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."

Her maid laughed, hugging her arm as they strolled along, the music growing louder the nearer they drew to the lodge. "You needn't say anything at all, I understand perfectly. And I see the way you look at the wargrex—he is anything but a tame lapdog." Her lips curled knowingly as Rowan turned to regard her. "You never looked at Lord Marwort the way you watch your wargrex."

"How exactly do I look at Thrax?" she asked, her cheeks aching hot.

Meera bit her lip, her gaze faraway. "I imagine it's how Nixra looks at Mantor—like he's the only light in the heavens, and all other men are but pale stars."

Rowan halted, forcing Meera to stop, too. "I never knew you had such a bardic soul."

Meera laughed softly. "Oh, don't say that! Most bards I know die young." Just then, Thresh appeared from the other side of the drinking lodge, drawing their eyes. He glanced at Meera, his mouth quirking slightly. But the smile, if indeed he'd smiled at all, was so quickly shrouded by his usual scowl, that Rowan misgave herself she'd imagined it. He stalked into the lodge without a word, but Meera watched him with deep longing.

"Bards die young," said Rowan with a nudge, "because of the unsavory company they keep." She eyed her friend pointedly and entered the lodge.

Meera nodded, but she was evidently looking for Thresh as soon as they entered.

"Ahh, here she is!" a voice boomed. "Our lily of the lake herself!" It was Odoth and he had his drinking horn raised. "The only one of us to tangle in a mirok nest and survive."

Rowan felt her cheeks flaming as everyone erupted into cheers, raising their horns to her. The faces beaming at her showed they were either impressed or awed. It was an entirely new experience for her.

"I think she has larger balls than you, Torgon!" Thurstag crowed. "And that's saying something."

Torgon spewed his ale and bellowed a laugh, tugging cheerfully on his tight trews. "The amount of time you ponder my balls, old friend, is less than flattering."

"Come, Har Kani," said Odoth, "tell us all of your harrowing tale." Standing beside him was Thrax looking amused.

Rowan stepped forward, admiring the way the leather hugged her mate's broad chest. "Are miroks really so dangerous?" Her mirok seemed rather innocuous, actually.

"You wouldn't ask that," said Thresh, "If you'd seen one devour a grendel last summer. The very same mirok who lives in this lake in fact."

Her eyes rounded. Grendels were at least as large as saber trolls but far nastier! Wargs generally avoided grendels. One had come to West Gate once and nearly ripped through the drawbridge. They'd managed to fell the beast, but it'd taken a score of nixrath arrows before they'd pierced the boney hide. She felt a little sick of a sudden, knowing how close she'd come to a grendel killer.

"I'm grateful to the mirok for that one," said Torac. "Grendels are wretched bastards."

"Aye," said Moonrath, "and hard to kill."

Again, every warg eye turned to her, looking ever more impressed—as if she herself was a killer of grendels. It was so preposterous she nearly laughed. After all, she'd always been the most underwhelming of humans. But not today.

She joined her mate beside the dais, taking the drinking horn he handed her. "Is that why you suffer the mirok to live among you?" she asked Thrax. "Because it protects you from grendels?"

"I wouldn't dare evict the Guardian of the Lake."

Odoth nodded gravely. "It doesn't bother us and we don't bother him." He eyed her over the rim of his horn, drinking deep. "Only our sweet wargrix is brave enough to play in the lilies."

Grinning, she sipped from her horn. Then she cast her mate an impish look. "I never knew I was such a fearsome thing, that even a mirok won't meddle with me."

Thrax chuckled, but his eyes were twinkling with more than just amusement. Was that admiration? Now that he was over the initial scare of what she'd done, he seemed...intrigued. She gasped as he lifted her in his arms suddenly, carrying her up the dais amidst wolfish cheers. Then he sat down in the wargrex's throne with her nestled firmly against his chest. Behind him, the antlers of a male stone giant spread out from the throne like broad black bone wings.

"So you think yourself fearsome, eh?" Idly, he stroked the petals of the lily in her lap. For all that the touch was light, casual, to her it seemed the most erotic caress. There might as well have been no lily and no dress between his finger and her loins. She knew the touch was a prelude to the exquisite pleasure that awaited her later. "All this time I thought you a mere mortal. But here I find myself in the company of Hekki's handmaiden."

Hekki, as well as being goddess of the underworld, was a known charmer of deadly beasts. Like Jorg, her giant pet snake, and the fearsome death hounds, Kol and Skita. A handmaiden of such a goddess was impressive by association. She beamed at him, enfolded in the warm golden glow of his gaze. So much so that, for a heart beat, the noisy hall blurred to silence and the world slowed around her. She was aware of no one but him and the focused look in his half-lidded eyes.

"Ha!" said Thorsten, nudging his twin, Thurstag, in the ribs, "these human females are a tricksy lot." Their deep barreled laughter wrenched Rowan from the momentary spell. She shifted on Thrax's lap and forced her gaze to the twins. "Wargrex tamers and mirok charmers all, eh, Thrax!"

"We all have our secrets, gentleman," she replied taking a dainty sip from her horn.

Thurstag bellowed a laugh. "Hear that, brother? Now she's made us gentlemen!"

"You, Brother, might be tame enough for that," Thorsten grunted, "but not I."

Thesta elbowed the pair of them out of the way, grinning as she climbed the dais. "I'm not sure what's harder, turning Thurstag into a gentleman or taming a mirok..."

More laughter.

"You'd have the mirok wearing trews before Thurstag ever learned any manners!" Sola declared.

"He can have my trews!" Thurstag laughed. "I prefer to wear what the goddess gave me."

"Too bad she gave you so little," said Thrax, smirking.

The jokes continued long into the night. Rowan's cheeks were aching by the time Noosa challenged her to a game of konung bord. It was hard to concentrate, though, what with her wargrex watching every move she made, every piece she pushed across the board. His gaze touched her throat and mouth each time she lifted the drinking horn to her lips. She felt him stroking her everywhere, his eyes flustering every inch of her flesh so that she was trembling with heat all over, her loins slick and wanting.

No matter when she looked up, their eyes collided in the crowd, so aware was she of him and he of her. There was such a world of wicked promise in his looks, too. Bruises or no, she would get no sleep this night.

She was so distracted by him, that she ended up losing the game. Thesta and Sola didn't fair any better either, which made her feel less like a failure. It turned out Noosa was quite the strategist.

At one point, though, Thrax was dragged into some debate with the twins, Torgon, and Barthac. The conversation moved a little too fast for her to follow, despite that her wargish was getting on very good. With the bond in place, she was picking it up thrice as fast as was normal.

With her mate distracted, she slipped outside. Cool night air was exactly what she needed to douse the fire in her veins. The warg ale had only fueled the heat in her belly, churning her mind into thick fog. Thrax had her so flushed, so feverish, that if she didn't steal this reprieve and escape his potent looks, she was in danger of turning into a panting hot mess.

Outside, she lifted her face to the moon, feeling more content than she ever had in her life. So at peace. Maybe it was the drink, or maybe it was the adamantine bond of warg magic that made her feel she had a life here. A purpose and friendship. Maybe even love.

The wargs didn't treat her like a useless child. At first, she'd resented the hard work and the lack of pampering, but now she was beginning to see the benefits. She'd already noticed changes in her body. Her arms and legs were growing as strong and lean as any warga's. There was already speculation about when Thrax would set her loose on a saber troll. Perhaps even a bull. She was a mirok tamer after all. She snorted softly, a smile hugging her lips. The biggest changes, though, were unseen. She felt like a different person. Stronger. More confident.

Behind her, Striga gave a quiet little hoot, hopping along the rooftops towards her.

"Hello, my beauty," she said, holding her arm out for the owl. "Done mousing already?" She braced for the ungraceful landing. Striga was a large owl after all. But her warg muscles were more than equal to catching the bird, who landed hard on her waiting forearm.

Striga nibbled her ear, holding the bad wing out. It always took her longer to tuck that one in.

"You have mouse breath," she said lovingly. It didn't matter what form Striga took, the dergle preferred meat. It was a disquieting thing indeed to see a horse munch down on a fat rat. The owl was by far Striga's more dominant form.

Once the owl had greeted her mistress, she took a moment to preen herself. By the time she was done, there was a small pile of feathers at Rowan's feet. One of which was deep cardinal red—a primary feather from the broken wing. It was beautiful despite what it represented!

Rowan bent to retrieve it, holding it up to the lamplight. Not that she needed light to see in the dark now. Deep crimson stripes zagged through the lighter red in pretty patterns. She twisted it this way and that, admiring the nuances of red shades. It would make a fine quill, not that she had much use for a pen nowadays.

Striga trilled a sudden soft note of warning, drawing Rowan's attention from the feather. The next moment she heard it, too. A splash in the water beneath her feet. Carefully, she took a step forward and searched the dark water. She saw him almost instantly.

The mirok.

She glanced behind her, her limbs turning stiff with dread. She was quite alone. If he chose to attack her now, she'd be nothing but a ripple in the water before anyone made it outside to rescue her. But does a mirok tamer need rescuing? she asked herself.

She glanced back down at him. "You're not angry about the lilies, are you?"

He blinked, the slitted pupils wide, his focus riveted.

"You don't seem angry," she whispered, swallowing her dread. "But I feel I should apologize all the same."

Again, he said nothing. Was it even a he? Somehow, she knew it was a male. The green eyes suddenly fixed on the red feather in her hand. The nostrils flared with interest.

"Pretty, isn't it?" she said, stepping closer. Her throat tightened with fear as the mirok's head came all the way out of the water. "Grrohhm," he said, the word—if it was a word—sounding like a soft, rolling growl. Albeit, a friendly growl.

"I'll take that as a yes."

The mirok's snout was long and broad. Its hide was thick with bright chaotic scales, like fat coins. Its lower tusks were as long as Thrax's forearms, the rest of the teeth lining the sides of his closed jaws were conical and sharp, the upper interlocked with the lower. But the tusks were near the back of the jaws, jutting out of his mouth at a forty-five degree angle before tapering directly upward. It had two sets of horns on its head that extended from the boney frill of its wide skull. The higher horns were nearly as long as the tusks, also at a forty-five degree angle to its long body. The lower horns were short and thick. The horns along its back were more like boney ridges.

Had she really thought him innocuous? Evidently, she'd not seen him as clearly as she did now. Without thinking, she opened her fingers and released the feather. It chopped gracefully through the air, landing gently on the mirok's head with a flutter. The green gaze that'd watched the feather's descent, snapped back to Rowan. A moment later, he and the feather were gone.

She blew out an unsteady sigh and backed away from the water. She turned to look at Striga. "Did you see that? The bloody thing smiled at me again!"

The next moment, something hard flew out of the water and landed with a thud at her feet. She glanced down, a gasp floating from her lips.

Her stone! The stone from Hekki's Cauldron! He'd retrieved it for her!