“No.” Cian’s voice softened a fraction, sending shivers of awareness down Reaper’s spine, “But it is the truth.”
Damn, I'd tapthat.
His vision blurred for half a second with memories or visions, but he locked all that shit down. He needed to brood, to ponder, and figure out where his head was at. With Cian in front of him, that just wasn’t possible.
Zero is from home, he'll know if this shit is real.
The problem was that he couldn't be entirely sure if Zero would seize the opportunity to fuck with him or not. Still, if he wanted to retain what remained of his sanity, then his cattywampus brother in arms was in the hot seat, just as soon as he could reach him. “We’re going back to Dún Fianna. Now.”
Cian’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t argue. Just nodded, already turning toward the path. “After you, mo Ghrá Croí.”
“Stop calling me that.”
Cian paused, glancing back. The morning light caught the gold ring surrounding the green in his eyes and made them gleam. “Why? It’s what you are.”
“Grá Croí?” Reaper spat the words. “I’m not your anything, and weren’t your eyes green?”
“Keep telling yourself that.” Cian’s smile didn’t waver. “Your eyes now carry the circle of Failinis’s gold around your brown. Just as I carry Ossary’s. It’s a Wolf Walker thing, so that’s your doing, not mine.”
Reaper’s molars ground so hard his jaw ached. He wanted to hit something, preferably the frustrating warrior who should not look that damn good in a fucking skirt. But the bond flared in warning, a sharp ‘no’ twisting in his chest.
“I can feel how much you want me, you know,” Cian called over his shoulder. “It is why I am not offended by your protests as you wrap your mind around what is happening. Are you coming? Or are you planning to sulk here all day?”
You are being an asshole, human. That is our Grá Croí. Be better.
Damn, now even my fucking head is scolding me for being a dick.
I am Ossary, not your head. Deal with that shit too, asshole.
Reaper’s hands fisted against the sides of his head, and he rubbed over his ears. It drove him nuts that both the warrior and the voice in his head were right. He was being a dick to a man who also had no choice, a man who’d bent over backward to make this whole thing easier on him. “Hey, Cian?”
“Yes?” Cain paused in saddling the horse Reaper had ridden on the way here, and glanced at him over its withers.
“I’m being an asshole. I’m sorry.”
Cain rounded the horse, came to him, and before Reaper figured out his intent, pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “We will find our way, a stór. You are still running from your destiny, me and Failinis are relishing the hunt. When we catch you forever, our courting will become the songs of the bards and the legends of the Seanchaí. They will tell of how you are my anamchara, my soul mate, and I am yours. In this way, we will live and love for a million lifetimes.” He handed him the reins of the horse. “Come. Let us ride to Dún Fianna.”
Reaper mounted and fell into place beside Cian. “Someone better have coffee when we get there.”
Cian, bastard that he was, snickered. “This coffee for you is like a drug.” His voice was entirely too amused. “Maybe someday you will speak of me and Failinis as you do your coffee.”
“Coffee isn’t a drug. It’s sanity in a mug. A murder prevention potion in a mug. When you work with the people I work with, it’s not an addiction, it’s a straight-up necessity.”
“I see.” Cian glanced at him. “Maybe you will share it with me.”
Reaper narrowed his eyes. “If you touch my coffee, Failinis is going to need another human to shift into pretty damn quick.”
Cian’s expression turned teasing. “Maybe I will try it.”
“Then steal Kaze or Zero’s.” Reaper grumbled. “Those two assholes are batshit enough, without adding caffeine into the mix.”
Cian’s grin turned feral. “You will help me steal it from them?”
Anything to drive his two brothers in arms up the wall, “Yes, I?—”
Cian’s hand shot out, and he almost pulled him off the horse as his mouth crashed into his.
Reaper’s brain short-circuited. One second, agreeing to piss off his teammates, the next, Cian’s hands were around his neck, his tongue sweeping past his lips, stroking and claiming in a devastatingly hot kiss.
