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

A Voice In The Dark

Rowan's heartbeat thrashed in her ears, her chest heaving as though it was she that was racing across the outland, the weight of Striga and Meera on her back.

Just one more Mantor eye to go. They'd been counting the stones gleaming like white beacons. Everything was going as planned. So why was her body wracked in tremors? Why was she shooting furtive looks over her shoulder all night?

Something was terribly wrong. It wasn't just the feeling of being followed. She'd neither heard nor seen any sign of the Jorg and its messy gurgle of black rapids. The snaking beck was nowhere in sight. Thus far, she'd ignored the slithering dread in the pit of her stomach. They were going the right way. They had to be. The Mantor stones popping into view every few leagues told her so. She wasn't wrong. So why did her gut churn wit such wrongness. Maybe the Jog had dried up. Yes, that had to be it. Something logical like that.

The towers of West Gate, and the fires on the ramparts, would be appearing any moment now. Rowan had expected the terrain to be quaggier than this. More treacherous. Instead, the ground was firm and thick, vibrating with thunder as Striga pounded along. It was a landscape she hardly recognized. But that, too, could be because of the missing Jorg waters or the changing season. What did she really know of the outland? Nothing, that's what.

When the last Mantor eye disappeared beneath Striga's hooves, Rowan looked up hopefully, her gaze straining. Finally, the silhouettes of buildings began to emerge, yawning out of the shadows of a dark horizon. Soon she would see the bridge.

She gave a whoop of relief, heart soaring. She'd done it! She'd found West Gate! She'd survived the outland and the stalking vishwa. For once, she hadn't failed at something.

The thought of facing her mother quickly stole her thunder, though. She swallowed and pushed Elgret from her mind. Merritt was on the bridge. He'd promised to be. He'd get her inside and then they'd flee to Wrais together. To his uncle. She would never have to see her mother again, nor hear Elgret's cold voice snapping like ice as she spoke the family motto. Not for self but kin.

Her thoughts snapped and whirled like a cloud of bats, so much so that it took a full minute before she realized her colossal mistake. The skyline looming ahead was nothing like West Gate. No ramparts, no gatehouse, no towers lit with fires, and no Black Bridge to convey her across the sucking black mud. Most of all, no Merritt.

With a cry of shock, she yanked Striga to a halt. The horse reared and Meera shouted in alarm. Rowan hissed against the pain as Meera snatched her long braid like a lifeline to keep from falling backwards. But the pain in her scalp was nothing to the crippling dismay that speared her heart.

Meera clutched her. "What...what is it, Rowan?"

Rowan's face felt bloodless and cold as she turned to look at Meera. The girl's eyes were wide, but Rowan knew her friend couldn't see what lay before them. Not with clouds occluding the moonlight. She almost wished the night gift away so that the truth might be hidden a few seconds more.

"Rowan?" The chill in Meera's voice was seeping into Rowan's marrow.

"Carthyrk," she said at last, her teeth chattering. "We're back in Carthyrk, Meera."

"What?!" Meera leaned forward, her gaze wild and blind.

Cold dread clawed in her chest, but she couldn't bring herself to move. Striga pawed restlessly, her muscles taut.

How? How in the world had the Mantor eyes lead them in a giant arc? Her disappointment was so keen, her tears sliced raw tracks down her cheeks.

She glanced back the way the'd come. They'd set off from one side of Carthyrk and they'd arrived at the other. Hours of galloping through the perilous night, terror-soaked and tired, only to end up where they'd started. Was it too late to turn around and try again? She knew Striga had the spirit, but did she?