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

Nixra

Rowan sat on the edge of the bridge, her toes skimming the lake water. She was painting ripples on the surface, watching the circles race outward. And then the clouds opened up, distorting her canvas with a rushing deluge.

"Not again," she muttered, blinking upward. The sky had been dark for days, heavy with ceaseless, winter rain. She loved the rain, but not when it was turning Carthyrk into a miserable quagmire. The brook had since become a river and the lake so swollen that, in the fog, she couldn't see the far side at all.

The mirok loved it, though. His large green eyes peered up at her from beneath the chop, his gaze expectant. He glanced pointedly at the pail of meat beside her hip.

She laughed, licking the rain off her lips, and threw another large chunk of saber troll into the water. "Here you go, Grom."

The mirok snapped the chunk up midair, splashing her already sopping face.

"Grom, is it?" Thrax appeared beside her, dropping a thick coat over her shoulders.

She nodded and threw her pet another morsel. "I asked him what his name was and that's what he replied. Grom." She glanced up through her wet lashes as him. The scar on his cheek made him somehow even more handsome. Dashing in a dangerous and smoldering way. Her pulse skipped as he knelt beside her.

"So the mirok can speak now, hmm?" It was obvious he was trying not to laugh at her.

"Ask him yourself, if you don't believe me."

"All right." He turned to the mirok, smirking. "Just so there's no misunderstanding, let's hear your name from your own...lips."

She elbowed him in the ribs. "Say please."

He rolled his eyes. "Please."

The mirok raised its jaws just above the waterline, lower teeth jutting up from its overbite. The clear membranes flicked sideways across its eyes, a deep rumble blasting from his chest. Something that sounded like, "Grrohhm."

Thrax's brows shot up.

"I told you," she said smugly.

"It sounds like Rrrohm to me."

"Yes, but I can't roll my r's like Grom does." She threw another piece of succulent meat straight into Grom's waiting mouth. "Tell him, Grom. Do you prefer Grom or...Rrrohm?"

The mirok grinned that strange serpentine grin of his and merely uttered another, "Grrohhm."

"Well," Thrax muttered, shaking his head, "that clears that up." He huffed out an amused sigh and relaxed back against a pilon. His hair looked black, the wet waves plastered against his skull. The rain continued, relentless. He crossed his long legs, calf over shin. But, no sooner had he relaxed, than his body jerked upright with shock. "Brek's teeth!"

A large pearly head appeared from beneath the pier, the body snaking languidly through the rain. A mirok twice Grom's length and breadth circled back around to face them. Thrax yanked Rowan back from the waterside, gaping at the female.

"She hasn't told me her name yet," Rowan said mildly, getting comfortable on his lap. She tossed the female a large chunk of meat and turned to glance up at her mate over her shoulder. His mouth was gaping and she was tempted to throw a piece between his jaws, too.

He stared at the female, a deep cleft forming between his brows. "When were you going to tell me?"

Rowan shrugged, collecting rain in the palm of her hand. "She only just appeared this morning. The outland is flooded, I suppose she thought it as good a time as any to find me." She smirked at him. "And now she's found herself a mate into the bargain."