Miach scanned the men until he landed on Reaper. “Because my father is a fool,” he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “I won’t see innocent villagers die for his ambitions.”
Oisín barked a disbelieving laugh. “And we’re supposed to believe you?”
Miach’s expression hardened. “I don’t care what you believe.” His voice remained steady despite the blades pressing into his skin. “But I will get you in.” His eyes cut to Reaper again, this time holding, burning with an intensity that belied his youth. “And I’ll help you get my brother out.”
The warriors surged forward, their voices a chorus of denials and demands to go with him. Viper was in front of him in a heartbeat, his face a mask of fury. “You’re not fucking going,” his voice low, dangerous and filled with command.
Trace grabbed Reaper’s arm, his grip bruising. “He’s right. This is a trap. You walk in there, you’re as good as dead.”
Reaper’s gaze was locked on Miach. He focused on the desperate honesty in his eyes. He could feel the truth behind the words and the raw, unshakable conviction in his eyes. It was like recognizing the shape of a knife in the dark, or the familiar weight of a weapon in his hand. He just knew this kid wasn’t lying.
“There comes a time in every man’s life,” he didn’t even recognize the rough, gravelly sounds coming out of his mouth as his voice, “where he’s got to make a choice.” He turned to Viper, to Trace, to the sea of furious, enraged faces surrounding him. “Between the mission and the ones we are fighting for.” His throat tightened, the words scraping against his raw edges of his sanity. “For me?” He rubbed a hand up his arm, over the mark that marched upward, almost reaching his shoulder. “For whatever the hell this is inside me?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t got a choice.”
“Reap—”
“Enough, if it was Ward, you’d already be inside the walls.”
Thankfully, Viper backed down. He didn’t want to put his commanding officer on his ass. But if it was needed… he would.
Miach stepped forward, ignoring the blades still pressed to his skin. “Swear to me.” His eyes burned with an intensity that made Reaper’s skin prickle. “Swear you’ll complete the bond.” His voice cracked, just slightly, but the conviction behind it was unshakable. “That you won’t let my brother die for nothing.”
Reaper didn’t hesitate. The words were out before he could even think them. “On my honor,” he said, “I swear it.”
For a heartbeat, Miach just stared at him, his gaze searching, probing as if he were looking for something to tell him that Reaper spoke true. Then, slowly, he nodded. He reached out, his fingers brushed Reaper’s shoulder, and the world dissolved around them.
8
Cian’sentire world had narrowed to the pain of a thousand cuts. His muscles burned as he thrashed against the golden ropes binding him. Failinis snarled inside him, sending him power in never-ending waves that racked through his body, but the magic in the ropes held them both prisoner. They could not shift, breathing was becoming difficult, and soon all that they were would descend into agony that would drive a mortal man insane in days. Eventually, even a shifter as strong as himself would succumb to the madness of being in the hole, bound by the golden ropes of the Tuatha Dé Danann.
As boys, he and his brothers had played down here in this deep hole with its smooth, sheer walls. The stories the old ones told around the fireplace during the long winter nights, said the grate that covered it was wrought from the heart of a fire-mountain in a far distant land. Its bars were as thick as a man’s forearm.
Father’s favorite torture device.
If he thinks he will break us.
He is wrong.
Despite Failinis’s conviction, Cian’s breath came in ragged bursts, and his vision swam as the ropes pulsed with dark energy.“They are leeching our strength, Failinis.”
They will not win.
Fight, warrior.
He forced himself upright. His back hit the damp wall, catching on a sharp rock that bruised and broke his skin. “It’s useless to waste our energy.” He reminded Failinis of the prisoners they had seen do the same. “The magic in these bonds is older than the Tuatha Dé Danann. It was forged to hold gods.” Failinis howled in his mind, a sound of pure, primal rage.
We will not die here.
We are stronger than most of the gods.
We have proved it as Hound of the High King.
The arrogance and determination rolling through him in waves from his wolf did nothing to stop the ropes burning hotter as they tightened around every part of his body they touched. Cian gritted his teeth, tasting blood. The Grá Croí bond flared to life in his veins as it pulsed as if in time to the chant of his mate’s name.
Reaper.
Reaper.
Reaper.
