“Ramsay Logan.” Grimm gave him a chilling smile.

“Not surprised to see me, eh, Roderick? Or should I say McIllioch?” He spat the name as if he’d found a foul thing lying on his tongue.

“No, I can’t say I’m surprised.” Grimm moved stealthily nearer. “I always knew what kind of man you are.”

“I said stop, you bastard. I won’t hesitate to kill her.”

“And then what would you do?” Grimm countered, but drew to a halt. “You’ll never make it past me, so what would killing Jillian accomplish?”

“I’d get the pleasure of ridding the world of McIllioch monsters yet to be. And if I don’t come out, the McKane will destroy you when you do.”

“Let her go. Release her and you can have me,” Grimm offered. Jillian thrashed in Ramsay’s tight grip, making it clear that she wanted no such thing.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, McIllioch.”

Grimm said nothing, his eyes murderous. A score of yards lay between them, and Grimm wondered if the Berserker rage could get him across it and free Jillian before Ramsay could slice with the knife.

It was too risky to chance, and Ramsay was counting on that to stay him. But something didn’t make sense. What did Logan hope to gain? If he killed Jillian, Ramsay knew Grimm would go Berserk and rip him to shreds. What was Logan’s plan? He began to ask questions, trying to buy precious minutes. “Why are you doing this, Logan? I know we’ve had our disagreements in the past, but they were minor.”

“It has nothing to do with our disagreements and everything to do with what you are.” Ramsay sneered. “You’re not human, McIllioch.”

Grimm closed his eyes, unwilling to see the look of horror he was certain would be on Jillian’s face. “When did you figure it out?” Keeping Ramsay talking might give him insight into what the bastard wanted. If it was his life and his alone, and he could assure Jillian’s safety by giving it, he would gladly die. But if Ramsay planned to kill them both, Grimm would die fighting for her.

“I figured it out the day you killed the mountain cat. I was standing in the trees and saw you after you transformed. Hatchard called you by your real name.” Ramsay shook his head in disgust. “All those years at court I never knew. Oh, I knew who Gavrael McIllioch was—hell, I think everyone does but your lovely bitch here.” He laughed when Grimm stiffened. “Careful, or I cut.”

“So you aren’t the one who tried to poison me?” Grimm inched forward so gracefully he didn’t appear to be moving.

Ramsay roared with laughter. “That was a fine fix. Hell yes, I tried to poison you. Even that backfired; you switched it somehow. But I didn’t know you were a Berserker then, or I wouldn’t have wasted my time.”

Grimm winced. It was out. But Jillian’s face was turned to the side, away from the knife, and he couldn’t make out her expression.

“No,” Ramsay continued. “I had no idea. I just wanted you out of the running for Jillian. You see, I need the lass.”

“I was right. You need her dowry.”

“But you don’t know the half of it. I’m in to Campbell so deeply, he’s holding the titles to my land. In years past the Logans hired out as mercenaries, but there haven’t been any good wars lately. Do you know when we hired out as mercenaries last? Stop moving!” he bellowed.

Grimm stood impassively. “When?”

“Fifteen years ago. To the McKane, you bastard. And fifteen years ago, Gavrael McIllioch killed my da and three of my brothers.”

Grimm hadn’t known. The battle was a blur in his mind, his first Berserker rage. “In fair battle. And if your clan hired out they weren’t even fighting for a cause, but murdering for coin. If they were in Tuluth, they were attacking my home and slaughtering my people—”

“You’re not people. You’re not human.”

“Jillian’s not part of this. Let her go. It’s me you want.”

“She’s part of it if she’s breeding, McIllioch. She swears she’s not, but I think I’ll keep her just to make sure. The McKane told me a lot about you monsters. I know the boys are born Berserkers but don’t change until they get older. A boy slips out of her womb, he’s dead. If it’s a girl, who knows. I may let it live. She could be a pretty toy.”

Grimm finally managed to get a glimpse of Jillian’s face. It was drawn in a mask of horror. So it was out. She knew, and it was over. The fear and revulsion he’d glimpsed in his nightmares had indeed been a portent. The fight nearly fled him when he saw it, and would have had she not been in danger. He could die now. He may as well, because inside he already had. But not Jillian; she must live.