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,

pretty

bruises and tattoos, tía (girl),” he flexed his

guards gilipollas?” I raised a brow at him, writing the ‘X’ in the grid and placing my ‘O’ in the opposing

at my father

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

smile… you look like

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 father since he had woken from the after-effects of whatever foul tranquilliser they used and the exhaustion of his match. I needed the distraction from

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

moves of tic tac toe, my

first would win it

he said in his dad-tone filled with wisdom. “You

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

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 Diego were on a day of

the last rays of the sun were 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.

I was only glad that it coincided with a

fine,” I mouthed

time because I knew he would worry regardless, but it made me feel better, like a lie to myself that everything

always, I was led the usual route. The only route I didn’t know yet was the one that would lead

greeted me from the table nestled

the room were switched off, the darkness illuminated only by the 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,

the furthest seat, but I knew he wouldn’t. He would sit himself as close

hand, holding it fast against my pull of resistance from

as Pepé Le Pew’s lips don’t

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

chuckled at my 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

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

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 my face

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

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

he drained his glass, pouring

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.

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