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

just a pretty face, ay

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

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

in question at my father as he

held a twinkle of genuine amusement. The dark circles looked a little more faded and his face

you look like your

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 my any-time-of-day

had felt 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

two more moves of tic tac toe, my dad

thought going first would win it

he said in his dad-tone filled with

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,

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 Diego were on a day of rest, to prepare for a large match tomorrow. It had to be an important one because the two of them had been plied with high-calorie and rich

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,

coincided with a day I

fine,” I mouthed silently to my

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

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

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

formally set table and the fire crackling away behind. A large roasted chunk of meat from wild

take the furthest seat, but I knew he wouldn’t. He

my hand, holding it fast against my pull of

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

my taste buds, beating

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

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

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.

cameras,” a cruel smirk twisted his lips as he sat back in his chair casually,

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,

drained his glass, pouring

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 had

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