Captive Of The Warg, (Wargs of the Outland #2)

Blood And Sentiment

His body tensed and a shadow flitted across his brow. "I told you there are things you don't understand."

"Make me." She gripped his hand, her blood rippling with awareness. She could feel his pulse inside her, even now. "Make me understand."

"I don't understand it myself," he growled, pulling his hand away. "Much less believe..."

She frowned, folding her arms. The awe and thrill subsided beneath a shiver of premonition. "Believe what?"

He dragged his hand through his hair. "When I found you in that old fox hole, the frost was in your blood. You were already dying from the inside out. The wound from the aurog was already putrid." His jaw pulsed.

She nodded, her lungs squeezing. "I know." She pinched her eyes shut and added, "You saved me." Had she thanked him for that? She couldn't remember. Whether for good or ill, he'd saved her. "Thank you." She'd thought the words would lodge in her throat and cost her blood. Strangely though, ceding those powerful words loosened the vice on her chest. She frowned, confused. It should've galled her to thank him—a warg. But it didn't.

"Don't thank me yet," he muttered. The bed groaned as he left it. "There are consequences."

How much colder the air felt now that he'd moved away. And that word had chilled her even more. Her gaze trailed him as he prowled to the outer door. "Consequences?"

"Consequences," he repeated, stalking off.

"Where are you going?" It occurred to her suddenly that she was speaking Wargish to him without even realizing it. How long had she been doing that? And why was her accent so fluid and natural?

"We," he corrected her, also in his mother tongue. He dragged the door open and stood there waiting. "I want to show you something."

Curious, she swung her legs down and padded towards him. With hooded eyes, he devoured her body. There wasn't an inch of her he hadn't explored. She felt the silk and shadow brand of his possessive touch still tingling on her breasts. Her thighs. Her lips.

A flush of heat stained her face as she reached the doorway. He gestured to the right, his lip curling in challenge.

Her gaze floated into the gloom of the passage. Whereas the rose garden door loomed to the left, this way sloped towards the dark underbelly of the mountain. The sound of water swooping through the rock hummed like Hafsalir, the River of Souls.

Bayne's gaze dared her to follow.

Reia threw a furtive glance to the left. Her throat tightened as she darted a look back to the right. "I don't care for a bath," she bit out.

"Then don't," he said and brushed past her, sending hot flurries down her arms. "I'll not force you."

She swallowed, her belly tight. But he halted down the passage, glancing around at her. In the tenebrous heart of the mountain, he seemed all the more beautiful somehow. A feral, masculine beauty. As though he owned every grim shadow. Not like that skulking goblin prince, but like a giant who commanded the dark. Bent it to his will rather than cloak himself in it. Now that the darkness didn't blind her, she could appreciate that power.

Where he stood, there was no torchlight to scatter black shadows. The darkness that once bogged the passage was gone. In its place, a sharp unfettered blue filled her vision.

His face stood out in stark relief, his pupils like a dark eclipse against the fiery moons that usually burned in his gaze. His eyes flared as she swallowed her fear and padded after him. "Do you need a light?" he asked.