herself apart. She found herself rearranging the furniture to suit her.
She found yards of gauzy fabric in a trunk in the closet and fashioned
some pretty curtains with Flanna’s aid. She weeded the front
flowerbeds. The gnomes had been happy to give her bulbs to plant.
She was even becoming fond of the chickens. It would make it
almost impossible to eat them. She’d become fond of all the animals.
She’d learned to milk the cows and how to brush Sweeney’s mane.
She hadn’t let Cian kill the rooster. The rooster only crowed about
half the time. Meg had discovered that Cian’s cock was a much better
judge of time. It pressed against her every morning as the sun rose,
seeking relief.
It hadn’t found any, yet.
That would change soon. She wouldn’t be able to deny him much
longer. She didn’t want to. She dreamed about him at night, Cian and
his brother. As wonderful as Cian was, she still was heartbroken over
Beck. She missed him, but she needed to move on with Cian. He
didn’t know it yet, but she intended to do that tonight.
They both became quiet as they trudged through the forest toward
the caves. Meg felt Cian’s hand squeeze hers as he helped her over a
puddle.
She thought about the letters Beck had been sending. They had
begun arriving the day after he left. They popped up on the vampire
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computer, but they had been written in his own careful hand. Beck’s
writing was like everything else about him, carefully controlled and
wholly masculine. There were two every day, one addressed to Cian
and the other to her.
Meg had refused to read the first one. Cian had read his aloud and
then dictated his own response. The brothers asked about each other’s