Nope, not going there.
The warrior was sprawled on his back, one arm slung over his eyes like he was shielding himself from the dawn. Reaper’s fingers tightened around the injury on his shoulder. He huffed in annoyance that the noise he was making wasn’t enough to wake Cian. It was stupid to be enthralled by how his chest rose and fell in slow, even breaths, his body relaxed as if none of this was a big fucking deal, right? As if they hadn’t just?—
Stop it. Just stop it.
This changes nothing.
His eyes widened as a thought snuck into his mind, and he patted down his body. His clothes were back on, slightly damp and clinging to his skin. His boots weren’t laced correctly, but at least the warrior had the decency to dress him afterhe’d fucked him senseless in a magic pool.
His molars ground together, the sound loud even to his own ears. He’d spent years in Special Operations; he was damn good at being an Operator, but this shit hadn’t been in the playbook at BUDs. He still wasn’t entirely sure that Zero hadn’t tried to be a bright spark and go foraging in the woods surrounding Trace’s house, and poison them with magic mushrooms again.
That would explain the dreaming. I was a wolf.
He wasn’t sure what kind of magic shit had happened last night… or how to freaking deal with it, if it was real.
No take-backs.
The whisper of Cian’s voice echoed in his skull, swiftly followed by the dream-like memory of his hands on his hips, his lips on his mouth, and a wolf’s mouth at his throat. Reaper’s hands clenched into fists. “Yo, Dude. Did you fucking bite me in my sleep or some shit?” He nudged him in the back, “Cian, what the hell, man?” The movement jostled the warrior, who groaned and rolled onto his side, one hand reaching blindly toward where Reaper had been.
“Morning,Mo Ghrá Croí.” His voice was rough with sleep, his moss-green eyes cracking open. Then he saw Reaper standing there, rigid as a board, and his smirk faltered. “You’re up early.”
“Yeah.” Reaper’s voice came out tighter than he intended. He cleared his throat, trying to shake off the way his body still hummed from last night, the way his skin remembered the press of Cian’s hands, the heat of his mouth. “What the hell happened last night?”
Cian pushed himself up on one elbow, his gaze sharpening as it landed on Reaper’s neck. “Ah. My mark is still there.” A slow, knowing smile curved his lips. “Well, that confirms it.”
Reaper’s hand flew back to the sore spot on his neck before he could stop himself. “Confirms what, exactly?”
“That you are descended from the Wolf Walkers.” Cian stretched, his muscles rippling under his tunic, entirely too pleased with himself. “Failinis marked you. He did really mark you properly.”
Jesus, that better not mean what I think it does.
“Failinis?” Reaper contorted his neck, trying to get a glimpse at the wound, but it was impossible without breaking his neck. “Your what did what to me?”
“My wolf marked you.” Cian’s grin turned feral. The bastard looked entirely too pleased with himself. “And yours marked me back.”
If I strangle him, that’ll knock the smirk off his face.
His fingers twitched toward his neck again. He refused to believe it. Even he wasn’t Bayou enough to keep this up long term. “I don’t have a wolf.”
“Oh, you do. Ossary.” Cian cocked his head to one side, studying him. “That’s what he calls himself. Your wolf is as beautiful as you are.”
Maybe he’s the one who’s been chowing down on the magic mushrooms.
Reaper’s breath hitched. It was way too early, and he was way too caffeine-deficient for him to believe all he hadn’t dreamed it, then. Seeing the world through the white wolf’s eyes, the chase, the fucking, the biting, was way past his comfort zone.
TBI. Fuck my life, it’s gotta be a TBI.
That had to be it. He’d been too close to an IED blast zone, and now suffered with delusions.
“He’s been waiting for you,” Cian continued, rolling to his feet with that infuriating grace of his. “Just like I have.”
“I don’t have a wolf.” His Grá, whatever he was, had lost his damn mind, “Like I told Trace, I think I’d know if I turned into a wolf.”
Cian stepped closer, close enough that Reaper could see the faint red marks on his own neck, almost in the same place where his own neck ached, and his stomach twisted.
“You do have a wolf,” Cian reassured him. “His name is Ossary, and he’s mine now, too. Just as you are.”
Reaper recoiled. “That’s…um…insane.”
