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

The Plan

When morning came, she woke up to the feel of Thrax pressing lingering kisses on the back of her neck. She snuggled deeper into the bedding with a soft sleepy moan.

At length, the bed dipped and she heard him pad about the room. The pelt over the doorway rustled loudly, falling with a heavy whisper as he ducked out of the room. The sound of his departure roused her fully. She yawned and unwound her limbs from the furs. Her fingers found the spot he'd kissed, her skin still thrumming where his lips had brushed.

Those initial gruff interactions with the wargrex had etched deep impressions in her and it was hard to correlate the warg she'd first met with the ticklish warg who'd slept beside her, holding her tight all night. Who's gentle kisses had left hot imprints tingling on the back of her neck before leaving the room this morning.

This version of Thrax made her feel so torn. He was making her lose sight of reality. Her plan was making less and less sense, and she hated that she was now feeling so unsure of herself. So uncertain of everything.

That chaos of the mind was tightening her chest so that she couldn't breathe. That breathlessness and confusion was proof she needed to get away. She couldn't trust what he was making her feel. When Thrax wasn't touching her, she felt clear headed.

She'd known Merritt practically her whole life, and she'd known Thrax for all of a moment. She grasped that logic, letting it steady her.

She took a deep breath and stared up at the arching timber beams. Striga was roosting quietly above her.

It didn't matter that she was starting to care for Thrax. She didn't belong here. She wasn't a wargrix. He would only be disappointed in her if she stayed. So it was with Elgret. Rowan would fail to live up to his expectations, and it would make her bitter. She didn't know what was expected of a wargrix, nor did she wish to.

Her own mother, who'd known her since birth, knew not to name her heir apparent. She wouldn't give Thrax the chance to regret her. She wouldn't give him the chance to hate her like her mother did. She wanted no more failures in life. She would decide her own future from hereon out—one in which there were no expectations.

She'd already given Merritt her heart and made vows. She was nothing if not loyal. And Merritt loved her just as she was, fallible and all. These confounding feelings for Thrax would go away just as soon as she put Carthyrk behind her. The thought of leaving should've excited her, but her stomach sunk and her mood plummeted.

Meera hemmed awkwardly behind the fur portière, drawing Rowan's somber gaze to the doorway. "Come in."

Her friend ducked inside, bobbed a greeting, and then got to work tidying the room. Rowan swallowed past the uncomfortable lump in her throat as the silence stretched and strained between them. "Meera," she said quietly, "We need to talk."

Meera stopped, her shoulders stiff. "Yes, milady."

Rowan winced at Meera's stiff tone. Meera only spoke formally when they were in public. Or when she was vexed at Rowan. "You know you can't...see Thresh anymore, don't you?"

"Yes, milady." No eye contact.

Rowan pursed her lips. This was a new role for her, she wasn't used to chastising anyone, especially not her friend. It was always Rowan on the receiving end of a scolding. She and Meera had always been on equal footing despite that she was a noble and Meera a servant. "You know why you can't see him, don't you?"

"Yes, milady."

"Oh, for Brek's sake, come here. I'm not wroth with you, stop being so cold."

Meera sat down on the bed beside her, making eye contact for the first time. "Truly, I understand. I know he's not for me." She turned to look away again. "I'm under no delusions as to his feelings either."

"Oh?"

Her lips pressed into a sad smile. "I know I'm nothing to him but a means to scratch an itch."

"Well, you deserve better!" She felt the insult keenly, hating the woebegone look in Meera's eyes, knowing Thresh was the cause. And then, suddenly, it wasn't the girl's face but her neck that caught Rowan's attention. "What's this!" Her vision clouded with red as she snatched Meera's neckline down. "By the gods!"

Meera's flesh was black and blue where Thresh had mauled her. No skin torn, but dark bruises were spreading beneath the skin. Meera pushed her hands away. "It's nothing!"

"That isn't nothing!" Rage pounded in her head. "I'll have him castrated!"

Meera snorted. "No, you won't. He did nothing I did not invite."

Her eyes bulged over the bruises. "You invited...that?"

"Truly, I had no idea of any pain whilst...we...were..." Meera left the bed, blushing furiously. "Leave off, Ro. I'm a grown woman and I enjoyed what was done to me."

Poor Meera. To be so hungry for affection that she'd welcome a mauling. "Oh, Meera..."

Meera turned to face her, finally meeting her eyes. "I beg you, leave the matter be. I won't see him again. I'd be a fool to hope for more from him than..."

"Mauling?"

Meera shrugged, smoothing her neckline.

Rowan glared at the bruises, her hands trembling and cold as she grasped her neck. "Is that...is that what I can expect from Thrax? During...when he..."

Meera pounded the pillow to reshape it, albeit a bit violently. "They're all the same, wargs and men alike." She didn't see the effect her statement was having on Rowan. She just kept on fluffing the pillows with a heavy fist. "Selfish and callous! Savages, the lot of them!"

Rowan's face drained and she swallowed the clawing dread trying to choke her. It didn't occur to her that Meera might be speaking of the agonies of unrequited love.

All Rowan knew was that she wouldn't survive a painful rutting like what Meera had endured. Thrax was much larger than Thresh. The bruises he'd mete out would be agonizing, indeed. Perhaps even crippling! She couldn't do it—she wouldn't! "How do I..." She licked her lips. "How do I avoid a male's...advances?"

Meera looked up. "Your menses should be arriving today, that's deterrent enough."

She'd clean forgotten! No wonder her abdomen hurt—it wasn't just Thrax turning her into dreadful knots.

"Males don't usually like to dally when a woman's bleeding."

She licked her lips. "And if he isn't...deterred?"

Meera was thoughtful a moment. "He will be—if you complain of the pains loud enough."

Rowan nodded, twisting her thumb ring as she considered Meera's words. Her menses would last a week. By then, the full moon would be upon them, and the Mantor eyes fully aglow, ready to lead them back home. Until then, she would keep Thrax at a distance.

But Meera was wrong about all men being savages. Merritt would be gentle. Merritt was like an elegant quill, his hands smooth and without callous. Thrax was like a broadsword, weathered and rugged. One was made for sonnets and music, the other for violence. Merritt would never hurt her, of that she was sure.

The plan must have been written across her face, so she wasn't surprised when Meera asked, "When do we leave?"

"A week from tonight." By full moonlight when all the wargs would be gone on The Hunt.

Meera bit her thumbnail. "I hope you know what you're doing, Ro."

"I do." She hid her uncertainty behind a too-wide grin. "And Thrax has provided me with the perfect means of escape."

They both titled the heads back to look at Striga dozing in the rafters. Dear sweet Striga would see them safely home. And she had her nixrath ring, too. A swift dergle and a ring of nixrath. She needed nothing else to succeed.

Acid lurched in her belly, but she ignored it and jumped out of bed. The plan would work, she told herself. It would! Then why did she feel sick to her stomach?