do something, to fix it somehow. It didn’t help that Nix mourned for him daily either. She’d become so good at hiding herself from the rest of the world, but with us, there was always a strand of our connection throbbing between us like a heartbeat, and I felt her pain and longing with every pulse. I knew she was trying to hide it from me to prevent adding to my own suffering, but it didn’t help. My pain was a living, breathing entity inside me, and just as real as my Gargoyle. It tore at me with fangs and claws, freezing and burning with every stroke, leaving me aching in its wake. They had died for this group of shifters who were struggling to make the world a better place for everyone in it. No, they’d died for me, protecting my brothers, my mate, and me from experiencing their fate. The overwhelming truth mixed with regret, and bore down on my shoulders like physical weights, making it hard to breathe. If only I could go back, if I could cover my tracks better, if we’d simply left earlier and taken all our family members with us to join the rebellion before lives had been lost. If only I could rewrite the past, but what-ifs were fruitless, exhausting, and depressing. For my brother to have to remain there, amongst the very people who had killed my parents, was just another kind of torture.
“You miss him,” Ciarán noted with a small smile.
“I do.” I hadn’t been expecting how much. “And you miss Rini.” Though Ciarán didn’t respond, the longing look he sent across the field was answer enough. I still wasn’t sure what had happened between the pair, but he had feelings for her, it was clear to see. For the briefest of moments, I was hit with a wave of love, pain, and desperation so severe I nearly staggered under it as I would a physical blow. Fuck. If he was feeling all of that at once, he was doing an incredible job hiding it.
“Well, I’ll just have to do what I can to distract you then.” Ciarán’s smile turned wicked as “It’s a Small World” began to pound into my head. I groaned and clenched my jaw as Ciarán took another swing at me, allowing my body to fall into the familiar routine of training. I’d endure whatever physical pain he wanted to throw my way—it was easier to handle than the emotional pain.
We danced around the training yard as I poured everything I had into my blows. The man didn’t falter, even as blood stained his face and clothing, taking everything I had to give him as he continued to blare music into my brain as a distraction. There, an opening! I struck hard and fast, sliding around his arm to kick his stomach. Ciarán landed on the ground with a crash, the music in my mind finally tapering off as he caught his breath. “I didn’t see that one,” he admitted, pushing to his feet with a wince. “Look at you, hitting your brother-in-law. Shame, shame. I’ll be telling Nix on you.” He wagged a finger at me before he rubbed his hand through his copper curls, darkened now by sweat as they stuck to his head.
“With you, I figured the unexpected would be the best route,” I panted out.
“Well done.” Grandfather approached and offered us bottles of water. My eyes dropped to the ground as I swallowed, and I blamed the dryness in my throat on the battle rather than his proximity. Grandfather had followed us here without question or complaint, but I still hadn’t been able to look at him. Every time I did, I was pushed back into that room, the sound of blood dripping onto the floor echoing through me. “Ciarán, you have a knack for teaching others.”
Ciarán blinked before bowing deeply. “Thank you, Gaspard. It is an honor coming from you.” There was no levity in his words now, and I watched with wide eyes as he maintained the pose for a moment. It was rare for Ciarán to be serious, especially outside of our little group. To see him that respectful toward my grandfather was a complete shock. He straightened with a smile. “How has your transition been? I’ve been grateful to have you helping me with the trainees.” I knew Grandfather had been assisting, but I hadn’t been aware that the two of them had developed a relationship.
“It’s slow. My