Captive Of The Warg, (Wargs of the Outland #2)

Har Modur

Something wet and soft skated up Reia's cheek. It jolted her awake with a gasp. Basil's yellow eyes blinked down at her, his tail wagging, hopeful. He licked her again, soothing her heart back to a gentle rhythm.

She plunged her fingers into his thick fur and brought him in close to kiss his snout. "Still not used to you being so...grown up, my sweet boy."

He turned to mouth her fingers, gnawing playfully, as he always did when she found his ticklish spots. No mistaking this young wolf for anyone but her Basil. Her heart knew that and her head was finally catching up.

She sat up and peered cautiously about the dim room. The chamber was empty except for Basil. No sign of the wargrex, though he'd left a lamp burning. For her? Surely not.

Her sore muscles shivered in protest as she stretched her back. She was normally a light sleeper. Disturbing to realize she'd slept like the dead, insensible to the warg's movements. A cold gust fluttered in her chest as she imagined him glaring down at her vulnerable, sleeping form. She cursed herself for sleeping at all.

All thought rushed out of her head, however, as the wooden door burst open and the wargrex strutted into the room. He loomed before her, flesh steamy yet again. Thankfully, he'd dragged trews over his hips.

Still, she jerked her eyes away from him, her hand fisting in Basil's scruff. Too much naked muscle. In a land of near constant winter, naked male flesh was as rare as tits on a fish. She hadn't known wargs to be so fastidious about bathing. She herself didn't bath but once a week, and even then it was only to drag a wet cloth over her flesh.

"Ahh, it's alive," he muttered in Wargish.

She was about to bark back at him, but caught herself. "If you want an intelligent response, speak so I can understand your cur tongue." From the corner of her eye, she watched him shake the lingering drops off like a great wolf. So uncanny, it was impossible to look away. A man in appearance but for the fluid animal way he moved. A giant of a man, if those feral eyes and long ears could be overlooked.

All right, so he was nothing like a man. It behooved her to remember that always.

She gave a gasp as he approached her, and sprang to her feet, ready for battle. Despite his quiet dominance, she met his eyes and held them, unflinching.

He lifted his brow and folded his arms over his damp chest. It was a powerful chest, his skin ice pale. "Cur tongue, is it?" he said in Wraisian.

She nodded stiffly. She'd gotten so wobbly-eyed at the sight of his chest, she'd almost forgotten who'd said what when.

"And you have no idea what I said, hmm?"

She shook her head, mulish.

"Yet last night you knew the word thrackraw." With a cocked glare he studied her face.

Her own brow lifted in silent mockery, her tone belying her racing heart. "I saw what could only be a blood wyrm spread atop the trestles last night, and I know of no other meat that awful color blue. It was not hard to guess a word's meaning, warg." Inside, she was cursing her careless tongue. He was far too astute for a wild beast.

He grunted and turned away, leaving her unsure of whether or not he accepted her lie. He grabbed his fur-trimmed jerkin from the antler hooks on the wall and slid it over his broad muscles, his arms bare. Then he turned to face her with a baleful grin. "For a soldier," he remarked, "you sleep all too well in captivity."

She shrugged, loathe to evince how disturbed she was by his observation. An image of him padding around her sleeping form flashed in her mind for the second time. Though she grinned back, she could feel her facade chipping. "Your snoring lulled me right to sleep, what can I say?"