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

Bloodthirsty Bog Lilies

Merrit hadn't come alone. He'd brought an army to rescue her. Only, now she no longer wished to be rescued.

The drinking lodge was never more shrouded in silence than it was tonight. Rowan entered the building, the fine hairs on her arms prickling with awareness as every eye, both human and warg, shifted to follow her progress through the hall. Acid pooled heavy in her gut, making her nauseous.

Merritt's small contingent of soldiers were in a poor state. They were all hollow-eyed and jumpy. Their liveries were tattered and leaden with mud.

She hurried towards Merritt, taking his cold hands in hers. "What happened to you, Merri—Lord Marwort?"

"Rowan! it's so good to see you!" He tried to embrace her, but she held him back, her strength surpassing his. Thrax's ominous presence fulminated with wrath, and rightly so.

"Are you all right?" She could feel Thrax's glare slicing between them like hot iron. From the tail of her eye, she'd glimpsed him. Dear Maeda, he looked vengeful.

Merritt's fingers were like bone as they clung to hers. He seemed confused by her reserve "Have they not been feeding you? You're skin and bone, dear heart!"

"I assure you I'm well fed and happy." She waved away his protest. "My lord, tell me what happened to you and your men."

"My lord?" He shook his head, visibly confused. "What has—?"

Her hands tightened on his and he winced. "Tell me what happened?"

"When y-you didn't meet me at the bridge, I knew t-to come! I thought the worst!" His soft blue eyes instantly filled with water, and he was licking his lips in a desperate way, nigh choking on his words. "But we...we were..." He shook his head, a tear slipping free. "Oh, it was monstrous, Rowan!"

"He claims they were attacked," said Thrax in his steely wargrex tone. His claws curved dark a vicious—a clear sign of his rage, one he chose not to hide. He drummed them on the armrest of his antlered throne, carving out an ominous beat.

Swallowing, she raised her eyes to his. "Attacked by whom?"

"Plants," he sneered.

"Plants w-with t-teeth!" Merritt stammered. "Monstrous, g-grasping vines, and flesh-eating teeth—you never saw such predatory bladderworts and bloodthirsty bog lilies!" His arm came up, hand trying to enact gnashing jaws. "One was like a snake that nearly took my head off!"

"Flesh-eating...lilies?" Was Merritt serious?

"Mowraths," Thrax said with a growl in the back of his throat. He stood up from his throne and strode forward, his wrathful gaze dropping to her hands still clutching Merritt's. "Lord Marwort thought it a good idea to make camp in the outland." The side of his jaw was ticking in that bestial way. "Even wargs don't sleep on the open ground. Especially not at night."

"We got lost after that...that Death Hound dragged our guide off!" Merritt blinked his tears away, shooting up from the bench he'd been perched on. But with Thrax looming over him, his outrage was no more intimidating than a child's. "It tore his arms off and dragged him away."

A golrag, she thought. And desperately hungry if it'd braved the nixrath clad soldier. All outmen, generally wore nixrath vambraces or chains around their necks.

"We were exhausted," Merritt continued. "We needed rest after the attack."

Thrax's smile was all fangs. "You rest, you die—the outland is unforgiving of human needs." Then he dismissed Merritt, spotlighting her with yellow choler. "They were lucky the rest of the pack weren't eager to tangle with nixrath, but the mowraths, as you know, are unaffected."