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

Bloodthirsty Bog Lilies

Guilt snared some of the writhing impatience in her chest. She looked back at him again, mustering a little sympathy. "Try not to be so loud, you sound like a dinner bell."

His eyes were wide and unseeing, like a blind man. He tried to laugh, but it came off like a cough.

She tried to imagine Thrax grasping, sightless, in the dark like this. Even without his warg abilities, she knew Thrax would still dominate the darkness as though he owned it. Like the marshal back at Black Bridge Castle—a human man but comfortable and confident in the dark. Merritt barely dominated the colorful silks he was wearing.

For Brek's sake, what was he doing dressed like a pudding in the outland? No wonder half his men were gobbled up. At this plodding pace, he didn't stand a chance out here. "Stop flailing about and take my hand," she commanded, watching him flinch. With a harsh sigh, she reached out to snatch his hand from the air, hating his groping frailty, yet...understanding what it felt like. But it was more than that. There was a weakness of spirit in him, too. How had she never noticed that before?

"You sound different," he whined.

"Do I?" She shrugged, knowing he couldn't see it.

"Yes, I know you're still a genteel lady under all that unbecoming leather and brusqueness." He gave a shudder, seemingly horrified by her warg attire. "You needn't act like them, too."

She snorted, not in the least bit offended by his absurd remark. With effort, though, she gentled her tone somewhat. They'd been friends once, married even, he deserved better from her. "I suppose the outland has a way of hardening mud into rock." She eyed him, wondering if this land could make something firmer of his soft hands and delicate bones. Her mother had served in the Kings Guard as a young woman, so it made sense Elgret was the way she was. Of steel, not silk. Even some of the women in Merritt's contingent were more muscled than he was.

His brow was furrowed as he tripped along behind her. "You aren't insinuating I'm like mud and you're the rock, are you?"

"Wargs don't insinuate anything."

"You're not a warg, Rowan," he said, sighing sharply. "The sooner I get you home, the better. You've gone...wild."

She halted and turned on her heel, her hand splaying against his chest to keep him from ploughing into her. "Merritt—"

"Dear heart, you haven't even greeted me properly." He tried to draw her to him. Tried to pull her into his arms. But she held herself aloof and the embrace turned cold and awkward.

In the water, she could see the mirok's curious green eyes following their progress. But it wasn't just he that was listening and watching them. A powerful male musk, as familiar to her as her own name, began to fold around her. She could taste his anger like smoke in the air. Before she could scold Merritt, or at least warn him they weren't alone, Thrax's voice rumbled through the dark.

"Careful, little lordling," said Thrax, his voice turing the air frigid.

Merritt started, dropping his hands. His bones began to shake, his eyes trying to penetrate the dark.

"You've neither the sense nor ability to get yourself home safely, never mind getting my wargrix there. She'd have a better chance without you."

"I say, may we perhaps...could we speak in the light? Inside." Merritt licked his lips. "I am at a disadvantage here in the dark, wargrex."

"You were at a disadvantage the moment you left your mother's skirts and crossed that bridge."

"Thrax..." Rowan muttered over Merritt's gasping outrage. " That's enough." She shook her head, dragging Merritt behind her. "Come along, both of you." She avoided Thrax's glare, though it weighed her shoulders down like packed ice. She let go of Merritt's delicate white hand the moment they entered her house.