Rowan knew what he was, but seeing what'd thus far been contained behind human flesh was another thing entirely. This beast was her every nightmare made flesh, his eyes spectral in the gloom. She was powerless to stop the screams that erupted.

The wargrex was a great hulking wolf far larger and far more frightening than the others. His pelt was blacker than the starless night. His eyes a wicked shade of yellow. They were now slits of yellow light, much like the waning moon hidden by low scud.

At the first piercing shriek, his pointy ears dropped flat against his skull, and his canine lips peeled back from long fangs that gleamed stark white in the blackness. Likely he was growling for her to shut up, but when he snarled like that she couldn't help herself.

He let loose a thunderous bark that sent Rowan backwards. The fall jarred her into silence. She shoved her knuckles into her mouth and bit down until she could taste blood. The stress and shocks of the night had caught up to her at last, and she was one more shock away from heart failure. This warg was a sight to behold. The other wargs looked like mere hounds compared to him.

The wargrex glared down at her with keen intelligence, his ears alert again now that she was done venting her horror. A beast on the outside, but a hint of a thinking creature within. Now that she was a little calmer, she could just imagine what he was thinking about her. He wasn't exactly hiding his disgust. She'd just gone and disgraced herself yet again. Would this godscursed night of horror never end?

The tears of fear were fast becoming tears of shame. She curled her nails into the ground and told herself she didn't care for his good opinion anyway. She hadn't chosen to be here, this was his doing, the wretch! She hated him and his kind. If anything, it was to her benefit if he despised her in turn. Maybe then he'd name another price and let her return to Merritt. Return to normality and safety. If the High Lady wished to avoid ignominy, then she ought not to have forsaken Rowan to a pack of wargs! Just like that, her anger was back, and she donned it like armor.

Thrax shook his pelt out like a hound and then gave a stretch, bones popping audibly. A shudder of revulsion rolled through her, but thankfully he didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he chose to ignore her.

The wolf named Thresh loped forward. The sight of Thrax had eclipsed all else and, thankfully, she'd missed Thresh's transformation. He was a grey monster with black forepaws and a stump where a tail might have once been. A nearby silhouette affirmed that, yes, the other wargs, like their alpha, did indeed have tails. All except this one. Even in this form, that bald scar slashed through his eyebrow.

He hunkered low, a tacit invitation for Meera to climb up onto his back. With the heavy bag strap slung over one shoulder, she mounted the warg. The beast uttered a low grunt and stood up. It was now Rowan's turn.

The wargrex lowered himself to the ground as Thresh had done for Meera. He snapped his fangs with a low gnar. Get on, he was saying. And he was saying it in a tone that brooked no refusal.

Yet she couldn't move.

"It's not so bad," Meera said, sounding almost bright. She and Thresh were in the shadows and all she could see of them was Thresh's ghastly wolf eyes.

"All right." With a gulp of air, she moved towards the wargrex. Instead of watching the distance vanish between them, however, she concentrated on slowing her breaths. Then she was extending her hand out to touch him. Closer. Closer. Almost there.

His fur was warm and coarse. She could smell the asphodel and moss clinging to his pelt. He reeked of vast heathland, of cold gorse, and wild heather. Most all, his scent encompassed all the mysteries of the night. All the dangers of the outland.

Tentatively, she pressed her palm flush against him, her weight bearing down. His powerful sinews jumped beneath her fingers. His ghostly eyes flared wide. She felt it, too—that powerful jolt again. It struck with the same immense and evocative feeling as before, rippling and shifting beneath her flesh like primordial water. As though she'd known him on some ancient plane before time had any meaning. But that was nonsense brought on by her frazzled state. Wasn't it?

He caught her gaze, wolf eyes lucent in the torchlight, mirror-like. For a moment, she found herself lost in some ancient spell. Lost in that lambent eyeshine. Without thinking, she pressed her left hand to him. An awful growl snapped her from her stupor. He flinched, shaking his mane, his eyes pinned to the silver ring on her thumb.

"Oh!" She snatched her hand back. She'd forgotten about that small piece of nixrath. Her mouth turned mulish as she met his glare. "I'm not leaving it behind. It was my father's. It goes with me." Hurriedly, she tore it off and stowed it in her dress for safe keeping. It almost never left her thumb, but she wasn't about to give him an excuse to bind her hands and carry her in his mouth.

For a few tense moments, the yellow in his eyes flared with choler. But, finally, he shook his head again. A shake of glaring resignation. It also savored of impatience.

Hurry up then, he seemed to say.

She gave a rapid, nervous nod and climbed up, swinging her leg over him. The cold wind rushed up along her exposed thigh. Once she was settled, she tucked her skirts securely around her legs, shivering all the while. Thankfully, the heat of his body was keeping the worst of the cold at bay.

The wargrex stood up on all fours and snatched his clothes up with his maw. Then he glanced back at her bestride his back. The clothes in his mouth looked like a dead body dangling from his jaws. Very unsettling.

She shook the notion out of her head and tried to get more comfortable. She wriggled a bit and watched his eyes flare wider. She didn't know why, but the way he was staring at her shot heat into her cheeks. She licked her lips and broke eye contact.

Had she known she'd be straddling a warg bareback, she'd have brought a blanket. It was too intimate—her skirts up and her sex pressed against his muscular back. If he shared her sentiments, there was no way of knowing for sure. Though that look they'd shared intimated that he did.

He gave a low bark of warning, snapping her to attention. She gasped when he leaped forward, loping into the night.

There was very little dignity involved in riding a warg. Her poor lady parts would be banged and bruised by the time they reached Carthyrk. And, barbarian that Thrax was, likely they'd be banged and bruised soon after arrival, too... But she didn't want to think of that just now. The prospect of their eventual...mating made her stiff with dread.

She shut her eyes against the pitch black nothing and tightened her grip on his thick mane. Thighs clamped to his ribs, she cast around for one last sight of home. The castle lights had already faded into the yawning mist. It didn't matter, though, because she would see her home again. Even if it killed her, she couldn't give up.

For now, though, she would look ahead. Yet all that lay before her was blackness and infinite uncertainty. Only one thing was for certain—she was soon to be mated to a warg. The wargrex. Gods, above! She almost wished she had looked at his...cock. Then at least she would have some inclination of the horrors to come. Or was it better to languish in ignorance? A moot and useless question now. Meera had already disabused her of the precious ignorance she hadn't known to cherish, mores the pity.

Rowan looked down at the warg beneath her, not that she could see him in the dark. But she could certainly smell and feel him.

The sensation of male muscle pumping between her thighs, the rhythmic animal sounds he was making, and the midnight pace he kept... It was all beginning to make her extremely uncomfortable...in new and unexpected ways. The jarring ride was painful, yes, but there was a dastardly pleasure in it, too. These warring feelings were only adding confusion to her fear and anger.

That she felt so inexplicably...wanton. She squirmed to stifle the feeling building under the friction of flesh against fur. It was his body heat, that was all. Had to be. Yet from the moment she'd touched him, mounted him, her terror had slipped its grip just a little bit. Every time they touched, something unnamed and wildering overrode her fear. The dread was fading by attrition from the agonizing friction between her sex and his flexing back.

Gods! She needed to get off him, this wicked contact was wrecking her rationale. She shifted and strained, trying to escape the sensations. She was glad of the dark, it hid her sudden flush of shame. The shame of flesh and illicit thoughts. Of things darker even than the night. Too dark to ponder.

Fortunately, the wind stole her quickening breaths before they reached those keen warg ears. Or so she hoped. Hekki curse him, it was probably some nefarious warg magic he was working on her. A depraved trick to make her more amenable to mating.

The sound of the other wargs was a welcome interruption. The sound of thundering paws blared into the night. The wargrex had by now rejoined the rest of his pack. Growls and grunting sounds came at her from all directions. But she could only hear them, her human eyes useless in the dark. With those sounds came the swift return of anger. Natural feelings. Reliable. Fear and rage were animals she well understood. The other...unwelcome inklings between her thighs were anything but natural.

A deep grumble vibrated from Thrax's chest. He was speaking to his pack. Answering the other sounds with feral tones of his own. The noise—reverberating through her—gave Rowan such a start that she yelped.

Somewhere nearby, a warg howled. The wargrex let loose another jarring rumble, overpowering her little whimpers. And so it went on. Hour after hour. Warg chatter and pounding paws rending the vast murky silence and echoing across the Nevermoor Bog. Growls and grunts and howls. Rowan's nerves were becoming so frayed they were bound to snap any moment.

It was going to be a grueling ride. And a very long night. What was more, she needed to relieve herself. The goblets full of red courage that she'd gulped down earlier in her chamber was now demanding egress.

She bent low over his shoulders. "You'd better stop soon," she hissed. "I need to...make water."

With an almighty growl, he slowed and swerved to the side. To where, she didn't know. The terrain was nothing but thick black shadow.

Maeda preserve her, she hoped there was a bush or something nearby. The thought of hiking her dress up in the dark, knowing they could see her, almost made it worth the pain of holding it in forever.