Chapter 7 #2
Within the hour, the war camp was a hive of controlled chaos.
Warriors moved with purpose, sharpening blades on whetstones, checking the fit of armor, their voices a low and steady murmur of strategy and tension.
The scent of steel and oil hung in the air, mixing with the earthy aroma of damp leaves and the faint, metallic tang of blood that seemed to cling to everything.
Reaper paced the perimeter like a caged wolf, his fingers twitching at his sides, his mind a whirlwind of fury and fear.
He couldn’t sit still, he could barely remember how to breathe, never mind do anything else.
His entire being focused on the fact that Cian was in that hall, so close, yet also so far.
Viper leaned against the gnarled trunk of an oak, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes tracking his restless movements. The torchlight flickered across his CO’s face, casting deep shadows that made his expression unreadable.
“We need more men,” Reaper bit out, stopping in front of him, his voice a low, rough growl. “Even I know we can’t take that hall with what we’ve got.”
Fionn didn’t even look up from the map spread out on the slab of rough-hewn wood propped up on barrels that doubled as a makeshift table. His fingers traced the lines of the map, his touch sure and his focus absolute. “They’re already coming.”
Reaper’s pulse spiked with excitement, and his head snapped toward Fionn. “What?”
“The Dord Fiann sounded.” Fionn’s voice was quiet, the inevitability of how a tide will always fall upon a shore. “The Fianna answer.”
A muscle in Reaper’s jaw jumped. He wanted to scream that it wasn’t enough, that they needed the warriors now, not later. But the Operator he’d been trained to be knew that ‘hurry up and wait’ was a fact of his existence, even now.
He turned away, his gaze fixed on the rath looming in the distance. He could feel the pulse of magic, the weight of ancient power… and the presence of the man who was his. Cian. “Is it meant to make me insane that I can feel him?” So fucking close, but just beyond his reach.
“It takes getting used to,” Viper replied. “Soon you won’t remember a time when his voice wasn’t in the back of your mind, and when your soul and his were not intertwined.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Reaper caught a slight shimmer, and he spun toward it.
One second, there was nothing but the torchlit darkness, the rustle of leaves, and the murmur of voices.
The next, a figure stood at the edge of the camp, his hands raised in surrender, and his eyes wide and wary.
A Fianna warrior was on him in an instant, pressing steel to his throat.
The boy didn’t fight or even flinch. He stood there with his breath coming in short, sharp gasps, his gaze darting between the warriors surrounding him.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I seek my brother’s Grá Croí.”
Drawn by the commotion, Fionn’s head snapped up. “Miach, what are you doing here?”
“I’m not here to fight.” Miach’s voice was low and steady, though his hands trembled slightly at his sides. “I seek the Grá Croí of Cian.”
“Why?” Caílte snarled, pressing the tip of his dagger harder against Miach’s throat. A bead of blood welled and trickled down the pale column of his neck.
Miach scanned the men until he landed on Reaper. “Because my father is a fool,” he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “I won’t see innocent villagers die for his ambitions.”
Oisín barked a disbelieving laugh. “And we’re supposed to believe you?”
Miach’s expression hardened. “I don’t care what you believe.” His voice remained steady despite the blades pressing into his skin. “But I will get you in.” His eyes cut to Reaper again, this time holding, burning with an intensity that belied his youth. “And I’ll help you get my brother out.”
The warriors surged forward, their voices a chorus of denials and demands to go with him. Viper was in front of him in a heartbeat, his face a mask of fury. “You’re not fucking going,” his voice low, dangerous and filled with command.
Trace grabbed Reaper’s arm, his grip bruising. “He’s right. This is a trap. You walk in there, you’re as good as dead.”
Reaper’s gaze was locked on Miach. He focused on the desperate honesty in his eyes.
He could feel the truth behind the words and the raw, unshakable conviction in his eyes.
It was like recognizing the shape of a knife in the dark, or the familiar weight of a weapon in his hand. He just knew this kid wasn’t lying.
“There comes a time in every man’s life,” he didn’t even recognize the rough, gravelly sounds coming out of his mouth as his voice, “where he’s got to make a choice.
” He turned to Viper, to Trace, to the sea of furious, enraged faces surrounding him.
“Between the mission and the ones we are fighting for.” His throat tightened, the words scraping against his raw edges of his sanity.
“For me?” He rubbed a hand up his arm, over the mark that marched upward, almost reaching his shoulder.
“For whatever the hell this is inside me?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t got a choice.”
“Reap—”
“Enough, if it was Ward, you’d already be inside the walls.”
Thankfully, Viper backed down. He didn’t want to put his commanding officer on his ass. But if it was needed… he would.
Miach stepped forward, ignoring the blades still pressed to his skin.
“Swear to me.” His eyes burned with an intensity that made Reaper’s skin prickle.
“Swear you’ll complete the bond.” His voice cracked, just slightly, but the conviction behind it was unshakable.
“That you won’t let my brother die for nothing. ”
Reaper didn’t hesitate. The words were out before he could even think them. “On my honor,” he said, “I swear it.”
For a heartbeat, Miach just stared at him, his gaze searching, probing as if he were looking for something to tell him that Reaper spoke true. Then, slowly, he nodded. He reached out, his fingers brushed Reaper’s shoulder, and the world dissolved around them.