who took her?” Fuck, I am about to lose my mind. I take her by the shoulders again and give her a little shake. “Betsy, tell me what happened; right now.”

“Gray,” she says, gulping deep breaths between the words, “Gray took her… to the docks… I wanted to follow… Ada told me… She told me to go, lest I find myself taken too…. You have to get her back, Callum. You have to!”

I growl. My vision is like a kaleidoscope of color before I can blink it away.

“Callum! Your eyes… ”

I brush past her, ready to charge for the docks, but she hangs onto my cloak, dragging me to a stop.

“You can’t go after them like this. There are two of them, and they are shifters. You do not even have a weapon!”

I look down at myself, acknowledging all she says, yet still ready to rip the world apart with my bare hands. Betsy is right. I do not have a fucking weapon.

“I followed them a short way. They put her on a longboat which had the words The Minstrel on the side. They were making for a ship anchored just off the shore, one that bears the flag of a foreign land. More longboats bearing that name are at the wharf, loading with supplies enough for a long journey. They will be leaving soon. I know they will.”

“I need help,” I say as realization dawns. “And a weapon.”

“Go get what you need,” she says. “I shall run back to the tavern and tell my pa too, and he can send for the city guardsmen as he trusts.”

We part ways. I run all the way back, only to find the workshop empty and the door locked. My father is not here.

Where the fuck is he?

I turn on the spot, frantic, knowing I don’t have time to find him when Ada has been taken and is on a ship that might leave at any moment.

I take the stairs two at a time and reach under my father’s bed without hesitation. The cloth-wrapped bundle is still there. I toss it on the bed and open it out.

The scabbard is still well-oiled, and the leather is soft and supple. Chest heaving, I unsheathe the sword and watch it glisten in the light.

I have limited skills with a sword, having trained only a few times with my pa using a blunt practice weapon.

Today, the woman I love more than life is in danger.

Today, I need a true sword—a master’s sword.

I know the fucking basics, and I pray that will be enough.

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