I’m being a selfish dick.
He didn’t know what to say or know how to explain the storm inside him. The fear, the rage, the way his own mind turned against him every time he let someone close. He’d spent years building walls, and now they were crumbling, and he didn’t know how to stop it.
Cian turned away, kicking his horse back into motion. “We ride,” he said, his voice flat. “When we get there, you decide. But know this, Reaper—” He glanced back, and there was something raw in his gaze. “If we don’t do this, we both die. I’m not sure I’m ready to die for a man who’s already given up.”
Given up?
Have I?
The forest swallowed them whole, the darkness pressing in like a living thing. And for the first time in years, Reaper didn’t know which way to run. Fate had never been kind to him. Why would she start now?
Cian finally dropped back and rode silently beside him. His presence was a solid, warm weight in the dark, a contrast to the chaos churning in Reaper’s gut. The man didn’t ask questions or demand answers. He just let the quiet stretch between them as if he was waiting for him to break it.
Reaper’s mind raced.
Mating.
Bonding.
Forever.
The words tasted bitter with the memory of Derek’s hands, his voice, the way he’d twisted love into something ugly that left scars deep in his soul. He’d spent years burying that shit, locking it down tight, refusing to let it define him. Now he was riding toward the one thing he’d sworn he’d never let himself need again.
The trees thinned ahead, and a pair of standing stones loomed like ghosts in the moonlight, the pool at their center dark and still. A shiver ran down Reaper’s spine. The place hummed, a low, thrumming energy that vibrated through his bones, like the aftershock of an explosion or an earthquake, felt more than heard.
Cian reined in his horse, dismounting in one fluid motion. He turned, his gaze locking onto his. “We’re here.”
Reaper swung down from the saddle, his boots hitting the ground with a thud that jarred knees that had endured too many years of jumping out of planes and helos. His legs felt unsteady, the ride leaving his muscles stiff. He ignored the way his body protested and rolled his shoulders instead. “Yeah.”
Cian didn’t crowd him. He just stood there, watching and waiting. Like he knew Reaper needed the space to breathe, to think, to decide.
Reaper scoffed under his breath, kicking at a loose stone with the toe of his boot.
Decide.
Say the words, baby…please help me help you.
Like he had a choice. Mate or die, those were his options. There was no in-between, no team riding in on desert Ubers to save him. There were two paths, both leading to the same damn cliff. He rubbed at his arm, his fingers tracing the red lines of the mark, and it tingled in response. He’d spent his whole life fighting for control—over his body, his mind, his damn fate. Now some ancient magic was calling the shots, and he was just supposed to roll over and take it. His molars ached from the pressure of his jaw. “This isn’t how I do things.”
“I know.”
His head snapped up, his gaze locking onto Cian’s. The man stood there, his arms loose at his sides, his posture relaxedbut alert, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. The moonlight caught the angles of his face, casting his cheekbones in sharp relief, his eyes dark and unreadable. “You don’t know shit.”
A corner of Cian’s mouth quirked. “I know you don’t like being backed into a corner.”
His laugh was humorless. “Yeah, and look where that got me.”
Cian tilted his head, his gaze never wavering. “Alive.”
Reaper’s chest tightened. Alive. That was the kicker, wasn’t it? He’d spent years downrange in the sandbox, in the shit, fighting tooth and nail just to keep breathing. Now he was standing in some fairy-tale forest with his life hanging in the balance on whether or not he could stomach letting someone in again.
His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. “I don’t—” The words stuck in his throat, and he swallowed hard, forcing them out. “I don’t know how to do this. Not anymore.”
Cian’s expression didn’t change. “You don’t have to.”
“Bullshit. I do…wedo…or we die.” The mark on his arm pulsed in a sharp, insistent throb, like it was laughing at him.
Cian took a step forward, then another, and another until he was close enough that Reaper could see the swirls of the mark on his arm, the red lines glowing faintly in the dark, mirroring the ones burning beneath Reaper’s skin. “You think this is about choice?” Cian’s voice was a low growl. “Do you think I chose this?”
