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

The Midnight Pace

Rowan knew what he was, but seeing what'd thus far been contained behind human flesh was another thing entirely. This beast was her every nightmare made flesh, his eyes spectral in the gloom. She was powerless to stop the screams that erupted.

The wargrex was a great hulking wolf far larger and far more frightening than the others. His pelt was blacker than the starless night. His eyes a wicked shade of yellow. They were now slits of yellow light, much like the waning moon hidden by low scud.

At the first piercing shriek, his pointy ears dropped flat against his skull, and his canine lips peeled back from long fangs that gleamed stark white in the blackness. Likely he was growling for her to shut up, but when he snarled like that she couldn't help herself.

He let loose a thunderous bark that sent Rowan backwards. The fall jarred her into silence. She shoved her knuckles into her mouth and bit down until she could taste blood. The stress and shocks of the night had caught up to her at last, and she was one more shock away from heart failure. This warg was a sight to behold. The other wargs looked like mere hounds compared to him.

The wargrex glared down at her with keen intelligence, his ears alert again now that she was done venting her horror. A beast on the outside, but a hint of a thinking creature within. Now that she was a little calmer, she could just imagine what he was thinking about her. He wasn't exactly hiding his disgust. She'd just gone and disgraced herself yet again. Would this godscursed night of horror never end?

The tears of fear were fast becoming tears of shame. She curled her nails into the ground and told herself she didn't care for his good opinion anyway. She hadn't chosen to be here, this was his doing, the wretch! She hated him and his kind. If anything, it was to her benefit if he despised her in turn. Maybe then he'd name another price and let her return to Merritt. Return to normality and safety. If the High Lady wished to avoid ignominy, then she ought not to have forsaken Rowan to a pack of wargs! Just like that, her anger was back, and she donned it like armor.

Thrax shook his pelt out like a hound and then gave a stretch, bones popping audibly. A shudder of revulsion rolled through her, but thankfully he didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he chose to ignore her.

The wolf named Thresh loped forward. The sight of Thrax had eclipsed all else and, thankfully, she'd missed Thresh's transformation. He was a grey monster with black forepaws and a stump where a tail might have once been. A nearby silhouette affirmed that, yes, the other wargs, like their alpha, did indeed have tails. All except this one. Even in this form, that bald scar slashed through his eyebrow.

He hunkered low, a tacit invitation for Meera to climb up onto his back. With the heavy bag strap slung over one shoulder, she mounted the warg. The beast uttered a low grunt and stood up. It was now Rowan's turn.

The wargrex lowered himself to the ground as Thresh had done for Meera. He snapped his fangs with a low gnar. Get on, he was saying. And he was saying it in a tone that brooked no refusal.

Yet she couldn't move.

"It's not so bad," Meera said, sounding almost bright. She and Thresh were in the shadows and all she could see of them was Thresh's ghastly wolf eyes.

"All right." With a gulp of air, she moved towards the wargrex. Instead of watching the distance vanish between them, however, she concentrated on slowing her breaths. Then she was extending her hand out to touch him. Closer. Closer. Almost there.

His fur was warm and coarse. She could smell the asphodel and moss clinging to his pelt. He reeked of vast heathland, of cold gorse, and wild heather. Most all, his scent encompassed all the mysteries of the night. All the dangers of the outland.