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

Devour

The wind was howling outside, the night cold as Hekki's breath. Thrax lay stretched beneath her on the bed, one arm behind his head. She was perched on top, straddling him, her fingertips roving the vast expanse of his chest. For a wolf, there was surprisingly very little hair beneath her fingertips. She'd marveled at that more than once.

He lifted his hand from where it'd been drawing circles on her naked thigh. Gently he brushed his thumb across the red stone dangling from her neck.

Beegart had shaped it into a warg for her. She'd explained what she wanted, but he'd far and away exceeded her expectations. And he'd hung the pendant on a fine chain of Nixrath silver. A tiny portion taken from the payment Thrax had demanded of Elgret. The wargs were still getting used to the fact they could handle the silver with impunity.

She was happy to know her humanity—the very thing they'd once deemed themselves superior to—was what made them more inviolable. Stronger than all other wargs and beasts in the outland.

With his eyes riveted on the stone, she could look her fill and observe him at her leisure without the distracting touch of his piercing looks. The yellow was now a thoughtful, mellow gold. Gods, he was magnificent. His beauty was rugged and male and utterly arresting.

She followed his gaze to the necklace. The nixrath was like a chain of pearlescent white starlight, almost as bright as Nixra's white hair. The carved stone hanging like a jewel was streaked with darker red veins. A peculiar piece, but beautiful. The wolf was an exquisite likeness of Thrax, or so Rowan thought.

He studied the details, turning the pendant this way and that between thumb and forefinger. It'd been designed to crouch over her heart, the warg head lowered watchfully, forepaws guarding her heart. Behind the stone warg, the tail curved like a crescent moon. The pendant was attached to the silver through a borehole at the end of the tail.

When she'd first seen it, Ugla had decided that it represented Rowan's transition—that she was part warg now, too. The veins of darker red like the shades of wolf inside her. Not so long ago, she'd have balked at the notion. But now... The symbolism—the bond—all of it was staring to mean something to her.

She smiled, her hand stilling on Thrax's sternum. "Why so quiet, min skan? What're you thinking of?"

His gaze lifted as he released the stone and dropped his hand back in place atop her thigh. "I'm thinking that you ought to stay away from the mirok."

"Why? He's caused me no harm. We exchange gifts—it's a game."

Down came his brows. "What gifts?"

She scrunched her mouth to the side, feeling guilty despite it all being harmless fun. "I gave him a feather, and he returned my stone."

"I know that part, what else?"

"I gave him a lock of my hair since he liked the feather so well."

His frown deepened. "Should I be jealous?"

A giggle tickled in her throat. "Jealous of a mirok?"

"Next you'll be flirting with a saber troll." His glare was deadpan. "I wouldn't put it past you to bring home stray golrags and goblins.

With a grin, she tapped her chin thoughtfully as though intrigued by the thought.

He tugged on her braid. "And what gift did you receive in return for that lock of hair?"

"He gave me a tooth."

"A tooth?"

"A tusk—a large one. He dropped it at my feet." It was curved like a dagger, long and sharp. She'd wondered if the mirok shedded teeth beause the tusk was far smaller than those she'd seen protruding from his lower jaw. "I want you to have it. Remove part of the ivory to wear on your shoulder pieces." The only time she'd seen him wearing his ornamental pieces was when he'd come to West Gate that fateful night. A night which felt like a lifetime ago.