Get a second opinion.
Trace will give it to you straight.
“I think I may have picked that fight we had before we left.” Didn’t that make him sound shitty? If it didn’t, it should, because it had been a nasty thing to do to Cian, who only wanted to understand what was happening and why.
“I figured that as soon as you told us about your asshole ex.” Trace once again confirmed why he was one of the best Ground Branch intel collectors on the planet. “Cian will never do you dirty, as the asshole did. It’s just not in him to do that.”
Thank fuck he’s liaison on our team. I’d hate to be on the wrong side of him.
“I know.” He did know, deep down in both his heart and soul, that Cian just wasn't built from the same type of cloth as Derek.
“Good.” Trace’s voice dropped, rough and conspiratorial. “Worst comes to worst, with your ex. You fall asleep and let your wolf eat the fucker in his sleep.”
The image flashed behind Reaper’s eyes of Derek’s throat torn out, blood pooling black under the moonlight, and for a second, the feral part of him loved the thought of it.
His lips twitched, and Trace smirked, sensing the shift in him, the way the air around him seemed to vibrate with the promise of violence.
“Or,” Trace continued, tilting his head, “you point Derek out to Cian, and your Grá Croí will happily do the honors without a second thought.”
Reaper almost laughed, but the sound died in his throat, choked off by the vivid mental snapshot of Cian in battle with his swords flashing, moss-green eyes alight with the predatory gaze of Failinis. He could practically hear the man’s voice in his head.
“I will hunt you.”
Only this time, the prey wouldn’t be him.
Trace’s expression softened, the sharp edges of his teasing blunting into something closer to understanding. “You’re a Wolf Walker, Mikey. That means you’ve got options. Asshole Derek ain’t gonna know what hit him.”
He exhaled. He could breathe again. “Yeah.”
Trace clapped him on the shoulder. “Now. About that bond.”
He tensed, every muscle locking up again. “What about it?”
Trace’s grin was knowing. “You’re gonna need to learn howto dial it down, or you’re gonna be useless out there.” He tapped his own temple, then his chest. “That thing’s a live wire right now. Every time you think about him, it’s like you’re broadcasting on all frequencies. And trust me, you don’t want that to be the distraction that gets people killed.”
“Nope, let’s not do that. Show me how to dial it down.”
“You got it, bro. But first, you need a crash course on how to use it, before we get to the dialing shit down stuff. You game?”
“Damn straight.”
18
Cian shifted uneasilyat the edge of the training grounds, eyes scanning the horizon as if he might be able to pierce the veil and maybe catch a glimpse of Reaper. For the first time ever, he wished it had been he who had cooked the salmon of knowledge and not Fionn.
I wants our Grá Croí.
Me too, Failinis. Me too.
The ache in his chest gnawed at him like a stubborn wound, edges both raw and tender from the argument before he left.
Shall we fight with the warriors?he asked his wolf.Or run first and then fight with the warriors?
Fight, then run. I want to sleep in the air and dream of our Grá Croí.
Maybe if he was the one in their caged room, he’d be able to distance himself from the never-ending ache. But even as he knew he was lying to himself, he decided it was still worth a shot.
Done.
