Kaze looked over at Ward. “So your zap a dick wire is on strike for us?”
“Pretty much.”
Viper’s fingers tightened slightly in his as Ward swallowed and they moved past whatever invisible line had kept three of the bravest men he knew from walking toward the squat cabin peeking from between the trees, partially hidden beneath vines and the sloping hillside.
When they followed Trace into the house, Ward leaned toward Viper and whispered, “I don’t think we’re all gonna fit.”
“Juice said the same thing.” Trace grinned at his skepticism. “Like I told him, follow me, because there’s more to my home than meets the eye.” He moved to the Murphy door and demonstrated how it worked before stepping back and waving them ahead of him and Juice.
Halfway down the stairs on the middle landing, Viper opened a door and led his Grá Croí and their team into the kitchenthat had become theirs over the months when Juice had been recovering.
“Welcome,” Trace dropped his bag in a corner, turned, and offered Ward a massive smile, “to the den of Cú Fianna.”
Inside, it felt like stepping into another realm all over again. The living was massive, carved from stone and cedar, warm and earthy and homey. The kitchen dominated the space—vaulted ceilings, glowing lights strung between wooden beams, shelves stacked with herbs and clay pots, and a fireplace so wide it could probably roast a whole deer.
Ward paused just inside the threshold, momentarily overwhelmed. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured, his voice catching.
“Feels like home, doesn’t it?” Viper said softly beside him.
Ward nodded. “More than it should.”
“Grab a seat,” Trace called. “There’s food in the fridge, drinks in the cold box, and I’m pretty sure the steaks survived the time skip.”
“I’ll cook,” Reaper volunteered, pulling open the freezer with the ease of a man who’d done it before. “You idiots would burn water.”
Viper passed Ward a bottle of water. “You good?”
“Getting there,” Ward said. His head throbbed faintly from leftover magic, exhaustion, the crash after threading two worlds together. “I think I need a shower.”
“Go,” Viper said softly, brushing a hand down his back. He pointed further down the hallway. “First right, third door. We’llhandle this part. You look like you’re about to pass out standing up.”
Ward nodded, grateful, and disappeared down the hall. The further he went, the quieter everything became. He reached the bathroom and stepped inside, peeling off his clothes with fingers that trembled more than he wanted to admit. Steam filled the space within seconds as he twisted the knobs and stepped under the spray.
He let the water wash everything away—dirt, blood, magic, memory—until nothing remained but the ache in his bones and the faint echo of Viper’s voice in his head.
I’ve got you.
Yeah. He knew he did and he loved it.
The hot water didn’t fix everything, but it helped. Ward stood with his hands braced against the tile, the pressure sluicing over his back and down his spine until the last of the tension in his shoulders started to unwind. It had been days since he’d had the luxury of heat and solitude—hell, maybe weeks, depending on how the veil played with time—and he could feel the exhaustion soaking into his marrow.
His tattoos no longer glowed. The mating mark on his chest had quieted to a faint thrum, steady and loyal, like a heartbeat outside his body. The magic might have faded from the surface, but it hadn’t left him. It was still there, tucked beneath his skin, breathing in rhythm with the man who had claimed his heart and held his soul with calloused hands and battle-worn promises.
He shut off the water and dried off quickly, tugging on the soft cotton sweatpants and long-sleeved shirt someone had lefton the bench beside the sink. Viper, no doubt. His man was terrifying in the field, but annoyingly thoughtful when Ward least expected it.
By the time he made it back down the hall, the smell of steak and garlic and something herbaceous hit him like a freight train. His stomach growled audibly, and someone near the kitchen laughed.
“That better not be my dinner. I just heard protesting,” Reaper called without turning around.
“I’ll fight you for it,” Ward muttered, stepping into the main den again.
“Wouldn’t advise it.” Zero was perched on a barstool at the kitchen island, knife in one hand, peeled apple in the other. “Man’s in a post-portal high. He’ll cut you just to make a point.”
“I heard that,” Reaper grunted from over the stove. “And I wouldn’t use a knife. That’d be overkill. Cast iron skillet’s got better heft.”
Kaze wandered past with two beers in hand, one already half gone, and clapped Ward on the shoulder. “Glad you survived the magic rinse cycle. You look slightly less like roadkill.”
“Thanks. You’re all heart.”
