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light in. It illuminated his twin’s self-proclaimed deathbed.

Bound

107

Cian lay on his side. His hair was lackluster, and he’d lost weight.

In the light of day, his skin looked pasty. Though he probably hadn’t

been out of bed much for the better part of two months, he looked

tired and haggard. Beck tried to summon some sympathy.

“Get out of bed, ya bastard.” Beck kicked the bed. The frame

shook, but Cian stubbornly stayed prone.

“No.” Cian replied with far more bite than a dying man should

have. He pulled the quilt up to his neck and pointedly closed his eyes.

“I’m done, Beck. It ain’t worth it. I can’t think anymore. My mind

won’t work.”

“You think you’re the only one having trouble?” Beck was tired

of listening to his brother’s whining. Sometimes Cian forgot he

wasn’t the only one hurting. “I wanted to kill everything in my path

for a while there. I had to stop myself from going into a rage and

killing innocent people. You just can’t focus.”

Cian’s gray eyes opened suddenly and burned with resentment.

“You can’t understand. I can’t even read a book anymore. My mind

drifts. Sometimes I don’t remember where I am. Do you know what

it’s like to have everything that made you who you are taken away?”

Beck rolled his eyes. “I bloody well do. You’re not the only one

who’s in trouble here.”

Cian shook his head and dramatically turned away. It apparently

took all his energy. “I don’t want to fight anymore. There’s no point

to it. I haven’t the energy. Can’t we just get along? It won’t be long

before I’m gone. I feel it, Beck. I feel death coming for me.”

“You sound like a bad play, Ci,” Beck said with an affectionate

laugh. Cian had always been overly dramatic. Goddess, it would be


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