14
Cian tightenedhis grip on the deer hide bag slung over his shoulder, the weight of his swords and blades a familiar comfort against his back.
Failinis stirred restlessly inside him.
We should not go through the stinging door.
We have to. Our Grá Croí is going, so we go too. It will be fine, Failinis.
“What’s wrong?” Reaper dropped to the ground next to him as they waited for Ward to perform the magic to open the door.
Cian exhaled through his nose. “The last time I crossed a portal, the world was different.” He’d thought he’d been hiding his unease well. He should have known Reaper would feel it down the bond. “Failinis is not happy that we are to do it again.” He’d been younger then and more than willing to follow Fionn into the unknown because the alternative had been unthinkable.
“It’s a mindfuck.” Reaper turned his face up to the sun. “The first time, we were under a mountain that was breaking apart. Fionn had appeared out of a rock cage. I think I’m still in shock, and it was weeks ago.”
Ward pressed his palm to the nearest standing stone. The symbols etched into its surface flared blue, then gold, the light casting long shadows across the mossy ground. “It’s stable,” he murmured. “But it’s… different.”
Viper’s hand went to the small of Ward’s back. “Different how?”
Ward hesitated. “Like it’s waiting for something.”
Failinis’s unease filtered through to him, and Cian’s fingers twitched toward the hilt of his sword.
Waiting is not a good omen.
Our Grá Croí should stay here.
We should stay with him.
Trace moved to stand beside him. He could sense Bran close to the surface. Maybe having him close would help Failinis settle down. “You’ve done this before,” he said, low enough for only Cian to hear. “But not to where we are going.”
“I know.” Cian’s voice was rough. “Is it very different?”
“Yes,” Trace sat on the opposite side to Reaper. “Rule number one is, don’t kill anyone.”
“What?” That could not be right. There were always people who needed killing. It was why there were warriors. Reaper was a warrior. "I will join in my Grá Croí’s wars.”
“You can’t, my friend.” Trace snorted. "You’d end up a science experiment by the end of the first day of Boot Camp.”
Why do boots have a camp?
Failinis whined in his mind,pressing against his ribs.
He’s ours.
We will protect him.
Yes, we will.
“How is Failinis dealing?”
He glanced at the Supreme Alpha of the Hounds of the King and winced. “He thinks we should take our Grá Croí and run for the hills to find a den, settle down, and stay there forever.”
“There are days I threaten to do that, too,” Trace admitted. “Sometimes dealing with modern humans is worse than dealing with The Tuatha Dé Danann.”
“Nothing is worse than dealing with my father.”
“Don’t bet on it, man,” Trace replied, “Because you can’t shift over there if any humans other than the ones right here are around.”
