Chapter 13 #2
But he didn’t say any of that out loud. “I’m still trying to catch up,” Ward managed. “Everything keeps changing. You, me, this whole portal to a magical land of myths and legends. I don’t know which way is up anymore.”
“Then hold on to me,” Viper said roughly, stepping into his space. “If the world spins sideways again, I’ll keep you upright.”
Ward swayed toward him, sending a blast of relief through Viper’s soul. His fingers found Viper’s wrist and curled the mate mark, grounding himself. “Do you mean that?”
“I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep.”
Silence settled like a hush across the men watching them.
Trace had something almost gentle in his expression, as he nodded once and stepped back.
Juice looked sheepish, and he rubbed the back of his neck, but didn’t interrupt.
Kaze muttered something about “unresolved sexual tension” before Reaper elbowed him hard enough to knock the wind out of him, while Zero just straight up leered, then winked at him.
Ward didn’t care. All he could focus on was the pulse beneath Viper’s skin and the way their marks had started to glow again, crawling higher, lines of heat and promises spinning across their arms and carving declarations of vows they should make to each other in it.
He felt a strange hum in his blood. He hadn’t recognized it before.
He thought it was fear or adrenaline, but he knew what it was now.
It’s the mating bond.
Viper reached up, brushed his knuckles over Ward’s jaw, and dropped his voice. “No one breaks this bond. Not even fate. Not unless you ask me to.”
Ward’s breath hitched, and he leaned forward until their foreheads touched. He soaked in the heat between them and relished in the steady shiver still riding his spine. “Okay,” he whispered. “We figure it out as we go, okay? Just you and me. No input from the peanut gallery you call a team.”
“Deal,” Viper agreed immediately. He turned his head to glare at the guys. “This mating bond and what’s between me and Ward is off limits. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Sir, yes, Sir.”
“You got it, Boss.”
“What mating bond?”
“No clue, Zero,” Reaper responded. “Mating bonds are things in the movies. I don’t need to know that you watch vampire and shifter movies in your downtime.”
“Asshole.”
“Jerk face.”
Just like that, the guys were back on an even keel. But for Ward, everything had changed—everything, including how he viewed the man standing by his side.
By midmorning, the quiet lull of camaraderie began to fracture beneath the surface.
Warriors began to gather again, and tension crept in low and dense like fog along the lake.
Ward felt it in his bones before anyone said a word.
The Fianna moved with intent, hands clasped over hearts or weapons, heads bowed toward a rhythm only they could hear.
It was Oisín who approached them this time, his presence softer than Fionn’s heavy aura but no less commanding. He nodded toward the circle of flat stones that edged the far side of Dun Fianna. “It is time.”
Ward exchanged a glance with Viper.
Time for what?
Viper was already rising, his face closed off into something unreadable—that blankness he wore like armor. The same one Ward had seen in the tunnel system when chaos reigned. His stomach churned as they followed Oisín.
They passed between rows of standing, silent warriors to the edge of the stone circle.
Fionn waited, clad in ceremonial leather etched with symbols.
Oisín moved to stand at his right, and beside them, dressed in hoods with their faces shadowed beneath braids thick with beads and bone, stood four women—priestesses, maybe.
“This is the Rite of Binding,” Fionn said, his voice low but carrying. “Tír na nóg does not lend power lightly, but it has chosen you.”
Ward’s mouth went dry.
Wait. Power?
Nobody said anything about that.
Ward’s heart thudded. “What does that mean?”
“It means the power is already written into your blood,” Oisín said, “and if it deems you worthy, it will root in you. It will live in you.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Viper demanded an answer.
“Then it will burn through you.” Fionn didn’t soften his reply.
Of course it will.
Why the heck did I expect anything different?
Not that he knew what to expect, because nothing about this place had ever promised safety.
Viper didn’t flinch. “Then let’s do it.”
They stepped together into the ring, and the second their boots crossed the boundary, Ward felt it. Pressure pressed against his chest like gravity had doubled. His tattoos flared, casting a glow from beneath his skin, mirrored by Viper’s as their mate marks pulsed in tandem.
Fionn lifted a hand. “Grá Croí and warrior, stand between the stones and face one another.”
Ward’s palms were slick, and his mouth was dry as he obeyed. Viper moved like he was preparing to storm a battlefield. He looked like he held no fear or hesitation, but Ward knew him a little better now, and he saw the twitch in his jaw and the tightness in his shoulders.
Then Fionn spoke a word he didn’t recognize. It was ancient and guttural, and the runes carved into the standing stones erupted in light. Wind howled around them, and the circle glowed with wild, living magic. Viper staggered forward with a sharp gasp, nearly dropping to one knee.
“Viper?” His voice cracked as he caught him.
Viper’s hands went to his temples. “Too much,” he gritted out. “It’s in my head. In my blood. Fuck, it’s everywhere?—”
“Look at me.” Ward stepped close and pressed both palms to his face, forcing him to meet his eyes.
“Breathe with me. You don’t have to fight it back.
Let it move through you and it will pass.
” He had no idea if what he was saying was true.
All he had to go on was old stories that some people called myths and others called history.
Viper clung to him, and slowly, oh so slowly, his shaking stilled as the magic and power shifted and settled while the light in the circle softened.
Ward’s arm burned as the mate mark edged its way toward his shoulder. He needed to scratch at it so badly, but he also didn’t want to take his arms from Viper’s yet until he was sure he was steady on his feet.
Oisín stepped forward, gaze sharp. “He grounds you, warrior.”
“Wrong,” Viper grunted. “He saves me, Mac an Rí.”
The circle still hummed with latent energy as Viper stood steadily next to him, though his chest rose and fell like he’d run a mile in kit, and his skin was still glowing faintly where Ward’s hands had anchored him.
Ward barely noticed what was happening around him anymore because the light from the stones flickered, and something pulsed in the center of his chest. He swayed slightly, one hand pressing flat against his sternum as heat poured outward.
The mark flared white-hot, then red, then shimmered to silver, gold, and finally blue.
“What the fuck?” he muttered, but the words barely made it out of his mouth.
A hush fell across the circle. Even Kaze shut the hell up. Reaper and Zero leaned in from the edge while Trace and Juice stood frozen in place with their eyes locked on him as Fionn stepped forward, his eyes bright with something like wonder. “There it is.”
“There what is?” Viper growled as if something had majorly pissed him off.
“The oath has taken root.” Fionn’s gaze never left Ward. “He is not only your Grá Croí, but the gods have decided he is the Oathkeeper.”
Ward blinked. “The hell is an Oathkeeper?”
“A protector of bonds. A guardian of truth.” Fionn walked around the outer edge of the stone ring.
“Only one is born each generation when the land deems it necessary. Tír na nóg remembers the old magics. It remembers oaths broken and those kept in blood. It remembers balance.” He stopped directly in front of Ward.
“You are the balance of the warrior’s soul. You are his shield.”
“I don’t know what that means.” His voice wavered. His legs weren’t sure whether they wanted to stand or fold at the knees.
“You will,” Fionn promised, and then held out a carved horn filled with something milky white. “This is An Bainne Ceangailteach. The Binding Milk.”
“Binding what?” Viper moved toward Ward again as if he could block whatever came next.
“Not you to each other.” Fionn’s smile was indulgent. “This binds you both to Tír na nóg. To the Fianna. To the call, you have already answered when you released me from my prison.”
Ward looked at the horn. “What happens if I don’t drink it?” His hands shook slightly as he took it.
“You will return to being fully human.” Fionn was solemn. “Tomorrow is the night of the full moon. Your mate’s mark will dig into your heart, and his mark into his heart, killing you both.”
“What’s in it?” Viper asked.
“Herbs. Magic. The essence of the land’s choosing.
Nothing harmful unless you resist the bond it deepens.
” Fionn looked at both of them now. “It will awaken what still slumbers in your hearts. It will call to your powers. It will strip your defenses so you feel every connection without question and without fear.”
That sounds dangerous.
It sounds like temptation in a cup.
It sounds like exactly what we needed.
Ward looked at Viper. “Together?”
Viper’s jaw flexed once, then he nodded and reached to wrap his fingers around the base of the horn beside Ward’s. “Together.”
He lifted it and drank. For a couple of seconds, nothing happened. Then a crackle started behind his ribs. The sensation wasn’t painful, but it sure as hell wasn’t subtle. He staggered slightly, and Viper’s arm snapped out to steady him. Ward clutched his hand in return, grounding them both.
Fionn stepped forward, and there was something almost reverent in the way he gazed at them. “Your power recognizes the vow,” he said softly. “The oath beneath your skin is waking.”
“Oath?” Ward managed, though his throat was dry and his vision blurred at the edges.
“You are Oathkeeper.” Fionn’s tone was full of ancient wisdom. “One of the oldest of our gifts. You will hold the sacred word, anchor those who wield it, and call for truth to show itself when it hides in shadow.”
That sounds like an awful lot of responsibility to this place and these people for someone who wants to go home at some point.
Ward blinked, confused. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“No one ever does,” Oisín murmured. “But Tír na nóg only awakens what’s already inside you.”
Ward’s skin felt tight, like it didn’t quite fit anymore. The spiraling mating mark along his arm glowed with a shimmering light. Lines of silver and pale blue crept over the top of his shoulder. He could almost see the pulse of them matching Viper’s heartbeat beside him. Or maybe it was his own.
“This is a lot,” he whispered.
“It always is,” Fionn replied. “Which is why you must bind your strength together. Magic born of heart and soul is volatile. It must be steadied.” He turned and took a carved horn from one of the priestesses.
“Drink this. It will anchor the mate bond,” he said, extending the horn, “and deepen what has already begun. But it will also amplify the truth of it. This drink will not lie, nor allow you to.”
Viper narrowed his eyes. “What’s in it?”
Fionn smiled faintly. “Roots and blossoms. Fire and star. It’s not poison, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It’s an aphrodisiac, isn’t it?” Ward asked, deadpan.
Oisín’s mouth twitched. “In part. It reveals the emotional resonance between bonded souls.”
“So yes.” Ward sighed. “It’s magically charged horny tea.”
“Only if you are already inclined in that direction.” Fionn’s eyes sparkled. “The mating bond knows what it wants. This will simply let it speak, if you are brave enough to listen.”
Just like with the last drink, Viper reached out, took the horn, and studied it like it might bite. Then, slowly, he turned to Ward and lifted a brow. “We do this together?”
Well, freaking hello, déjà vu.
Ward hesitated, his fingers brushing the edge of the vessel. The magic sang through it, luring and promising. He blew out a slow breath and nodded once. “Together.”
The second the cup touched his lips, Ward knew he’d fucked up.
The taste wasn’t unpleasant; it was earthy and floral with a smoky sweetness that lingered on the back of his tongue.
But it burned low and slow through his chest like a fuse winding toward something dangerous.
Something inevitable. He looked up at Viper, who’d already drained his cup like the hardened operator he was.
For a heartbeat, their gazes locked across the rim of their cups, then Viper blinked, his eyes dilated, and he swayed forward half a step as if the earth beneath his boots had tilted sideways.
Ward’s heart stuttered. “Uh... Viper?”
A soft exhale escaped the other man, and then his jaw clenched. His nostrils flared, and he rolled his shoulders. “What the hell was in that?” Viper’s voice was low, hoarse, and almost ragged. “I feel like I could bench press a goddamn horse—or fuck one.”
“Hopefully not the second option,” Ward muttered, struggling to keep his breathing even as the same heat crawled up his spine and spread like wildfire through every inch of his skin.
His mate mark burned hot and bright, and he dragged a hand across his shoulder where it brushed against his neck, trying to calm the storm it kicked up.
Fionn, the absolute bastard, smiled knowingly from across the circle. “It is a sacred root. It does not harm. It awakens what lies waiting buried deep.”
Ward shot him a murderous glare. “Is one of those buried things my self-control?”
Oisín’s mouth twitched like he was biting back a laugh. “Tír na nóg honors the bond between Grá Croí. What you feel is not a trick—it’s the truth that has been magnified and unleashed.”
We’re so fucked.
A tiny voice in his head muttered in glee, Fucked is exactly what we are going to be tonight.