Moonlight poured down through the tree canopy. Mantor's eye was open wide. Tension rippled across Rowan's shoulders, her breath clouding in the chill air. An owl hooted excitedly from a branch overhead, rending the quiet.

She rolled her eyes at Striga and gently placed her index finger over her lips. The dergle ruffled its feathers in a sort of owlish shrug and looked out over the underbrush, gaze keen. Even the crickets ceded to the hush. That trembling excitement filling the night. It tingled in her fingertips and rolled through her bones.

Barthac, Moonrath, and the others were somewhere upwind, flushing the saber troll out of its den. Torgon, Thresh, and a few of the younger wargs were waiting in a clearing nearby in case the bull chose that route, instead. Most of the pack, though, was hanging back. She could feel their presence in her blood, tiny sparks in her periphery. They gave her strength and purpose.

But this night was Rowan's. This was to be her first apex kill—a right of passage. This night was hers. Her first full moon hunt.

Her grip tightened on the mirok sword. The rondel dagger was in her belt, secured at her hip in a leather sheath. The sword, however, looked nothing like it had when it'd first been gifted to her in the hive. Beegart had carved etchings and runes in the ivory and filled them with nixrath. A hilt had been carved into the ivory and the pommel etched with more nixrath. She'd not been very creative in naming it. Even so, the name had stuck.

She shot a nervous glance at the large wolf crouched beside her on the right. Thrax's fangs were peeking out as he searched the forest with twitching ears. His tail was alert, his sinews taut. Thesta and Sola were crouching to her left, sniffing the air, their ears swiveling excitedly. Their excitement was catching, the fear in her gut like a thrilling ache.

She held her breath and listened. Her body jolted as a deep bellow rent the night. Then the roar and thunder of wargs giving chase. The ground shook. Within seconds, harsh grunting erupted nearby, the bull's breaths sawing in and out as it barreled towards her. Not towards Torgon and Thresh but to her!

Every small hair stood alert on her nape. She had no claws. No teeth. Nothing but her mirok weapons against the saber troll. Bulls were notoriously aggressive—nigh impossible to take down. No human male in his right mind would've tried to do so, never mind a woman of her slight build. But she was more than the sum of her parts. She was a wargrix! And the power of the pack was flowing in her blood.

The ululations got louder, the bull charging closer. The urge to run was strong, instinctive, but she squelched it down.

Thrax reared up with a thunderous bark and shot out from behind the log. Now! The wargas darted after him.

With a flash of ivory, Rowan dashed into the open, sprinting alongside them. Her eyes fixed on the giant troll crashing through the woods like a ten-foot toad. The other wargs, lead by Moonrath and Barthac, split up in flanking formation, herding the bull towards her.

She focused on the whites of its eyes—the look of wrath and terror as it spotted Thrax and the wargas. Then her. But the feral eyes shot straight back to the black predator, far larger than the others, gnashing at its heels.

He's not the one you should worry about!

As it neared, she pumped her legs as fast as they would go. She drew up alongside it, keeping clear of its flying fists. Thesta and Sola fell in behind her. From her periphery, she kept pace with the bull, watching for an opening. Watching the rhythm of its pounding feet and thrashing arms as it tried to knock her a blow again and again.

When the troll veered towards her for a side slam, she dodged back, nearly stumbling over a root. When it sped up again, she did the same, matching it speed for speed, breath for painful breath. All the while, Thrax held back just enough to harry it from the other side. Just enough to keep the bull out of kilter, its attention split.

Its brawny thighs were covered in a sheen of sweat and dewy venom. Its footfalls filled her senses, her muscles nocking as she counted. With a guttural sound, she swung her Fang, slicing the troll's tendons in a brisk swipe.

The beast vented a thunderous roar of pain and toppled over, end over end. Arms thrashing, it scrambled up, limping. Its glare caught her instantly. Thick lips peeled back over blunt teeth, yellow and streaked with brown. Foam gathered on its lips as it bellowed. Its lower jaw jutted out, the long lower tusks curling up and outward from the side of its mouth like a boar. Loud, angry huffs shot from its flaring nostrils. Its flesh was grayish green, naked but for the pelt of sparse, black hair ridged along its spine. It was a thick-muscled, homunculus beast, its eyes small and feral.

Now came the hard part. The troll was even more dangerous now that it was injured. Thrax circled it, but the troll's black eyes were beetled and pinned to Rowan.

With a bawl of fury, it charged. Thrax leaped at its back and shoved it off balance at the last minute. Rowan dove under its great swiping arm. Though its fingers were thick and blunt, the fist was meaty. It came at her like an iron flail. Then the troll whirled on Thrax with an almighty blow, the sound of splitting flesh and bone resounding. It was a challenge for a warg to grapple with something it couldn't bite, for the grey flesh along its back and forearms was tough and slick with venom.

Rowan winced to hear Thrax grunting in pain, but she was already swinging Fang again. Her movements swift, she sliced the other tendon and rolled away just as the troll's boulder fist crashed down, missing her head by inches.

Thrax shot off an angry bark, but it was drowned out by the troll's bawl of pain.

"I'm trying!" she yelled back, scrambling to her feet and panting for dear life.

He barked again, dodging another blow. But the troll now sensed who was the greater danger to him. The wolf was larger and deadlier, true, but it was the little human who kept stinging him. Rowan read the rage in the troll's eyes, its glare stalking her.

From all around, the other wargs began baying and barking their excitement, surrounding them. Yellow eyes forming a battle ring, wargs everywhere. But the troll was blind to all but her.

She kept still, Fang in one hand as she unsheathed Sting. It was time for the kill.

The troll's throat bobbed, its mouth parting in ragged breaths. For a moment, Rowan's heart twisted. And she hesitated, frowning. That momentary empathy cost her, though.

The next instant, its grunting turned evil. It lunged forward. But there was less power behind the attack, what with its tendons clipped. Even so, the beast had a deadly reach. She feinted to the side, but it still managed to wallop her hip as she plunged Sting into its leathery neck.

It howled in pain, clutching at the mirok dagger. In the next breath, she swung Fang down, summoning every last drop of might for the blow. The blade jarred through bone, the neck splitting loose as she yanked Fang free. She jumped back as the body convulsed. It reached around for the head, which had rolled off away like a loose rock. She stood gaping as the troll jerked about in a morbid dance. The wargs didn't think it strange, though. They were howling in victory and bounding over.

Rowan dropped her weapons and expelled a rough sigh as the troll finally collapsed. It twitched a few moments and then finally lay still. She laughed as hot tongues began lapping at her face.

A pair of steely arm slipped around her sore hip. She was pulled tight against a hard, furry chest. Thrax's scent hugged her close. His snout was still long, the whiskers sharp, as he nuzzled her.

She twisted around to look him over, heart flapping wildly. The side of his face was swelling and red, but overall he looked in fine fettle. Gorgeous berserker fettle. Why in Maeda's name did she find him so attractive in this half-wolf form? It was bestial of her, yet she craved those fangs clamped to her shoulder, him driving deep inside her. With the scent of death staining the ground, her sex flooded with heat. Pulsing, life-affirming heat.

Was it the blood sport that'd awakened that need in her? She didn't know. Didn't care. She wanted him. Her body vibrated, ravenous for him. But the pack surrounded them, their hunger of a different nature.

Only Thrax stood on two legs—in that halfway realm between human and wolf. His claws tugged through her hair. "You were magnificent tonight. For a human."

She bit her underlip, eyes narrowing. "You helped me too much. I can't really claim the kill as mine alone."

"I only helped a little, min skani."

She slapped his thick bicep. "That bruise on your face belies your claim."

He chuckled, deep hungry sound. "But that is the warg way. In a pack you're never alone." He dragged his nose up her throat, his tongue hot and sensual against her skin. "It was your kill, and your pack is as much your sword and dagger as Fang and Sting." Then he pulled away, his dominant gaze making her dizzy. "And I am your shield. Now and always." His tone dared her to argue.

His words sent a fresh wave of lust through her. "Hmm, I suppose you make a fair point."

"You suppose?" he rasped. "It sounds like I need to drive my point" —he pulled her hips against his erection— "a little harder, Har Kani?"

She glanced around, making sure no one was watching. The others were all sniffing at and yipping around the dead troll. Slowly, she moved her hips against him, meeting his heavy-lidded gaze again. "What did you have in mind, Har Kan?"

His tongue curled along the shell of her ear, stirring shivers in his wake. "How about I let you carry your kill home...alone. I promise not to help this time."

For that, he got another slap on his bicep, not that it fazed him. "How about," she retorted, "I let you sleep alone, hmm?"

"So that's a no?"

She laughed, unable to resist his playful side. She pressed her cheek to his chest, his fur like down. The sound of wargs feasting splintered the night.

By now, they'd ripped open the troll's belly. The venom glands were on the troll's back. Even now, the older wargs were carefully discarding them. The younger ones were watching intently. The tough skin was then flayed with practiced claws so that the tender flesh spilled out, hot and steamy.

Rowan shuddered and turned away. She wasn't quite that wargish yet. Or that hungry. Besides, she still enjoyed her meat cooked.

Thrax's claw hooked her gently under her chin, drawing her gaze up. "Don't think I've forgotten the look of pity you gave the bull earlier. You nearly got yourself killed. Remember, hesitation kills."

He shook his head. "You cannot gentle every beast in the outland."

She smiled at him, wrapping her arms around his muscled waist. "There's a mirok in the lake that proves otherwise."

He tucked a strand of dark red behind her ear. "He only lets you think that, min skani." The gleam in his eye suggested they were talking about more than just miroks.

"Exactly! That he lets me have my way only proves how tame he's grown." She knew he understood she was now referring to him.

He kissed her nose. "It's a matter of perspective. You've grown wild, so you now think me tamed when, in fact, it is you that's become untamed."

Her eyes popped wide in delight. "You know, I think you're right!" She leaned up on the tips of her toes to avail herself of his beautiful lips. She sighed, melting against him, her teeth grazing his fangs. One of the wargs gave a sudden bark. She tried to ignore it, but another obtruding bark soon followed. With a sigh, she pulled her lips back and turned around to see who had their tail in a twist. "What is it Torgon! I'm busy!"

She watched as the warg lowered his thick, blood-soaked snout into the troll's open ribcage. He pointedly rooted around in the viscera, his gaze locked to hers. When he raised his head again, his tongue lolled out. He looked far too excited about something.

"I'm almost too scared to ask," she muttered.

Thrax rubbed his thumb up and down her bruised, bare hip. She was wearing a fitted jerkin that looked as though it'd been poured over her breasts. Her wrap skirt was a matching, buttery soft walnut color that tied below her belly button. It was as close to naked as she was ever willing to be. Even for the Hunt. The only ornament she wore was the red wolf on a new chain of nixrath, guarding her heart as always. She still missed her father's ring, but the sacrifice had been worth it.

Torgon barked again.

There was something dark and ominous about Thrax's deep chuckle as he kissed the side of her head. "It's part of the ritual of The Hunt, I'm afraid."

Her brow furrowed. "What is?"

He gently nudged her towards the open carcass. "You have to eat the heart of your first kill."