Cian groaned into his mouth, his hands pulling him closer.
Reaper could feel himself sliding out of the saddle, and he wrenched back, gasping. His lips were swollen, his pulse hammering. “If your idea of courting is kissing me right off the back of a horse… I gotta tell ya, your courting plans need some work.”
“Hah.” Cian’s smirk was infuriating. “I will keep this in mind.”
As they settled back into the ride, Reaper decided that this, this he could do. Throwing down snark, teasing, and bantering back and forth was definitely in his wheelhouse.
Maybe this will work after all.
13
To Reaper,Dún Fianna looked like it had been built as if it had been woven into the land itself.
“I don’t think that sight is ever going to not be impressive.” He jerked his chin toward its towering palisades constructed from colossal oak trunks, their bark still rough and unyielding beneath the pale morning light.
“It is hard to find anything quite as impressive as an ancient oak,” Cian agreed. He urged his mount slightly ahead as they stepped onto the causeway that crossed the defensive ditches surrounding the stronghold. “Here would not be a good time to fall off the horse, mo Grá Croí.”
Reaper glanced over the side of the causeway, his eyes widening at the sharpened stakes, each one blackened at the tip by fire, filling it. “Nope.” He tightened his grip on the reins. “You better not dump me on my ass here, horse. Or I’m gonna be pissed enough to turn you into stew.”
“You do not need to eat me horses,” Cian called. “If you are hungry, I can already smell the venison in the Fullacht Fia is ready. We can stop by the kitchen and feed you.”
Food sounds freaking awesome.
His stomach rumbled as they crossed under the open twin gates, massive wooden doors carved with the same spiraling glyphs that Ward had found under the Volcano on Île Saonae. The magic beat in the very heart of this place. The home of the Fianna was steeped in it. Yet until this very moment, he had never felt the impact of it, as he did as it brushed over his skin like the caress of a lover welcoming him home.
Warriors moved through the gates in a steady stream, their voices a low murmur of old Gaeilge, and the occasional burst of laughter. Cian didn’t slow their pace and kept them moving through the open space between the houses and toward the hall at the center of the rath.
Pulling the horses to a stop, they dismounted and handed the reins off to a boy who came running. Then Cian fell into step with him, close enough that the heat of his body radiated against his arm, close enough that the scent of him filled Reaper’s lungs with every breath. The contact sent a jolt through him, and his muscles locked so tightly he could feel the tendons straining beneath his skin.
“You’re going to have to get used to my touch eventually,” Cian murmured, his voice a dark, knowing purr that slid under Reaper’s defenses.
He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached, the pressure radiating up into his temples. “Oh, I will. I’m neither blind nor immune to the sparks flying between us. Touching between us is inevitable.”
An infuriating smirk curved Cian’s lips, which made Reaper’s fingers itch to wipe it off his face—preferably with his fist. “Oh, a stór,” Cian drawled, the endearment rolling off his tongue like honeyed poison. “You can touch me any time you wish.”
A growl built in Reaper’s throat, the sound more wolf than man. The truth settled in his gut like a stone. He couldn’t avoid the bond between them forever. Even if that realization made him want to put his fist through the nearest wall, it wouldn’t change the outcome. Still, the man who had escaped a hellish relationship by the skin of his teeth needed space. Needed something—anything—to drown out the roar of the bond in his veins, and the way it demanded both his attention and his surrender.
But now that they were back among others, it was easier to think, and easier to distance himself from the trauma of his past. “We should talk, Cian.”
The warrior’s smirk faltered for a heartbeat before that maddening calm slid back into place. “About?”
“About why I am how I am.” He paused just before the entrance to the hall and lowered his voice. “About how it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with my past.” He couldn’t keep putting it off, and the truth was, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to be the reason for the shuttering of Cian’s eyes, or the way he attempted to keep the pain caused by the barbs Reaper kept throwing his way from showing on his face. What would it be like to admit that his body still hummed from their kisses or how his lips still tingled from the press of Cian’s mouth against his? He might not want to acknowledge the traitorous part of him that wanted this—wanted Cian—with a ferocity that scared the hell out of him, to himself. But keeping it from the man he was going to spend the rest of his days with would be cruel.
And here I thought it would be Viper I’d be telling about Derek the asshole. Instead, Ihave to figure out how to tell my… my what? Husband? Partner? Grá Croí?
Terror—raw, unfiltered fear that was worse than any battlefield he’d ever stood on—slammed into him, and Cian spun toward him as if he sensed it.
“What is wrong?”
Nothing.
Everything.
I haven’t a fucking clue how to explain it.
“I’ll explain it when we talk.”
The doors of the great hall swung open before he could say anything more, and Fionn stepped out, his presence filling the space without a word. His gaze flicked between them, his expression unreadable.
