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Sophie Oak
His gorgeous eyes filled with frustration. He was trying to make
her understand and couldn’t seem to form the words. “Please, go. No
hurt.”
Meg moved closer so their legs were touching. “It won’t hurt me,
Cian. It’s going to be all right. Do you remember how to do this?”
His face cleared like a cloud had passed over and now the sun was
shining. He smiled again. “Cad è mar atà tu?”
Oh, crap. He’s gone into Gaelic and now I can’t even understand his delusions. She tightened her hands around his. She was going to have to make the connection on her own. She leaned forward, and
luckily, Cian seemed game. He leaned forward, meeting her in the
middle. She touched her forehead to his.
“Is tù mo ghrà,” he said, his accent lilting around the traditional Gaelic that went with the ceremony. Her bonding with Beck had been
devoid of any of the ceremonies that went along with bonding, but
Cian seemed to remember. “You are my love,” he had said. She
remembered it from the DLs. Meg tried to tell herself it was just
words.
He pulled back and looked down at her as though waiting.
“Is tù mo ghrà,” she repeated.
If Cian wanted all the trappings, then she would give it to him. If
he really was the other half of Beck, then she feared she meant those
words.
He smiled, satisfied, and put his head to her forehead once more.
He rubbed his head lightly against hers as though he loved the
connection.
If they had been on the twins’ home plane, there would have been
a great deal of pomp and circumstance involved in the ceremony.
There would have been witnesses and a decorated altar. The
downloads she had read on the subject talked about the beauty of the
ceremony. There would have been flowers—marigolds, St. John’s
