Reaper nudged Cian’s shoulder, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “Move. Move. Move.” They ran through the night and burst into the Fianna war camp at a dead run.
Cian narrowly avoided having his head chopped off by the guard. “It’s me, you amadán. Send a runner to Fionn,” he ordered. “Tell him my Grá Croí and I are free.”
Free!
9
The Fianna’swar camp was awhirlwind of blood, sweat, and the raw, primal energy of warriors fresh from battle. The air was thick with the acrid bite of smoke and the metallic tang of blood. Warriors poured in through the tree line, their faces streaked with soot and gore. Some carried their wounded brethren, their arms straining under the weight of limp bodies, while others dragged Tuatha Dé Danann prisoners, their golden armor dented, scorched, and smeared with the evidence of a fight well-fought. The prisoners’ expressions were a mix of defiance and resignation, their proud postures betraying the exhaustion of defeat. The camp itself was a sprawling, makeshift fortress of tents, weapons, and the occasional flicker of firelight.
Holy shit.
Mind blown.
I’ll never watch Lord of the Rings the same again.
Reaper barely had a moment to take it all in before a hand clamped onto his shoulder with bruising force, spinning him around. Viper stood there, his face tighter than Reaper had ever seen it, his usual smirk wiped clean by something that looked a hell of alot like fear. “You’re fucking bleeding.” Viper’s voice was rough with urgency. “How badly are you hurt?”
“It’s a scratch.” He’d taken worse hits in training and in too many missions gone sideways to even remember half of them. This was just another scar to add to the collection. He scanned the men for his team members, doing a mental count.
Kaze.
Zero.
Juice.
Trace.
Viper.
Me.
Viper’s jaw clenched. “Jesus, Reap. You took one hell of a chance...”
“I have one word for you. Ward.”
Before Viper could kick his ass or respond, Juice was there with his medical kit already in hand. His expression was all business, but there was an edge to his movements, a tension that betrayed the worry beneath the professional calm. “Sit. Now.” His tone brooked no argument, the kind of command that came from years of patching up idiots who thought they were invincible.
Reaper shook his head, already stepping back. “Later.” There was too much to do, too much still hanging in the balance. He wasn’t about to sit down and play patient while the camp was still buzzing with the aftermath of battle.
Are we mated now?
What happens next?
Damn, I wish I fucking knew what was coming down the pipe.
Trace materialized from the chaos, his presence cutting through the noise like a blade. His expression was unreadable, his eyes locked onto Reaper with an intensity that made the hair on the back of Reaper’s neck stand up. “You went in alone,” It was an accusation, one that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken rules…rules Reaper had completely ignored.
Reaper met his gaze head-on, refusing to look away. “Miach got me inside.” He didn’t owe Trace an explanation, not really, but the words came anyway. “I got Cian out. That’s what matters.” The rest, the how and the why, would have to wait. Right now, all that mattered was that Cian was here, alive, and standing beside him. The rest was bullshit that could be sorted later.
He hoped.
A horn blasted through the camp, cutting through the din of voices and clanging metal. The warriors stilled as one, their conversations dying on their lips. Heads turned toward the center of the camp, where Fionn stood atop a fallen log. The High King’s gaze swept over the assembled warriors before landing on Reaper and Cian with the precision of an arrow finding its mark. The air around him crackled with something that made Reaper’s instincts scream.
Danger.
“You.” Fionn’s voice was a whipcrack. “Both of you. Now.”
Cian’s fingers twitched against Reaper’s arm, a fleeting, almost imperceptible movement, but Reaper felt it like a brand. Cian turned, his chin lifted in silent defiance, and led the way through the parting crowd. Reaper fell into step beside him, matching his stride, his own posture just as unyielding. He wasn’t about to show weakness to anyone. If they were going to face the High King’s wrath, they’d do it side by side.
