Warrior, Renewed: Book Two of the Comhairle Chronicles

Chapter Eighteen: The World Keeps Turning

When his fist met air rather than flesh, Tanc felt both surprised and proud; Eallair remained fast on his feet, even without full use of his eyes. Although his sense of balance sometimes faltered due to his impairment, he always righted himself, using the auras of those around him or the sounds of their feet on the mats to orientate himself and recover. If he hadn’t been looking for it, Tanc might have missed those slight moments of hesitation altogether.

His newest ghaisgeach managed to evade his attacks again and again, and had even landed several blows of his own. Eallair hadn’t held back any, which Tanc had feared he might because of the mating bond. Instead, he fought like he had something to prove; like he had more to prove now than he’d done in Tallamarbh, which perhaps he did. In his own eyes as much as anyone else’s.

The first night had been hard, following the doctor’s order to rest had given Eallair too much time to dwell, for his mood to sink, and Tanc had hated watching him drown. On the second night, he demanded that his mate do as all new warriors did; submit himself to rigorous testing to get a baseline of his strength, speed, stamina, and skill. He’d be tested again in a week, once he developed his full strength, but even his first assessment proved promising.

For any other ghaisgeach, it would’ve been very promising indeed, but they still didn’t know what it meant for him, not when he couldn’t be sent out on missions the way others were. They needed to figure that out but they could only take things one step at a time. Testing him was the first step. So Tanc watched him move, watched him fight, trying not to get distract by everything else he wanted to watch him do as well.

Gods, he was gorgeous. Tanc’s gaze slid over his mate’s face, from messy spikes of auburn hair, to beautiful purple eyes, to the strong, stubble-free jaw that he’d helped shave. He smiled at that memory. Eallair wanted to do everything for himself but some things proved far easier to get right with sight. Shaving was one of those things. He’d asked for help, and Tanc hadn’t even considered refusing. It had felt intimate, in a way, to have his gorgeous mate trust him enough to let him take a blade to his jaw. He enjoyed having Eallair trust him enough to share his vulnerability, almost as much he enjoyed seeing his strength as muscle bunched under his black t-shirt a fraction of a second before he lashed out, aiming for Tanc’s head.

Leaping back, he only just evaded taking the blow and didn’t dare pause, moving again, knowing Eallair would adjust his stance just as quickly. In truth, his mate had him beat in terms of speed. Although Tanc’s strength still overpowered his newest warrior’s, he certainly wasn’t as fast. Based on how long they’d been at it, Eallair had comparable stamina too. Another ‘class one’. They’d gotten their second ‘class one’ ghaisgeach in less than six months, which was so much more than he could’ve hoped for after such a protracted period of losing candidates to the trials.

On top of the losses, those few candidates lucky enough to make it past the Taghadairean had almost all had tested low. Tanc had tried not to show it of course; his disappointment every time a new ghaisgeach lacked in strength, speed, stamina, or skill. They could always improve, just as Deòthas had done over the years, but he’d needed to accept the possibility that the bhampair species just didn’t produce the same standard of warrior they’d done in the past.

Then Tor had walked through the door and changed that, and Eallair followed with different and yet comparable skillset. Tor was more immovable object or wrecking ball than striking viper, whereas Eallair belonged in that latter camp. They were both amongst the best the Comhairle had been handed in years, which only emphasised that he needed to find a way to make it work for Eallair. The Comhairle needed him.

Eallair lunged toward him again and he raised his hand in a block, only for his mate to twist around him, not following through on his feint and kicking out instead, taking his leg out from under him and stealing his balance. Eallair used that moment of instability to knock him off his feet, grabbing his arm and twisting it into a practised pin; making him tap out. He might have growled at anyone else, but when Eallair released him, he grinned instead.