Salix stared up at the beast. A powerful thrill swelled in her breast. She'd seen him a thousand times, yet his effect on her remained potent. He was a lodestone that drew her here each day. To see the sun imbue his eyes, his glare flaring molten gold. But she'd always come at sunset. Never at sunrise.

Considering this day was like no other, a farewell at sunrise seemed appropriate.

Too excited to sleep, she'd finally tossed the counterpane off and dressed. Her travel pack was already stowed in the boat. Her satchel waited at her feet, Wilfrid's Exegesis and all her notes tucked inside. Her cousin would meet her here any minute. Together, they'd head down to the watergate together. And from there...Esk. The Great Warg City.

"I wonder what you're like?" she whispered, holding her beeswax candle up. She'd find out soon enough, wouldn't she?

Feeling self-conscious, she snuck furtive looks down the dark halls of curved moldings framing floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with manuscripts. But there was no sign of her cousin. Just an old priestess shuffling nearby, her small candlelight wobbling in the dark. By day, sunlight illuminated the Library through the clerestories above. At present, the place was haunting and dim. Yet she didn't need to see her beast clearly to know him. She knew every angle of his face better than her own.

Salix clutched the pendant that lay against her breast, marveling at the sheer size of the creature before her, basking in sunless mystery. The great girth of his muscle-clad chest. Rippling arms, barbaric and sleeveless. Tree-trunk thighs braced in a stance of animal strength and male symmetry.

Her eyes swept up his torso. Her tongue flicked out across her lips and she swallowed. Every inch of him from his feet to his chest was almost human-like.

Her eyes climbed higher, her belly clenching.

From his neck up, though, he was all beast. The body and brawn of a man but the head of a wolf.

A warg.

Marvelous to behold. Her chest was full to bursting. In a matter of hours, she would finally meet him in the flesh.

He stood still—immortal as ever—surrounded by looming firs of vivid glass, spanning thirty feet tall and fifty feet wide. A complex puzzle of lead mortar and expensive, painted glazing in forest greens and mysterious browns. The pearl moon, like an oculus, glared from beneath the highest window arch.

Caged in carved stonework, he dominated the Great Library. A thing at odds with the sumptuous elegance of the temple and its colonnaded flanks. A beast untamed by delicate tracery and sweeping vaults of painted art.

Man had attempted to subdue him in stained glass. But he stood unaffected by this vast room of old books and dusty statuary. Where thin-lipped scholars in draping dark cossacks scurried past daily, eyes skidding up at the looming warg.

As the first sunbeam burst onto the window shards, the warg's eyes flashed a feral, sulphuric yellow. He appeared to come alive.

A tingle of premonition sped along Salix's arms. It tickled the fine hairs along her nape, too. She sucked in a sharp breath.

Rath Ironblood. The Wargrex of Esk.

She'd been fascinated by him from the moment she'd toddled into the Great Library to learn her letters. Now that she was a woman, she found her gaze more often than not tracing his masculine lines with keen female interest.

The window spilled its fractured light and brilliant colors across the ancient floor as the sun crept above the battlements of the Iron Girdle. The great wall that separated her world from his.

For now.

The impenetrable Iron Girdle stretched around the human world of Wrais, preserving all within from the monsters prowling beyond. A barrier of iron and silver. Nixrath silver—a lethal bane to most of the beasts of the outland, but not to humans. There was no way through the Iron Girdle, except by way of four outposts. One in the west, one in the north, this one, and the furthest Gate in the godsforsaken south.

The four Gates. Ruled by four High Lords who answered only to the king.

Salix's aunt and mother were distant cousins to the current High Lord of East Gate. His Grace, High Lord Kaspian Vargus, was a legend in his own right—the boy raised by wargs. He'd spent his formative years in Esk. Now fast approaching ninety, his Grace was still sharp of mind and spry of limb. And while he'd been in Esk, a warg had abided here.

Rath.

Salix stared up at him. It was easy to lose track of time when in his company.

The time!

Outside, a cock crowed, startling Salix. Her eyes rounded in dread. Where in Maeda's name was Lina? How long had she been standing here waiting for her cousin?

Salix stepped back from the glowering glass warg, apprehending the late hour. Her stomach gurgled with unease. Brows squeezing together, she turned away.

Lina could afford to be late, but Salix couldn't claim the sort of prestige or pedigree entitled to unpunctual heiresses.

Her boots hurried over the polished marble of the temple's Great Library. A floor incurvated and worn by a thousand different feet over hundreds of years. Maybe the infamous Rath Ironblood himself had once walked here, too?

She halted suddenly, having noticed that the High Priestess was waiting for her at Maeda's Well, near the spiral staircase. A handsome woman of only forty, though, in spirit, she seemed twice that age.

Salix bobbed a curtsy, blowing out her candle. "Good morning, Aunt Mitra."

The High Priestess folded her arms. "You're late, your father's in high dudgeon."

Salix made a strangled sound, her cheeks burning. "But Lina said to meet her here so we could walk down to the watergate together."

"I saw Felina heading to the Plunge, child. I expect she's already settled in a boat by now." The High Priestess arched a brow. "You're the only one unaccounted for, as far as I know."

Salix's face turned white. "But Lina said..."

The High Priestess clicked her tongue. "If you insist on keeping company with silly hens you'll end up with naught but feathers between your ears."

Tears began to fill Salix's eyes. "I'd better go before Father leaves me behind!" The mere thought of that horrified her.

"Nonsense." The stern countenance softened, and a slender hand locked onto Salix's shoulder. "I informed him I'd delayed you." Her aunt gave a curt nod, lifting her hand away. "Which I've now tolerably done, so there's no lie."

Relief gushed into Salix's chest. "Thank you, Aunt!" No one would question a High Priestess, not even Ambassador Highwater.

Aunt Mitra stared down her sharp nose at Salix. "Be careful out there. The Outland devours hardened men—what chance is there for a tender girl like you."

"I'm one-and-twenty, Aunt, hardly a girl." Salix's lips compressed. Not this again. "Women younger than I hunt beyond the wall; and go to war."

"And most of them don't come back," her aunt rejoined. She shook her head when Salix opened her mouth to argue. "You were made for the pen, not the sword. Just promise you'll behave and heed the outmen instead of that viperous Vargus brat."

"Aunt!" Salix gasped, looking about lest someone overhear her aunt's minor sedition. But if anyone could get away with slighting the heiress of East Gate, the High Priestess might.

Aunt Mitra placed a brief kiss on her niece's cheek. "While you're abroad, I hope you'll consider joining the Temple Guild as I asked."

Salix dropped her eyes to the sacred tree dangling from a necklace of dark beads, against the High Priestess's brown tunic. Aunt and niece had the same honey-brown hair, but Aunt Mitra's was covered by a modest veil of ivory linen.

Salix found herself peering into a looking glass reflecting an unwanted future. "I...I have to go now."

"Yes, go," said her aunt, sighing. "Get this foolishness out of your blood. When you return, you'll better appreciate the bestowals I offer."

Her temples throbbed with guilt. Forcing a smile, she said, "I'm grateful, Aunt."

"You're a good girl, Salix."

Nodding obediently, she hugged her aunt farewell and darted away before the High Priestess, true to her word, delayed her any further.

Her skirts flapped riotously as she sprinted across the inner bailey to the gatehouse, dodging merchants' carts, food stalls, three affronted geese, a pair of merry drunks, and an old priest who scuttled out of her way, waving his fist. A guard spotted her and waved her through the doors, his face harried.

The guard shook his head as she skidded past him.

The outer bailey seemed interminably long as her boots ate up the distance to the double doors of the Plunge which abutted the Iron Girdle. Named for the steep descent to the watergate below. Here two more guards informed her the boat was waiting.

"Yes, I know!" she cried, without looking back at them.

Anxious beads of sweat formed on her brow as she raced down dimly lit spiral stairs, stumbling in her haste. She was wearing new boots and her feet were already blistering!

She reached the uneven flags of the grotto below, shaking with nerves and excitement.

The air was humid and the ribs of the ceiling vaults stretched like the inside of a giant whale. The limestone walls glimmered with the water's ethereal reflection.

At the center of the grotto were three long boats floating in a canal—a lock chamber. The waterway was flanked on either side by sturdy sea walls, connected by a small bridge behind the first portcullis. The second gate loomed ahead, silver teeth still buried in the rock bed underwater. Beyond that farthest impenetrable latticework, the Outland was masked behind a hot mist.

Salix moved forward, her head buoying this way and that as she peered around the crowd, cursing her new boots.

Little black crabs picked their way languidly up the humid walls, oblivious to the bustling noise.

She passed under the first portcullis, currently raised, eyes fixed on the boat heading the small fleet. To where Ambassador Bowen Highwater stood, directing the last of the cargo. He seemed to be consoling his wife with distracted words and pleasant smiles. Her brother, Ren was with them.

Salix wiped her palms on her skirt and moved toward her parents and older brother.

"What if you're all attacked by marauding vishwa?" she heard her mother saying.

"Vishwa don't go about marauding," Bowen answered. "They ambush."

"Even worse!"

"I'm not in the least bit concerned by vishwa, my dear. "

Ren coughed, under his breath. A cough that'd sounded suspiciously like, "Just Orken tribes."

"Over there," said Bowen, directing a servant carting a wine barrel. "There's space on the Lord Chamberlain's boat."

"What about trolls and golrags?" her mother persisted. She clutched her hands together, staring at the crystalline water teaming with glimmering silver shoals. "All this water, there's bound to be hungry miroks about!"

"Likely," Ren offered, smirking.

Bowen leafed through his ledger, nodding distractedly.

Terna peered at her son, brows colliding.

Salix sidled closer. "Father, I'm—"

Bowen glanced around at her, brows hiking up. "There you are!" He ushered her toward the boat and onto the footbridge. "Your aunt hasn't convinced you to stay, has she? Or did you forget what day it is?"

"No, Father." She glanced around, looking for Lina. "I...thought..."

"Never mind that," he said, his voice laced with impatience, "hop aboard, child. You, too, Ren, there's a good lad."

She and Ren hugged their mother in turn. But it was Salix that Terna clung to the longest.

"What you should be worried about, Mother, is the aurogs," said Ren, settling onto the bench between two oarsmen. "They dive out of the sky to snatch their unsuspecting prey."

Terna's face turned white. "I hadn't thought of aurogs!"

Salix threw her brother a narrow look. "You're as tactful as a boot full of piss."

"Thank you, Sister."

"Salix Highwater!" Terna gasped. "I forbid you to speak like a wharf rat!"

Salix opened her mouth like a bludgeoned fish and gestured accusingly to her smirking brother. Unbelievable.

"You see what I mean, Bowen." Terna pinched the bridge of her nose. "Barely out of the gate and she's gone wild already."

Bowen continued scribbling numbers in his ledger. "As you wish, my dear."

Terna threw up her hands. "Salix will be safer at home with me."

"Safe at what cost?" Bowen's pen stilled. "You coddle our daughter overmuch."

"How would you know?" His wife retorted. "You're never home."

Salix and Ren exchanged looks.

"Exposure will sharpen her wits," Bowen quipped.

"Exposure to death or maiming?"

"Lower your voice." Bowen gave a tight smile as Baron Pursey and his daughter, Briar, moved past. "Exposure to the world, my dear. How can a bird learn to fly if it never leaves the nest?"

Unconvinced, Terna itemized all the ways the perilous Outland would kill them. What if they got lost? What if a warg took it upon himself to ravage their daughter?

"I see your sister's been in your ear," Bowen answered, tight-lipped.

"Rath ravished a hundred virgins when he roosted here like a cock! Or have you forgotten the stories?"

"Parlor prattle." Bowen waved his quill dismissively.

Salix agreed. Seventy years was a long time for a reputation to grow horns and to take on a life of its own.

"And we've no intention of getting lost," Bowen went on. "Who better to guide us to Esk than the wargs themselves, hmm?" He gave his wife a pointed look. "We're building a bridge, my dear, take heart."

Salix's gaze darted toward the other two boats, anxious to be off before her mother managed to sway her father. Her eyes met Lina's.

The Heir of East Gate lifted an imperial hand and waved at her from the next boat, not an ounce of contrition on her face.

Salix answered with a small bewildered wave. She watched as Lina disembarked and headed toward her, Briar in tow.

Lina greeted Bowen with a regal smile and hooked her arm around Briar's. "I think the Heir of East Gate ought to ride in the vanguard, don't you, Ambassador?" Without waiting for an answer, she mounted the footbridge.

Bowen glanced up from his ledger with a curt nod.

Ren rolled his eyes as Lina and Briar settled next to Salix, across from him. He opened his Histoire of Goblins and ignored them all.

Terna, meanwhile, yielded with a defeated sigh. "This is a mistake, Bowen."

"What is?" Whispered Briar.

"Taking me with," Salix muttered back.

"Perhaps," Bowen allowed, shutting his ledger emphatically. He leaned in to press a tepid kiss on his wife's cheek. "But we learn best from mistakes, Terna, dearest." Then he marched over the footbridge, signaling for the portcullis to be raised. "Let's not keep our friends waiting," he bellowed.

The grotto erupted with cheers and well-wishes.

Ripples of anticipation thrummed over Salix's skin as she searched the mist outside. But there was no sign of their friends. Not yet.

Soon all, including a harried-looking Terna, were ensconced behind the first gate.

A great rumbling ensued as the chains of the inner portcullis rattled down, separating the crowd from the travelers. Kinsmen, guards, and servants all watched and waved at them from behind the sturdy silver and iron trellis.

Once it was locked in place, the outer portcullis, wrought from pure nixrath silver, roared out of the water. The chains whirred and clanked up onto the winch.

Salix's heart have a sudden violent punch. Her eyes grew wide, for the impression was strangely reminiscent of the Outland opening its jaws to swallow them up.

One by one, the boats glided out of the lock chamber and into the unknown. The oars bit into suddenly foreign water, propelling the boats swiftly forward. Salix twisted around to watch the portcullis slam down behind the last boat.

They were on their own now.

The early morning fog drifted before them like watery milk, spilling onto the mirror-stillness of the river. Fever trees delineated the shadowy banks either side of the fleet.

"What do you suppose they eat in Esk?" Briar asked, her stomach growling. "Cactus tea and beetle viscera?"

"Trolls, according to old Uncle Kaspian," said Lina.

Salix grinned, watching the large oars soar in and out of the water. "Human flesh, if you ask Aunt Mitra."

Briar recoiled. "How...morbid."

Salix laughed. "Only in the south, mind you."

"Well, then, that's okay," Briar muttered. "I think the first thing you ought to teach us, cousin, is how to say, 'Please don't eat me, I taste like a slug.'"

"Speak for yourself," said Lina, her mouth curling like a cat's.

Ren snorted.

"Tu ni mae snyth ni," said Salix, pleased that her first assignment was an easy one. "Ak pruth lyk n snig."

Briar repeated the sentence, stumbling awkwardly over each tricky inflection.

Salix nodded, her chest expanding. She couldn't wait to practice her Wargish in Esk! She wanted to hear it spoken by native tongues.

Kaspian Vargus hadn't spoken Wargish in seventy years. Not since leaving Esk. He'd retained most of the language he no longer used, but his accent, he'd confessed, failed to do the words justice.

He'd made history and become a legend. Now here they were making history, too! No human had ever been invited to Tungfolk. Until now.

A mellifluous dawn chorus of warblers and shrikes poured through the mist. As did the ever-distinctive cuckoo song.

Lina elbowed Ren, obtruding on his reading. "They don't really eat human flesh, do they?"

He flicked to the next page. "Try not to sound so excited, cousin."

A sudden piercing sound silenced them all. From the bow, the prefect shrilled a whistle.

Salix shot her gaze forward to see a hard fist raised in silent command.

Beside her, Lina gripped her hand.

Briar squeaked.

Everyone froze.

"Brek's bones!" Ren's swore. "They're massive."

In the thick of the fog stood four giant silhouettes. Four enormous wolves, their ears like horns. Tails erect.

Salix's heart reeled as a preternatural hush fell around them. The cuckoo song fell silent, the oarsmen stilled their work.

Her lips parted and a silent word slipped from her tongue. Wargs.

Hello, Beautiful. Welcome to The Wargs of the Outland series. This is book 3. First, a caveat: this is the first draft. I post my stories here for a few months before I publish them. Excuse the typos and plot holes as I gather my thoughts and separate wheat from chaff.

When it's all done, I hope it proves to be my best bit of chaff yet. We'll see. Feel free to offer feedback and throw ideas at me. I always read through the comments. I don't always get time to reply, though, so forgive me if I'm quiet.

Next update is June 8.