Mated to the Warg (Wargs of the Outland, #1)

Solatium

"Thrax," said Elgret by way of greeting, a small incline of her head. "Well met, and welcome. It has been far too long." Then she switched to wargish, her words guttural and harsh. Wholly alien. Rowan hadn't known till now that her mother was fluent in wargish. It didn't surprise her, though.

The wargrex held the High Lady's gaze, unblinking. Rowan would have melted into a hot puddle by now had those fiery eyes been studying her so intently.

But it was not he that answered their Lady. No, he seemed intent on searching the crowd again. The warg that had entered first, was now standing beside the wargrex. The second-in-command? At a nod from the wargrex, the warg addressed the High Lady. But he used the warg tongue and therefore Rowan could not follow the conversation.

She glanced about the room and saw that very few West Gaters, if any, understood them at all. Most of the revelers who weren't besotted on drink were looking about with wild, disconcerted gazes. Including her own.

"What's he saying?" she whispered to Merritt. Surely her scholarly husband would know. But Merritt never got a chance to answer.

Her question, though she'd spoken in hushed tones, instantly snagged the wargrex's notice.

Her face blanched to have her earlier fear visited upon her after all—the wargrex's piercing attention transferring from her mother to Rowan. The weight of his gaze scattered hot ripples across her flesh.

Surprise gathered over his brow as he studied her face. He moved towards her, deliberate and slow.

Rowan shrank away as he neared, chills skittering up her spine. His face darkened when she gasped. If he came any closer, she was sure her heart would gutter out and die. She slipped fully behind Merritt and stumbled backwards. Her blundering misstep was met with warg laughter. And now, instead of being small and invisible beside her besotted groom, she was no better than an imbecile spotlighted on the dais by luminous wolf eyes.

All this happened in quick succession, though to Rowan it seemed a heart-stopping eternity. Merritt was still opening his mouth to answer her question, frowning over his shoulder at her antics, when the wargrex cut him off.

"Shall I translate for you, little bride?" He spoke softly yet his voice seemed to rattle the rafters. It was low and came from deep within his chest.

Strange that she felt her bones and blood vibrate with each word. She froze. "I didn't mean to interr—"

"My brother, Barthac," he said, gesturing to the second-in-command, "is in doubt of the High Lady's sincerity." Beneath his searing gaze, her face burned. He went on as though she wasn't wilting like a flower. "Perhaps you can answer him?" The wargrex's gaze seemed to devour every inch of her. "Is it true?"

Rowan trembled, looking to her mother for help, hoping for a sign.

But Elgret's eyes flared with ire. Answer the man, she seemed to say.

Rowan clutched her stomach, her voice falling to a whisper. "Is...what true, my lord?"

"I am no lord," he said. "I'm barely even civilized." This elicited more warg laughter. The castle foundations rumbled with their humor.

She flinched.

"Just Thrax. We are simple folk."

Simple? They were terrifying! And she still had no idea what he was asking?

He brought the crook of his finger below her chin as though to force her gaze up off the floor. But before he could touch her, she recoiled in shock.

The smile bled instantly from his face. "Answer me," he said. This time the words were clipped and devoid of humor.