Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The sun dipped low behind the western ridge, gilding the treetops with fire as Dun Fianna erupted into life. Gone were the wary glances and tense patrols. Tonight, the warriors of legend did what they had done for generations before the world forgot their names. They feasted.
Long tables made from carved stone and rough-hewn wood stretched across the wide central clearing.
Flames crackled in towering bonfires, and the smoke curled up to mingle with the evening sky.
The scent of roasted boar and fresh herbs wafted in the air, mingling with the sharper tang of mead and baking.
Laughter rolled from every direction—low and raucous, loud and joyous.
Viper stood near the edge of the chaos with Ward at his side, watching as the Fianna shed their war skins and slipped into something older and more primal.
Warriors beat a steady rhythm on stretched leather drums, the pulse building into something that thrummed in his chest like a second heartbeat.
Pipes joined in, keening wild and sweet, while the low drone of a bullhorn carried beneath it all like a song echoing through time.
“You ever seen anything like this?” Ward asked, voice low, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s even more epic than the first night we came here and they celebrated the return of their king.”
“Not unless you count that one insane St. Paddy’s Day party in Djibouti.” Viper slid his hand down Ward’s back. “But this? This is fucking insane.”
Fianna men and women danced barefoot in the grass, kicking up dust and light with every stomp.
They moved in long spirals and tight circles, bodies twining together in patterns passed down from fire to fire and clan to clan.
There was no choreography that he could make out, yet there also was no hesitation from the dancers.
Just a wild abandon that welcomed anyone willing to lose themselves to the music.
Kaze and Reaper were already shirtless and wrestling near one of the bonfires, egged on by Zero and a handful of Fianna who roared with approval every time one of them slammed into the dirt.
Neither man seemed to care who won, but then Viper mused it wasn’t about winning or losing as such.
Tonight was about belonging, blood, bruises, and brotherhood.
“Come eat,” Oisín called out as he passed, his face flushed from drink and laughter. He had his arm around one of the warriors Viper hadn’t learned the name of yet. “The salmon’s done, the bread’s still warm, and the best Uisce Beath has yet to be claimed.”
Viper grinned and snagged Ward’s hand. “Let’s go before Zero drinks it all and starts throwing his knives at the wrong people.”
Ward laughed and let himself be dragged to the food tables.
Trays of roasted root vegetables sat beside loaves of dark bread crusted with salt.
Wild salmon wrapped in oak leaves sizzled beside honeyed lamb so tender it nearly fell apart.
There were clay jugs of cider, skins of something stronger, and tankards that never seemed to stay empty for long.
“The Irish sure know how to throw a party, don’t they? ”
“Damn straight.”
Laughter cracked like firelight through the crowd as Kaze stumbled back from a wrestling match, his bare chest dusted with sweat and his grin wide.
The warrior he’d squared off against—an auburn-haired bear of a man called Daithi—thumped him on the back so hard his knees nearly buckled.
“Rematch,” Kaze declared, staggering toward the ring again.
“But this time, I don’t slip in pig fat. ”
“That’s your own sweat, boy,” Daithi boomed. “Try keeping your balance and maybe your pride’ll survive.”
“Careful,” Zero drawled from the sidelines where he sat cross-legged and betting with some of the warriors. “Kaze’s ego bruises easy. He’s delicate.”
“I’m gonna delicately bury you in the mud,” Kaze retorted, tossing a clay cup of something dark and potent into his mouth. “Right after I win this next one.”
“You’re gonna hurl your liver through your nose first,” Reaper called, dodging a flung apple and catching it mid-air with the ease of someone used to both chaos and food-based projectiles. “That mead’s stronger than jet fuel.”
Nearby, Ward leaned against the side of a crannóg with his arms crossed, watching the madness unfold with a faint, disbelieving smile.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen so many people—warriors, civilians, shifters, and SEALs alike—just existing and having a blast.
“Why do I feel like they’ve all reverted to frat boys from a military base party?” Ward muttered, and Viper’s arm snuck around his waist.
“Because they have.” His voice was amused and thick with pride. “But they’ve earned it.”
Music swelled nearby—pipes, drums, and a stringed instrument he didn’t recognize but had fallen in love with by the second bar. The rhythm was wild, raw, and untamed, just like the Fianna.
Trace and Juice sat beneath the long torches with a group of warriors swapping stories. One was carving intricate knots into a piece of antler while another braided tiny feathers into the ends of Juice’s dark hair. He didn’t even look like he minded.
“I think Juice may never leave,” Ward said softly, watching the way Trace leaned in, whispering something against his mate’s ear.
“They’ll probably spend a lot of time here,” Viper murmured. “Trace and his wolf side have missed the Fianna for so long, I can’t imagine him being able to resist the lure of being with them when time allows.”
“I agree.”
Another roar went up from the wrestling pit as Reaper slammed into Daithi like a freight train and the crowd cheered. Coins changed hands in the betting circle until Daithi retaliated, and the coins were handed back again.
Meat sizzled over open fires. Flatbreads were passed down long carved tables along with bowls of roasted roots and something spiced with herbs that made Ward moan low in the back of his throat. “This—” he said, waving his half-empty wooden plate, “—I don’t know what it is, but it’s incredible.”
“Venison,” a passing warrior informed him. “With gooseberries and honey. You want some more?”
“Do I look like I’m saying no?”
“You’re officially Fianna now, then.” The man winked and pointed him toward a fire. “Help yourself. My Grá Croí will be honored you do be liking her cooking.”
Ward leaned against Viper’s side and exhaled slowly. “This… this I’ll remember forever.”
Viper tightened his grip. “Yeah, me too.”
Kaze went flying again—backward this time—and slammed into a barrel with a grunt and a whoop as the warriors erupted in cheers.
Reaper hauled him back to his feet by the arm, laughing hard enough that he nearly doubled over.
Kaze brushed himself off with exaggerated dignity, then stuck his tongue out and stole a roasted turnip from a passing platter.
“Think I’m done for the night,” he panted, flopping down beside Zero who offered him a drink without comment. “Maybe two nights. Maybe a week.”
“I give you an hour before you try again,” Zero said, eyes scanning the knife-throwing contest where two Fianna warriors were launching blades at an oak log with deadly precision. “The stupid always resets.”
Ward chuckled and let himself be pulled toward the next long table where the oldest of the Fianna sat surrounded by eager young warriors. The old men told stories with sweeping hands. Their words painted images of ancient battles, lost kings, and victories won on windswept cliffs.
“Listen to this,” Ward whispered as one of the elders raised a gnarled finger. “He’s speaking in old Irish. Not the reconstructed kind either—this is the real thing.”
“What’s he saying?” Viper asked, leaning in close, his arm still slung low around Ward’s back.
Ward listened, translating in low murmurs.
“He’s talking about a hunt. Said he followed a white stag for seven days across the mountains.
The gods tested him with wind and rain, and when he finally caught it, the beast looked him in the eye and spoke a vow: ‘Keep your oath, warrior, and the Emerald Isle will always know your name.’”
Viper whistled softly. “Damn.”
“They don’t fight for kings here,” Ward said. “They fight for oaths and for their honor. To us it’s myths and legends, but to these people, it’s their legacy.”
“They’re not so different from us.” Viper kissed the side of Ward’s head. “We fight for each other like they do.”
A circle formed near the fire, dancers gathering with bare feet and clapping hands, some still holding mugs or loaves of bread.
The music shifted to a faster beat, the drums throbbing like heartbeats.
Laughter echoed as a tall woman with braids down her back pulled Kaze into the ring and spun him in place.
He yelped, then tried to match her steps—and failed miserably.
“That’s gonna end in disaster,” Reaper muttered from behind them, watching as Kaze tripped and recovered and grinned like a lunatic.
“Yeah,” Viper agreed. “But he’s enjoying every second.”
“Are you gonna dance?” Ward asked with a raised eyebrow.
Viper shook his head. “Baby, I dance like a damn elephant with only three legs. I’d squish someone and end up getting myself killed for my troubles. So, unless you want this night to finish way early, it’s better if I don’t dance at all.”
Ward turned fully toward him, a wicked grin curling his mouth. “Damn, I was thinking maybe you could teach the Fianna how to do the tequila hula.”
Viper groaned. “Early night it is then…”
Cackling like a loon, Ward stood and offered a hand. “Come on. No one cares if we stumble.”