“You think it’s that simple?” His Grá Croí was delusional. “These ropes are forged from the heart of the fire-mountain. They won’t break.”
Reaper’s hand reached for the golden strands. His skin hissed where it touched the metal, but he didn’t let go. “Nothing’s unbreakable if you want it badly enough.”
The smell of burning flesh rose between them, and Cian could see how Reaper’s muscles locked against the pain. But did the warrior back down? No, no, he did not. Instead, his other hand snapped out to grip Cian’s jaw, forcing their eyes to meet.
“Say the words.”
Cian’s breath hitched at the demand. He knew what Reaper wanted…the bonding vow, the final seal of the Grá Croí. The thing that would bind them irrevocably, for better or worse as soon as they had sex, or kill them by dawn if they didn’t.
Failinis snarled in approval.Do it.
But the ropes tightened, the magic coiling like a serpent, ready to strike.
Miach’s face paled. “He’s here.”
Their time ran out as Dian Cecht’s voice echoed down from above. “Miach. Step away from the grate.”
Reaper’s grip on Cian’s jaw tightened.“Say. The. Words.”
Cian’s throat worked. The bond was a fire in his veins, the need to claim Reaper a physical ache. But if he spoke the vow now, if he sealed it here in this pit of magic and betrayal and they failed to have time to complete the physical side, then his Grá Croí would die as the sun rose in the morning.
The golden ropes seared into Cian’s flesh, but the pain was nothing compared to knowing he would be the reason this man lost his life.
The warrior’s fingers dug into his jaw, unyielding, his breath hot as he brushed his mouth over Cian’s lips, and whispered, “Say the words, baby…” Kiss. “Then you an’ me can show these fuckers who they are dealing with.” Kiss. “For me, please help me help you.”
Dian Cecht’s voice rose in a chant, and the magic in the ropes responded by swirling up his body to his throat. Cian’s pulse roared in his ears; he could feel Reaper’s resolve and recognized the unstoppable force that drove it. His Grá Croí would die before he left without him.
I will not allow it.
Failinis snarled from inside him.
Say the words.
He exhaled a low and guttural growl, but the words spilled out before he could stop them.
“May God be with us and give us blessings.” Reaper’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening. “May we see our children’s children.” Cian’s throat burned. The ropes hissed when the magic writhed like a living beast as if it sensed the shift in the balance of power. “Maythe wind be always at our backs, may the warm rays of the sun fall upon our home.”
A shudder ran through Reaper, his body pressing closer, and he nuzzled his face into his neck as if drawn by an invisible force that demanded he claim his place next to the one fate decided was his.
“May love and laughter light our days, and warm our hearts and home.” Cian’s voice dropped, the words a promise, a curse. “May our mornings bring joy, and our evenings bring peace.”
The magic in the ropes shrieked, and the golden strands blackened where Reaper touched them, the magic recoiling in sparks and pops that filled the air around them. Cian’s skin blistered, but he didn’t stop. “From this day to our last,” he snarled, “I am yours. And you are mine.”
The bondsnappedinto place, and Reaper’s breath hitched; his whole body jerked as if he had been struck by lightning.
The Grá Croí mark on Cian’s arm turned from blue to red and burned its path around his upper arm and over the top of his shoulder. The pain in the ropes doubled as the magic lashed out in a final desperate attempt to hold strong. But as the flesh over Cian’s heart seared with the burn of the bond mark, it was too late. The vow had been spoken, the Grá Croí bond was sealed, and the ropes couldn’t hold him.
Reaper’s free hand shot to the golden strands, his fingers wrapping around them, and they shattered into nothing. “Now, move.”
Cian surged upward, his body slamming into Reaper’s. The warrior grunted but didn’t falter, his muscles locking as he braced against the wall. “You came.”
“So I did.” Reaper eased him back a little. “My chest hurts like a motherfucker.”
“The bond mark has declared you mine.” He prayed to the old gods that doing so hadn’t been a mistake. “Just as Failinis and I are yours.”
“Failinis,” Reaper repeated, “That’s beautiful.”
In Cian’s head, his wolf preened in delight.
