Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Viper caught Ward before he hit the flagstones, one arm around his waist, the other steadying his neck with a gentleness that no one alive had ever accused him of possessing.
The moment their skin touched, the blue markings on Ward’s arms flared in response, burning faint but undeniable against pale skin.
It was like watching fate scrawl his name in real time up the other man’s skin.
“Shit,” he breathed, sinking to one knee and cradling Ward like he mattered more than he’d had ever intended to reveal.
Sutherland—no, not Sutherland—Ward was more than the civilian they’d stumbled over in the cave—the brainiac liability with a PhD in dead languages and zero sense of survival instinct. But somewhere between surviving a volcanic hellscape and landing sword-deep in Irish myth, something had shifted.
No—everything has shifted.
Fuck me. Now what do I do?
Images of Trace and Juice when their bond had flared into life flashed into his mind.
He only had their experience to go by: “If one of us is going to turn into a wolf, I’m gonna need more than a hot minute to wrap my head around it.
” He didn’t want to be dictated to by fate or whatever force existed in this place.
When he was attracted to someone, he wanted it to be of his own free will, damn it.
“You cannot turn into a wolf when you do not have the blood of the hounds of the Fianna.” Fionn laid a hand on his shoulder. “Come, bring your Grá Croí.”
Viper had known something was different the moment Fionn’s hand slammed over his chest on that battlefield.
That moment when he’d thrown himself into the path of a blade meant for the High King and spilled blood on ancient earth, Fionn had touched him and whispered, You are Fianna now.
The words had been simple, but the power that followed hadn’t been.
It had been a surge, a pulse, a rewriting of his goddamn soul, and then it began.
First, the tattoos, then the heat, the hypersensitivity to the land, and finally, something else he’d been too busy trying to keep everyone alive to figure out.
He hadn’t known what it was at first, not really.
Only that every time Ward spoke, he felt something similar to a tether tightening.
A pull deeper than loyalty, and sharper than duty, had ever felt before.
But when Ward’s blood hit that ritual stone and the runes lit up brighter than any of the others, he’d started to figure it out.
The bond Trace and Juice had spoken of wasn’t theoretical anymore; it was branded on his soul.
What had confirmed the kind of bond—all those fucking warriors lining up like vultures to get close to Ward.
Fionn led him to an antechamber off the main hall, his expression unreadable but not unkind.
“It began on the battlefield,” he confirmed what Viper’s thoughts were softly, “when I marked you. The Gods of the Fianna welcomed you, and in doing so, this land claimed you. But the bond you feel—it is older than our rites. It’s older than the Veil.
It chose you and him as meant to be long before time existed at all. ”
Fucking hell, Dare, you really stepped in the shit this time.
What happened to good old-fashioned dating or one-night stands? Jeez. “I didn’t ask for any of this,” Viper snapped.
“No one does,” Fionn replied. “But this land knows who can shoulder the burden of its legacy. You shielded me in battle and gave blood to free me without hesitation. The bond recognized your heart, even when you tried to hide it.”
Viper glanced down at Ward, his pack still clutched in one hand like he was trying to hold onto the last piece of a world that no longer existed. “I don’t know how to do this. How to be what any of you seem to expect.”
“Then learn,” Fionn said simply. “That is the only oath a mate bond requires. That you try.”
Ward stirred, and his lashes flickered. Viper tightened his grip as if the world might try to take him again.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured. It felt more than a little fucked up to know he meant it with everything he was.
But he had a feeling this was only the beginning of fucked up things to come while they figured out what happened next.
Yet, here with a man who had somehow become the one thing he wasn’t sure he could survive losing, what happened next wasn’t high on his list of priorities.
Ward moved, a faint twitch against Viper’s chest like the first ripple of wind before a storm rolled in.
His eyes blinked open, unfocused and dazed.
Viper tightened his hold a fraction, steadying Ward without crowding him.
He steadfastly ignored the curious stares they were starting to draw from nearby warriors and his men. “Hey,” he murmured. “Back with me?”
Ward blinked again, then focused on his face. “I didn’t faint, did I?”
“You absolutely did.” He let the corner of his mouth tilt just a hair, easing the tension clawing up his spine. “But it had a dramatic flair to it. Very heroic.”
Ward groaned and tried to sit up, swaying slightly. Viper kept his grip gentle but firm. “Easy. You hit the floor like a sack of bricks.”
“I’m fine,” Ward muttered, his voice rough. “Just overwhelmed.”
No shit.
Me too.
“Let me know when you are ready to go back out there.”
Ward scrubbed his hand down his face. “Don’t suppose we could wake up from this whacked out dream anytime soon, could we?”
“Probably not.” He gripped Ward’s hand and hauled him to his feet. “From the sounds of things, there’s one hell of a party kicking off out there.”
“Yeah.”
Ward followed him back into the hall. Fires roared high in iron braziers.
Long tables creaked beneath slabs of venison, wild boar, and roasted salmon bigger than any fish Viper had ever seen.
The air smelled like smoke, meat, and honey.
Drums pounded fast and low as if the rhythms of war had become a celebration.
The Fianna laughed and sang and thumped each other on the back like they’d never seen a battlefield, only the joy that came after.
Cups clashed and knives carved at the meat.
Someone was already shirtless and dancing, daubed in swirling blue paint and swinging a tankard overhead like a weapon of mass intoxication.
Viper glanced around the hall, searching for his men.
The SEALs were scattered through the chaos.
Zero was holding his own in a drinking contest with a warrior twice his size.
Reaper leaned against a support beam with a tankard in one hand and a wary eye on everything.
Kaze was laughing like he’d finally found a country that matched his insanity.
Juice and Trace sat curled together on a bench near the hearth, fingers intertwined and heads close.
Viper reached out and hooked two fingers under the strap of the satchel-like pack Ward still held. “You can put this down, you know. No one here’s going to take your homework.”
Ward looked at him, startled, and lifted one shoulder.
“I don’t know how to let go of the only thing that makes sense right now.
” Viper didn’t push. He just dropped the strap and let his hand fall between them.
“We’re in the middle of a war party thrown by men who believe I’m your mate,” Ward said after a beat. “So… what now?”
Viper exhaled slowly and leaned back on one hand, letting the firelight wash across his skin, feeling the hum of power still twined in his bones since that battlefield mark.
“Now?” he said, eyes locked on Ward’s. “Now we eat. Then we figure out what the hell fate thinks it’s doing with us, or we figure out a way out of here and back to our time.
Because I don’t know if we time-traveled or some shit. ”
“I’d swap those things around,” Ward said. “First, figure out if we can get back to where we are supposed to be. Then figure out if this mate stuff,” he pulled up his sleeve to show him the blue swirls climbing up his arm, “is still in place if we get home.”
Even though he wasn’t sure why he was doing it, Viper opened his mouth to argue, but snapped it shut again as a warrior approached. A platter was slammed down in front of them with a force that rattled the bench. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was grateful for the interruption or not.
The warrior who delivered the platter grinned like he’d slain the beast himself—and maybe he had, judging by the sheer size of the roasted haunch now glistening in front of them.
“This,” the man declared proudly, “is venison from out Fulacht Fiadh. The stag was hunted at moonrise by Diarmuid himself. Fed on wild thyme, mountain moss, and rage, you’ll not be tasting anything better, so you won’t. ”
Viper blinked at the hunk of meat still steaming on the slab. It smelled like smoke and marrow and something earthy that made his stomach clench with sudden, ravenous hunger. “It’s venison from a what did you say? A fucking fiadh?”
The warrior erupted in laughter. He smacked his hand on the table a couple of times, making the platters jump. “A Fulacht Fiadh, an oven in the ground made of rocks. We fill it with food and hot stones from the fire.”
“I’ll draw you a sketch later,” Ward told him.
“Or you could take him outside and show him ours,” the warrior offered. “It would be out through the kitchens, so it would.”
“Yes.”
Viper caught Ward as he started to get to his feet.
“You need to eat first.” He grabbed the carved bone-handled blade from the table and carved off a slab.
The meat cut like butter, dark and rich with a layer of crisped fat around the edge.
“It will still be there when we are finished eating.” He handed a piece to Ward, who took it with cautious fingers and a look that said he was trying very hard not to rush off to see an ancient Irish ground oven in real-life action.