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

Kivrak

If Reia still had toes, she couldn't feel them. But a thrill zinged up from her belly. She threw a furtive glance back at the door. It was shut tight. No sign of the wargrex. It was just her, Basil, and the vicious cold.

This smelled like a trap. Squinting against the wind, she considered the roses. A frosty gust raced down her spine.

He was arrogant to leave her here unguarded, so certain of her helplessness. To him, she was but a fragile mortal on this unforgiving mountain. They both knew she was still recovering from her fall.

It wasn't in her nature to be reckless or foolish. Prudence urged her to bide her time until the sun returned. She had no weapons—no way to hunt or defend herself. No extra clothing, no dried food. No water skins. And no way to make a fire.

Of course he was confident she'd stay exactly where he'd left her. He also had no idea she knew of the postern gate. Wherever it was.

Yet he hadn't reckoned on her driving fear. It blotted out all good reason, even she could admit that. But no beast disturbed her as much as he did. It wasn't just dread of him and Ruinik's Hek. Something had shifted between them, and it made a restive mess of her thoughts and body. Strange inklings surged through the room whenever they shared the same air. But even that could be endured if not for the threat of torture that hung like a waiting axe overhead.

So she would take her chances with the outland, more at peace with death than with the certain torture that awaited her here. There was better honor in dying on one's own terms.

She clamped her jaws, leaning into the wind. Basil frolicked in the snow, oblivious to the lethal chill gnawing steadily through her gloves and boots.

What of him? Big as he was, he was still so obviously a cub. A part of her wanted him to stay here, for she knew he was happy and that the wargs—for all their savagery—were fond of him. She loved him enough to leave him behind. Yet just the thought of it raised a hot sting behind her eyes.

She pressed her palms to her eyes and gave her head a firm shake. No point belaboring what was all still surmise and guesswork. She had to find the postern, before she could wrack her heart to bits deciding whether her cub should go or stay. With a determined march, she braved the worst of the wind again, warmed by Basil's antics. He was pouncing on the snow mounds as though to flush out rabbits. As he went about his business, she knelt at one end of the robust blooms, their petals blueish white in the somber glow of morning. A stain of roseate brightened the indigo sky, the only sign it was morning. And the only light that would spill into the endless night of winter.

Reia scraped her gloved fingers into the snow, throwing swift looks behind her. The rot lying beneath the snow, spilled up like dry blood as she searched.

What would a postern in the rose bed even look like? She kept her elbows tight to her ribs, jealous of her body heat. Basil bounded over, delighted to find her cheek in reach of his hot tongue. She couldn't help grinning as he joined her in the lark, his paws driving deep as, unwitting, he helped her dig. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to bask in his happy spirit. This baby who, despite the night of his birth, knew not how cruel the world was.

She kept her attention divided between the door and the digging, her heart flipping each time she thought she heard the hinges groan. But it was just the wind harrying her nerves. The door remained shut. With her heart in her throat, she sat frozen, afraid to look away from the door. The gusts tossed the flurries up, besetting her eyes into thinking it was opening.

A hollow sound jerked her focus back to Basil. Her eyes dropped to where his paws raked black, weathered boards. Her heart galloped with the wolf's tearing claws. She hurried next to him, her thick mitts scooping the snow and frozen debris aside, dragging it away from the hardwood hidden beneath.