“Enough!” The command echoed off the walls of the dimly lit chamber, cutting through the heated exchanges amongst his sons. Dian Cecht stood tall, raising his hand, the gesture imbued with authority, making the air feel charged with expectation. “Cian will be cleansed of this... attachment. The bond will be broken before the next full moon, and his marriage to the daughter of Tuireann will take place before the night ends when the sunlight floods the tomb of Newgrange.”
The hell it will.
You will not take my Grá Croí from me.
Or force me to marry another.
Cian felt his heart twist cruelly inside his chest; the very notion of breaking the bond that had started to build with Reaper twisted like a knife within him, bringing forth the bitter realization of what that could mean—not just for him but for Reaper as well. The repercussions echoed in his mind, and the mark inscribed on his arm burned searingly in response, as though the very concept had ignited his blood with the flames of the underworld.
He lunged against the golden ropes binding him, the harsh fibers biting into his skin, but he was undeterred by the pain. “You don’t get to decide this!” He slammed every ounce of fierce determination fueling the anger coursing through his veins into his voice. “You do not get to deny me what the fates have promised.”
Dian Cecht’s dark eyes flared, and his jaw clenched. “I decide everything when it comes to my bloodline.” His declaration hung heavily in the air, causing Cian to feel the full pressure of it, smothering and almost choking the breath from his lungs.
Cú stepped forward, a massive presence that blocked the flickering firelight. “Calm yourself, brother. Fighting won’t help.” His voice was steady, working as a stabilizing force amidst the turmoil swirling around them.
Cian spun around to face him, teeth bared, rage igniting like a wildfire in his eyes. “You’re just going to stand there? Let him do this?” His disbelief was palpable; he could hardly fathom the possibility that compliance with breaking the most sacred bond of all was even an option.
Cú’s jaw tightened, his resolve evident as he answered, “What would you have us do? Defy our father? Start a war with the Tuireann?” His words were steeped in wisdom, grounded in the reality of their world and the overwhelming consequences of rebellion.
“And what of war with Fionn and the Fianna?” Cian shot back, his heart pounding in rebellion, a wild urge to protect Reaper and their bond propelling every word from his lips. “I have pledged myself to him.”
“Fionn hasn’t been seen in more than five thousand years.” Dian Cecht smirked, “I doubt a dead man is going to have a problem with a broken vow.”
They don’t know.
He opened his mouth to correct his father, but snapped it shut again when a whisper stroked across the back of his mind.
I’m coming, Cian.
Be ready.
Maybe it was better not to mention that Fionn was back, not just yet. If Reaper was coming, then he would be bringing the warriors with him.
Our Grá Croí spoke to us!
Failinis crowed with happiness that not even their current situation could dim. Deep inside him, the wolf spun in a circle, then plopped into a sit with his whole body vibrating. It was all Cian could do to refrain from doing the same himself in the great hall of the Stag Clan of the Tuatha Dé Danann.
As if sensing his change in mood, a look of triumph crossed his father’s features. No doubt the old man thought he had won, and the wolf would bow down to the stag.
Never.
“Mo Rhí?”
Clearly annoyed at the interruption, Dian Cecht whirled around and glared at the servant who dared to intrude in his family matters. “What is it, Éanna?”
“The lord of the bear clan and his daughter have been seen on approach.” Éanna bowed deeply, almost scraping his chin off the floor, “Should we open the gates?”
“Yes, yes.” Dian Cecht waved his hand at the servant. “Do not be insulting my son’s betrothed and her father.”
Betrothed, my ass.
He pointed a finger at Cian. “I expect you to behave in a manner fitting your station.”
Oh, you do? Do. You?”
“I will behave in the manner of a Hound of the High King of the Fianna, who has been ripped away from his Grá Croí while the marks are still weaving their magic.” How else did they expect him to behave? He was a shifter, more feral and primal than his brothers could ever hope to be. Even if the human side of himself had considered complying with the orders, Failinis would never agree.
We will only have Reaper, or we die.
