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

The Hunt

Moonlight poured down through the tree canopy. Mantor's eye was open wide. Tension rippled across Rowan's shoulders, her breath clouding in the chill air. An owl hooted excitedly from a branch overhead, rending the quiet.

She rolled her eyes at Striga and gently placed her index finger over her lips. The dergle ruffled its feathers in a sort of owlish shrug and looked out over the underbrush, gaze keen. Even the crickets ceded to the hush. That trembling excitement filling the night. It tingled in her fingertips and rolled through her bones.

Barthac, Moonrath, and the others were somewhere upwind, flushing the saber troll out of its den. Torgon, Thresh, and a few of the younger wargs were waiting in a clearing nearby in case the bull chose that route, instead. Most of the pack, though, was hanging back. She could feel their presence in her blood, tiny sparks in her periphery. They gave her strength and purpose.

But this night was Rowan's. This was to be her first apex kill—a right of passage. This night was hers. Her first full moon hunt.

Her grip tightened on the mirok sword. The rondel dagger was in her belt, secured at her hip in a leather sheath. The sword, however, looked nothing like it had when it'd first been gifted to her in the hive. Beegart had carved etchings and runes in the ivory and filled them with nixrath. A hilt had been carved into the ivory and the pommel etched with more nixrath. She'd not been very creative in naming it. Even so, the name had stuck.

She shot a nervous glance at the large wolf crouched beside her on the right. Thrax's fangs were peeking out as he searched the forest with twitching ears. His tail was alert, his sinews taut. Thesta and Sola were crouching to her left, sniffing the air, their ears swiveling excitedly. Their excitement was catching, the fear in her gut like a thrilling ache.

She held her breath and listened. Her body jolted as a deep bellow rent the night. Then the roar and thunder of wargs giving chase. The ground shook. Within seconds, harsh grunting erupted nearby, the bull's breaths sawing in and out as it barreled towards her. Not towards Torgon and Thresh but to her!

Every small hair stood alert on her nape. She had no claws. No teeth. Nothing but her mirok weapons against the saber troll. Bulls were notoriously aggressive—nigh impossible to take down. No human male in his right mind would've tried to do so, never mind a woman of her slight build. But she was more than the sum of her parts. She was a wargrix! And the power of the pack was flowing in her blood.

The ululations got louder, the bull charging closer. The urge to run was strong, instinctive, but she squelched it down.

Thrax reared up with a thunderous bark and shot out from behind the log. Now! The wargas darted after him.

With a flash of ivory, Rowan dashed into the open, sprinting alongside them. Her eyes fixed on the giant troll crashing through the woods like a ten-foot toad. The other wargs, lead by Moonrath and Barthac, split up in flanking formation, herding the bull towards her.

She focused on the whites of its eyes—the look of wrath and terror as it spotted Thrax and the wargas. Then her. But the feral eyes shot straight back to the black predator, far larger than the others, gnashing at its heels.

He's not the one you should worry about!

As it neared, she pumped her legs as fast as they would go. She drew up alongside it, keeping clear of its flying fists. Thesta and Sola fell in behind her. From her periphery, she kept pace with the bull, watching for an opening. Watching the rhythm of its pounding feet and thrashing arms as it tried to knock her a blow again and again.

When the troll veered towards her for a side slam, she dodged back, nearly stumbling over a root. When it sped up again, she did the same, matching it speed for speed, breath for painful breath. All the while, Thrax held back just enough to harry it from the other side. Just enough to keep the bull out of kilter, its attention split.