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

all these finely chiselled muscles, bruises and tattoos, tía (girl),” he flexed his bare-chested physique playfully,

gilipollas?” I raised a brow at him, writing the ‘X’

tilted my head in question at my father as he

of genuine amusement. The dark circles looked a little more faded and

you look

little game, that had given us a brief sensation of normality. I had been trying to distract my father since he

and 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 the bond with my pup, blanketing my troubles for a reprieve. My little winkle was growing as strong as ever and as tough as his

of tic tac toe, my dad

first would win it for

why I win,” he said in his dad-tone filled with wisdom. “You

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

the cells were presently empty. Inmates were either taking their recess time outside or 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

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 too familiar

was only glad that it coincided with a day I would have

fine,” I mouthed silently to

I knew he would worry regardless, but it made me feel better, like a lie

The only route I didn’t know yet

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

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

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

snatched my hand, holding it fast against my pull of

Le Pew’s lips don’t wander anywhere else,’ Evva

of iron saturated my taste buds, beating down every impulse I had to cram the man’s dinner up his

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

for me, ma chérie?” He tilted his glass, filling it with a pale

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

on the cameras,” a cruel smirk twisted his lips as he sat back in his chair casually, making a clean slice into

as though a band had been clamped around it, squeezing on my airways. My stomach lurched again in a motion I was all too familiar with, from either eating too fast, my pregnancy nausea or a panic

his glass, pouring a second

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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