"What do you mean you're not going?" Thesta's voice climbed an octave, making Rowan wince.
"I'm tired." It wasn't a lie, she hadn't been able to sleep all week. "I can't—"
"Bah! You're as fit as a bog rabbit. The exercise will do you good." Thesta gave a succinct nod as though Rowan not going on the hunt tonight was unthinkable. Her brows fell as Rowan shook her head again. "Fine, then ride atop your mate's back if you're so tired."
"I told you, I'm not going."
Thesta's lips pursed. "You don't understand, Rowan, this is an important night. You must go."
She dragged her gaze away from Thesta's imploring look, hating how wretched it made her feel.
But Thesta wasn't done. "The Full Moon Hunt is one of Mantor's twelve sacred nights, you cannot miss this! It's what makes the pack so cohesive—bonds are reenforced and deepened. Most of all, it sustains the wargrex link, our joint power amplifies his power. It's what gives him—us—dominion over the outland. If he's strong, we're all strong, including you! Rowan you cannot miss tonight. We need you. My brother needs you."
But Rowan only tightened her jaw and kept her gaze averted. Gods, this was agonizing. She wished Thesta would stop making her feel worse about what could not be changed. She had to leave tonight. It was the only night the Mantor eyes would glow bright enough.
"Rowan?"
"Let her be, Sister." Thrax emerged into the hall and Rowan felt all the air rushing out of her lungs, her flesh rippling with awareness.
How long had he been listening? She snuck a glance at his face, and then swiftly wished she hadn't. He looked worse than angry. He looked...disappointed.
Thesta stood so that she was facing her brother. "She's your mate, she has to be there."
Without lifting his sullen gaze from Rowan, "She knows that."
Rowan glared down at her father's ring, . "I don't enjoy bloodsport," she said weakly.
"We eat what we kill," Thesta swiftly replied.
Thrax made no comment—his very silence was telling. He nodded to his sister, dismissing her. With a long sigh, Thesta left the house. All this Rowan observed from her periphery.
The moon would be rising soon, and the pack was likely already gathering outside the village. Moonrath had caught scent of a fat saber troll bull this morning, or so Thesta had told her earlier. Everyone was excited for the hunt. Saber trolls were wily and strong, not to mention huge, beasts that were worthy adversaries for wargs.
With the neighboring index finger, Rowan turned her father's ring as though spinning it might fuel her courage. Around and around it went, much the same as her doubts. Finally, she fisted her hand to silence her dread. It didn't work, however.
All the while, Thrax undressed in silence. She hated that she could feel his implacable gaze. It was worse tonight because instead of it being the hot caress she'd become so used to lately, it was hard and probing. If he didn't leave soon, the tension on her nerves would have her snapping into pieces.
Even without looking directly, she could see his naked body taking on the wolf form. He was making it a habit to 'reconcile' her to the shifting. She supposed it was working because each time he shifted, it was becoming less and less frightening. Except tonight. The assessing looks in his wolf eyes were harder to bear. In a way, now that he couldn't speak, his looks were all the more telling.
Maybe she ought to have stayed for the hunt and then tried to get away tomorrow night instead. This horrible feeling of disappointment was swelling into throbbing aches around her temples. No, she quickly reminded herself. Tonight was the only night every warg would be distracted. Her only chance in getting home.
At length, Thrax finally lowered his head to the floor with a resigned grunt—palpable wolf disgruntlement. Then he quietly padded out the wide front door, ducking his large wolf head.
Her lungs expelled on a groan. They had no right to make her feel so awful. Thrax never should have taken her from Merritt! She wasn't a warg, she didn't belong here with them. With him. What did she care for hunting smelly old saber trolls? Why were they so determined to make her what she wasn't? Even her mother had failed to mold her. Only Merritt had loved her for herself. Just as she was, feeble and all.
And she loved him, too! Dear faithful Merritt. She needed to get back home to him, to see his handsome face, and to be wrapped in his gentle arms. She was still a virgin, after all. He would take her back, she knew he would. They were married after all. A marriage and a mating were not synonymous!
She waited only a few minutes more before grabbing a sack of water skins and dried meat. Outside, dusk greeted her with a chilly kiss. She shivered. That shiver turned into a bone-deep tremble as the night erupted with warg howls. The hunt was on.
Hopefully their howling and baying would carry far into the night. As far as it was possible to keep other predators from her heels.
...
Meera and Striga were waiting for her at the far end of the village. Striga hopped impatiently around Meera's feet. Thankfully, the hunt was taking the wargs in the opposite direction she needed to go. All was silent.
Already, she could see the soft glow of the first Mantor eye. Her warg vision made its light so much sharper and clearer. She hadn't bargained on having the advantage of Thrax's night gift, but she was thankful to the gods nonetheless. Clearly, Maeda wanted her to succeed.
Behind her, the longhouses were limned in bright moonlight. Again, no fires—no lamplight. Nothing but the eerie silence of a deserted village and thick shadows creeping beneath the houses. Even the warglings were out with their parents tonight.
She chewed her lip, Turing to Striga. "All right, it's time we headed home." Her smile felt brittle and fear was gnawing away at her belly. "How about it, Striga, my girl? You ready?"
The owl gave a soft hoot and stretched out her wings. She began shaking her feathers out—almost like a wolf shedding water from its pelt. The shaking became violent and her wings rigid as her already large owl body began to grow even larger. Rowan and Meera craned their necks back as they watched the dergle shoot up in height. The feathery horns slowly became long tapered ears, her body stretching into muscled flanks, a sleek brindle coat replacing the feathers. When the transformation was done, a large winged horse stood snorting before her, pawing the ground with a restless hoof.
The only spot of color on her that didn't belong, was the small patch of scarred red horse feathers on her giant wing. A patch that was much less obvious in her owl form. But in her horse form, it was a striking reminder of Striga's disability.
Rowan ran her hand up along Striga's warm flanks and then over the misshapen wing that was half-dragging on the ground. Poor sweet Striga. If only the poor creature had full use of that wing, she might've carried both women all the way back to West Gate in no time at all.
As an owl, her flight was clumsy. As a horse, her wing was too lame to get even her hooves off the ground. Still, a dergle in horse form was nothing to sneeze at. Striga could fly like the wind even in a gallop, and no warg—not even the wargrex—could catch or outpace them if they were on Striga. She would be on that bridge, locked in Merritt's embrace, come dawn.
She gave the mare's lame wing a light pat with her shaky hand. "You can put these away, old girl." Useless wings would only slow the horse down.
With a soft nicker, Striga gave another shake. The wings shrank back into her fur until, finally, there was nothing but smooth horse muscle, and a tiny speckle of red fur where the left wing had been. She was now just a leggy horse with a peculiar coat. Striga tucked her forearm back, her knee bent so that Rowan could climb up.
She wasted no time. Once she was mounted, she helped Meera up behind her. She spared only one brief glance for the silent houses looming behind her. Her jaw clenched. She could do this. Merritt was waiting. She didn't have to fear her mother. We stand alone and we stand strong! She tried to draw on Merritt's words, tried to form his voice in her head, but all she could hear was the erratic clamor of her heart.
She forced herself to face forward, her body signaling Striga into action. They were off. Striga's hoof pounded the first Mantor eye deep into the earth. If they kept faithfully in this direction, the next eye would soon be visible, too. She narrowed her gaze over the rolling landscape. The night gift vibrated in her blood as she glimpsed the faint light of the next Mantor eye in the distance.
Thesta had told her the warg vision would become permanent, along with a host of other preternatural abilities, once the mating bond was locked in place. Once they mated.
Her abdomen clenched with heat just thinking about it and she gritted her teeth at the unwelcome jolt humming low in her womanhood. Then she thought of the semi-immortality she was giving up. To mate with Thrax would be to give up her humanity. She feared what that entailed. What would she become if... She shook her head and focused forward. The time for ifs was at an end. She was already gone.
And a small part of her wondered if her escape was all for the love of Merritt, or if it was more for fear of Thrax. Fear of what he would make her feel. She would grow to love him if she stayed, she knew it. Which wouldn't be so bad except it would mean loss. An unbearable loss if he died like her father had.
Loss of herself, too. A loss of control. Always begging for scraps of love from someone who would only be constantly disappointed in her. Thrax would grow to hate her. Everyone did. Her own mother did. Not Merritt, though.
She swiped a tear away, uncaring if Meera saw it. It was the wind snatching tears from Rowan's eyes, that was all.
The bracelet of red pearly beads was still on her wrist, wrapped and snug. A warg wedding band of sorts. She wondered why she hadn't removed it yet, but even when it occurred to her to fling it to the ground, she couldn't bring herself to do it. So it stayed on her wrist as Striga thundered into the night.
The ground was a blur. Striga's rhythmic gallop matched her racing heart. The night scenery flashed in the moonlight. Mentor's silver light intensified the night colors and made it almost as vivid as the night of the Mating Moon.
Had it not been for the moonlight, she'd have missed seeing the creature far off in the high grass. Even with her enhanced vision, she might have missed it altogether. It moved quickly, seeming to duck into the earth. So fast, she'd barely had a chance to get a good look at it. But she had seen something. A silhouette, huge and insectile.
Terror scuttled up her spine, spider-quick. She clamped her thighs tight, an urgent plea for Striga to go faster. Whatever threat was out there watching them, she knew her dergle could outrun it. But despite the leagues they ranged, the prickling on her nape never ceased.
That prickly sense of being watched twisted her entrails into cold knots hour after hour. No matter how far they flew, she never seemed able to escape that insidious feeling.
The obtruding gaze followed long into the night. And it wasn't Mantor's heavy gaze steeling over her flesh. No, she'd glimpsed a vishwa. Of that she was sure. And it was that which hunted them now.