Chapter Twenty
Chapter
Twenty
Meg
I stare at Cian from across the bed. He sits with his
long legs crossed over each other, his big gray eyes watching me intently. He
looks so much like Beck that my heart hurts. He looks like Beck, but he’s
vulnerable, and that pulls me in. I want to lean over and kiss him. I want to
promise him everything is going be okay, but I hold my ground. I don’t need to
fall in love with a second version of Beck. One is all the heartbreak I can
take.
“I need you to concentrate.” I cross my legs and try to
relax. I sit in front of him on the big bed we shared the night before. Holding
his hand in mine, I take a deep breath to settle my nerves. “Do you remember
why we’re here?”
His lips curl into a tempting curve. He’s shirtless and
wears nothing except a pair of white linen pants. His long black hair falls
well past his shoulders. It shines in the afternoon light. “I think I can
guess. Do you want to be on top?”
I shake my head and reach inward for patience. “We’re not
having sex. We’re bonding. I’m the bondmate your brother found. Beck sent me to
you. We need to bond so you can think straight.”
That seems to get through to him. His eyes clear for a
moment, and his hands tighten on mine. “You’re my wife?”
“So I’ve been told. It’s okay. I won’t hold you to it. We
need to bond, and then we can be friends.”
He shakes his head vigorously. “No. Too far gone. I’ll hurt
you.”
“It will be fine.” The fact that he isn’t eagerly going into
this makes me more comfortable. If he tries to stay in control, I have a much
better shot at getting out of this with my mind intact.
His gorgeous eyes fill with frustration. He’s trying to make
me understand and can’t seem to form the words. “Please, go. Don’t want…to hurt
you.”
I move closer so our legs touch. “It won’t hurt me. I’m
strong. It’s going to be all right. Do you remember how to do this?”
His face clears like a cloud passed over and now the sun is
shining. He smiles again. “Cad è mar atà tu?”
Oh, crap. He’s gone into Gaelic, and now I won’t
even understand his delusions.
I tighten my hands around his. I’m going to have to make the
connection on my own. I lean forward, and luckily, Cian seems game. He leans
forward, meeting me in the middle. I touch my forehead to his.
“Is tù mo ghrà,” he says, his accent
lilting around the traditional Gaelic that goes with the ceremony. My bonding
with Beck had been devoid of any of the ceremonies that go along with a formal
marriage, but Cian seems to remember.
“You are my love,” he said. I watched a couple of ceremonies
on the DLs. They’re just words. They don’t mean anything.
He pulls back and looks down at me as though waiting.
“Is tù mo ghrà,” I repeat.
If Cian needs all the trappings, then I’ll give them to him.
He smiles, satisfied, and puts his head to my forehead once
more. He rubs his head lightly against mine as though he loves the connection.
If we’d been on the twins’ home plane, there would have been
a great deal of pomp and circumstance involved in this ceremony. There would
have been witnesses and a decorated altar. The downloads I’d read on the
subject spoke of the beauty of the ceremony. There would have been
flowers—marigolds, St. John’s wort, and shamrocks. There would have been a
length of ornate rope to bind our hands together for the handfasting ritual.
The twins’ father would have overseen the marriage, and
bells would have rung throughout the city to let the people know the heirs were
bonded. Music would flow out of the palace all night long.
The little cottage is quiet. There are no flowers, but I
feel the weight of what I’m doing all the same. I’m binding my life to this
man. It’s not something I can walk away from, though. Liadan advised me to run,
but how can I? I can no more walk away from Cian than I would be able to watch
a person drown and do nothing to save him.
It is more than that. I can never abandon half of Beck to
fate. It doesn’t matter that he can’t love me. I love him. That’s all I can
control. I firmly intend to fall out of love, but I won’t let his brother die.
Then I stop thinking, or rather I cease thinking my own
thoughts.
Cian’s brain assaults me.
I’m flooded with memory and thoughts, dreams and fancy, and
everything that is Cian. Now I understand what the blonde was trying to tell
me. I’m overwhelmed with him. Sights, sounds, even smells and emotions batter
my system. I feel my body sag under the onslaught, but Cian’s strong hands hold
me in place.
I see a young girl. She’s chasing me through a gleaming
white palace. She’s my sister. Bronwyn. The name is as clear in my mind as the
image is. In the vision, I am Cian, a seven-year-old boy, full of mischief.
Bronwyn is a brat. She tossed a mud pie straight in my face, and I’m going to
get retribution. I can feel the cool marble under bare feet, hear the sound of
laughter echoing. The palace is filled with light. Cian isn’t really mad. He’s
playing a game. In Cian’s body, I run past Beck. He’s coming out of a room with
his father. Beck looks so serious. He’s somber, but I can feel him. I can feel
how much he wants to join his twin and their sister. Beck wants to play, but he
simply nods at his twin and follows their father.
Math.
I’m hit full force with a load of equations I grasp for a
moment, and then they’re gone. Cian’s head is filled with math and science and
theories on everything. He’s so smart. His mind works a thousand miles a
minute. I can’t process it all. My brain hurts. Poems and stories and articles
on anthropology and engineering written in several different languages fly in
and out of my head.
A pounding pressure begins low in my skull.
And the women…so many women.
He loves sex. He craves it. He needs it to feel whole and
complete. He gets lost in his mind sometimes, but his body always insists on
having its fair share of time. There are blondes, brunettes, and girls with
hair the color of the sunset. He’s affectionate toward them all. He likes them
one or two at a time, and he loves it when he shares a female with his other
half. Cian likes to hold a lover in his arms while Beck fucks her. It’s been so
long since they shared a truly intimate experience. Beck has become so rigid in
his sexuality. He hasn’t stopped sharing women with his brother. He’s done
something worse. Beck stopped sharing himself with anyone. Beck has closed off
entire sections of their being, and Cian feels the loss.
My pulse pounds as I’m flooded with memories of Cian’s
lovers. I have a brief vision of a beautiful blonde with her hand possessively
on Beck’s arm. They walk into a brilliantly lit ballroom and everyone cheers.
Cian is left out. It’s the night of his formal engagement, but he doesn’t want
to be there. He can’t stand the woman. Cian is sure she feels the same way
about him. He’s in the way, and he knows it. Beck is resplendent in his formal
court attire, but his face is pinched with duty. Beck doesn’t love her, either.
How are they going to get out of this? I’m swamped with Cian’s panic as he
realizes he’s trapped.
I hear myself moan as the siege continues. My hands tighten
on Cian’s arms as I hold on for dear life. Tears squeeze out of my eyes as I
become sure my skull is going to split. I hope it does. It will relieve the
overwhelming pressure.
No, I feel Cian protest deep in my soul as the scene in my
brain changes. He doesn’t want to remember, but it’s coming, anyway. This
memory is far too strong to be denied.
Smoke is everywhere. I can barely breathe. I lift my head
and put a hand to my ears. The world is filled with cracks and booms that shake
the ground beneath me. I’m in the middle of a battle. There is fire, heat, and
the sound of metal on metal. I look down in horror. A teenage girl lies on my
lap. She looks up with soft brown eyes. They’re filled with tears.
“Mama?” the girl asks. She isn’t confused. She’s asking a
question.
She doesn’t remember what happened? Doesn’t remember that
she fought to save the last piece of their mother? That might be a good thing.
“She’s gone, Bron.” I hear Cian’s voice speaking, see
through his eyes, am assailed with his memories. His voice is filled with
sorrow. His mother is dead. He saw her die at the end of a soldier’s blade. He
hadn’t been able to get to her. “Father’s gone, too.”
Bronwyn holds her stomach. She’s bleeding profusely. It’s
only a matter of time. We’re trapped. There’s fire at our back and an army
behind the only doorway out. I hold my sister close to my heart, Cian and my
souls mingling in this memory. Beck is still fighting, but he’s shielding it
from his brother. Cian would have known if his twin was dead. He wonders if
Beck will die when he does. Will Beck feel it when the soldiers outside burst
in and shove cold iron through his gut?
My hands shake, but Cian doesn’t let his sister see how
scared he is. We are. We need to be strong for Bron. There’s a knife at my
side. I’m not a warrior, but I will use it to defend her. I…Cian had killed a
man with it already. The soldier who stabbed Bronwyn hadn’t been content with
taking her life. He tried to rape her as well. Now his corpse is cooling not
ten feet away. Cian tries not to think of him. He focuses his being on the
sister he’s losing.
“Love you, brother.” Her smile reminds him of the
five-year-old girl who followed him around like a puppy.
“I love you, too.” He chokes the words out. I feel wetness
on my face and realize Cian is crying.
Bronwyn’s eyes go dull just as the door explodes inward. I
look up, clutching my sister. I’m ready to join her.
Beck stands in the doorway, covered in blood. He holds a
bloody sword in his hand.
“We have to go,” he says with dark eyes.
Then the images come rapidly. The gun that is Cian’s brain
suddenly goes into machine gun mode. I can’t keep up.
I’m in a forest running from soldiers who swore to hunt the
twins down and execute them. I run from plane to plane. Then I’m building this
cottage with Cian’s hands. Refugees are everywhere. There isn’t enough food to
feed them, and they look to Cian and Beck.
A smoke-filled image invades my brain. Liadan stands by the
bed, whispering to Cian. He tries to get up, but the smoke is too much. It’s
time to fade.
It’s far too much. It’s way too fast. I feel the moment my
brain shorts out. I barely make a sound as I slip into a blissful darkness.