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, well

a pretty face,

bruises and tattoos, tía (girl),” he flexed his bare-chested physique playfully,

a brow at him, writing the ‘X’ in the grid and placing my ‘O’ in the

in question at my father as he

long while, his eyes held a twinkle of genuine amusement. The dark circles looked a

smile… you look like

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 father

then similar ripples throughout the day. This morning, I had felt somewhat back to normal; sweaty, aching and nauseous. And in the last few hours, the inner strain on my bond had eased somewhat, tugging away still, but not as painfully. I put it down to

tic tac toe, my dad

thought going first would win it

said in his dad-tone filled with wisdom.

the side. Like my wolf, my eyes were beginning to bleed after several consecutive hours of gameplay. That, 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 peek a glance at the inside of the sliding door right by the exit to these cells; a surveillance room that sat a single guard who monitored us in

were attending their 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.

vanishing at speed. I hadn’t been summoned for a dinner in two days and I 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

only glad that it coincided with a day I would have no

be fine,” I mouthed

each time because I knew he would worry regardless,

route I didn’t know yet was the one that would

chérie,” Marceau’s slimy voice greeted me from the table

table and the fire crackling away behind. A large roasted chunk of meat from wild boar steamed from the centre,

pulled out a chair, gently sliding it 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, knowing it would bristle

holding it fast

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

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

silent attack of anger, all part of his sick game of control, and carved up slices of the roasted meat, sliding them onto my plate. Next, he spooned the vegetables on, making a show to press himself as

glass, filling it with a pale rosé wine. “I know you

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 my face or engage me

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

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

eager to eat,” he drained his glass, pouring a

the lid from the dome nearer the edge of the table, something that looked akin to a brownie. The rich chocolatey scent hit me, too rich, too overbearing, too sickly. My insides churned and the food I

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