Reaper’s breath came fast. “I’m saying you haveto trust me.”
“Trust you?” Cian’s voice broke. “I do not even know what that means in this world. I do not know the rules. I do not know the dangers. I only know that you are walking into them without me, and it is wrong.”
Reaper’s hands clenched. “Then learn.”
“Learn?” Cian’s laugh was hollow. “You ask me to learn patience when every instinct I have screams to follow you. To guard you. To?—”
“Stop.” Reaper’s voice was raw. “Just—stop.” He dragged a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding off him in waves. “I can’t do this right now. I have to go.”
Cian’s stomach twisted. “And I must stay.”
Reaper’s jaw worked. “Yes.”
Failinis snarled, a sound that tore up Cian’s throat before he could stop it. Reaper’s eyes widened—just for a second—before he shut it down, his face going carefully blank. “We’ll be back. Lock up when we’re gone.”
Cian wanted to grab him. To shake him. To force him to see. But his Grá Croí was already turning away, striding toward the others, his boots eating up the distance between them.
Trace stopped beside him, his voice low. “The hardest thing you will ever do, brother, is send the one who owns your heart to war without you.”
Cian’s nails bit into his palms. This was harder than anything he’d ever done. He nodded to Trace but kept his mouth shut in case a howl escaped.
It would never do to scare the humans in the metal bird.
Ward appeared at his side a moment after Trace started toward the helicopter. He stayed silent for a long moment before he spoke. “He’s not trying to hurt you.”
Cian didn’t take his eyes off Reaper. “It does not matter what he tries to do. It only matters what he does.”
Ward sighed. “This… It’s like Fionn calling for you, and you not allowing him to go.”
“He is my Grá?—”
“I know, I know,” Ward interrupted. “But you forget, warrior, you are alsohisGrá Croí, and as a Wolf Walker, his first instinct is going to be to keep you safe, too.”
Shite. He is right.
Guilt swamped him as he watched the helicopter’s engines roar to life, the noise a physical force, as it turned into a beast snarling at the sky.
Failinis howled inside his skull, a sound of fury and grief, and Cian let him. Let the rage burn through his veins, let the helplessness coil in his gut. He watched until the helicopter was a speck, then a memory, then it was gone.
Ward’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Breathe.”
Cian didn’t want to breathe. He wanted to run. To hunt. To tear something apart. But there was nothing left to destroy.
“I need to shift. Do you want to come to Tír na nÓg with me?”
Ward’s eyes widened before a smile crossed his face. “Let me leave a note on our bed for Viper, grab some stuff, and let’s do it.”
“I will be here.” Once Ward had disappeared, Cian turned his face to the sky. “Be safe, Grá Croí of mine. You carry my heart with you.”
17
The Black Hawk’srotors carved through the air as it settled into the kill house’s landing zone, the downdraft kicking up dust and grit. SEAL Team Volcano barely waited for the first touchdown bump before Reaper was out and moving. The rest of SEAL Team Volcano spilled out behind him, a well-oiled machine, each man slipping into his role without a word.
Viper’s chin jerked toward the breaching shed, his voice cutting through the rotor wash. “Twenty minutes. Full kit. Run it like it’s live.”
Reaper’s fingers moved on autopilot, stripping his ruck and checking his gear. His suppressed M16 was cleared, checked, checked again, loaded, and checked again before he attached it to his sling. He slid his finger behind the stock, just to triple-check the safety was in the right position. Shooting his toes off now would suck like a bitch.
He added a sidearm to his loadout and stuffed extra mags into the many pouches on his flak jacket. Breach charges and flashbangs joined the mix. He patted his waist, his fingers feeling for his blade.
