Ward sighed and rolled upright, rubbing a hand through his hair. “It was nice while it lasted.”
He caught his wrist and tugged him close to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “It’s not over.”
There was something raw and vulnerable in Ward’s gaze. “Promise?”
“I promise.” Viper tugged him in for one last kiss. “I don’t break promises.” As soon as he said it, he figured it might be better to explain how things worked on their team for displays of affection. “I may not be touchy-feely in front of the guys, because I’m their CO. There are levels of protocols and shit that we have to maintain. But when it’s you and me, then all bets are off.”
“Makes sense.”
By the time they’d dressed and stepped into the pale light of morning, Dun Fianna had already started shifting into that strange rhythm Viper was coming to recognize—equal parts ritual and readiness. Warriors patrolled with their eyes sharp and their shoulders squared. The air carried the weight of something unsaid, as if a storm was being held off by sheer force of will or waiting to drown them in a downpour.
Juice stood with Trace near the fire pit. From the changing expressions on their faces, Viper knew they were talking through the mate bond in their heads. Kaze and Reaper lingered nearby, quiet for once, and Zero was perched on a stone with his ever-present knife and a piece of wood he’d been carving down to a spike.
Viper caught the look on Trace’s face—serious and thoughtful, with a hard-edge riding just under the surface—and silently cursed.
Fuck.
He pulled Ward in tighter beside him before they joined the others. “Problem?” he asked as he came up beside Juice.
“Maybe.” Trace’s voice carried that eerie calm he always had before shit got real. “We’ve been talking with Fionn about a possible way home.”
“Not sure we want the way home yet,” Reaper said with a glance toward the woods. “Still too many questions here.”
“If we do manage to get home,” Zero added, “how do we explain away how we survived a volcanic blast?”
“We can worry about the nitty gritty of what to tell the brass later, and I wasn’t talking about abandoning anything.” Juice shook his head. “But the Fianna… they once built something called a Fianna Door. It was a controlled portal. Less like the rift we came through and more like a bridge that only answers to certain keys.”
“A key made of what?” Ward wanted to know.
“Magic,” Trace answered. “Blood. Song. Sometimes it was the name of the warrior who stood as the anchor to open the portal. Sometimes it’s a bond between mates or family.”
“You’re saying we could build one,” Viper said slowly. “A way to travel between this world and ours intentionally?”
“That’s the theory.” Juice’s mouth was a grim line. “I think Fionn hopes we’ll stay. But I say that’s not a decision anyone else gets to make for us.”
“Agreed.” There was a reason why Juice was his second in command. This conversation was a demonstration of one of those reasons.
Ward crossed his arms. “You think we could actually build one? That the magic here would allow it?”
“I don’t see why not.” Trace shrugged. “There was a time when we lived on your side of the veil, and Oisín was doing a line with a fairy called Niamh of the golden hair. They created a portal that was big enough to bring her horse through multiple times. So if we can find a suitable anchor key, I don’t see why we can’t give it a shot.”
“We’re bonded.” Trace gestured between himself and Juice. “But from the display in the fairy ring last night, it seems Tír na nÓg has chosen that you belong to this place. Both Fionn and Oisín think a door would recognize you as its own.”
“If Oisín has a woman who can open a door, why aren’t we asking this Niamh chick?” Viper asked.
“That ended badly.” Trace winced. “I wouldn’t be going to ask Oisín about her. She had him fall off her horse and age three hundred years because he wanted to move on.”
“I can see how that would cause a rift.”
“Wait.” Ward had a confused expression on his face. “If he aged three hundred years, then how does he still look like he’s our age?”
“I’m not sure.” Trace lifted one shoulder. “Something about when he crossed back to here with the Fianna, he reversed back to the age he should have been before he fell off the horse.”
“That’s not written in any of the books,” Ward muttered. “And it’s not in any of the oral histories I’ve heard.”
Trace waved him off and changed the subject back to the portal. “It would have to be one of us. Someone strong enough to hold both worlds in their blood. If we build it correctly, it can become a permanent door between the realms.”
He understood why that would be important for Trace and his wolfie side, Bran. Being able to spend time with the Fianna after so long apart would be high on his list of priorities. “Let me guess,” Viper drawled. “You’re volunteering.”
