He exhaled quietly and peeled himself from the warmth of Ward’s side. His body ached in places he never known could ache so damn sweetly, and his muscles protested with the same satisfaction he used to feel after a twenty-mile forced ruck. He grabbed his pants and tugged them on, stepping over to the door and cracking it open.
Trace stood outside, already dressed in his combat gear, a steaming cup in one hand. “Morning.”
“Too early for that,” Viper muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Sorry, Boss. I wouldn’t be here unless it was time.”
It can’t be that time already. We only went to sleep about an hour ago.
“Portal?”
Trace nodded. “She’s stable, at least for now. Ward locked it tight. Unless something completely fucked happens, it’ll hold.”
Thank Christ for that.
Should he be thanking a god that hadn’t even been born when the men of this realm had walked the earth? He had no clue, and he was too damn tired to figure it out. He glanced back at the bed. Ward hadn’t stirred. “How long before you guys want to go through?”
“You’re the commander. Isn’t that your call?”
“Any other day, I’d say aye, aye, I am and it is. Today I want to crawl back into bed with my Grá Croí and not leave it for a month.” Viper took the offered cup. He sipped once, and immediately grimaced. “What the hell is this?”
“Magic coffee,” Trace deadpanned.
“I hate it here,” Viper muttered.
Trace smirked. “If you tell us when you want to leave, you’ll be sipping the good coffee by close of business today.”
Viper glanced back at the firelight dancing over Ward’s bare skin. “Tell the others we’re moving by noon. I’ll wake him up.”
“Will do.” Trace hesitated. “You okay?”
Viper looked him dead in the eye. “No, I’m too old for this shit. But I’ve got Ward. I’ll survive.”
Trace’s smile was small and understanding. “Yeah. You will.”
He closed the door with a soft click and leaned back against it. For one long breath, he let the weight of everything sink into his mind. Reality was creeping in—mission parameters, timelines, the inevitability of questions he couldn’t answer. The moment they stepped through that door, the clock would start ticking. Reports, investigations, and chain-of-command clusterfucks all would demand answers he wasn’t sure he had to give.
But first—Ward. He moved back to the bed and crouched beside it.
Ward stirred as he reached out, his long lashes fluttering open, revealing eyes still soft with sleep. “Time?” he murmured.
“Not yet,” Viper said gently, brushing a knuckle down his cheek. “But soon. Here’s some magic brew.”
Ward exhaled, his gaze clearing. “That better not be alcohol, because I need a clear head in case I have to shore up anything.”
They didn’t rush. Ward pulled on his tunic and ran fingers through his hair while Viper strapped on his weapons, all the while hoping that he wouldn’t need them soon. The crannóg was quiet except for the soft sound of boots against wood and the occasional scrape of leather straps being fastened.
“You think they’ll believe us?” Ward asked as they stepped out onto the bridge.
“Nope,” Viper said honestly. “But they won’t have a choice. We’ll give them a version of the truth they can choke on if they try to twist it.”
“And if they try to separate us?”
Viper stopped walking. He turned, stepped into Ward’s space, and gripped the back of his neck. “They won’t.”
“You sound sure.”
He could hear the skepticism in Ward’s voice. “I am. Because the second they try to come between us, I’m walking. SEAL or not. I made a vow, remember?” His fingers brushed along the mating mark. “You come first now.”
