Chapter 21
The first light of dawn crept through the cracks in the curtains, painting thin gold stripes across the rumpled sheets.
Reaper lay on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching the steady rise and fall of Cian’s chest. The man was a masterclass in pretending to sleep.
His breath stayed even, his lashes dark against his cheekbones, and he kept one arm slung possessively over Reaper’s waist.
You are awake, you faker.
Cian’s lips twitched. “I am.” His voice rumbled, followed by a wave of love through their bond. “Was waiting to see how long it’d take you to notice.”
Reaper snorted, reaching out to trace a finger down the bridge of Cian’s nose. “Six months of loving me and you still think you can fool me.”
Cian’s eyes fluttered open, that moss-green gaze locking onto him with a heat that never failed to send a jolt straight through his chest. “And you still think I don’t know when you’re staring.”
“Can’t help it.” He leaned in, brushing their lips together. “You’re pretty when you’re faking sleep.”
Cian huffed, but his hand came up to cup the back of his neck, pulling him into a slow, deep, lazy kiss that made his toes curl, and his pulse kick up. When they broke apart, Cian’s thumb stroked over his bottom lip. “Merry Christmas, Grá Croí.”
Reaper’s chest tightened. He still wasn’t used to being something precious to someone. Especially when that someone was just as precious to him too. “Merry Christmas,” he murmured back, pressing their foreheads together.
For a long moment, they just breathed, in and out, synced up, like always.
The bond between them hummed, a steady, warm thrum of contentment.
It had taken time to figure out the logistics, the balance, and the way two people who’d spent lifetimes alone could suddenly share everything.
But he wouldn’t trade moments like this for anything.
Cian shifted, rolling onto his back and tugging Reaper with him until they were tangled together, limbs and sheets and the faint scent of pine from the tree Ward had insisted on dragging inside. “You’re thinking too loud.”
Reaper elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “Shut up.”
Cian grinned, unfazed. Then his expression turned thoughtful. “What’s happening with Oisín and Zero?”
He blinked. “The fuck?”
“Don’t play dumb.” Cian’s fingers traced idle patterns on his bare shoulder. “You felt it at the bonfire last night.”
Sometimes he forgot he needed to shut down the bond when he wanted to keep anything from him. He poked at Cian’s shoulder and grumbled. “You caught that, did you?”
“Hard to miss.” Cian’s smirk was all-wolf. “They were giving off enough sparks to light up that damn tree Ward made me help bring inside while you were gone.”
Reaper groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Christ. I was hoping I was imagining it.”
“You weren’t.” Cian’s voice dropped, serious now. “Did Zero tell you what the story is there?”
Reaper hesitated. This was two of their people, one of his team and one of the Fianna’s, tangled up in something that could either destroy them both or forge something unbreakable.
But if there was one thing Reaper knew for sure, it was that unbreakable bonds were worth any and all risks.
“I just know Zero says he’s drawn to Oisín, but… ”
“Oisín’s still under the fairy bond from Naimh of the Golden Hair,” Cian filled in.
“Yeah. That.” Reaper shrugged. “Yet. But you saw them last night. The way Zero kept brushing against him. The way Oisín’s jaw got all tight every time someone else talked to him.”
“So. A warrior and a sniper.” Cian made a low, considering sound. “This is going to get messy.”
“A Fianna warrior and a SEAL sniper,” Reaper corrected. “One’s been alive for centuries and has some kind of fucked-up bond with some fairy princess. The other’s got more rules from the Louisiana Bayous than he knows what to do with, and it’s destroying them both.”
“Sounds familiar.” Cian rolled, pinning Reaper beneath him, his weight solid and good. “Maybe they just need a push.”
Reaper shoved at Cian’s chest. “Oh hell no. I am not playing matchmaker.”
“Scared?” Cian’s teeth grazed his collarbone.
“Terrified.” His breath hitched as Cian’s mouth trailed lower. “Also, we have present things to do. Like—” His words cut off in a gasp as Cian’s teeth closed over his nipple, just shy of painful. “Fuck, Cian—”
Cian chuckled darkly, the vibration sending a bolt of heat straight to Reaper’s gut. “Presents can wait.”
Reaper’s hands found Cian’s hair, gripping tight. “You’re insatiable.”
“And yet,” Cian murmured, his lips skating down Reaper’s sternum, “you’re still here.”
His back arched as Cian’s mouth wrapped around the head of his cock, wet and hot and fuck—“Yeah, yeah, I’m insatiable when it comes to you, too,” he managed, his voice rough. His fingers tightened in Cian’s hair, holding on as Cian took him deep, his throat working, his tongue swirling.
Fuck, his tongue is so damn yum when he does that.
His hips jerked up off the bed. Cian pulled off with a wet pop, his breath ghosting over his skin. “Merry Christmas,” he repeated, his voice a dark purr.
Reaper flipped them in one sharp motion, pinning his warrior beneath him. “Merry fucking Christmas,” he growled, and slammed his mouth down on Cian’s, swallowing his laugh, their teeth clashing, their bodies pressing together as they tried to get as close to each other as possible.
Cian’s hands gripped his hips, raked down his back, tugged him closer, harder. Reaper broke the kiss, panting, his forehead dropping to Cian’s shoulder. “Lube. Now.”
Cian’s chuckle was dark and triumphant. He reached over, fumbling in the nightstand drawer before pressing the bottle into Reaper’s hand. “Bossy.”
“You love it.” Reaper slicked his fingers and reached between them, pressing one inside Cian with a slow, deliberate thrust.
Cian’s breath hitched, his back arching. “Fuck—yes—”
He added a second finger, crooking them just right, watching his love’s face as his lips parted and his eyes darkened. “Like that?”
Cian’s answer was a broken groan, his hips rolling up, chasing. Reaper leaned in, biting at his bottom lip. “Gonna fuck you slow, Grá Croí. Make you beg for it.”
Cian’s hands shot to Reaper’s hair, yanking him into another kiss, this one brutal and desperate. When they broke apart, his voice was rough. “Less talking. More fucking.”
Reaper grinned, pulling his fingers free and lining himself up. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, watching Cian’s face the whole time.
Damn, that’s beautiful.
Cian’s lashes fluttering, his lips parted, his breath coming in sharp little gasps. When he bottomed out, Cian’s eyes flew open, locking onto his, “Move!”
Instead of following the demand, he leaned down, brushing their lips together. “Love you,” he murmured.
Cian’s hands came up to cup his face. “Love you more.”
Only then did he move. It was slow at first—deep, rolling thrusts that had Cian’s nails digging into his back, his breath sawing in and out of his chest. But it didn’t stay slow.
There was no way it could, when Cian’s legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, and Cian’s voice dropped to that dark, growling timber that sent heat pooling into his gut.
“Faster,” Cian’s hips lifted to meet his thrusts. “Need more.”
He gave it to him, snapping his hips, driving into him with sharp, punishing strokes that had the bed creaking and the headboard knocking against the wall. Cian’s head fell back, his throat exposed, and he bit him, his teeth sinking into the tender skin where his neck met his shoulder.
Cian howled, his back bowing off the bed, his cock twitching between them, spilling hot and wet over his stomach.
The sight of it, the feel of his Grá Croí clenching around him, and the love flowing down the mate bond sent him crashing over the edge.
His release tore through him, his hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside. “Ciaaaan.”
For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing, the thud of their hearts, the slow, lazy drag of Cian’s fingers up and down his spine. Cian huffed a laugh, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Merry Christmas, indeed.”
Reaper groaned, rolling off him and pulling him close, their limbs tangled, their skin slick with sweat. “We’re never leaving this bed.”
Cian’s chuckle vibrated against Reaper’s chest. “Liar. You’ll get hungry in an hour.”
“Shut up.” Reaper pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Just… stay like this. For a little while.”
Cian’s arm tightened around him. “Always.”
The fire in the hearth had burned down to embers, casting long shadows across the walls.
Reaper’s fingers traced idle patterns on Cian’s back, his breath evening out as the warmth of their bond lulled him toward sleep.
The sheets smelled like them—salt and pine and something wild, something theirs.
His eyelids grew heavy, his muscles loose, the last of his tension unraveling in the steady rhythm of Cian’s heartbeat beneath his ear.
He didn’t fight it. The world blurred at the edges, then faded entirely.
Ossary stretched, his paws pressing into the soft furs beneath him, his bones cracking as he shook off the last remnants of Reaper’s human form. The air in the room was thick with the scent of his mate and their mating. He huffed, his breath curling in the cool morning air.
Failinis was already waiting, his massive form coiled at the foot of the bed, his golden eyes locked onto him.
Ossary didn’t hesitate. He stepped over Reaper’s still form, his claws clicking softly against the wooden floor, and padded toward the other wolf.
Failinis rose in one fluid motion, his tail flicking once in greeting.
They circled each other, noses brushing, breaths mingling.
The bond between them hummed, a deep, resonant pulse that thrummed through his chest, reassuring him all was right in their world.
Failinis dipped his head, his muzzle pressing against his shoulder, and Ossary answered in kind, their fur tangling together as they leaned into the contact.
Then, as one, they turned, moving back toward the bed.
Failinis hopped up first, his massive body settling into the hollow left by Cian’s body, his tail curling around himself.
Ossary followed, pressing close, his side flush against Failinis’s, his head resting on the other wolf’s haunch.
The furs were still warm from their humans’ bodies, the scent of them clinging to the fabric. Ossary exhaled, his muzzle brushing over Failinis’s fur, and Failinis rumbled low in his throat, a sound of contentment, of home.
Outside, the wind howled, rattling the shutters, but in here, it was quiet. Safe.
Ossary’s ears twitched as his human shifted in his sleep, murmuring something unintelligible, his brow furrowing slightly.
Failinis lifted his head, watching, but Ossary nudged him gently, a silent he’s fine.
Reaper’s breathing evened out again, his muscles relaxing, and Ossary let his own eyes drift shut.
Failinis’s breath warmed the fur at Ossary’s neck, his body a solid, reassuring weight against his side. Ossary let out a soft sigh, his tail thumping once against the furs, and then he, too, slept.
The bond between them was older than language, than the walls of the crannógs, than the magic that bound their humans together. It was instinct and heat and the quiet, unshakable certainty that this—this was where they were meant to be… in the past, in the present, and in the myths and the legends.
Thank you so much for reading Reaper and Cian’s story.