the pen down on the open notebook and rested her forehead on the table. After a couple of breaths, she sat up with a jerk and a frown. “I’m sorry, Ian. That must sound really disrespectful to you. Sacrilegious. I don’t mean any harm.”
I don’t mean any harm. If she had a paranormal ancestor, at least she already had the right mind-set.
A shiver ran up his spine. Fearful certainty that she’d be in peril as his mate lodged firmly in his throat. Her safety was his paramount concern. Sharp pain seared his heart. In three short days, she’d branded her name on his soul. No way he could deny her as his mate. She fit him body, heart, and soul. Letting her go would cut him off at the knees. Seeing her hurt would kill him.
No perfect answer came to him. He would handle it the best he could.
“Sweetheart, I know you were hoping for a clue. Maybe there’s one deeper in the scroll.” He rubbed her shoulder. “We’ve been at this for a while. Let’s take a break. Take a walk. You’ll feel better.”
Walking away from the scroll was hard. These writings sprang from Myrddin’s head, flowed from his fingers, uttered from his very lips. He’d have all the time in the world to translate the incantations after he returned home. Once Becca returned to her home, safe and sound, he’d grieve the loss of his heart and soul over the ancient document.
Until the time to let her go, he would make memories to tuck away. Later, alone in the wee hours of the night, he’d take them out and hold them tight and try to remember why he’d let his soul mate go.
Chapter Six
How can there be so many psychics and so few answers?
“Ian, we didn’t find anything,” Becca said as he led her to a quiet table in the dining room.
People stared at them. Ian clearly hadn’t told her everything. More than once staff members had almost called him something that started with “ch.” It didn’t matter if he were a prince or a pauper. Every minute of their time together would be treasured. She pushed aside the nagging voice insinuating he should trust her implicitly with every secret. It wasn’t as if they were planning a lifetime together.
He pulled out her chair, ever the consummate gentleman, ever controlled. After she eased into her seat and he’d relaxed into his own, she released a heavy sigh.
She’d hoped to find at least a sign to her path, some crumb to follow to her father’s history.
Tears threatened. Time was running out. Three days of translating the scroll yielded no clues to her parentage. Ian tried to hide his excitement, but she could see how much the scroll meant to him. When she left the island, she would give it to him. He loved the old moldering parchment text; to her, it represented a means to an end.
She gritted her teeth because she used Ian, too. He translated the text so she could find a clue to her father’s identity. Even though she loved him, she used him for his knowledge and skill. While the scroll intrigued him, she had no doubt he helped her because he liked her, lusted for her. He never mentioned the other “l” word. Undeniably, their relationship was temporary.
She would take him with her in her heart.
His son needed him. He’d told her about how Allan shut down after losing his mother. Ian had not spoken of his own grief about her death, but she’d sensed his guilt. Something about his job had put her in jeopardy, and Allan had witnessed his mother’s death.
She wanted to take Ian in her arms to comfort him. She wished to meet Allan and get to know him, but he had his path and she had hers. Her heart ached at the thought of going home without him. She would go on. Finding the truth about her father might soothe the pain.
“Becca, I can help you. My way.”
She smiled. “That’s okay, Ian. I don’t want to impose on you anymore than I already have.”
A muscled jumped in his jaw. “You’re not imposing. You haven’t asked me to do anything I didn’t want to do.” He
I don’t mean any harm. If she had a paranormal ancestor, at least she already had the right mind-set.
A shiver ran up his spine. Fearful certainty that she’d be in peril as his mate lodged firmly in his throat. Her safety was his paramount concern. Sharp pain seared his heart. In three short days, she’d branded her name on his soul. No way he could deny her as his mate. She fit him body, heart, and soul. Letting her go would cut him off at the knees. Seeing her hurt would kill him.
No perfect answer came to him. He would handle it the best he could.
“Sweetheart, I know you were hoping for a clue. Maybe there’s one deeper in the scroll.” He rubbed her shoulder. “We’ve been at this for a while. Let’s take a break. Take a walk. You’ll feel better.”
Walking away from the scroll was hard. These writings sprang from Myrddin’s head, flowed from his fingers, uttered from his very lips. He’d have all the time in the world to translate the incantations after he returned home. Once Becca returned to her home, safe and sound, he’d grieve the loss of his heart and soul over the ancient document.
Until the time to let her go, he would make memories to tuck away. Later, alone in the wee hours of the night, he’d take them out and hold them tight and try to remember why he’d let his soul mate go.
Chapter Six
How can there be so many psychics and so few answers?
“Ian, we didn’t find anything,” Becca said as he led her to a quiet table in the dining room.
People stared at them. Ian clearly hadn’t told her everything. More than once staff members had almost called him something that started with “ch.” It didn’t matter if he were a prince or a pauper. Every minute of their time together would be treasured. She pushed aside the nagging voice insinuating he should trust her implicitly with every secret. It wasn’t as if they were planning a lifetime together.
He pulled out her chair, ever the consummate gentleman, ever controlled. After she eased into her seat and he’d relaxed into his own, she released a heavy sigh.
She’d hoped to find at least a sign to her path, some crumb to follow to her father’s history.
Tears threatened. Time was running out. Three days of translating the scroll yielded no clues to her parentage. Ian tried to hide his excitement, but she could see how much the scroll meant to him. When she left the island, she would give it to him. He loved the old moldering parchment text; to her, it represented a means to an end.
She gritted her teeth because she used Ian, too. He translated the text so she could find a clue to her father’s identity. Even though she loved him, she used him for his knowledge and skill. While the scroll intrigued him, she had no doubt he helped her because he liked her, lusted for her. He never mentioned the other “l” word. Undeniably, their relationship was temporary.
She would take him with her in her heart.
His son needed him. He’d told her about how Allan shut down after losing his mother. Ian had not spoken of his own grief about her death, but she’d sensed his guilt. Something about his job had put her in jeopardy, and Allan had witnessed his mother’s death.
She wanted to take Ian in her arms to comfort him. She wished to meet Allan and get to know him, but he had his path and she had hers. Her heart ached at the thought of going home without him. She would go on. Finding the truth about her father might soothe the pain.
“Becca, I can help you. My way.”
She smiled. “That’s okay, Ian. I don’t want to impose on you anymore than I already have.”
A muscled jumped in his jaw. “You’re not imposing. You haven’t asked me to do anything I didn’t want to do.” He
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