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

The Touch

Bayne strode from the hall, his stomach roaring. He'd left Basil out back, slurping the bear's entrails. The smell of cooking meat wafted along the air, tempting him back. But the smell of the girl's fear was far more interesting. A riddle too intriguing to ignore.

Bayne tore the outer door open, fangs on edge. His ears protested the girl's shrill wailing. His gaze made a quick sweep of her in Mangart's grasp.

The young warg grunted in pain as her elbow struck his jaw.

Bayne's mouth fell. Served the pup right, handling the vixen like a fragile bird, mistaking her fangs for feathers. His youth made him a champion of lessers, his besotted gaze never far from Saska's face.

Fagar save him from lovestruck fools.

He glared down at the girl as Mangart carried her past him into the darkness beyond. His skin tightened at the sound of her screams, his wolf stirring beneath. What should've been music to his ears rendered his wolf restless. Not with anticipation. He was agitated by the stink of her panic. The sharp, sour tang of it lanced his brain. His fangs lengthened. He stalked after them, claws curled tight. Already he regretted this decision, shaking his head as they moved further from the merriment blasting in the hall. Away from the mouthwatering smells that beckoned him to return.

He'd worked hard to fell that snarthrall and had pictured himself fat and drunk on oily meat. A rare treat he'd experience only once before in his youth. Tonight they would feast like gods, for Orthog and Forx had added a brace of elk bulls to the fare. Even Bolrus would limp or roll himself to the hall tonight, whatever it took. Anything for snarthrall kivrak. The white fleece alone was worth display at the next Tungfolk.

Yet that would have to wait. His shoulder throbbed where the snarthrall's claws had pierced deep. The rent flesh would heal soon, even if his pride took longer.

His eyes unfocused as the bone-deep ache dragged him back to the animal's cave. To earlier. To the flash of white fleece and the furious roar—loud enough to make a seasoned warg piss his trews.

The creature had attacked out of nowhere, nearly splitting Bolrus in half. With Bolrus bleeding out over a pile of old bones, Bayne had faced the snarthrall alone. Not yet a full grown male, it'd dwarfed them, it's deadly underbite jutting with saber teeth. A worthy adversary for two wargs, let alone one.

Blood galloped in his ears even now. The warm rinsing he'd enjoyed earlier hadn't rid his body of all the adrenaline. He was gods-blessed to have walked away with nothing more than a carved shoulder. The gods had sent a cub and spared him the mother. He'd sighted her colosal prints in the snow months ago, and he knew how large she was.

He rolled his shoulder, his ringing ears dragging him back to the present. The water would silence her soon enough.

The rock walls of the passage glistened with ice crystals. Bright as daylight to his warg eyes. The lamplight spilling from his chamber waned to nothing and her screams intensified. He snorted, unaffected by the dark. He was a creature borne of it.

He blew out a sharp breath, his patience spent. His palms itched to silence her. That static current under his skin, rose to a hum—a dire warning. Her silverbane skin screamed Untouchable! Yet it was harder and harder to heed that warning. He closed the distance, nearly reaching for her, then stopped himself, fangs clenched.

"Hekki's tits, Reia!" Mangart whined as she dragged her jagged nails down his cheek and neck, "It's only a fucking bath! We won't hurt you!"

"Don't lie to her," Bayne growled in Wargish. "Save your promises for yourself."