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

The Venom

Luck was all that underpinned Rowan's plan. Pure luck—a dangerous risk. She knew that, but she was also obstinate enough to make a little luck of her own. Arrogant enough to believe the gods were on her side. And now she was entering the fray with a vishwa in her corner. Not just any vishwa, either—a queen!

From spinnerets near her underslit, Shebol had spun a net around the egg which tied off into a long rope of sticky silk.

Rowan watched on, crouched at the bottom of the sky bridge, as Shebol scuttled unseen along the wall just beneath the ledge of the crescent court. In that spindly grip was the end of the silk rope that was attached to the queen egg, clutched tight in Rowan's hands.

At the far end of the crescent, near where Meera was tirelessly throwing missiles, Shebol paused to stare at Merritt. Thankfully, neither Merritt or Meera glanced up at the silent queen or they might've screamed to see such a nightmare. With deft movements, Shebol got to work, unspooling web to anchor the silk rope to the rock. A moment later, she turned to Rowan with a sharp nod.

It was Rowan's turn now. She returned the nod and dropped her eyes to the water, meeting the mirok's reptilian gaze. It was watching the silvery egg in Rowan's arms with covetous intensity.

"You'll have this one and more," she whispered, hoping it could hear her. Then she looked up at the stairhead, her mouth dry. Now! she told herself. Before she was spotted by one of those shrieking drones. She still had the advantage of surprise...for now.

Despite the load in her grasp, Rowan sprinted up the steps, taking two at a time. It was more than just newly acquired warg endurance. She was grateful to Thesta for all those weeks the warga had browbeaten her into hunting, fishing, and foraging, sometimes trekking back with a heavy kill slung over her shoulders. Otherwise, she'd have reached the stairhead winded and unprepared.

Adrenaline carried her swiftly upward, her heart like a war drum. She snuck onto the third-to-last step and slowly raised her gaze above the crescent floor.

Her eyes popped wide to see Thrax partially out of his bonds. But that was what wrenched her breath. It was his gaze, so unnaturally black. An oily chill gathered in the pit of her stomach. Both wargs were far gone, their faces pale and slick. Worst of all, they were watching the queen the same way her drones did—with macabre reverence. The only difference was that they were erect, whereas her drones were sexless.

Rowan slid back down, her mind in turmoil. She glanced over to see Shebol shimmying across the rocks towards her like a creepy acrobat.

The queen reached her swiftly, glaring at the egg clutched in her shaking hands. "You waiting for my sister to hatch?" she whisper-hissed.

"The wargs! She's done something to them!" Her words were like dry gulps as she grasped for calm.

"If you don't go now, she'll do much worse..." There was no pity in the small black eyes that pinned her. Why would there be? Shebol was the same thing as Hessa, the only difference was this thing wanted the hive rid of the old queen. The prey of its enemy was now its ally.

"What if Thrax attacks me?" The look on his face was all drone, nothing of the warg she loved in his expression.

"He's tethered," Shebol replied, deadpan. "Mostly."

That was true, but... "I need you to—"

"I won't help you more than I already have," she interposed. "If I do, and you die, I'm dead, too."

Rowan pressed a hand to Shebol's hard flesh, squeezing. It was cold and smooth as bone. "If you don't help me," she whispered, "Hessa will win and you'll die anyway. You know you will, or you wouldn't be helping me even this much."