The room went still, the weight of Viper’s words sinking in. Cian met Reaper’s gaze, sensing the shared tension. Being called back meant something big, something that would demand the full strength of their bond. He went to join him. “Is this usual?”
Reaper nodded. “It is like the Dord Fiann calling you to battle.”
The ice cream was forgotten as the reality of their bond met the demands of his mate’s world. Another battle loomed, one he knew without asking he wasn’t invited to.
The hum of the strange metal beast—helicopter, Reaper had called it—vibrated through the floorboards, rattling his bones, but he refused to cower. He stood at the window, gripping the sill hard enough to splinter wood, watching as the thing descended like some monstrous, wingless bird. It spun the air around it into a frenzy, sending leaves and dirt swirling in a chaotic dance.
Reaper came to stand beside him, close but not touching. “That’s our ride.”
He didn’t take his eyes off the machine. “That is not a ride. That is a death trap.”
“It’s faster than a horse.”
“Horses do not fall from the sky.”
“This one won’t, either.” Reaper’s voice dropped, rough with something Cian couldn’t name. “Look, I knowthis is?—”
“You are leaving.” The words tasted funny in his mouth. “And I am not.”
Reaper exhaled sharply. “This is what we do. When our country and our commander calls, we answer. Just like when the Dord Fiann or Fionn calls, you answer.”
“Hm.”
“We’ll be home soon. I swear.”
Cian turned, crowding into his space. “And if you are not?”
Reaper’s jaw flexed. “Then we’ll deal with it.”
“Deal with it?”
Failinis, pacing and furious in his skull, snarled.
Cian’s fingers curled into fists. “I am your Grá Croí. My place is at your side. Not here. Not waiting at home like the fisherman’s wife.”
“And my place is with my team.” Reaper’s eyes darkened. “You know this.”
“I know nothing.” The admission burned him from the depths of his soul. “I know only that you are mine. That I would follow you into battle, into fire, into anything. But this?” He gestured wildly at the helicopter, at the men filing toward it—Viper, Juice, Zero, and Kaze. Only Trace and Ward remained close enough to hear their conversation. “This is you going to war without the protection of your Grá Croí at your side.”
Reaper’s nostrils flared. “I know. But I swear I will be back.”
“And if you are not?”
“Then you come after me.” Reaper’s voice was a growl, low and raw. “But you can’t shift here. You can’t hunt here. You can’t?—”
“I can protect you.” The words tore free, desperate. “That is all I want to do. All I am now is your protector. But you tie my hands. You cage my wolf. You ask me to stand aside while you walk into danger without me.”
Reaper’s fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out, but stopped himself. “It’s not like that.”
“It is exactly like that.” his chest heaved. Failinis was a storm inside him, howling. “You are my heart. My soul. And you leave me behind like a child told to wait for you to come home.”
Reaper’s eyes flashed. “I’m not leaving you. I’m doing my job.”
“Your job?” Cian’s laugh was bitter. “Your job is to stand beside men who are not your kin. Who do not carry your heart in their chest. Who do not?—”
“Enough.” Reaper’s voice cracked like a whip. He stepped in, close enough that Cian could feel the heat of him, smell the sharp tang of his anger. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t feel it every damn time I look at you? But this—” He gestured sharply at the helicopter. “This is what I do. This is who I am. And if you can’t handle that, then maybe you shouldn’t be here at all.”
The words struck like a blade. Cian recoiled. “You would send me away?”
