Chapter 20
Cian paced back and forth in front of the Fianna Door. He’d been here since the bond flared with a sharp, sudden burst of Reaper’s pain. The taste of blood and gunpowder had flooded his mouth, and he’d known. His Grá Croí was hurt.
Failinis had howled inside his chest, clawing to be free, to hunt down their mate and ensure his safety.
Cian wanted that, too, so badly. But Fionn had insisted he was waiting inside the door.
He’d even issued a royal fecking decree in front of the Warrior Hounds of the Fianna, and made Cian swear he would not cross it, until either Reaper came for him, or the time was right.
“How will I know the time is right?”
“You’ll know.”
Fionn has turned into a bit of an arse.
I agree, Failinis. He has.
Who knows? Maybe being locked away for so long made him even more insane than he was to begin with.
So they waited. Cian sat on a rock, with his swords laid bare across his thighs, his breath steady, and his body coiled like a spring. And Failinis, in his head, with his head on his paws, staring at the door through his human brother's eyes. Both waiting for their man to come home.
Someone is coming.
Who?
Not mate.
Damn.
“Is anyone there?” Viper’s voice came through from the other side. “Can you fetch the druid Ward to open the door?”
“The door is open for the bonds of the Grá Croí,” he called.
Except for us.
Mean Fionn.
The veil rippled, and Viper stepped through, his boots kicking up sparks against the stone. He took one look at him, “He’s coming. Where…”
“Dún Fianna, waiting in the Crannóg, kept for your use. He is tired from working the magic to make the door more stable. Now the Grá Croí bond will allow a man to join his mate on the other side.”
“So why are you waiting here?”
“Orders from mo Rhí.”
“Damn, that must suck.”
He could see Viper was itching to go find Ward, so he waved him off. “Go, yours is waiting for you. Have your reunion before you jump out of your skin, as Reaper does in his sleep.”
“See ya in a bit.” Viper took off toward the rath. “He won’t be long,” he called over his shoulder.
He kept his eyes trained on the Fianna door as the bond pulled taut, a line drawn straight to Reaper’s soul. He bared his teeth, his fingers flexing around the hilts of his swords. He could almost taste him on the wind.
Failinis sat up and whined.
He’s coming.
Our mate is coming.
His and Failinis’s excitement dropped when a stench like spoiled milk hit them.
Wrong. Wrongwrongwrong.
What is that?
His vision sharpened, and the world snapped into brutal clarity as Failinis pushed forward.
It’s coming from the other side of the door.
Cian, Failinis, I need you.
A blast of panic-filled rage roared down the Grá Croí bond, and it took everything he was not to shift on the spot.
Reaper.
Danger.
Reaper.
Danger.
Cian raced toward the door, but the magic zapped him on his ass, refusing to allow him through.
“Let me go! He needs us!” He scrambled to his feet and pushed through the pain of the magic warning him off to peer through to the other side.
Reaper stood in the clearing before the Dolmen, his body rigid and his fists clenched at his sides, facing a man whose sour milk stench wafted through the door.
The man’s gaze was locked onto Reaper like a predator sighting prey.
Rage roared through Cian and the wolf.
Mine.
Mine.
Ours.
A primal claim that drowned out everything else. The man dared to lift a hand and trail a finger along the edge of the Dolmen’s stone like he had all the time in the world. “You always did look better with a few bruises,” his voice was a poisoned caress.
This must be Derek the asshole.
Derek the asshole dies today.
Reaper didn’t flinch or back down, but Cian felt how his muscles locked, the way his breath hitched, just for a second, the way his mind screamed for his Grá Croí.
Cian’s lips peeled back from his teeth, and the air around him crackled. Closer, Mate, he growled down the bond. I am at the door. Bring him to me.
Reaper’s pulse stuttered, and his fingers twitched as if he wanted to reach for a weapon that wasn’t there. Then he took a step to the side, then another, and another. Luring the predator into the trap as he worked his way to the Fianna door.
Derek smirked and followed, like a moth to the flame. “Still think you’re so fucking tough, huh?” His voice was oil-slick and sickening. “After all these years, you still don’t get it. You’ll always be mine.”
Cian’s vision went red.
No, he’s fucking not.
Reaper is mine.
Reaper lunged past Derek, giving Cian the distraction he was waiting for.
As Derek’s mocking laughter turned into a snarl, he twisted and grabbed for Reaper’s arm, fingers digging into the bandaged wound there.
Pain flared white hot down the bond, and Cian roared.
The sound tore from his throat as he slammed his hand through the Fianna Door.
The magic burned like a mix of the coldest ice and the hottest of fire, but he didn’t care. His fingers closed around the fabric on the back of Derek’s shirt, and he yanked hard.
Derek screamed as the veil sucked him through, his body hitting the ground on Tír na nóg’s side with a bone-jarring thud. Derek gasped, scrambling back, his face a mask of terror as he took in the towering stones, the eerie glow of the fairy realm, the warrior looming over him.
“You dare touch what is mine.” Cian didn’t give him time to breathe, never mind figure out what was going on. His boot connected with Derek’s ribs, the crack of bone loud in the still night. Derek wheezed, curling in on himself, but Cain wasn’t done. Failinis wasn’t done. Not even close.
“You.” He kicked him again, this time aiming for the asshole’s gut, sending him skidding across the damp earth.
“Touched.” He stomped with his heel on Derek’s hand, breaking the fingers that had caused such pain.
“My.” A backhanded slap sent Derek’s head snapping to the side with blood spraying from his split lip. “Mate.”
Derek tried to crawl away, his breath coming in ragged, wet gasps. “W-what the fuck—”
Cian crouched, grabbed a handful of Derek’s hair, and yanked his head back until their faces were only inches apart.
Close enough that Derek could see the fire in his eyes and the rage in his wolf.
“You think I don’t know what you did to him?
” he asked. “That I do not know about every scar, every bruise, and every day you stole his peace from him?”
Derek’s laugh was weak and bloody. “He liked it.”
Cian’s free hand flashed out, and he sank his dagger into Derek’s thigh. The man shrieked in pain, but Cian held him still, twisting the blade before wrenching it free. “No,” he said, almost conversationally. “He survived it. He survived you.”
He stood, dragging Derek up with him by his hair, and started carving into his skin. Every cut was deliberate, each one mirrored scars he’d traced on his Grá Croí’s body.
The shallow slice across Derek’s shoulders.
“For the belt.”
The deep gouge in his arm.
“For the smoke stick.”
The jagged X over his heart.
“For the words he carries in his heart.”
Derek sobbed, his body ruined, his breath coming in wet, rattling gasps. “P-please—”
Cian tilted his head, studying the pathetic thing at his feet. Then he turned to Reaper. “Cú Chulainn said I wasn’t allowed to kill on that side of the door.” He crouched again, gripping Derek’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. “He said nothing about this one.”
Derek’s eyes widened, and Cian let Failinis free.
The shift ripped through him, fast and more brutal than normal. He relished the pain as his bones cracked and his skin split. Failinis surged forward and Derek screamed, the sound high and terrified, as the massive wolf descended on him and ripped out his throat.
Failinis shook, and blood sprayed everywhere.
The wet, sickening pop of Derek’s spine snapping echoed throughout the clearing.
His body went limp, but Failinis worried at the corpse, his massive jaws clamping down on Derek’s skull, twisting until it cracked and the head came free.
He dropped it, lifted his muzzle to the sky, and howled, the sound triumphant, savage, a promise to the moon and the stars and to his Grá Croí.
Mine.
The bond sang in response. Reaper’s relief and dark, vicious satisfaction flooded through him, mixing with his own. Failinis turned, his glowing eyes locking onto his mate. For a second, they just looked at each other, then Reaper’s knees gave out.
Cian shifted back in a rush, catching him before he hit the ground, pulling him close. Reaper’s body was shaking, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts, but his hands fisted in Cian’s tunic, holding on like he was the only thing keeping him from drowning.
“He’s—” Reaper swallowed, his voice gone raw. “He’s…Failinis…wow.”
Cian pressed his forehead to Reaper’s, his own hands slick with blood. Derek’s blood, the cunt’s blood, the blood of a man who would never hurt his man again. “Yeah, sorry you had to see that. Failinis do be pretty angry.”
Reaper exhaled, then buried his face against Cian’s neck, his shoulders hitching. Cian held him, one hand tangled in his hair, the other pressed to the small of his back, grounding him. The bond hummed between them, and the storm of violence receded under the force of their connection.
After a long moment, Reaper pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “You ate him.”
Cian blinked, then snorted. “We spat him out.”
Reaper’s lips twitched, just for a second, then he sobbed out a laugh, pressing his face back into Cian’s shoulder. “Fuck, I love you.”
Cian stilled as the words hung between them, bright and brutal as a blade’s edge. He’d known… he’d felt it come through the bond. But hearing it aloud made his chest ache. He tightened his arms, his voice rough. “I love you, too.”
Reaper huffed and clung harder, like he was trying to crawl inside Cian’s skin. Like he never wanted to let go.
Never letting you go.
You are mine.