“It’s just a game,” Viper said, but his voice was rougher than usual.
He didn’t understand the slight tinge of anger in Viper’s voice. “No. It’s more than that. I think they’re honoring him, or maybe they’re proving themselves. Maybe even both.”
Trace slammed a goal home into the net under the crossbar between the uprights. He spun, laughing, smeared with dirt and glory. Ward nudged Viper and nodded toward where Juice was standing on the sidelines with his arms folded, watching thegame. “He looks like a proud momma bear watching her cub climb a tree for the first time.”
“Yeah.” Viper grinned at him. “Remind me to tease the shit out of him later, ‘kay?”
“You got it.” His breath hitched as the wind shifted and something curled under his skin again. He looked down, and the mating mark had reached his bicep.
Stop growing, damn it.
When he glanced sideways at Viper again, the same blue light glowed at the edge of the other man’s collar.
Something is coming.
This is only the beginning.
The internal warning sent a shiver down his spine. He tucked his shoulders in as if to shield himself from it as the wind off the lake stirred his hair and brought with it the smell of smoke, wet grass, and wild magic. His eyes tracked the players as they converged near the end of the field, a roar going up from one side of the crowd as the sliotar—a small, leather-covered ball that might as well have been shot from a cannon—shot through the air from midfield.
“Boss. Yo, Viper.”
Ward turned to see who was calling Viper, and the world shifted as a shriek went up from the crowd.
Move. Move.
Instinct screamed at him, and he whirled around. The ball—no, missile—was headed straight for his face. He didn’t have time to react, but Viper did.
He spun without warning, his body snapping toward Ward like something had yanked an invisible leash at the base of his spine. One hand whipped up, and he caught the flying ball mid-air. It sounded like a crack like thunder as Viper’s bare fingers snapped shut around it like it was nothing more than a soft toss. Ward stumbled back in shock, his heart slamming painfully into his ribs.
Viper’s eyes—when they met his—were glowing. Lit from within like something ancient had cracked open behind his pupils.
They are silver.
How are his eyes silver?
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Ward couldn’t have if he’d wanted to because his throat had locked tight with the cold clutch of adrenaline.
Viper stared down at the ball in his hand, his fingers flexed like he wasn’t sure how it had ended up there. “I wasn’t even facing you,” Viper muttered under his breath. “How?”
Ward nodded slowly, gaze flicking from the ball back to the strange silver light in his eyes. “You weren’t.”
The silver in Viper’s eyes faded slowly, as if whatever had sparked behind them was settling back down again to embers instead of flames. He threw the ball back toward the players on the field who were calling for it, and kept his eyes forward, watching the game closely as if he was waiting for another ball to come flying their way.
Ward didn’t miss the way the tattoos on Viper’s forearm had pulsed faintly during the whole thing—or how his own marks burned just a little in answer.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Viper stood frozenwith the sliotar still clenched in his hand, his fingers tingling like they’d caught a live wire instead of a chunk of leather. He stared down at it a second longer than necessary, forcing his breathing back into a rhythm that wouldn’t get him accused of having a panic attack in front of a field full of bare-chested warriors, then turned and hurled the ball back toward the players hard enough that it whistled as it cut through the air. One of the Fianna caught it cleanly and saluted him with a wolfish grin before diving back into the fray like it was a goddamn blood sport.
It is a fucking blood sport.
Every single one of them is battered and bloody, including Trace.
Viper didn’t watch. He wasn’t sure he could, because he was too damn busy trying to make sense of what had just happened. One heartbeat, he’d been turning toward Zero’s voice, and the next, he’d felt the fucking ball flying toward Ward.
I fucking felt it.
How does shit like that happen?
