Accepting My Twin Mates by Unwise Owl

Chapter 103

Accepting My Twin Mates Chapter 103

CHAPTER 100 – WON’T YOU PLAY?

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This would be taking place roughly around the time when the twins would be setting off to ‘dysfunction around France’.

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Evgeniya

“Are you sure you’ve never played this before, dad?” I wiped away the filled grid drawn in dry-erase ink from the glass and penned out another.

“No, your mother never taught this game,” a small yet easy smile spread under his much thicker beard. “She used to play spy in eye to help my English.”

My laugh echoed between us. “I spy,” I helped correct him. “But I think we’ll stick to tic tac toe. There’s only so much we can spy in here.”

‘Unless one of those fuckwit guards passes by,’ Evva yawned and stretched, bored out of her mind. ‘There’s at least twenty things there and all of them swears.’

As I looped a circle to make my first move, she bellowed a huge and overly dramatic groan. ‘Can you play anything else? It’s been three hours!’

‘You wanna go back to hangman?’ I asked sarcastically, knowing it would shut her up.

‘If you go near that game again, I will force a shift and gnaw my leg off.’

‘That’s what I thought, so drop the attitude.’

It wasn’t entirely her fault she was being so snippy. Two months sealed away in my mind was getting to her, creating an increasingly cantankerous wolf. Her spirit buzzed under the surface of my skin needing release and in a few more months, when my belly would begin to show, our pup would be too big to safely cope with the physical stresses of a shift. If she thought a couple of months were going to be tough, how would she cope with half a year?

“Pravyy nizhniy ugol,” my dad said slowly, enunciating his syllables and pitch, telling me in Russian where he wanted his ‘X’ placed.

Small moments, like these, over the last few months, we had taken to teaching the other. I helped my father with reading English and he taught me some Russian.

“Bottom right corner?” Diego beat me to it, stealing my thunder.

father praised. “Molodets,

a pretty face,

tattoos, tía (girl),” he flexed his bare-chested physique playfully, preening like a peacock. “There’s a pretty sharp

you’re calling the guards gilipollas?” I raised a brow at him, writing the ‘X’ in the grid and

tilted my head in question at my father as

twinkle of genuine amusement. The dark circles looked a little more

smile… you look like

as my father looked a little lighter, something within me felt the same too. Perhaps it was the serene quiet that we were experiencing, coupled with our little game, that had given us a brief sensation of normality. I had been trying to distract my

hours, the inner strain on my bond had eased somewhat, tugging away still, but not as painfully. I put it down to the bond with my pup, blanketing

more moves of tic tac toe, my dad had won

first would

he said in his dad-tone filled

and my ass had long since fallen to sleep from being seated on the hard wooden floor. I shuffled back to my bed by the wall, the only spot in my cell that had a blind spot from the CCTV camera outside. After all the trekking back and forth from my cell to Marceau’s private dining room, I had managed to

fights. In Bastiaan’s case, it was the latter. He had been gone since my father had returned. Both my dad and Diego were on a day of rest, to prepare for a large match tomorrow. It had to be an important

was overdue. As if on cue, the sound of boots approached, followed by Diego’s curses in Spanish and finishing with my father’s growls and the swish of the glass cell door opening. It was an all

that it coincided with a day

I mouthed silently

I did it each time because I knew he would worry regardless, but it made me feel better, like a

I was led the usual route. The only route I didn’t know yet

Marceau’s slimy voice greeted me from the table nestled in front of the large open

formally set table and the fire crackling away behind. A

under me as I reluctantly sat. I wished he would take the furthest seat, but I knew he wouldn’t. He would sit himself as close as possible,

as always,” he snatched my hand, holding it fast against my pull of resistance

long as Pepé Le Pew’s lips don’t wander anywhere

bit my tongue until the bitter taste of iron saturated my taste buds, beating down every impulse I had to

part of his sick game of control, and carved up slices of the roasted meat, sliding them onto my plate. Next,

me, ma chérie?” He tilted his glass, filling it with a pale rosé wine. “I

my scowl deepening as I stabbed a piece of cauliflower and shoved it in my mouth. These were my tiny acts of rebellion, the only things I could control. And so goddess help me, there was nothing he could do to force a smile on

twisted his lips as he sat back in his chair casually, making a clean slice into his meat. “You do look so enchanting

not out of hunger, but the sooner I finished, the sooner all of this would be over. It in no way surprised me that I was watched, yet ripples of agitation wound around my neck as though a band had been clamped around it, squeezing on my airways. My stomach

his glass, pouring a second

akin to a brownie. The rich chocolatey scent hit me, too rich, too overbearing, too sickly. My insides churned and the

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