Chapter 8
Cian’s entire world had narrowed to the pain of a thousand cuts.
His muscles burned as he thrashed against the golden ropes binding him.
Failinis snarled inside him, sending him power in never-ending waves that racked through his body, but the magic in the ropes held them both prisoner.
They could not shift, breathing was becoming difficult, and soon all that they were would descend into agony that would drive a mortal man insane in days.
Eventually, even a shifter as strong as himself would succumb to the madness of being in the hole, bound by the golden ropes of the Tuatha Dé Danann.
As boys, he and his brothers had played down here in this deep hole with its smooth, sheer walls.
The stories the old ones told around the fireplace during the long winter nights, said the grate that covered it was wrought from the heart of a fire-mountain in a far distant land.
Its bars were as thick as a man’s forearm.
Father’s favorite torture device.
If he thinks he will break us.
He is wrong.
Despite Failinis’s conviction, Cian’s breath came in ragged bursts, and his vision swam as the ropes pulsed with dark energy. “They are leeching our strength, Failinis.”
They will not win.
Fight, warrior.
He forced himself upright. His back hit the damp wall, catching on a sharp rock that bruised and broke his skin.
“It’s useless to waste our energy.” He reminded Failinis of the prisoners they had seen do the same.
“The magic in these bonds is older than the Tuatha Dé Danann. It was forged to hold gods.” Failinis howled in his mind, a sound of pure, primal rage.
We will not die here.
We are stronger than most of the gods.
We have proved it as Hound of the High King.
The arrogance and determination rolling through him in waves from his wolf did nothing to stop the ropes burning hotter as they tightened around every part of his body they touched.
Cian gritted his teeth, tasting blood. The Grá Croí bond flared to life in his veins as it pulsed as if in time to the chant of his mate’s name.
Reaper.
Reaper.
Reaper.
From deep within his soul, where the Grá Croí bond had flared to life, came a distant echo in the form of a whisper of determination and a rage so potent it refueled his waning strength.
I’m coming, Cian. I’m coming for you and your wolf.
Our Grá Croí wants us.
Failinis sent a wave of emotions down the fledgling bond to his mate.
Know we would have loved you in every lifetime.
Cian’s lips peeled back in a snarl. If Reaper was foolish enough to walk into this den of horrors, he’d better be ready to fight, because Dian Cecht wouldn’t just kill him. He’d take satisfaction in making him suffer, just to show that he could.
Our mate cannot suffer for our defiance.
Our mate is a warrior. Failinis reminded him. He will fight to free us, and he will win.
Cian wrenched against the golden bonds, and blood dripped onto the stones. He didn’t care; pain was fuel for his power, and right now, he and Failinis needed every ounce of it that they could scramble together. He could feel his wolf brother pacing inside him.
He’s coming for us.
Cian exhaled through his nose.
Then father will have him killed.
The bond flared, and Reaper’s presence pressed against his senses, a soothing balm on his battered soul.
The sound of metal scraping against stone had his head snapping up. The grate above him groaned, shifting just enough for a sliver of torchlight to spill into the pit.
“You’re still alive.” Miach’s face appeared over the rim. “Barely.”
He bared his teeth at his youngest brother. “Get me out of here.” He yanked against the ropes again. “Or have you come to kill me for father?”
“No.” A voice sounded from behind Miach. “He brought me to save your ass, warrior.”
Cian’s breath caught as Failinis went crazy in his mind.
He came.
Our Grá Croí came for us.
Reaper’s gaze locked onto him. “Why are you just lying around down there? Get your ass up here.”
Miach hissed. “He’s confined by the ropes of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Only my father or a Grá Croí can break them.”
“You shouldn’t have come,” Cian growled. “It’s dangerous here for you. You could get killed.”
Reaper’s lips curled. “Yeah? Bigger assholes than your old man have been trying to kill me for years. Ain’t none of them succeeded yet. Move back.” He dropped into the pit, barely missing Cian as he rolled out of the way.
The ropes around Cian’s wrists flared in warning, and he hissed in pain as their bands dug deeper into his skin.
Reaper pulled something from a pouch at his waist, and the pit was illuminated with light.
Magic. Our mate has magic.
Cian’s pulse hammered as the bond between them flared with desire, need, and something so unfathomable he didn’t believe it could happen this fast…love.
Miach cleared his throat. “I can’t hold the wards forever. Father’s coming.”
The corners of Reaper’s mouth quirked up, and his eyes crinkled, before he winked at Cian. “Then we’d better hurry.”
“You think it’s that simple?” His Grá Croí was delusional. “These ropes are forged from the heart of the fire-mountain. They won’t break.”
Reaper’s hand reached for the golden strands. His skin hissed where it touched the metal, but he didn’t let go. “Nothing’s unbreakable if you want it badly enough.”
The smell of burning flesh rose between them, and Cian could see how Reaper’s muscles locked against the pain. But did the warrior back down? No, no, he did not. Instead, his other hand snapped out to grip Cian’s jaw, forcing their eyes to meet.
“Say the words.”
Cian’s breath hitched at the demand. He knew what Reaper wanted…the bonding vow, the final seal of the Grá Croí. The thing that would bind them irrevocably, for better or worse as soon as they had sex, or kill them by dawn if they didn’t.
Failinis snarled in approval. Do it.
But the ropes tightened, the magic coiling like a serpent, ready to strike.
Miach’s face paled. “He’s here.”
Their time ran out as Dian Cecht’s voice echoed down from above. “Miach. Step away from the grate.”
Reaper’s grip on Cian’s jaw tightened. “Say. The. Words.”
Cian’s throat worked. The bond was a fire in his veins, the need to claim Reaper a physical ache.
But if he spoke the vow now, if he sealed it here in this pit of magic and betrayal and they failed to have time to complete the physical side, then his Grá Croí would die as the sun rose in the morning.
The golden ropes seared into Cian’s flesh, but the pain was nothing compared to knowing he would be the reason this man lost his life.
The warrior’s fingers dug into his jaw, unyielding, his breath hot as he brushed his mouth over Cian’s lips, and whispered, “Say the words, baby…” Kiss. “Then you an’ me can show these fuckers who they are dealing with.” Kiss. “For me, please help me help you.”
Dian Cecht’s voice rose in a chant, and the magic in the ropes responded by swirling up his body to his throat. Cian’s pulse roared in his ears; he could feel Reaper’s resolve and recognized the unstoppable force that drove it. His Grá Croí would die before he left without him.
I will not allow it.
Failinis snarled from inside him.
Say the words.
He exhaled a low and guttural growl, but the words spilled out before he could stop them.
“May God be with us and give us blessings.” Reaper’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening.
“May we see our children’s children.” Cian’s throat burned.
The ropes hissed when the magic writhed like a living beast as if it sensed the shift in the balance of power.
“May the wind be always at our backs, may the warm rays of the sun fall upon our home.”
A shudder ran through Reaper, his body pressing closer, and he nuzzled his face into his neck as if drawn by an invisible force that demanded he claim his place next to the one fate decided was his.
“May love and laughter light our days, and warm our hearts and home.” Cian’s voice dropped, the words a promise, a curse. “May our mornings bring joy, and our evenings bring peace.”
The magic in the ropes shrieked, and the golden strands blackened where Reaper touched them, the magic recoiling in sparks and pops that filled the air around them. Cian’s skin blistered, but he didn’t stop. “From this day to our last,” he snarled, “I am yours. And you are mine.”
The bond snapped into place, and Reaper’s breath hitched; his whole body jerked as if he had been struck by lightning.
The Grá Croí mark on Cian’s arm turned from blue to red and burned its path around his upper arm and over the top of his shoulder.
The pain in the ropes doubled as the magic lashed out in a final desperate attempt to hold strong.
But as the flesh over Cian’s heart seared with the burn of the bond mark, it was too late.
The vow had been spoken, the Grá Croí bond was sealed, and the ropes couldn’t hold him.
Reaper’s free hand shot to the golden strands, his fingers wrapping around them, and they shattered into nothing. “Now, move.”
Cian surged upward, his body slamming into Reaper’s. The warrior grunted but didn’t falter, his muscles locking as he braced against the wall. “You came.”
“So I did.” Reaper eased him back a little. “My chest hurts like a motherfucker.”
“The bond mark has declared you mine.” He prayed to the old gods that doing so hadn’t been a mistake. “Just as Failinis and I are yours.”
“Failinis,” Reaper repeated, “That’s beautiful.”
In Cian’s head, his wolf preened in delight.
“Don’t tell him that.” He smiled into Reaper’s eyes. “He’ll be insufferable.”
Miach’s voice cut through the darkness above. “Hurry! He’s almost here!”
Cian twisted, cupping his hands. “Jump!”
Reaper placed his foot into his cupped hands and leaped, his boots scrambling the wall for leverage. Cian followed, their bodies crashing into the grate just as Miach wrenched it open.