A wave of sadness and despair swamped his body and spirit. Their human Grá Croí fought the bond, fought him, and the door knew it. It obeyed one of the most sacred vows of the wolves. The bond could not be forced.
Unwilling to give up, Failinis’s growl deepened, a sound that shook the leaves on the trees and made the shadows tremble. He would cross. He would find his Grá Croí. He would?—
A wave of exhaustion crashed over him. His limbs turned to lead, his vision swam, as this time, in wolf form, the world tilted beneath him. The bond was a weight, a chain, a noose around his neck, and the door’s refusal was the final straw. His body ached, his bones heavy, his fur damp with sweat and something darker, something wrong. The mark beneath his pelt burned, a brand searing into his flesh, a reminder of what he couldn’t have.
He staggered, his paws unsteady, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the forest spun around him, the trees blurring into streaks of green and brown, and the sky above into a swirling mass of gray and gold. His legs gave out, his massive body collapsing onto the damp earth, his chest heaving as he fought to draw air into his lungs.
Rest.
The thought was a whisper, a voice that wasn’t his own.
Rest, and wait.
Failinis snarled, the sound weak, because he couldn’t lift his muzzle from the ground.
I won’t wait.
I can’t wait.
The bond was a rioting storm inside him, a tempest of need, fury, and longing. It demanded action. It refused to be stopped. It demanded that its greatest wish be fulfilled.
But his body betrayed him, and his eyelids grew heavy, his limbs leaden, and his breath became slow and shallow. The wolf curled into a ball with his tail over his nose, and his eyes trained on the Fianna Door. The scent of Reaper wrapped around him like a blanket.
As the world faded at the edges, the last thing he saw was the door, shimmering, tantalizingly close, as the magic of it refused his plea once more.
At the moment when his body was between sleeping and waking, pain flared along his limbs. Failinis’s eyes flew open, his vision swimming as the world snapped into focus, as he recognized the weight of a spell slamming into him. He jumped to rise but fell onto his side.
Someone landed on his massive body, pinning him to the damp earth, before he could dig deep to shake off the magic. Fighting for all he was worth, he failed as his paws were bound with something that seared into his skin. He didn’t need to look to know it was the golden binding rope of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Only a hair’s breadth in width, it was said to have been forged from the tail of the horses of the sky people.
Noooo.
He snarled, the sound tearing from his throat as he thrashed, his muscles coiling and releasing as he fought against the bonds. The rope held, unyielding as the magic in it hummed in time with his struggles, as it fed on his fury. His claws dug into the earth, his teeth bared, his golden eyes wild as he scanned the figures around him.
Warriors.
Tuatha Dé Danann.
Inside the cage where his warrior half now resided, Cian beat his fists against the door. But the bonds of the golden rope prevented their shifting.
No. I will not go back.
I gave my vows to Fionn.
Damn you, father, damn you.
The armor of the Tuatha Dé Danann was silver and gold. The wolf scanned their faces, committing them to memory, so he knew who to execute as soon as he was free of the ropes and the magic. They stood in a loose circle around him, their spears held at the ready, their eyes unreadable.
A woman with hair like spun moonlight and eyes like chips of ice stepped forward, her lips moving in a chant. The words slithered through the air like serpents, wrapping around him, tightening like a noose.
Failinis threw back his head and howled a promise of blood, fury, and vengeance. All across Dún Fianna, and the Dord Fiann echoed in its wake. It was both a challenge and a warning. A promise of blood, fury, and vengeance. The sound rose and fell, filling the air and escaping the bonds of the Fianna Door, racing down the Grá Croí bond, searching for the one man who could save him now—Reaper.
The warriors flinched, their eyes widening, their grips tightening on their weapons. But they didn’t back down or falter. The woman’s chant grew louder, the words twisting in the air, the magic in them heavy, like the chains wrapped around his limbs, his chest, and his throat. The golden rope glowed, the light of it searing his eyeballs. It pulled at him, a physical force, dragging him across the earth, his claws digging furrows into the dirt as he fought against it.
No.
“Aroooooooooo. Aroooooh.”
The sound was half in his mind as it was echoed by the caged warrior in his head. He wouldn’t go. They couldn’t go. Their Grá Croí was among the human warrior brothers of the Fianna. Reaper was here. The door was here. He would not leave. He would?—
