Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
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.