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, ay

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

you’re calling the guards gilipollas?” I raised a brow at him, writing the ‘X’ in

I tilted my head in question at

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

look like your mother

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 my any-time-of-day sickness and the strange fluctuations in

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

moves of tic tac toe, my dad

thought going first would win it for

is why I win,” he said in his dad-tone filled with wisdom. “You thought you had won and

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 single guard who monitored us in our

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

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

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

be fine,” I mouthed silently to my

worry regardless, but it made me

only route I

me from the table nestled in front of the large

lights of 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.

I wished he would take the furthest seat,

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

lips

taste buds, beating down every impulse I had to cram the man’s

roasted meat, sliding them onto my plate. Next, he spooned the vegetables on, making

tilted his glass, filling it with a pale rosé

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

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

neck as though a band had been clamped around it, squeezing on my airways. My stomach

drained his glass,

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. My insides

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