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

The Warg

The warg glared through the squall, tracking the human filth. They were headed for Ruinik's Hek. His mountain. Black lips pulled back in a silent snarl, the wind lashing their scents across his face. His claws impaled the ice underpaw.

He stood downwind of their dogs, his ears flattening each time they barked, his fur bristling. The dogs were gristle and bone, little more than a pack of starvelings. He could kill them with a sneeze.

He took care to keep the wind on his nose, dismissing the dogs as he assessed those of obvious rank. His glare settled again and again on the red one who strutted about like a boar. The distance was no barrier to warg senses, his sharp eyes raking the man's face. Like the others, his face was etched red by the chill. Eyes squinting against the bright glare and roaring wind. The leader of a loud and lumbering herd of midden rats.

Saliva pooled between his jaws as the herd of loud rats passed the giant snow troll slumbering beneath the ice. Its curling horns jutted out from the earth like gnarled, branchless trees, yet one by one the humans thundered past, unseeing. Nothing but passing looks. Ignoring the horns as no more than a pair of dead trees. His tail stilled, excitement zipping through his fur. Any moment now...

But despite their clumsy march, the beast never woke. The horns remained rooted. Fokken trolls were as stupid and useless as humans. Resentment boiled low in his chest.

Mangart whined behind him, but he silenced the young warg with a growl. An idea was taking hold. He inched closer, the others trailing silently as he moved along the steep cliffs. His glare scanned the packed snow, piled precariously on a nearby ridge. Perfect. He paused, calculating what it would take to send a wall of ice down to bury them. At the very least, it would finally rouse ole Bork from his winter nap. Even silverbane was no shield against an enraged snow troll. Whoever survived the avalanche would not escape the troll. And in the chaos, he'd have Saska snatch the leader. Saska who could walk among them with impunity. What was a most hated trait in the warga was also a most useful asset. A grudging admission he never voiced.

But his thoughts tumbled awry as he froze, ears swiveling towards a solitary figure standing apart from the others. He leaned closer as the figure halted, face angling towards him. A female with strange silver hair tucked beneath her cowl. She stood staring at the troll horns, features vulpine and alert. It was obvious she sensed danger.

His nostrils flared, something shifting under his skin as he caught her scent. The humans continued to file past the horns, but he kept his gaze fixed narrowly to her. She stepped closer to the giant horns, her hand reaching. His fur bristled, heartbeat dragging to a halt. But at the last minute, she backed away. Clever fox.

Forx grunted impatiently beside him, snapping the wargrex from his strange fixation.

Bayne blinked, disturbed by his extrinsic reaction to the silver fox. A shadow gathered on his brow and a sharp jolt of premonition struck him between his shoulder blades. He shook off the snow gathering on his pelt, rejecting the warning in his blood. The ripple of knowing tugging his mane stiff.

A growl built in his chest as his periphery darkened with red. He'd let her distract him. The rest of the rats were moving out of range of the ice shelf. His mouth tasted bitter. His fangs snapped together as he shot the girl one last cutting glare. He turned away, ignoring Forx's silent question. With a grunt of command, he moved to follow the herd on stealthy paws, his wargs falling into line behind him.

Patience made his skin itch. It galled him to do nothing. To watch and wait. His fangs ached for vengeance. Their silverbane was all that saved them from his ravening violence.

He forced his attention to the red boar marching in the vanguard. The leader. The only one he needed alive. His bargaining tool. Someone the High Lord valued enough to submit to Bayne's demands.