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.

my father praised. “Molodets,

a pretty face,

muscles, bruises and tattoos, tía (girl),” he flexed his bare-chested physique playfully, preening like a peacock.

that sharp mind present when you’re calling the guards gilipollas?” I raised a brow at him, writing the

I tilted my head in question at my father as

time in a long while, his eyes held a twinkle of genuine amusement. The dark circles looked a little more faded and his face

look

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 since he had woken from the after-effects of whatever foul tranquilliser they used and the exhaustion of

a bizarre faint wave of anger 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

tac toe, my

going first would win it

said in his dad-tone filled with wisdom.

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

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

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

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

mouthed silently to my

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

I didn’t know yet was the one

slimy voice greeted me from the table

long candles lit on 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 of vegetables and

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 me

as always,” he snatched my hand, holding it fast

Le Pew’s lips don’t

the bitter taste of iron saturated my taste buds, beating down every impulse I had

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

glass, filling it with

stabbed a piece of cauliflower and shoved it in my mouth. These were my tiny acts of rebellion, the only

on the cameras,” a cruel smirk twisted his lips as he sat back in his chair casually, making a clean slice into his meat. “You do look so

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 lurched again in a motion I was all too familiar with, from either

drained his glass, pouring a second immediately.

of the table, something that looked akin to a brownie. The rich chocolatey scent hit me, too rich, too overbearing, too sickly.

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