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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝑾𝑬𝑹𝑬, both who refuse to let her through the palace gates. Apparently, every single wolf here is highly aware that Elowen can't leave, and it's beginning to piss her right off. Everyday, they throw a new brick of information at her, and yet, she still longs for her familiar woodlands instead of the luxuries surrounding her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen crosses her arms against her chest. "When will he be back?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He being Ronyn. With Morrow gone, the beta fills the alpha's position until his return. Despite her hatred for the were due to her captivity, she's grown fond of Ronyn. There seems to be an element of understanding beneath every word he speaks, as if he knows what it feels like to be an outcast wandering alone. With Ronyn's temporary newfound duties, he's been more rogue than present.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're a relentless little thing," the first boulderish guard mutters under his breath, growling with distaste.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The second grunts in response. "We are unsure of Ronyn's schedule, so if you could, please stop asking?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's wings bristle in vexation. She knows in the hierarchy of wolves, she'd be considered an omega. In fact, she feels she's ten feet below that. She only has one saving grace—her wings and her matebond. Without Morrow, she'd mean nothing to them, nothing to the rest of Tabrien. If she gave the were a choice, they'd never have bought her from the underground auctions and would let her rot on Alistair's mantle.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You both know who I am," Elowen spits. She despises the fact she's about to pull the whole my-mate-is-your-alpha card. Her inner creature seems to adore it. "And I know you're keeping answers."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Yes, we know who you are," the first guard squints his eyes, "and we don't know where Ronyn is."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her frustration rises to the moon. Instead of berating the guards with more questions about Ronyn, she leaves the two sentinel wolves at the palace gates to go back inside. Curse the iron for burning her at the base of her wings, else she'd be miles across the kingdom by now. Night after night, she works her wings to regain strength, but brittle endurance causes her to never leave the ground. The sting remains permanent, and scorchingly so.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The Tabrien palace has always been different from what Elowen expected. Although it is home to the alpha, the hub acts like a revolving door. Were enter in, then out. New faces. New wolves. All that remains constant in the palace is Elowen's salient presence.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎One place she's found sanctuary in is the Tabrien library. Leatherbound books stack high into the rafters, shelves upon shelves of ancient tales that have been stashed away. As a child, Elowen recalls the times her mother brought her to the libraries in Reovell. She loved to read about heroes on valiant adventures, swords drawn as the hero defeats the reign of evil. Now, that's all that remains of them—pure nonsensical folklore.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎In the silence of the library, Elowen tucks herself in a nook by a window. Sunlight streams over her skin and warms her feathered wings. This library reminds her of home, of her mother. It's a slight comfort that she refuses to take for granted.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Beside her in the nook is a pile of her completed books. Although she absolutely detests every acre of Tabrien, she's been spending extra time absorbing all the information she can conjure about the were and their bloody matebond and traditions. Nausea crept up her throat at the idea of a were marking her neck. Were are no stranger to blood. And biting. And clawing. And as she reads, endless fucking.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The wyng are more conservative in their rituals. Sure, the wyng are led to their eternal partners through their creature, but the idea of such possessive and feral modes of claiming puts her on edge. She has to constantly remind herself that there is no possible way any were will sink their teeth into her. Not even Morrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen climbs aboard a ladder to investigate an upper shelf. She pulls out books, checking out indexes and glossaries for answers about a new topic—the witches and their runes. It might explain what she saw in her mind-link with Morrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Not that she's concerned.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Not that she even cares in the slightest of ways.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She pulls a book out from the shelf, only to scowl at what lies behind it.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Another book.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎How odd.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She selects the hidden dust covered mahogany book, one decorated with golden whorls and eloquent script lettering on the cover. She slips from the ladder and curls up in the windowsill. Leaning against her soft feathered wings, she snuggles into the nook and runs her fingers over the title: Killian.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Upon further investigation, she discovers it's a family memoir, written by a woman named Lililya Killian. It's handwritten in immaculate penmanship with photos stitched onto coarse bristol pages. It almost feels like an intrusion to scour through this woman's personal anecdotes, but curiosity gets the best of Elowen.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Tabrien is quite remarkable, a hidden gem in Aelethia that few have the opportunity to see. The were are quite hostile towards those who trespass onto their lands without a welcome invitation. It seems so opposite to what I know. Kodan said that the Killian lineage swore to protect Tabrien before the fall of destruction prophesied by the moon. It's why they don't give their trust to others so easily. Yet, it doesn't explain Kodan and I's swift companionship.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎At the time of my arrival, Roald and Azura Killian had just passed on their titles as alpha and luna to their son, Kodan. It's then that Kodan told them his intentions with me, his appointed mate. The concept of matehood seems so foreign to me, because it's different from what I know about partners and marriage. Still, there's an attraction to Kodan that every part of me adores.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎I will be the leader of a pack of were, were who think I am also one of them. Yet, I'm an outlier.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She scowls as she stops at a certain page. The man in the photograph is an immaculate replication of Morrow, minus the wings. There seems to be a name written underneath it: Kodan Killian. His arms wrap around the most elegant of women. Plump lips. Tanned skin. A twinkle in her eyes captured in the light. It must be Lililya herself.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen reads on:

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Kodan was the eldest of seven, him being the only male born to his parents, Roald and Azura Killian. It's a rare oddity that his parents bore that many children for their pack. Conceiving one child is becoming difficult for the were, but seven?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎There are some benefits to being the luna of Tabrien, and that means having access to the private archives. My findings led me to believe that there was some otherworldly intervention at play with Azura's seven pregnancies. Azura's diary states that she and Roald both confronted the witches at the request of having a firstborn son. The request was granted, but only at the expense of a haunting evil stored inside of him as remnants of the underworld. I love Kodan, but even I see his curse coming to the surface. Kodan longs to have children, but these months have only proven that those chances are slim. They are slimmer yet if he knew the truth.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Still, the Killian name will live on through Kodan. His sisters all became ill at such a young age that not many of them survived into their teen years except the youngest, Etienne. Kodan adores Etienne, but even she fled shortly after my arrival in Tabrien. The loss of his parents and beloved sister have sickened him. It ills him more that he has no offspring.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What are you reading?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She lifts her head, only to catch Arion leaning against one of the book shelves. He crosses those muscular arms of his across his chest, smirking ever so slightly at the sight of Elowen curled up. She thought none of the betas would track her down, but with their wolfish scents, they'll always be able to locate her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Killian," she mutters, the name escaping her lips.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Yeah, that's Morrow's family name."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Arion wanders over, taking the book from her grasp. He opens it wide, flipping aimlessly through a few pages.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Where the hell did you find this?" he asks, although his eyes never seem to leave the words and photographs before him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It was just in the stacks."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Huh," Arion closes the book and sets it down on a nearby sofa. "Well, I didn't purposefully come here to disturb your reading. I just got complaints from some of the other sentinels."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Of course he did. Elowen's persistence and constant grumbling surely wracked their wolfish nerves.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'm not gonna beat around the bush," Arion smirks. "They want you to shut up and stop pestering them."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen scowls, letting every crease of her expression show how unimpressed she truly is with habitating within Tabrien. Gods, she misses the familiarity of the wild. The crickets and mourning doves never would've criticised her like this.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You've been gathering quite the round of nicknames, bean bag," Arion says, his vivid blue eyes strike Elowen's silver hues, twinkling at the slight. "It's been almost two weeks since your arrival, and you still keep your name a secret."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You were don't deserve my name."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Then what can I do to change that?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Let me go."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Arion grunts. "Morrow won't like that."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎And Morrow is exactly why Elowen needs to talk to Ronyn. Last night as she laid in the garden, she linked with him. Their auras collided and perceptions overlapped, as if two sides of a mirror flattened into one reality. The pain that rippled through his entire being transferred into her own. The iron that burns his flesh leaves phantom wounds on her skin. And his voice. Gods, she gets drunk on that alone. That low contralto rasp liquifies the restraints she builds against him. Before she could revel in their newfound tether, he snapped it into two, leaving Elowen with an agonising hollow ache in her chest.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"They say you want Ronyn," Arion states.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Is that too much to ask?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Arion stuffs his hands in his pockets, sighing as if to admit some form of defeat. "Ronyn went to the east of Tabrien. The blight has been passing through there like wildfire."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The were have been avoiding the conversation of the blight around her, as if the disease were some kind of secret. The details of it remain scarce. There isn't much in the libraries that gave her answers about the blight, but she does recall Cordea saying it's a more recent illness.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Will he be alright?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Ronyn? He'll be fine," he says, "but we've never had a surge like this before. The cases of the blight have nearly doubled since Morrow left, and the foliage is nothing but blackened rot. There's only so much we can do before it infects the palace."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The blight... is it fatal?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Arion's features harden into stone, and that alone tells her that it's incredibly deadly. It's common knowledge that the were population is dwindling. The last they need is a plague to completely wipe them out cold.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's not something I want to think about at the moment," Arion says, then tilts his head towards the exit. "Now come on. We got a training session to get done. Those weak legs won't do us any good when this all turns to shit."

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*

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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, and the night's howlings of the wolves have come to a close. She understands the hour is ungodly, so unprofessional of her, but she longs to speak with Ronyn in private. She caught him when he returned, but he was too busy speaking with other were to even give Elowen a second glance.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Either way, were tend to be dwellers of the night, so she's not entirely apologetic for what she's about to do.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎While Elowen lives in the alpha's corridor in the room next to Morrow, Ronyn sleeps in the opposite wing of the castle. Arion and Cordea also occupy rooms near his own. All she hopes is that Ronyn keeps his loud voice to a minimum so they don't awaken the rest of the were. If anyone knows what Morrow promised the witches, it'll be Ronyn.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen overhears ruckus on the other end of his door, but taps her knuckles against the engraved wood lightly. The ruckus doesn't completely pause, but even she can hear Ronyn's distasteful muttering as heavy footsteps march towards the door.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The door opens to a naked Ronyn, moonlight glistening over sweat-slickened muscle and tattoos. Elowen avoids looking down, swallowing nervously as she keeps her eyes locked on Ronyn's hazel hues. Ronyn's once unimpressed expression switches into a more playful smile when he catches who waits at his door.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Half-breed," he smirks.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen scowls as the scent of sex floods her. "Am I disturbing you?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Me? No," he looks over his shoulder. "Maybe them, though. It's tough when the other two are mates."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Them?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Yeah," he shrugs and leans against the doorframe with his bicep above his head, his smile transforming into a full blown grin. "So what is it? Feeling lonely sleeping alone on the other end of the palace?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No, but—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She stops speaking as the sound of a woman in utter bliss echoes through the room, moaning out one name: Arion.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The voice belongs to Cordea.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her jaw drops in disbelief. "Is that Cordea?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's disgusting that I've resulted to being a third for them, isn't it?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The information alone is enough to overload her brain. She understands the were are more open with their intimacies, but she wasn't expecting a naked Ronyn to answer the door while in the middle of a ménage à trois. And what did Ronyn call them? Mates? Cordea and Arion? How has she not figured that out yet?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen shakes her head. "Let's just forget this happened. I'll talk to you in the morning."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She quickly turns away, spreading her wings as if that could shelter her sight from Ronyn's bedroom door, and to hide her flushed cheeks.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Hold on, half-breed," he calls out to her. She stops, turning back to face the beta. Again, she averts her eyes. "Let me put some pants on, and I'll meet you in the courtyard."

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*

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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐒 the two stroll through the palace courtyards. She must applaud the caretakers of this place, because the scenery remains pristine, yet reflects the wildness of the were. She always thought of the were as such feral, uncivilised beings, but her days here have only proven her assumptions wrong.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen gazes up at Ronyn's handsomely mischievous face, only to catch that typical smirk tainting his lips. He did more than just put on a pair of trousers, and to Elowen's surprise, also opted for a shirt. He also hasn't brought up her embarrassing intrusion at his bedroom door, to her luck. Beneath her skin, her creature sneaks out from hiding to embrace Ronyn's wolf, only to have Ronyn release the most pleased growl from his throat.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Spit it out, half-breed," he finally says after minutes of pure silence.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The confession rests at the tip of her tongue. What she's about to reveal will break every unspoken code between Morrow and her. There's no possible way he wants his betas to know what horrors he's exposing himself to in Scaerus, but Elowen longs to know the truth behind his endeavours. He said it was to stop the blight, but his torturous fate hardly feels like the cure.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Where exactly did Morrow go?" Elowen questions.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Scaerus."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"For what purpose?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn's grin fades as the silence between them, once again, lingers in the nighttime atmosphere. "This isn't what I thought you'd want to talk about."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What did you expect me to ask?" she rouses. "You know better than anyone about how much I despise this place."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Then what does your hatred for Tabrien have to do with Morrow?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Because I saw him," Elowen breathes, closing her eyes as she recalls her mind-link with him just a night ago. She was there, occupying the same room as him as he clothed himself with his wings to fight the cold seeping into his open wounds. She just needs answers to why.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎This piques his interest. "You saw him?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen gives a sheepish nod. "Cordea explained how a matebond works when a were is involved. There could be a potential for a mind-link, even before... mating."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A crease grows between Ronyn's brows. "Like I would understand that sort of crap. This sounds like a discussion for Cordea."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I didn't come here to learn more about the mind-link. I just want an explanation as to what I saw."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You said you saw Morrow?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Yes," Elowen scans the courtyard, finding it void of any lurking were. "The witches... they marked him with runes, and not with ink but with a carving knife. These runes were meant to scar and last forever. Gods, they were ugly and bloody and gory and..." Elowen's voice falls flat when Ronyn flinches, almost as if she'd speared him in the chest.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The beta frowns, picking up pace as he wrings his palm over his features. Ronyn's posture stiffens, so unlike the carefree were that she's come to know in the last two weeks. Yet, she knows being a temporary alpha for the pack burdens him. The responsibility leaves his smile weak, and the blaze in his hazel irises becomes more like smouldering embers.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What Morrow is doing in Scaerus isn't any of our concern," Ronyn speaks, his voice almost a whisper. "He knows better than anyone about the dangers of the witches, so we leave him be when he decides to go."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen clenches her jaw. His low, palpable voice comes out stricter than his typical tone, and the creature beneath her skin severs from Ronyn's inner wolf, whimpering at the distaste of his presence. It all twisted around so suddenly, something she never suspected from the beta.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎This is a lie.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He knows what Morrow's condemned himself to, knows what runes and curses will scar his body because of it.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're an abhorrent liar," Elowen retorts, shaking her head at him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What do you expect me to fucking say? Cordea and Arion have no clue what Morrow's doing, half-breed, and I promised him I'd keep my mouth shut."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"But you know?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He's my best friend. Of course I fucking know!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Fine," Elowen seethes, stretching her wings. She would've threatened him with the idea of flight, but Elowen's weak wings have grounded her. A test flight is in store—for another night. Although she wishes she could fly right at this moment. "I'll just ask Morrow."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You do that, half-breed. See how far you get without pissing him off."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"How can you stand here and pretend that he's alright?" The choke in Elowen's voice comes as a shock, even to herself. She's not supposed to show an ounce of compassion towards Morrow, simply because she doesn't give a rat's ass about their fated matebond.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn sighs, running a hand through brown curls of hair. "You want the truth?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"All of it."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The beta steps towards her, towering over her small body. He stands before her with muscles and strength while she remains so thin and feeble. He steps closer, and closer, baring his canines as he corners her into a nearby maple. Elowen only gazes at his golden irises.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The blight," he hisses. "It's an ancient plague sent from Pailon. The ancients themselves blame the rest of the provinces for Aelethia's upheaval and separation, so what better way to wage war than to do it silently?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow went to Scaerus, not Pailon."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"That's because he can't enter Pailon. Only the ancients can trespass their cloaked borders, and Morrow can't do that unless he possesses ancient blood."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She visualises the bead of crimson liquid trickling down a carved rune on Morrow's hip, wondering if the witches transfused him with some of that coveted almighty blood. Will the blood of ancients bless him or damn him for what he's about to do? Pailon has always been a sacred land for the gods, locked away in the southwestern corners of Aelethia. No one that enters comes out alive, and that thought alone haunts Elowen, more so her creature that adores Morrow so much.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's gaze falls from his eyes to his lips. Ronyn smells like pine, such a familiar scent to her. It's oddly... comforting.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The ancients will kill him," Elowen murmurs. "He has to know that."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Then you don't know Morrow."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎That's the truth—Elowen and Morrow are strangers strung together by the moon's threads. The details she knows about him and his past have only been revealed in memoirs and mind-links. Still, it sickens her that she's putting up a fight on behalf of him. She calls it curiosity, but that same curiosity evolves into overwhelming concern. She shouldn't give a damn.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She won't.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She feels like this matebond is just another reason to keep her captive in Tabrien, even if her creature submits to staying.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn pulls away, but not before slipping his rough palm against the surface of Elowen's. Their appendages lace in harmony, the touch calming the hurricane of emotions overtaking her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow will be okay," Ronyn assures.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen gives a soft nod as Ronyn presses his forehead to her temple, a wolfish growl easing her as he indulges in a soft nuzzle. If only she were mated to Ronyn. Then maybe living amongst the were wouldn't be so horrendous, because with Ronyn, it almost feels too simple, too easy.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He pulls away, eyes lidded. "Get some rest, half-breed."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎That night, Elowen falls asleep in the cotton linens of her bed without a nightmare to break her dreams.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

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ronyn, my beloved. there's definitely more to him than what elowen knows, but you'll all have to wait and see! our favourite were-wyng will be back in the next chapter! so prepare yourself for some morrow content :) 

also, how you all feeling about the longer chapters (compared to my other works, if you've read them)? let me know your thoughts, because this story is gonna be a big one!

ivy <3