Chapter 14 #2
He followed him through the door and stumbled to a stop. “You make your stairs from swords?” His hand shot out to grab the metal railing. “Are you leading me into hell, Grá Croí?”
“No.” Reaper paused about four steps down the spiral. “Trace built his den in a cave system, and this is how we get to it.”
Cú Chulainn is an arsehole. He could have warned us.
“This doesn’t look very stable.” He shifted his weight to test the steps that spiraled downward.
“It will hold you, I promise.”
Deciding that since he had come this far, he may as well keep going.
If it hadn’t killed his fellow Hound yet, then he and Failinis were probably going to be okay.
He took one cautious step down, and then another, following Reaper into the depths of the earth that was lit up with strange buzzing lanterns.
“In here.” Reaper pushed through a door that opened into a massive room.
“You made it.” Trace stood. “Welcome to the home of Cú Fianna in this realm.” He turned to where the farthest part of the vast room remained in darkness and moved his hand against the wall. A massive table appeared out of nowhere.
Cian was rather proud of himself that he didn't yelp or jump when Trace did light magic. His eyes widened at the walls lined with woven cloths bearing familiar symbols. The Triskele, the Hound, and the Stag covered the walls, yet the rest of it was alien. Hard edges, cold surfaces, things that gleamed unnaturally in the lantern light. He walked the edges of the room, looking at everything. He recognized the sorrow and loneliness of the Hound who had stayed behind. Here were all of Trace’s memories of what he’d sacrificed to keep the Fianna safe.
His voice came out rougher than he intended. “This is not a home. It is a fortress disguised as one, and it’s bigger than the great feasting hall at Dún Fianna or Tara.”
“You’re not wrong. But it’s ours.” Juice, sipping from a cup in his hand, barked a laugh. “And you’re stuck with us now, so you might as well get comfortable.”
“You’ve stood in stranger places, I’d wager.”
Cian exhaled through his nose. “Aye. But none that smelled like this.”
Reaper brought him a steaming cup. The heat of him cut through the strangeness of the room, grounding Cian like a hand on his shoulder. “What’s got you spooked, Mate? The magic lights, or the fact that there’s no thatch on the roof?”
Cian shot him an irritated look, though the corner of his mouth quirked slightly.
“I don’t fear your strange abode or your magical lights, but if someone—if anything—tries to harm me or you, I will shift and have Failinis take care of the problem.
” He took a sip from the cup and immediately spat it out onto the floor. “What is this? You try to poison me?”
“It’s coffee—”
“This swill is what you miss so much?” he interrupted. “I fear you are not quite sane, Mate.”
Trace choked on his drink. “Fair warning, Cian, there are things here that make strange—”
A loud noise behind him blasted through the room, and the warrior he was trained to be took over.
Cian caught Reaper with one hand and dragged him behind him.
He ripped one of his swords from its sheath and sent it flying toward the strange box of magic, barely missing Kaze’s head.
He knew the second it left his hand that he’d made a mistake.
“—Noises. Fuck, Cian. That was my TV. Damn it.”
Cian released Reaper instinctively, watching the remnants of the shattered box spark once and die in silence.
Reaper covered his eyes briefly with his hands. “You just killed the TV.”
“It talked. I thought we were under attack.”
Juice snorted, his tone filled with amusement. “New technology, Cian. Sorry for the surprise.”
Failinis rumbled his uncertainty, pawing at Cian’s mind.
No threat. It’s new things we need to get used to, he assured his wolf.
“I’ll pay for the damage—” Cian began, his face grimed with embarrassment he hadn’t experienced before.
Trace dismissed him with a shake of his head, amusement crinkling the edges of his eyes even as he ground his teeth. “No worries. Just… let someone check out anything that makes a sound, or moves, before you decide which weapon to throw at it, yeah?”
There was a moment’s hesitation before Reaper chuckled, leaning closer to his side. “I should’ve warned you it wasn’t a threat when I saw Kaze with the remote. My fault.”
Viper shared a sidelong look with Ward, who shrugged, trying to suppress laughter. Kaze raised a brow, commenting dryly, “Well, the TV’s not talking back… so that’s something.”
“Maybe I did it a favor.” Cian pulled his sword from the box and slid it into its sheath. He crossed his arms as he inspected the room. “People that small wouldn’t have survived long in an actual battle.”
Reaper shook his head, voice encased with warmth. “Our kind of battles aren’t meant for your warrior’s soul. This is a different realm entirely.”
The truth reverberated through him. He had to find a way to figure out what was a threat and what wasn’t, and he had to do it fast. Destroying the den of the Hound of the King was not an option.
Failinis snuffled at the edges of his consciousness, ensuring their surroundings were secure despite the strangeness. The tension eased, crumbling away as softly as a hearth settling into the embers of night.
Strange. This place is strange.
It is Reaper’s home. We will get used to it…eventually.
He knew Reaper and the others were accustomed to it in ways he may never understand.
Yet, the bond hinted that his Grá Croí was softer here, as if in this strange place Reaper felt safe.
Any place his mate felt safe was a place where he would learn to live.
He just hoped that he and Failinis, despite everything, might find they could belong here, too.
Reaper’s fingers brushed his, the contact steadying. “Relax. We’ll navigate this together.”
Cian exhaled slowly. “I trust you.” In trusting Reaper, he would trust these unknown lands, this new time, a future given birth from remnants of the magic the Fianna had left behind when they’d crossed the veil.