Chapter 10
The air between them crackled, thick with the weight of unspoken words and the pulse of the bond. Cian didn’t move or breathe. Waiting for his Grá Croí to make the decision was killing him.
He doesn’t want us.
Our mate is afraid of us.
He refused to allow himself to mirror the despair of Failinis.
He has been hurt by someone he trusted, Failinis. It is not us he is afraid of, but himself and his own judgment.
He could feel the anticipation from his wolf brother as they watched Reaper’s shoulders tense and the muscle in his jaw tick.
Bite him.
No, Failinis. It must be his choice.
The wait was killing them both. With every passing moment, Reaper wrestled with his demons, and both Cian and Failinis’s hope fell.
When Reaper turned and strode toward the pool at the center of the stones, their heart jumped.
Does he know what the pool means to a wolf shifter of the Tuatha Dé Danann?
I don’t know, Failinis. Should I tell him?
Cian trailed behind Reaper, every step sent a jolt through the mark on his arm, and the bond thrummed like the strings of a music box.
How do I tell him that we have to mate in the pool to complete the bond? He’s already only moments from bolting.
He’d give almost anything to be able to give this man more time. But time was the last thing they had in abundance.
Reaper stopped at the pool’s edge, his boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. He didn’t look back. “This some kind of fairy-tale shit? Jump in and magic fixes everything?”
The corner of Cian’s mouth twitched. “You know about the pool?” He stopped just behind Reaper. His fingers ached to touch him, and his wolf howled in his head when he refused to push before their Grá Croí was ready.
“Something in here,” Reaper tapped his chest, “says that this is where it must happen. You ever heard of lube? Because ow…”
What’s lube, Cian?
No idea, I will ask.
He cocked his head to one side. “What is this lube you speak of? Is it part of your bonding rituals?” He and Failinis could make an effort to include some of Reaper’s rituals if it made it easier on him.
Reaper's jaw dropped, “Man, if you think we’re fucking without having something to ease the way when your…” he glanced at Cian’s groin, “um… weapon slides home, you done lost your mind. Been there, done that, it’s not fun.”
“Ah.” Realization dawned.
He means oil, Failinis.
“The water’s a conduit; it both strengthens our bond and makes the first joining easier. After the first?” He could feel the heat rising up his cheeks, “That’s on us.”
Reaper’s laugh was a bitter bark. “Easier. Right.” His fingers flexed at his sides, then curled into fists again. “You ever done this before?”
“No.”
The word hung between them, heavy with implication.
He had waited lifetimes for this moment, and now that it was here, it was a mess of a reluctant Grá Croí and raw nerves because he and Failinis craved this so much.
He could feel Reaper’s resistance. But beneath it—faint, but there—was the thread of something else. Something that might have been desire.
Reaper’s breath hitched, and without warning, he whipped his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. “Okay. I don’t want either of us to die. Let’s do it.”
Cian’s pulse spiked, and he reached for the hem of his own tunic, yanking it off in one fluid motion. The night air hit his skin, sending a shiver through him, but the bond burned hot enough to keep the chill at bay. He stepped forward, close enough that his chest nearly brushed Reaper’s back.
“Turn around.” He blinked when Reaper kept staring out over the water, and a growl rumbled in his chest, “Look at me.”
For a couple of long, painful heartbeats, his Grá Croí did nothing, and Cian blew out a breath of relief when he finally turned.
It didn’t matter that his movements were stiff and his expression locked down.
But his eyes, those dark, stormy eyes, betrayed him.
They flicked over the wolf image on his chest, then snapped back up to meet his gaze.
He reached out, slow, giving Reaper time to pull away. His fingers hovered just above his skin, close enough to feel the heat and the faintest tremor. “The bond won’t let us hurt each other. Not like that.” The words were torn from him. “But it’s not just about survival. It’s about—”
“Don’t.” Reaper’s voice was like the crack of a whip. “Don’t feed me some line about destiny or fate or whatever the hell you people call it. I don’t need pretty words.”
Cian’s hand dropped. “I wasn’t going to.”
Reaper’s eyes narrowed.
“I was going to say,” Cian ignored Failinis’s protests in his head.
His honor, and the need to protect the warrior they’d been gifted with the gift of the only thing he could offer…
his own life, “it’s about not dying alone.
If you really don’t want this, then we go back to your brothers in arms, and the Fianna, and we will leave this world with the ones we love, and we know love us at our sides. There is no shame in it.”
Nooooooo.
Hush, Failinis.
“If it is what you need, then I swear it is what will be.”
Something flickered in Reaper’s gaze, as if the resolve he had faltered for a moment. But just as fast, it was gone, shuttered behind his impossibly high walls again. But he’d seen it, and it was enough. He stepped back, just enough to give Reaper space. Then he turned and walked into the pool.
The water was cold, a shock to his system, but the bond flared in response, warming his skin from the inside out. He didn’t dare to look back. He could not and would not force the decision. “Coming?”
The long silence, before the distinct sound of a belt hitting the ground and the rustle of fabric reached his ears, was excruciating, but he held himself in place. His breath caught as Reaper stepped into the water behind him, the ripple of movement sending waves lapping against his skin.
He’s coming. Our Grá Croí is coming to us.
Reaper stopped just behind him. “This better not hurt like a son of a bitch.”
Cian snorted a laugh. “There are worse things than pain, a stór.”
Reaper’s exhale brushed over his skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. “Yeah. I know.”
The water lapped at Cian’s waist as he turned carefully.
Reaper’s muscles were coiled like a spring ready to snap.
Even though the bond between them pulsed and demanded, he didn’t reach for him—not yet.
Instead, he let his gaze drag over Reaper’s body, the way the water clung to the sharp angles of his hips, the way his chest rose and fell too fast. “You’re thinking too hard. ”
Reaper’s jaw tightened. “Yeah? And you’re not?”
A smirk tugged at Cian’s lips. “I’m thinking about how good you’re going to feel when I finally get my hands on you.”
Reaper’s breath hitched, and his pupils blew wide.
The soothing water of the bonding pool was working its magic, and Cian finally allowed himself to believe that this might actually happen.
He closed the distance in one step, his body pressing against Reaper’s, and the water sloshed around them.
He gripped the back of Reaper’s neck and crashed their mouths together.
His Grá Croí growled deep in his throat. His hands shot up, fingers digging into Cian’s shoulders, pulling him closer. The kiss was all teeth and heat, desperate and messy, their breaths mingling as Cian deepened it, his tongue sweeping into Reaper’s mouth.
Reaper kissed like he fought, hard and unrelenting, as if he was trying to burn something out of himself.
Cian met him stroke for stroke, their bodies pressing tightly together, the water swirling around them.
Their bond flared, a white-hot flash of desire swept through him, and he groaned into the kiss, his hands sliding down Reaper’s back, nails digging into his hips.
Reaper broke away with a gasp, his chest heaving. “Fuck—”
Cian spun them, pressing Reaper back against the smooth stone at the pool’s edge, his mouth crashing down again, his teeth grazing Reaper’s lower lip.
Reaper’s hands fisted in his hair, yanking hard enough to sting, but Cian just growled, his hips rolling against Reaper’s, the friction maddening through the water between them.
Reaper’s legs spread wider, his thighs bracketing his hips, and Cian felt the moment Reaper stopped fighting it.
The way his body arched into the touch, the way his breath came faster and rougher.
His hands slid lower, gripping Reaper’s ass, lifting him just enough to grind their cocks together, the water doing nothing to ease the ache.
“Gods, this is unbelievably sexy,” Cian growled against Reaper’s mouth.
Reaper’s laugh was dark, breathless. “You love it.”
He did. He loved the way Reaper’s nails raked down his back, the way his teeth sank into his shoulder, the way his hips rolled up, demanding more. The bond between them was a storm, wild and untamed, and he was drowning in it, reveling in it. It was glorious, and he never wanted to stop.
He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down Reaper’s throat, his teeth scraping over the pulse point there. Reaper’s head fell back against the stone with a thud, his breath coming in sharp gasps as his mouth moved lower, over his collarbone, his chest, and his tongue flicked over one flat nipple.
Reaper’s hands flew to his hair again, gripping tight. “Cian—”
He dropped to his knees in the water, “Yes, Mo Ghrá Croi?” Gods, he hoped he hadn’t changed his mind.
Then he paused and glanced up at him from under his eyelashes.
He held his breath as Reaper searched his face.
When Reaper cupped his cheek, he leaned into the touch, watching, waiting for whatever it was Reaper needed.
“I won’t break,” Reaper whispered. “Don’t hold back.”
Thank the gods.
His hands slid up Reaper’s thighs, his mouth following the trail of his fingers. Reaper’s breath hitched, his body tensing as Cian’s lips brushed over the hard length of him, his tongue swiping up the underside.