Chapter 14
Cian tightened his grip on the deer hide bag slung over his shoulder, the weight of his swords and blades a familiar comfort against his back.
Failinis stirred restlessly inside him.
We should not go through the stinging door.
We have to. Our Grá Croí is going, so we go too. It will be fine, Failinis.
“What’s wrong?” Reaper dropped to the ground next to him as they waited for Ward to perform the magic to open the door.
Cian exhaled through his nose. “The last time I crossed a portal, the world was different.” He’d thought he’d been hiding his unease well.
He should have known Reaper would feel it down the bond.
“Failinis is not happy that we are to do it again.” He’d been younger then and more than willing to follow Fionn into the unknown because the alternative had been unthinkable.
“It’s a mindfuck.” Reaper turned his face up to the sun. “The first time, we were under a mountain that was breaking apart. Fionn had appeared out of a rock cage. I think I’m still in shock, and it was weeks ago.”
Ward pressed his palm to the nearest standing stone. The symbols etched into its surface flared blue, then gold, the light casting long shadows across the mossy ground. “It’s stable,” he murmured. “But it’s… different.”
Viper’s hand went to the small of Ward’s back. “Different how?”
Ward hesitated. “Like it’s waiting for something.”
Failinis’s unease filtered through to him, and Cian’s fingers twitched toward the hilt of his sword.
Waiting is not a good omen.
Our Grá Croí should stay here.
We should stay with him.
Trace moved to stand beside him. He could sense Bran close to the surface. Maybe having him close would help Failinis settle down. “You’ve done this before,” he said, low enough for only Cian to hear. “But not to where we are going.”
“I know.” Cian’s voice was rough. “Is it very different?”
“Yes,” Trace sat on the opposite side to Reaper. “Rule number one is, don’t kill anyone.”
“What?” That could not be right. There were always people who needed killing. It was why there were warriors. Reaper was a warrior. "I will join in my Grá Croí’s wars.”
“You can’t, my friend.” Trace snorted. "You’d end up a science experiment by the end of the first day of Boot Camp.”
Why do boots have a camp?
Failinis whined in his mind, pressing against his ribs.
He’s ours.
We will protect him.
Yes, we will.
“How is Failinis dealing?”
He glanced at the Supreme Alpha of the Hounds of the King and winced. “He thinks we should take our Grá Croí and run for the hills to find a den, settle down, and stay there forever.”
“There are days I threaten to do that, too,” Trace admitted. “Sometimes dealing with modern humans is worse than dealing with The Tuatha Dé Danann.”
“Nothing is worse than dealing with my father.”
“Don’t bet on it, man,” Trace replied, “Because you can’t shift over there if any humans other than the ones right here are around.”
“Seriously?”
Trace nodded. “They have no knowledge of shifters, the Fianna, or any of us. As far as the people on the other side of the door are concerned, even you and me are heroes in a myth that has never even been fully written down.”
Take our mate and run.
Not being able to shift was going to be a problem. He and Failinis liked being able to switch places depending on who was feeling most like dealing with other people.
I never feel like being around people.
People smell.
“Don’t worry too much.” Trace interrupted the rant Failinis was about to go on in Cian’s head. “When you are on my property, you should be okay. Just don’t go outside the bounds of the fairy circle.”
“Stay in the Lios, got it.”
Reaper uncrossed his arms and rolled his shoulders. “We doing this or what?”
Viper nodded. “Soon as Ward gives the all-clear.”
Ward didn’t take his hand off the stone. His brow furrowed, his lips moving silently as if counting. Then, with a sharp inhale, he stepped back. “It’s now or never. The door’s aligning with the ley lines, but my magic isn’t that strong yet, so it won’t hold for long.”
Juice cracked his knuckles. “Then let’s move.”
Cian adjusted the strap of his bag, the familiar weight of his blades settling against his spine.
He caught Reaper’s eye, just for a second, but it was enough.
Warmth flowed down the bond flared between them, and for the first time since they’d stepped into this clearing, Reaper’s expression softened.
Just a little… just enough that Cian knew he and Failinis had to go where they had once sworn never to return to. .. the other side of the veil.
Where our Grá Croí leads, we will follow.
Agreed.
Kaze slung his rifle over his shoulder, the modern weapon a jarring contrast to the ancient magic swirling around them. “You sure this thing’s not gonna fry our brains or something?”
Zero smirked. “If it does, at least it’ll be quick.”
Trace barked a laugh. “No promises.”
He watched Zero go first, followed by Kaze. When it was Reaper’s turn he had to force himself not to snatch his man back and hold him to his chest.
“Just like walking into the hall at Dún Fianna,” Trace said.
He knew that was a lie. There was a little more to crossing the veil than walking through a door. But Cian nodded, then without another word, followed his mate into what had become a whole new world since he’d last graced its shores.
The moment his boot crossed the threshold, the world tilted. The air thickened, his vision blurred, and colors bled together. Failinis snarled in his mind, hackles rising, but Cian forced himself to keep moving.
One step.
Two.
Then the pressure vanished, and the scents of a forest filled his lungs.
Cian blinked, steadying himself as the world righted itself. In his head, Failinis hissed against the change, unsettled without the familiar tang of magic that buoyed Tír na nóg like a sea.
Reaper stood a few feet away, his face lightened when he met his gaze. “You found me.”
“Just as you knew how to find me at my father’s house.” He moved to stand next to him, “I’ll always find you.”
“You okay?” Reaper asked. “You know, being here?
Cian nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his Grá Croí bond pulling against the strangeness of modern-day, despite the calm suffused through him. “It’s different.”
“Yes, it is,” Reaper agreed. “You haven’t seen anything yet. Wait until you see the house.”
Failinis prowled restlessly within Cian, urged him to allow him to be free so he could explore and follow the boundaries set by Bran. Ensuring his Grá Croí’s safety would be his top priority in this place.
Once the others were through the Fianna door and Ward shut down the magic, they fell into step with them and made their way through the thick forest. Cian kept pace with Reaper, their proximity a soothing balm to being unnerved by crossing the veil.
His senses were on high alert, absorbing the unfamiliar scents and sounds of this new world. Failinis poked at his consciousness, keen and curious about this place where his mate had spent so much of his life. Suddenly, there was a change in the air, a subtle shift that sang through his veins.
A boundary, unseen but not unnoticed, pulsed gently as they crossed it.
“Protection magic,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else, feeling the shimmering thread of enchantment that marked the edge of Trace’s domain.
It hummed with a familiar resonance but felt strangely muted compared to the vibrant energy of Tír na nóg.
“Yup, boundary’s right here.” Kaze grinned. “Keeps the crazies out, for the most part.”
“And the wolves in,” Trace added, casting a knowing look at Cian. “Bran set it up,” he explained. “Means we’re safe to shift here, as long as we check for any nearby strangers first.”
I do not like this rule of not shifting.
Me either, Failinis.
He scanned ahead and stopped in his tracks.
A dwelling rose ahead, a sturdy and unfamiliar structure surrounded by wildflowers and grasses.
He gaped at the slate roof, straight walls.
It was nothing like the crannógs of his home—built atop water, their woven walls swaying with the currents.
This place was rooted deep in the earth, solid and steadfast like it belonged to the ground beneath it.
Very different.
Failinis sniffed the air, and Cian mirrored him, inhaling deeply.
Smells odd.
Reaper chuckled beside him, sensing his surprise. “It's not so bad,” he said with a lopsided grin, nudging his arm with his shoulder. “Wait until you see inside. You’ll find it even stranger.”
“I already know this will be true.” He managed a grin of his own.
The oak door swung open, and he hesitated on the threshold, his fingers twitching toward the hilt of his sword. The unease coiled in his gut like a serpent, but the faint, steady pulse of the bond with Reaper kept it from striking.
“I promise, nothing will hurt you here. This is Trace and Bran’s den.” Reaper glanced back, one eyebrow raised. “Trust me?”
“I do trust you.” And he did trust him. What he didn’t trust was this place. There had been no warriors here to guard it while Trace and his people had been in Tír na nóg. He glanced around and realized the others had already disappeared into the building, and only he and Reaper remained outside.
“Then come with me.”
Reaper held out his hand, with his palm turned up.
Cian exhaled sharply, took Reaper’s hand, and followed his mate into the building. His footsteps sounded odd on the strange, smooth floor. The air smelled of smoke and meat, but beneath it, something smelled like the weapons the men carried, and his nose wrinkled in distaste.
This place is wrong.
It smells wrong.
I know.
He blinked in surprise when Reaper let go of his hand and went to a wooden shelf that looked to have been built into the wall, and it opened to reveal a door.
Magic.
Failinis growled low in his mind, hackles raised.
Magic or not, if Reaper goes, we go.