“Feels pretty damn real to me.”
Ward licked meat juice off his thumb with a distracted nod. “This is insane.”
Viper smirked. “Yeah. But I think we earned a little insanity.” Across the table, Fionn lifted a horn and roared something that shook the rafters. A dozen horns answered, and the feast roared on.
Viper had seen a lot of wild shit in his career. He’d blown the hinges off terrorist compounds in the dead of night, crawled through jungles with nothing but a knife and fury, and rappelled into hurricanes to pull out friendlies. But nothing—nothing—compared to watching ancient warriors pass around platters of roasted meat while chanting and singing songs older than Christ with a joy so fierce it made his skin itch.
The hall pulsed with life. Smoke curled up from the central fire pit, thick with the scent of peat and herbs. Glowing moss lined the beams above, casting eerie green shadows across banners and painted shields. A trio of women with braids to their knees began a slow chant that made the air vibrate like the earth itself was listening.
Viper sat back on the carved bench, his forearms braced on the table, and let the wave of sound roll over him. It was primal, powerful, and holy in a way that had nothing to do with religion and everything to do with blood, earth, and the fire of the mate mark curling up his arms.
He glanced sideways to where Ward sat with his elbows tucked in and one leg tucked under him. Almost as if he were trying to occupy as little space as possible at a table where nearly everyone else was metaphorically beating their chests and comparing battle scars. He looked like his entire focus was on taking everything in and burning it into his memory like it was pure gold.
A mug of something was thrust in front of Ward, poured from a jug shaped like a wolf’s head. The warrior who offered it had tattoos from neck to knuckle and a grin that could split stone. “For the druid-born,” he bellowed, and the warriors roared back in agreement.
Ward flushed but accepted the drink with both hands, mumbling something Viper didn’t catch. He raised it, took a sip, and immediately choked.
Viper snorted into his cup. Ward should have known from all the history he’d studied that an offering at a table like this was going to have something a heck of a lot stronger than watered-down wine.
Ward coughed, eyes watering, and turned to him with something close to betrayal. “They brewed that in the pit of a volcano.”
“Probably,” Viper said. “But it’s still better than the shit coffee that comes with MREs.”
Ward shuddered and took another cautious sip.
Viper caught the hint of a real smile at the corners of his lips, and he blew out a breath of relief when he realized the tension had lessened in Ward’s shoulders as if he’d let go of the panic for a breath. He wasn’t sure what to do with the heat that crawled along his skin as the mate mark reached his elbow.
Across the fire, Trace stood with Juice leaning into his side, raising a horn high. “To those who crossed the veil. To blood spilled, lives earned, legends reborn.”
The warriors pounded fists to chests again, and Viper felt the echo of it in his ribs. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But tonight? Tonight they were alive, and for the first time since that fucking mountain threw a shit fit and cast their lives into chaos, he let himself believe… maybe they’d survived for a reason.
“I can’t believe this isn’t a dream.” Ward fiddled with the carved bracer on his wrist. His fingers brushed across the engraved surface like it might vanish if he blinked too long.
“I’m still not sure it’s not.” Viper drained his tankard, then refilled both his and Ward’s tankards from the jug on the table. Around them, his men had fallen into that barely-there swagger they wore like second skin—shoulders squared, arms loose, and expressions unreadable but alert. Even in a room full of legendary heroes and ancient warriors who’d probably strung enemy skulls onto their belts for sport, they knew how to command a room.
He rather liked that Ward didn’t posture or puff up. Sitting next to him wasn’t like dealing with the tightly coiled tension that rolled off Reaper or the wary edge Kaze couldn’t quite smother.Ward sat quietly next to him as his eyes tracked every detail like he was afraid he’d miss something vital. His body was still, but his mind—Viper could all butseeit whirring behind those dark eyes. It unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. Because almost everyone here was playing a game they understood: dominance, status, alliance. Even Trace, who had become such an important member of his team, had something extra with these people. But Ward? Ward looked like a man who had walked straight into a dream and hadn’t yet figured out if he’d ever wake up.
His innocence makes him dangerous to my peace of mind.
Because everything I am wants to make sure he’s protected.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Ward as he soaked in everything that was Dun Fianna as if he were trying to memorize every tiny detail just because it fascinated him. Viper wasn’t used to people like that—certainly not in his world. His world had always been forged in fire and steel—breaching doors, clearing rooms, and taking out enemies before they ever saw him coming. He lived by the pulse of tactical precision and the split-second calculus of life or death. Ward’s world, by contrast, was carved from quieter stone—deciphering runes long buried, revering blades dulled by centuries, and chasing the ghosts of civilizations lost to time. Where he and his men ended wars, Ward unearthed them, piecing together the fragments of what had come before to teach others why it had mattered. One moved through shadows to silence the chaos, and the other chased whispers through the dust, hoping to make sense of it. “You alright?” he asked, his voice low, pitched only for Ward’s ears.
Ward startled slightly, then nodded. “Yeah. I mean… I don’t know. I think I’m having a panic attack in slow motion.”
“That bad?”
“I’m wearing a bracelet carved by a warrior who’s probably older than Christianity. I watched the eartheatcorpses, and I’ve decided that my high school textbooks are lying little bastards. So, yeah. Little bit.”
Viper almost smiled, but he caught himself just in time, because he didn’t want to insult the man. Instead, he said, “You didn’t puff up.”
Ward blinked at him. “What?”
“You didn’t try to tell us what everything or anything is. I like that you aren’t throwing around your doctorate like a weapon. You’re just… taking it all in. I can almost see your brain working out what the books had correct and what they got all kinds of fucked up.”
Ward’s brows lifted. “I mean, I can do the pompous asshole thing if you prefer…”
“No,” Viper said slowly, his eyes still on him. “No, please don’t. You’re awesome just as you are.”
