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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐍 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖'𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 to being his miserable two-legged winged self. He keeps to himself most of the time, only speaking to Ronyn, Arion, or Cordea. There's no spark, no sign of life fluttering down their tether. Not until the night.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen sat on the rails of her balcony, gazing outwards to the woodlands in the distance, the closest she can get to feeling at home. It was only for a moment, as if the breeze formed an unspoken alliance with her, but she heard it. Not a growl that speaks of his were blood, but the music. A piano. Just a simple chord.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's only in those notes that Elowen feels an inkling to Morrow's emotions and thoughts, but he's done a damn good job at barricading his heart, locking it in steel spikes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎All of that comes to the surface the moment when Elowen steps out of her bedroom for the first time in the morning. As she rounds the corner out of his corridor, she stumbles into the alpha himself.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Fucking shit," he hisses between gritted canine teeth.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Their tether might currently be nothing but a tangled knot, but she's always been able to sense his presence. Whether he be in the same room as her or across the entire palace, she knows where he is, and it helps her avoid him at all costs. Their relationship is non-existent, but strange. So incredibly strange.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But those inklings to his whereabouts don't seem to help her this morning. In fact, judging by the way he dresses, there must be a reason for his cloaked presence. Slung over Morrow's shoulders is a bag to carry sparse belongings and supplies: food, water, bandages. He's in his usual loose dark-hued clothes, his charcoal hair a ruly bedheaded mess. He clenches his jaw, a tendon twitching as he lowers those meadow green irises down upon her. He's thoroughly unimpressed.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen shakes her head. "Sorry, I thought you were elsewhere in the palace." He usually is at this hour in the morning.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I will be elsewhere," he grumbles, then pushes past Elowen without giving her anymore answers to her unspoken questions. Too bad for him. Getting rid of Elowen won't be that simple. He's going somewhere, somewhere out of the palace, and she places her bets that she knows where.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen jogs just to keep up with Morrow's long strides. "You're going to Yestrea, aren't you?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're a nosy little thing, sparrow."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I think I have the right to ask a question," Elowen mumbles. "Especially since I've been grounded here for weeks."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"That's your own fucking fault."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Is it now?" Elowen scowls. He picks up his pace as he walks, and all Elowen talks to now is his back and cursed feathered wings. "You know, if you were me and imprisoned here, you'd want to leave."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I wouldn't want to leave," he stops, turning over his shoulder as a slight smirk purses his lips. "Because I wouldn't have come here."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I didn't have a choice," Elowen clenches her fists. "You brought me here."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Ronyn brought you," he corrects.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Under your command! All because I'd be safe here, and—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"—and you are safe here," he drops his voice, those meadowed hues on the edge of a firefly glow. His wolf and wyng are colliding inside his chest, and whatever words leave his lips are the god-honest truth. "And it's because of me and the hells I endure, that you can stay that way here. So fucking safe."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He grits the last word on his canines before continuing on his way. He enters into the sanctum. Right on cue, she sees his council of loyal submissive followers—his three trusted betas. Elowen can never comprehend how she fits into the picture. Well, she forced herself into it, to wring the were of any information she can get her hands on.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow points at Ronyn, not even stopping as he walks past them to the doors that lead to the front gates. "Seven days. That's all."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And you're going alone?" he taps his foot against the tile floors, almost irritated at Morrow's exit.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's nearly at the doors, flashing a thumbs up before he kicks them open. Some exit from the alpha. His betas wait for a debrief, but this is all they get. A pathetic thumbs up and a timeline.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Is it always going to be like this in Tabrien? Unanswered questions? A faulty matebond that she longs to snap in two? She's supposed to stay here because she's protected by the were, a domesticated trophy wyng, but the last few years have been nothing but riding on the cliffs of danger. She's grown accustomed to danger, so much so that it almost seems like the safer option.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The irony of it all. She needs to get away. She needs a taste of the world outside of the Tabrien palace.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She gives her wings an experimental flap. The arrow wound still gives her grief, but this time around, she will get out of the palace and back into the woods where she belongs.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎At the same time as her devious little plan forms, her mind-link cracks into place. Morrow's voice echoes through her head, a sinister chuckle.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎No. You're not leaving.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She hates when he does this, hates that he knows how to navigate their mind-link while she's left in the dust. Through the tether, she tries to peel the outer layers of his mind just to catch a glimpse inside, but that thick skull of his is impenetrable.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Damn him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her eyes drift over to Cordea and Arion. Mates. They're masters at the craft of telepathic communication. Even if Elowen despises Morrow and his ability to read her thoughts, she needs to learn how to counterattack. No more sporadic connections. She wants to learn how to control the mind-link so Morrow no longer has the advantage over her, so she can trespass into his mind just like he does to her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He's in my head," Elowen groans, not even bothering with a good morning.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Arion frowns. "Who?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Must be him trying to appease his wolf," Cordea explains, her plump lips drawing into a tight line. "Spending time apart from your mate can be difficult, so he's opened up his mind to you as a way to keep you near. But even with that reason, you both insist you're not mates."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We're not," she grumbles. It's a mantra that's been on the tip of her tongue for the past few weeks. Every implication that her and Morrow are destined to be united is rejected with a sharp cutting no. "How do you... control the mind-link?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea looks at Arion, squinting her eyes before shrugging her shoulders. "There isn't a certain way it happens. It just evolves over time. It becomes easier the more you connect with your mate."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And that's not going to happen for me, is it?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn grunts. "Not when he's on his way to the fae in Yestrea."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow has somehow wrapped his claws around her and trapped her here. She vowed to never submit to his demands, and yet she's been doing just so without even realizing it. She's still here. She still accepts their hospitality, and all she's gained from this all is sore limbs from training with Arion and her irritating mind-link that holds no formula.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He's in her mind right now, lingering, judging by the curious and patient demeanor of her inner creature. He's just waiting to strike, waiting to tell her to stop thinking such foolish thoughts of freedom.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Think about it all you want, sparrow, but the palace is quite cosy. You'll realize that someday.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎How does one send a lewd middle finger down the mind-link?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Just like that, Morrow's voice purrs.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Damn him for being in her head, for not even granting her a split second of cognitive freedom.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn shakes his head, but it's clear his thoughts are elsewhere than Elowen's matebond. Mates are not his expertise, according to the flirty bastard himself. What is his expertise is being Morrow's right hand were.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'm going to go after him," he states.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Because Morrow ran off to Yestrea, off to get drunk on some fae wine and seduced by magic. Elowen hopes he gets what he wants, because maybe this is their best chance at gaining a cure for the blight.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Arion takes him by the shoulder, holding him back. "You know that's not what Morrow wants."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow's a little fucked up, if you haven't realized," Ronyn spits. "I'm the rational one, the one that keeps that fucker sane!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Do you even hear yourself?" Arion sneers, his blue eyes squinting at the remark. "You're far from being the sane one in the room."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He's only one guy. The fae hate him. Hate his guts. Hate his family and bloodline. Hate most of the were, but you know who they love?" he points his thumbs at his chest. "This guy."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea rolls her eyes. "You're too arrogant for your own good."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Fae fucking adore me," Ronyn speaks, his hazel eyes switching frantically between Arion and Cordea. Elowen's highly aware of Ronyn's cocky behaviour, but his voice and expression tell her that he's dead serious about his relationships with the fae of Yestrea. "Morrow's not a sweet talker. He's all growls and claws. They're not gonna give him an ounce of fae magic."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He's our alpha,"Arion mumbles. "We obey his commands."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You can obey his commands all you want, but he's going to get himself killed if I don't follow him. Better odds at survival if it's two against one."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen doesn't think, doesn't blink. While the betas bicker about Morrow's abrupt departure for Yestrea, her voice comes out in a silencing oath.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Three against one."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn scowls, his tone sending a cursed warning. "Half-breed."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What if I went with you?" Elowen proposes as her voice comes out in a desperate ramble. She'll do anything to get out of the palace, even if it means being bound by chains enroute to Yestrea. Her wings don't work, so she has that against her, but that only means she'll get to enjoy a nice long ride aboard Ronyn's back. The wind will carry through her limbs as the forest calls her name. It'll almost feel like flying, like home, like Reovell. "You said he wants fae magic, yeah? I'm half-fae. If I appear to trust him, maybe that'll convince the king to grant him just enough pixie dust to do what he has to do."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎All three of them seem to answer in unison: "No."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea reaches for Elowen's white feathered wing. "You're still healing from the arrow wound, so it's best if you stay behind. It's already ridiculous that Ronyn thinks he has to chase after Morrow like this."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn's hazel eyes ignite as he leans in towards Cordea, gritting his razor sharp canines. "Like you want to stay here, either."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She tilts her head upward. "Of course I want to stay."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What about you, Arion?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The beta shrugs his shoulders. "Like I said, we obey Morrow's command."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Out of the betas, she never suspected Ronyn to be the one to crack against his loyalty to Morrow. He's dreadfully uptight about his ranking, so she's learned in Morrow's disappearance to Scaerus. Ronyn stayed behind, not even questioning the order. That was regarding the witches. The fae don't seem to be held to the same account.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her thoughts about leaving with Ronyn to Yestrea haven't been subtle these past few minutes, knowing full well that it's only a matter of time until Morrow reaches out into her mind through their tether, pulling at it to tell her to stay. She shoots a message out into the abyss of their link. Damn him for not letting her read his own mind, while hers is free to wander without permission.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎You hear that, dumbass? We're coming for you.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Nothing but silence. How odd. He'd certainly refuse to let Elowen leave, not even with Ronyn as her chaperone. She expects that tether of theirs to sizzle with life at the remark. Not even her creature shows any hint of his presence within her skull.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You two are the worst fucking liars," Ronyn growls. "Bet you think we should let the gamma's babysit this place, and we get our asses moving to Yestrea."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea sucks in a heavy breath. "As much as I want to do that, it wouldn't be wise for us to—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'm in."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Arion cuts Cordea off, to her surprise. It's currently three against one, if Elowen's vote even counts in the matter.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What about Elowen?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎What about her? It's clear they all don't agree with her going to Yestrea due to her wounded wing, but it's not like she won't have many forms of defence. She hasn't skipped out on any of Arion's training sessions, and she has three deadly betas as her guards, and most likely one grumpy alpha. She's perfectly fine, perfectly capable... right?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The sanctum doors swing open. Morrow reenters the room, his chest heaving with an apparent irritating frustration. He must've received her message through the mind-link.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow marches towards Elowen, digging his hand into her dress and ushering her backwards as his anger drips from his aura. Their tether snaps into place, and her creature purrs as she finally gets the chance to caress his inner wolf. A low, dominant growl echoes through the room, one that has the betas complying.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He's close, breath fanning against her cheeks. "You're not leaving this place, remember?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Thought you'd be halfway to Yestrea by now."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I was, dumbass."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen grins. She knew he was listening to her every thought, but Morrow refuses to let his lips curve at her smile. Only a slight tick of his jaw and a snarl that reveals clenched teeth. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple, and Elowen can't help but watch in intrigue. He must've hustled back the moment she started to think about escaping.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Why should he care? They're only bound by the moon, a fate that neither of them desire.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Fuckers," he curses, his meadow hues finding his betas. "All of you were going to follow me?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Admit it. You need us," Ronyn retorts.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I don't."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You'd be dead without us."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Although Morrow's attention lies on his betas, his grip remains laced into Elowen's dress. "I can't die."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎There he goes again with that absurd vow of eternal life. Did he make the deal with the devil himself? She assumes the trade must be part of his exchange with the witches, because all the witches and witchers of Scaerus are known to dabble with the dead.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But Morrow? There's a curse to him, and those black wings prove that his soul was born to be corrupted.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's meadowed hues find Elowen again, and his grip on her loosens, but he refuses to let go. He narrows his gaze and leans in, every inch of him deadlier than the moment before.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His voice echoes through her thoughts in such a pleasurable growl. You'll be killed before we reach Yestrea.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen frowns. Don't sound so eager.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎I'm not, he leans in, pulling her closer to his face. He bares his canines, and for a flicker of a second, she imagines blood cascading down from them onto his chin. But it's clear you'll follow me no matter what I do, unless I chain you to my bed.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Kinky, she can't help but laugh in her thoughts, a smile reaching her lips. But no. I'm going home.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Reovell doesn't exist, sparrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Then I'm going as far away as I can get from you.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎You act like you don't give a fuck, but you do, don't you?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's smile fades, and she tries to break her mind-link in two, but her submissive creature holds on to keep her tether connected to Morrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You'll need a fae," Elowen speaks out loud now. "And someone who knows how to smile and give out a compliment," she gazes upon Ronyn as she says this. "And perhaps a watchful guard and hospitable guide would help?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're not coming with."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What if I—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You stay behind," Morrow releases her, his black wings shuddering when he breaks contact. Instead, he places his focus back on his betas. "And you pricks, you fucking win. Gather your shit. We leave at nightfall."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

*

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 balcony, knowing full well that Morrow's in his room only a handful of feet away. She blasted every single curse word down their tether, only to have them shatter against the barricade he's built in his mind against her. An indestructible fortress, that is. She feels like she's shooting mental cannonfire at him, and he's deflecting it as if her artillery were made of snow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Meanwhile, her inner creature twists and turns in utter haywire. Such a submissive little traitor. Her creature always desires Morrow's wolf, and his inner wolf is exactly what her creature can't have. Her creature longs to be caressed by claws and nuzzled in soft charcoal fur, to be smothered in those cursed black feathers. Elowen keeps pulling her creature away from those temptations, because it's clear Morrow doesn't want the same. Her magnetic pull to him is only a product of the moon, and to Elowen, the moon's prophecies are full of shit.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎As if Morrow couldn't refrain from pushing her nerves to the limit, the sound of a violin breaks the silence of the afternoon. Damn him. Damn his music. How can he possibly have the time to play when he's burdened with so many responsibilities?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The note carries through the breeze, shriller than the chords of his piano. Yet, the song has Elowen's body forfeiting her command to that of a mere sound. This song... she's heard it before, long before she found herself a nomad in Brecian woodlands. It's in a memory buried so deep within her traumas that she thought she'd forgotten it.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's a song filled with such optimism, laced with poisonous sorrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's the song of Reovell.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her creature pulls at her heart, taking control of her limbs. Without second guessing her creature's motives, she finds herself swinging across chiselled stone across to the next balcony, her wing still failing to lift her off the ground. Each string tuned by his calloused fingertips brings her back to the days when she was just a little girl.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎This song is home. It calls her, beckons her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Now aboard his balcony, she observes Morrow through open glass doors. He's dressed in his typical loose slacks, his bag of supplies and metal weaponry resting by his feet. He lounges on a parlor chair, a stand and sheet of music placed in front of his vision, in front of Elowen.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He lifts his meadow irises, catching her on his balcony. Neither of them speak a word, although she assumed he would have sent her back to her bedroom by now.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Instead, he tunes the strings of his violin, giving his full attention to his instrument rather than his mate.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"That's the song of Reovell," she breathes, breaking their silence.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It was," he mumbles, his voice raspy from a strange fatigue. For a moment, he appears so burdened, but it's the question that leaves his lips that catches her off guard. "If I let you leave, where will you go?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Where I lived before."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Where the terrans captured you?" he questions, his black wings drawing stiff. "Why is Tabrien not enough?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The question leaves Elowen's inner creature almost devastated. The truth is—Elowen envisions herself free amongst the Tabrien woodlands. The turquoise streams and rivers are nothing short of picturesque, a mosaic of life and whimsy protected under the dominion of the were.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It is enough," she confesses, "but the life you provide me here, locked up in a cage, won't sustain me forever. All I ask is that you let me leave."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You'll fly away, sparrow. You won't come back."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Who says you won't chase after me?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We're not mates."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen hates herself for admitting this, when for the past few weeks it's been on repeat. "But we are something, aren't we?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow sets the violin and bow down, rising to his feet until he's towering just inches from Elowen. Gods, he's built to be a weapon, the right-hand to the reaper of death. And yet, Elowen admires the beauty etched within each scar, the longevity of them knowing that each one will last forever.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He sets his palm against her jaw, golden rings cold against her warm flesh as he tips her attention upward to his eyes. In unison, she feels his inner wolf tackle her creature in a passionate embrace, and her chest knots in fits of fire. It spreads to her bones, to every blood vessel and neural pathway.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Something," he mutters.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Because she doesn't want to hide from the truth. Their tether burns brighter everyday, not ceasing even when Morrow vanishes to Scaerus. Something. All of this must mean something.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Even their inner creatures and wolves can't hide their beckoning pull to another. His wolf smothers her creature in a thousand caresses and nuzzles, the sensation almost over bearing as Morrow's eyes spark a firefly green. A low vibratory growl echoes from the depth of his chest.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His hand on her jaw tenses, resisting the bond the moon placed between them.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's mind only plays Reovell's song on repeat, the melodic violin bringing tears to her eyes. He's too much of a reminder of the wyng, of everything.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"So you won't chase me if I run?" she says, her eyes widening.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I never said I wouldn't."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You said we weren't mates."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I don't need to be your mate to bring you back."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's gaze drips down to his lips. Gods, he's a masterpiece up close. A dangerous, bloodthirsty sculpture.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎So when the cord of resistance snaps, it's impossible to tell which one of them is to blame.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen brushes her lips against his throat at the same time he spins her around, ushering her against the grand piano. The growl of delight that escapes him as she kisses a fine line of scars against his pulse harmonises with the song strung within their tether. His nails dig deep within her thighs, lifting her up against the piano as he steps between her widened legs.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He parts his lips, unveiling sinking canines and eyes so wild it paralyses her within his arms. She raises her hips, grinding rhythmically to their tether's song. Nails curl deeper into her skin from Morrow's grip, pulling her against him until pelvis' collide.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow leans in and nips at her fae ear. "If I let you fly, sparrow, promise me you'll come back."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She nods her head at the pleasure of his gentle bites. Logic tells her not to submit to the alpha's demands, but the delight he brings calls her to his sanctuary. "Yes."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And if you follow us to Yestrea, you don't go out of sight of anyone. Not the betas. Not me."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"So you'll let me free?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Only if you tell me your name."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A hand grasps her throat, followed by the grazing of wolfish teeth. He parts his lips against her pulse, pressing his razor canines to the vulnerable blood vessel. Sharp pincers dig into her flesh, but it's not enough to break the skin. He's going to sink those teeth into her. Claim her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Fuck their little something.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Go and gather your crap before I mark you," he hisses.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He forces his clutch to unravel from around her, leaving claw marks in her skin. Did she want him to continue the lust-ridden madness weaving itself between them? Her creature does, but she rips the invisible being inside of her away from Morrow's aura. Without looking back, she scampers out of his bedroom door, not bothering to scale the palace walls this time around.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen and Morrow... they're simply not mates. They're something, and that's the best word she can concoct to describe their unfortunate situation. At least he agrees with her on that matter. No living creature would want to be bound to a man as stiff and miserable as Morrow, even if every touch scorches her in storms of lightning, or every sound, every note, is a song that exemplifies his soul.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎At least he agreed to let her follow him to Yestrea. It's a start towards her freedom from the were's stupid captivity, and she can't help the excitement that courses through her veins. She's never been to Yestrea, never experienced her fae heritage.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A‎‎‏‏‎ll she longs to know is if she belongs there, and if she does, Morrow's sparrow might never fly back to him again.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

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i just had to take them out of tabrien, as i feel like this book is a broken record player. i still believe morrow and elowen are destined to have a story, but even i, the author, am already reworking this tale so it doesn't fall flat. this might prompt me to completely upheave everything i've already written and start from scratch, just like i did with only after nightfall.

maybe it's because i'm too stuck in my own little world. i'm uncertain, but there are definitely some improvements i want to incorporate in a rewrite of sparrow! until then, enjoy this chapter and the few that are yet to come!

ivy <3