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

A Bardic Soul

The mirok's eyes were emerald clear, its scales dark as garnet. For the span of a mad second, Rowan had the urge to touch him, to glide her fingers over the horned ridges that capped his eyelids.

"Rowan?" The moment Meera's voice obtruded, the Mirok was gone. The slight disturbance in the water was the only sign he'd been there at all. "What're you doing down there?"

Rowan grabbed the lily and pushed up from the pier, still searching the water. "Retrieving this," she said, facing Meera.

Meera shrank back with a hideous gasp. "Throw it back!"

Rowan gritted her teeth. "I see you're familiar with the mirok lilies."

"Yes, Thresh warned me not to go near the nest."

"Oh, did he now?" Rowan grumbled. "You don't seem to talk much when you're together."

Meera looked away, fidgeting. "We talk aplenty."

"I thought you were done with him, Meera," she said, sighing. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"He won't hurt me."

Rowan's lips pursed. She wasn't talking about physical hurts, though that was a risk, too. The bond made Rowan something more than human. Meera did not have that same advantage. "I worry about you."

"Let me worry about my own affairs." Meera turned a level look on her, the silence stretching a little too long. "I'm no stranger to misadventure, you know."

She knew what Meera was saying—that she had put her friend in even greater peril by dragging her along on that harebrained escape. Any threat that Thresh posed was minor by comparison. Rowan nodded, conceding the point with a sharp sigh. Fine, she would say no more on it. "Well, whatever mischief you get into from here on out will be no fault of mine. If you're mauled to death by your lover, don't blame me."

"I won't blame you," Meera promised, smiling as she took Rowan's hand. "I imagine I'll be too busy being dead to cast blame."

"Your taste in males is morbid." She bumped her shoulder to Meera's.

Meera shot her an impish look. "As is yours."

Rowan turned away with a blush, knowing full well that, as large as Thrax's hall was, her moans of pleasure traveled far. "You can't tell me you honestly prefer Thresh to..." She wracked her brain for a young handsome human face. "What about Seabert or Falmont? They're both strapping young men." They weren't fierce-looking, scarred, and unpredictable like Thresh.

"Very strapping," Meera agreed, wrinkling her nose. "But the first was exiled for theft and the latter for murder."

"Oh, right." Rowan pursed her lips, sheepish. "They seem so...tame, I suppose. It's easy to forget why they're out here."

Meera snorted. "Of course they're tame, compared to your mate. Compared to any warg, really," she amended.

"What about Torgon or Thurstag?" At least they're winsome faces matched their merry dispositions.

"I cannot help who I'm drawn to, Ro." As they made their way to the drinking lodge, Meera turned a thoughtful look at her. "You cannot tell me you prefer Lord Marwort to your wargrex?"

Rowan shot her a sharp look.

But Meera held her gaze. "I know you love Lord Marwort. I only mean to say that it's obvious—"

"No, it's...all right." Rowan stared down at the lily in her hand, her mind churning. "I thought I loved Merritt—I do love him! But..." Her feelings were so jumbled that having to parse them out loud was proving difficult. But more and more, when she thought of Merritt, she felt mostly...guilt. She glanced up at the grey sky. "They are two different animals, Merritt and Thrax. One a spaniel, the other a wolf." She ducked her head, feeling silly. "No, that's not right." Had she really just likened Merritt to a small dog? Like the pet Lady Marwort always kept on her lap. "I don't know what I'm trying to say, Meera."