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.

praised.

just a pretty face,

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

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

tilted my head in question at my father as he

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

smile… you look

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

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 little winkle was growing as strong as ever and

more moves of tic tac toe, my dad had

I thought going first would win it

said in his dad-tone filled with wisdom. “You thought you had

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

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

days and I was overdue. As if on cue, the sound of boots approached, followed by Diego’s

by now. I was only glad that it coincided with

I mouthed silently

did it each time because I knew he would worry regardless, but it

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

slimy voice greeted me from the table nestled in front of the large

off, the darkness illuminated only by the long candles lit on the formally set table and the fire crackling away

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

my hand, holding it fast against my pull of resistance from his vile

Le Pew’s lips don’t

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

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 close as

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

and shoved it in my mouth. These were my tiny acts of rebellion, the only things I could control. And so

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

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

eat,” he drained his glass, pouring a

a brownie. The rich chocolatey scent hit me, too rich, too overbearing, too sickly.

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