“Wait.” Juice’s face darkened. “Has a bond ever been broken?”
“Once,” Fionn replied. “But that was back before the world was controlled by ice and fire, the seas were lower, and both the Fianna and the Tuatha Dé Danann were at the peak of our power.”
“Not since before the Ice Age, then.” That didn’t bode well for Cian. Reaper glared at Fionn and Oisín. “Why the hell would their leader risk his son’s life?”
“The ways of the Tuatha Dé Danann are a mystery even to us.” Fionn shook his head, “The bond of the Grá Croí is one of our most sacred rituals. It cannot be interfered with or both will die.”
“What happens to Reaper if they manage to break the bond?” Viper shifted closer to Ward. No doubt, even the thought of breaking such a bond was distressing to the newly bonded commander.
“Instant death.” Fionn’s voice was filled with sympathy. “I only know the ritual was performed once, and at that time, the non-family member died. The other went mad after three hundred years. He eventually changed into a swan and went to live on Loch Derg.”
Fuck that.
Dying isn’t on my shit-to-do list this year.
He might not be entirely sure this bond shit was for him, but he also wanted to be the one to make the choice. No magic fairy daddy was going to make it for him. “Where will they take him?”
Oisín glanced at Fionn and waited for him to grant permission with the dip of his chin. “Our best guess is they will take him to their stronghold at the foot of Galtee Mór. There are standing stones near the village of Burncourt. To break the bond and not kill him, they will need to consolidate their power. The best place for that to happen is at the stones on Hill of the White Crows.”
Reaper didn’t know what the hell a Hill of the White Crows was, and he didn’t care. All that mattered was that Cian was in danger, and for some fucked-up reason, that made his blood boil. “Then what the fuck are we standing around for?” He turned to Viper. “We going or not?”
Viper didn’t hesitate. “Let’s move.”
The warriors of the Fianna didn’t look thrilled at the idea of humans tagging along, but Fionn gave a sharp nod. “We ride hard, and we fight harder. Cian is pledged to me. To take him is an insult to me and to all Fianna.”
Reaper didn’t give a shit about their opinions. He had a warrior to save. Even if he didn’t want to admit to himself why. The mark on his arm was pulsing in time withhis heartbeat, each throb reminding him that his hesitance caused this.
It’s my fault he was taken.
It was all kinds of fucked up. He didn’t understand the hows and whys of it, but when a wave of rage blasted through him, he knew it came from Cian.
Fury simmered in his veins, and he was moving before he realized it, his boots eating up the distance between him and the Fianna warriors who parted for him, their expressions a mix of awe and wariness, their murmurs following in his wake like the rustle of leaves before a storm.
“A new Wolf Walker is among us.”
“The bond calls to him.”
“Cian’s Grá Croí has come.”
Reaper ignored them all. The world had narrowed to a single, blinding point:find him.
6
The worldaround Cian snapped back into focus with an abrupt jolt, as if some unseen hand had thrown the switch on reality. From the fuzzy recesses of his mind, he felt the coolness of river stone beneath his paws, a harsh, biting contrast to the simmering heat of rage that coursed like molten lava through his blood.
The scent of burning peat and a pungent smoke thickened the air around him. Failinis, his ferocious wolf spirit, snarled deeply, a primal sound that reverberated through the caged room that separated them. Cian’s lips twisted into a snarl that matched Failinis’s.
The wolf revealed teeth that were more than capable of crushing bone with the greatest of ease. Failinis was coiled like a spring ready to launch into action, instinctively prepared to strike at anyone who dared approach. Yet the golden ropes that bound him were no ordinary snares. Their magic hummed around them, fiercely locking his muscles in place and leaving him with no choice but to remain still against his will.
Burncourt.
What was going on? Why had they been brought to his father’s house?
We are pledged to Fionn.
I know, Failinis.
Through the wolf’s eyes, the rath’s imposing timber walls loomed around him, their aged surfaces rough and solid, each splintered crevice a testament to time’s passage. He scanned the hall, paused on his father, and the silent snarl became audible and loud enough to rattle the walls. A pissed-off Grá Croí who’d been separated from his mate was not to be trifled with, and his father knew it.
