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

The Storm

Merritt saw it before she could squelch it, and it instantly palliated his terror. "You don't look so sure, Rowan."

"If nothing else, Thrax knows I'd never leave Meera or Striga behind."

He grinned, nodding. "And that's why I've brought them both along, too. Meera's a trusting little fool, didn't take much to convince her that I'd harm you if she didn't cooperate. Quietly."

She gnashed her teeth, wishing she could strangle him. "I'll kill you for this, Merritt."

"No, you won't, you're not bloodthirsty. Soon you'll realize that I'm doing this because I love you. As soon as you see the walls of West Gate—as soon as you have some warm butter pudding, or those honey things you like—you'll realize you never belonged with those godsawful savages. They've brainwashed you, you know."

"By the goddess, you are a rambling fool." And fools were dangerous, she was coming to find out too late. Fools couldn't be reasoned with. She'd find herself gagged again if she tried to make him see reason. She bit her lip and peered past him where the tent flap was thrashing in the wind. "Where are we?"

"A shortcut. I found maps of the outland in some old books in the Temple Library."

Dread swooped into her cold bones. "There are no shortcuts in the outland—only dead ends." Her eyes flicked nervously down at the mud. What if there were blood wyrms nearby? No one would hear the approach of blood wyrms over the storm.

"This way is safer, Rowan. I promise. An old and reliable road with no blood-sucking orchids to menace my men."

"If it was worth going this way, the wargs would do it."

"Don't look so scared, we're all wearing nixrath silver." He tugged at the cluster of gleaming chains hanging over his surcote. It was very pure silver, nearly white. "And the storm is helping to cover our scent and tracks. No sane beast is out in this stupid weather."

She shook her head. "Only fools like you."

He shrugged. "Needs must..."

"Caves are dark and wet," she said gesturing to the wet darkness beyond the tent. "Grendels will be out in this storm." They were cave dwellers in the day, but they emerged in the dark, rain or no rain. And the sun was blotted behind thick black clouds. She shifted uncomfortably, hating that she'd been lying in one spot for gods-knew how long. Any longer and she'd be fodder for wyrms and vishwa, no less horrifying than grendels. "That silver," she reminded him, "did nothing to help you the last time."

"Of course it did," he replied, "I'm still alive, aren't I?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and counted to three. "Merritt, we have to get back on the move. It's dangerous to rest in one place too long."

"We are leaving, the men are packing up as we speak." He gave her knee a light tap. "Can't lay about all day, lazy bones."

She was one more stupid remark away from shoving her boot through his teeth.

He held the tent flap open for her. Once outside, she held her manacled hands up to shield her eyes against the worst of the rain. "Where's Meera?"

He pointed to a group of mounted riders. "There, on Striga's back. It lent a lot of credibility to our departure—your maid atop your steed. You resting your head on my shoulder as we left..." He watched her closely. "Your guard dog wasn't sniffing about in the small hours to witness us leaving." Was he talking about Thresh or Thrax? Merritt glanced over to Meera and Striga again. "If only that damnable wing wasn't useless, Striga could've flown us off into the dawn and all the way home."