Day gave way to night. All too soon the Mating Moon set in to mantle the world in darkness.

The way Thesta had explained it, this was a joining—of opposites becoming one. It was the ritual of Mantor, the eye of light in the night sky, and his mate, Nixra, the goddess of night creatures and darkness.

The Mating Moon was the one night a month Mantor dedicated to his mate, leaving the world shrouded in deep shadows. A darkness lit only by Nixra's cascade of glinting silver hair swirling through the sky.

But that cascade of stars was no help to Rowan. She was blind. Blindly being lead by Thesta into the night. And that blindness and darkness only fed her ravening fear. Her stomach felt filled with rocks, her limbs heavy as she trudged through the night. Her breaths gulped in and stuttered out as Thesta steered her along.

She wished she wasn't so aware of the many warg eyes upon her. She hated that her eyes must look wide and groping. She hated looking so weak. So unlike her mother. Elgret would be sneering at her if she could see her now.

After tonight she would bear the title of Har Kani, mate of the wargrex. A wargrix. In essence, their High Lady. Unlike her mother, though, it was a title unearned. A woman could only wear the mantle so long as she was strong enough to bear its weight. Elgret had taken up that mantle after her own father had named her his successor. Rowan's father had been High Lord consort only. And while no one expected Elgret to die any time soon, it was still...unusual that she'd not yet chosen her heir apparent. Rowan had been dreading it, in truth. All these years, she'd been terrified of her mother naming another. But more terrified still of being the one chosen.

Yet here she was chosen anyway, to bear a mantle just as weighty. And not of her choosing, either.

Thesta had prepared her, in part, for what was to come, but knowing what would happen tonight only increased her apprehension. Not being able to see the ritual, nor understand what was being said, seemed a cruelty. She was at a terrible disadvantage here. Even so, she knew, logically, she wasn't some human conduit for their evil cruelty. The Ritual of Darkness was observed even at West Gate. All in deference to Mantor's mate. As in Carthyrk, it was no different at home.

Humans also observed the eccentricities of the outland gods. Back at Black Bridge Castle, the only light allowed tonight would be the firelights necessary for warmth, and nothing more. The High Lady upheld whatever mores and rituals secured her people's safety, even those imposed by other species—whatever it took to keep peace at her gate. Rowan knew no gods other than those of the outland. Wrais and her gods were too far away to matter to the people living on the fringes.

Rowan tripped over invisible terrain for the hundredth time, huffing in fear, adrenaline heightening her senses. She pulled on the sleeve of her shift, hating how sheer it was. She knew she looked indecent.

Thesta answered with one of her impatient little clucks, hand tightening on Rowan's elbow. "Stop fidgeting."

"Easy for you to say," she muttered, throwing a glare into the dark void where she knew Thesta to be. "You're not being lead to the gallows, blindfolded."

Another cluck. "So dramatic."

"I feel naked!" she hissed.

"So?" This time Thesta chuckled. "I am naked, what's your point?"

Right. These wargs were far too comfortable in their bare skins. It was unnerving.

Thesta suddenly halted beside her, ousting all thoughts of nakedness.

Rowan froze. If she'd had warg ears, they'd be standing alert. All her other senses were straining to make up for her lack of sight. She felt almost bereft when Thesta's fingers dropped away.

But the feeling was fleeting because suddenly a warm hand was sliding against her palm. Heat erupted across her skin at the touch.

Thrax.

No one else could touch her without the familiar rush of, what Thesta explained was, the mating bond weaving tight. But it was like a kiss, lasting only so long as there was touch. The mating itself—the physical joining— was the forge fire that made the connection permanent. That was what tempered the bond into unbreakable steel.

Instinctively, her fingers threaded through Thrax's, clutching tight. She told herself it was because she didn't want to feel alone in the dark. She craved any connection, even his touch was bearable. She ignored the niggling voice that called her a liar—she'd not felt this rooted or steadied by Thesta's touch. Only his.

Thrax was like a flame in the darkness, she clung to the warmth radiating off him. But the thrill of danger—of burning herself to a cinder—kept her from being too comfortable. The dichotomy confused her—one half wanting to flee him and the other half of her craving his touch.

He'd been careful to stand on the opposite side of her nixrath ring. But she knew it must be uncomfortable for him to be so close to her—to be touching her skin—while she wore it. Thesta had griped about it all too often. Yet his presence remained steady at her side.

He was right, she didn't hate him. She'd lied because she feared what he made her feel. She'd lied hoping to make the lie a truth. Because feeling anything for him at all made her unfaithful to Merritt. She betrayed Merri's love each time she lost herself in Thrax's kiss. The warg's power over her was frightening.

Thrax stole into her thoughts with a husky whisper, his words unexpected. "You look beautiful, Rowan."

Did she? Heat leaped into her face and she sucked her underlip between her teeth. The compliment so shook her, she was struck dumb.

Thesta had dressed her unbound hair with wild rosemary, mint, and lavender. Her soon-to-be-sister-in-law had even added yarrow for courage. There was no sage for wisdom, though, which the warga had said Rowan was most lacking in.

So rude. But Rowan hadn't replied. Thesta had been naked even then and it was too awkward arguing with a naked person. Earlier, when her hand had brushed the warga's bare hip, it'd startled her into blushes. And if a naked Thesta did that to her, how in Maeda's name was she going to survive a naked Thrax touching her naked body tonight? Gods above!

Well, at least she wasn't naked yet. But a plain white shift was hardly wedding finery, nor did it keep the chill at bay. She wasn't about to complain, however, when the alternative was far less appealing.

"Did you hear me?"

She swallowed. Of course, he knew she had. "Thank you," she replied in hushed tones. Something tugged at her heart. A chip in her armor falling away.

With effort, she hardened against the softness he was awakening. A frown pulled at her brow. What would Elgret do? She would keep herself aloof.

"Do my words displease you?" he asked.

"No." She shook her head, unknitting her brow. "It's just...I...I don't care for the dark. I can't see anything, and that is what displeases me." Frightened her, really. She'd always hated the dark. As a child, Elgret never let her sleep with a fire burning. Not even a candle flame.

His eyes shifted over her. In her blindness she was all the more aware of where they moved, leaving a path of tingles along her flesh. She knew exactly the moment that gaze dropped to her lips? This mate bond really was the headiest, most unwanted, most intense thing she'd ever experienced.

"All the more reason to accept the bond," he said.

Her belly clenched as his voice hummed in her bones. "What has that to do with—"

"Would you like a taste of what darkness really is?" There was something shadowy and rakish in his voice suddenly. "A glimpse past human bounds?"

Her brow furrowed. "I don't want a taste of anything."

"Yet you want to see in the dark."

"Of course." Was he drunk?

"This might sting a little."

Wait, what? She tried to snatch back her hand as he lifted it up. But she stilled like a doe, mouth gaping, as he slipped her forefinger into his warm, wet mouth. It should've revolted and terrified her, but it didn't. Not a bit. Instead, she felt her loins thrill at the sensation of his tongue skimming against the pad of her finger. Heat pooled into her sex as she felt his canine pressing down, long and sharp. She swallowed so loudly, she swore it echoed in the night. It didn't matter that the other wargs might be watching, the only warg overmastering her senses right now was Thrax. She didn't even cry out when his fang squeezed her flesh, nor did she flinch when he broke through her skin. She was too mesmerized by the feel of him sucking her finger. Dragging the blood into his mouth.

She didn't think twice when he pressed his own finger to her mouth. Her lips parted wider, and soon she was tasting him, too. Mimicking his actions, she pulled at his finger, the tang of blood warming her tongue.

His blood! She was drinking his blood! Tasting the dark nectar welling from his flesh.