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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐓𝐔𝐆 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's as if her creature bound her with thick cabled cord, strangling her limbs and turning her into a puppet on a string. The sun hardly strikes the horizon, and yet Elowen's creature desires to move.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She swings out of the bed, her heart beating a mile a minute within her chest. Her wings flutter, evidence of her creature's delight. It's an unknown anticipation that she can't seem to end.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Stop it, Elowen tries to send the message down to her creature, who defies her orders and refuses to listen.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Instead, her creature sends one message back to her, a specific location: the sanctum.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's not often that Elowen and her creature disagree. Her creature is quite content to do what Elowen does—that is until now. At the twilight hour, when Elowen stretches her wings and conducts small test flights from balcony to balcony, her creature argues with her, begging for her to stay in Tabrien. It's a nightly quarrel she finds herself in. Her creature has grown clingy to this place, and it's pulling the two parts of her in half. Tabrien isn't her home. It never was, and it never will be.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Still, her creature whispers in that delicate little voice: the sanctum.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen instead pushes towards the balcony. By now, the sun reaches above the forests, high enough in the heavens that the light scathes Elowen's skin. Although she holds a determination to leave, she adores the warmth of Tabrien, something so unlike the highlands of Reovell and the borders of Brecia where she hid for years.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen flaps her wings, keeping her eyes on the forests in the far distance. She will find a way out of Tabrien, despite the disagreement of her creature. The only way to do that is to take the route most were can't take: the sky. Tonight, she vows to do a test flight.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But first, she must suffice her creature's persistent demands.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Gods, I despise you sometimes," she hisses out loud to herself, marching back off the balcony and into her washroom.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She washes up with haste, braiding her maroon hair back and slipping into a silk thin strapped dress, one with a low enough back for her wings. Much like every other article of clothing the were provide, she feels inexcusably oafish.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎From there, her creature takes full control of her limbs. Every step towards the sanctum becomes instinct, a sixth sense to locate what's causing her creature's persistence.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"... if we can persuade the fae." A voice finishes speaking as Elowen meets the sanctum doors. "King Novus and my father never got along, so I reckon they'll try to spear my fucking head on sight."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Everyone thinks you've lost your goddamn mind." This voice belongs to Ronyn.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"If it stops the blight, then it's all we can do."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"But you're crazy for this! The witches only agreed to help you at the cost of... gods, I don't fucking know! And you said the fae absolutely hate us—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A fierce flap of black wings cuts him off. "It's the only shot we have to get into Pailon."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"To go to Yestrea? At least let me go with you. Or even Arion or Cordea."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The fae aren't that dangerous," he says. "Unless you drink a gallon of their wine."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The problem is you would."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're not going with me," his cold calculated voice slips through the air in throngs of ice. "I need you to stay here and keep an eye on her. She might be useful."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"She's weaker than fucking grass."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And she has fae blood, which means she possesses fae magic. We might need that."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A vexatious growl breaks from Ronyn's throat. "Look, I'm not against protecting her, but she's your mate. Shouldn't you be staying behind instead of putting yourself through all this shit?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's wings shake in irritation at the mention of the matehood. "We both know that I won't ever be fit for a mate. The Killian name will end with me when fate decides to reap my life, if it ever does."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What about her?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He dips his head towards the sanctum doors for just a moment, only to catch Elowen stepping inside. She suddenly feels like she's intruding on such a private conversation, and yet her creature leaps from beneath her skin just to get a caress of a certain wolf. That low timbre voice. Those smouldering meadow hues that turn over his shoulder just to strike her own, igniting her blood with embers. Those black feathered wings that flitter at just the sight of her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"There's my half fae," the were-wyng mutters under his breath.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His expression softens, only to turn to stone in a matter of seconds. He runs a hand over his sharp jaw, rings glittering in the morning sunlight. He's tempting and dangerous at the same time, a venomous snake about to bite. There's no evidence of wounds on his body, or at least, not with her sight. The loose shirt and trousers he wears would cover most of the witches runes she witnessed in the mind-link.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎At least Ronyn seems a little more eager. "Mornin', half-breed."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morning," she manages to breathe, although her voice remains parched.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She never drank a nightbloom tea to deter that bond between her and Morrow. Drinking it has been part of her morning routine, but even that never prevented the mind-link from establishing, even when they were provinces apart. It's only been a matter of seconds in Morrow's presence, and the result of their matebond already creates tethers in her head. It snaps, sizzling to be welded back into repair. He's the one that broke it, and yet, close proximity seems to put it back together.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The sound of his voice fills her thoughts. You smell like Ronyn.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen clenches her fists to her side. She hears him as if he's speaking right at her, and yet no sound leaves those lips. He's inside of her head. It's a subtle manipulation to tie her creature down, because her creature fully engulfs herself in Morrow's wolf.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Can you all stop smelling me?" Elowen mumbles outloud, her voice bitter. Damn those wolf senses of theirs.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn frowns, confused at where the accusation came from. "I never—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I did," Morrow cuts him off as he crosses his arms against his broad chest. A few buttons remain undone on his loose shirt, revealing parts of his broad chest. For a flicker of a moment, the shadows of a scabbed rune peak from beneath the fabric.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎So it must be true. The image of him burns in her mind: bare, frigid, helpless. So opposite of the alpha he is.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A guttural growl vibrates through the room as Morrow takes a step towards her, a slight tick in his jaw. Those meadowed eyes glow like fireflies, sparking, sparking, sparking, threatening to burst into flames.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Don't you ever show me that image again, the voice in her head seethes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎And Elowen? She's not afraid of his intimidations, nor is she afraid of what runes lie on him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What is this about my fae magic?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow shoves those ringed fingers into his trouser pockets. "There's nothing about it. You have it. It exists."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"But it doesn't exist," she looks at Ronyn for some sort of help, but he gives her nothing. She reverts back to those meadowed hues. "Can I at least know what's going on here? You need to tell your pack the truth. Not just Ronyn. He's the only one that gives me any hint as to what I saw a few night's—" She holds her tongue in case other were can overhear.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The alpha flashes a rare naughty smirk. "What you saw in that little head of yours is none of your concern."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It will be when you damn us all for what bargain you made with the witches."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow crooks his brow. "And what bargain would that be?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You want ancient's blood, so you can enter Pailon and try to find a way to end the blight."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow tilts his head at this, then flicks his attention to his beta. His jaw clenches as he observes Ronyn shift uncomfortably on his feet, avoiding the gaze of his superior. Perhaps Elowen was meant to be kept in the dark about Morrow's intentions in Scaerus, but she found a way to chisel Ronyn's walls to get somewhat of an answer from him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Would that be so bad?" Morrow's voice whispers, his rough voice coming out in smooth notes. "To have a cure?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No, but—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Then there isn't a problem."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow pushes past Ronyn, but pauses after a handful of steps. Elowen keeps her gaze trained on those black feathered wings, as those wings seem to be the only intel for his inner emotions. Every flinch and bristle tells her more than his deadpan expression. Entranced in her gaze, those wings flitter as those green hues search out Elowen.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "And might I suggest giving up on this fucking act of leaving Tabrien?" Morrow adds, prolonging his exit. "It's all you think about."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her creature wholeheartedly agrees with his request, but Elowen denies it with full force. She feels his end of the tether tug rapidly at her own, almost clawing at her with the talons of his inner wolf.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Get out of my head," Elowen spits.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He grunts. "You won't be leaving here, sparrow."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I will be."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The terrans will kill you," Morrow continues, not giving a damn to Elowen's plea. "Especially now that their scouts have been sneaking within our borders. Nowhere outside this palace is safe for you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're just full of great news, aren't you? Won't they kill you too?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow cocks his head, as if the answer to her question should be obvious. "I can't die."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Can't die? Even the eternal have an achille's heel, a way to imprison them in a wallowing hell known as death. To be as arrogant as him to think that he can escape it, let alone break free from that imprisonment... it's absurd. He just must be that cocky, so full of shit. No one is safe from the grim reaper. No one.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow gestures for Ronyn to follow him as he exits the sanctum, but the sound of the alpha ordering a nearby omega echoes through the room in just the slightest whisper.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Get me a fucking nightbloom tea."

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*

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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑾𝑶𝑵'𝑻 𝑩𝑬 𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬, 𝑺𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑹𝑶𝑾.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Not on foot, but the urge to escape the palace grows night after night. Although now, she just needs to know if her wings have fully healed from those iron burns, and what better way to do that than with a small test flight?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎If she can fly—even just a small distance, she'll count it as a victory. Her goal is just to reach the nearby watchtower without faltering to her death. It's farther than the balconies she's been trainings on. Besides, what else does she have to lose? Her entire family was slaughtered by ruthless terrans, and all that remains is herself.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen pulls her long maroon hair back into a loose windswept braid, hooking lost tendrils behind her pointed fae ears. The black silk dress she wears remains loose around her body, catching in the breeze, just like she's used to. She lets the wind catch within her white feathers, closing her eyes as it sifts against her skin.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She climbs aboard her balcony railing, her grey eyes rising up to the half-moon above her head.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Go, her creature urges to her surprise. It's been too long since they've both been in flight.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎So her feet leave the balcony, and she free falls down towards the city below.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She spreads her wings, gliding above Tabrien as a giggle of glee leaves her lips as she twirls within the air. She's long past the watchtower, getting slightly greedy with her freedoms of the sky.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She could leave Tabrien and never come back. She could cross the borders into Yestrea and learn the ways of the fae, not knowing a thing about them despite it being half her bloodline.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's at that thought, the thought of living amongst the fae, that Elowen's creature exacts her retribution. Her creature pulls at her wings to convince her to fly back to the Tabrien palace. It's betrayal, only so because the were view her as a useless peon. Morrow wants to lock her up in his corridor, refusing to have a mate yet refusing to let her go. These damned were want to harbour her fae magic, magic that locks itself in a tiny box in her chest, failing to come undone.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The only place where her and her inner creature find solace is the sky. If she can fly at night, become one with the wind currents and jet streams, then those were won't be able to tame all of her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Free.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She's finally free—

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A gasp leaves her lips as an iron arrow shoots up from the surface below, piercing her wing. She tumbles down, down, down, down. Her dainty fingers reach for the arrow wedged into her wing, blood staining her white feathers. She won't survive the fall without her wings. She needs her wings—

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Another body tumbles into her, catching her falling figure before she makes impact on the surface. Black wings smother her as a cushion, a blanket, something to soften the landing. Those feathers hide her wounded self from the sight of an empty audience. The meadow at the city's edge remains as desolate as Reovell, not a were in sight.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Or worse, a terran.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎They told her she wouldn't make it out of the city. She was warned that the terrans had their scouts poaching the edges of Tabrien's forests.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She opens her eyes, only to meet the glow of Morrow's firefly irises. She's seen his eyes when his human soul takes control, seen them when his wolf takes control, but never when both entities trapped inside of him overlap. It's only for a second, a flicker, until the Morrow she knows best returns and his eyes cease to shimmer.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What the fuck were you thinking?" Morrow grits with fury.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Despite his rash course of anger, her creature tethers itself to his aura, hurt and afraid, wanting nothing more than to stay close to his wolf.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Sensing her fear, Morrow releases a soothing growl that calms the storm raging within her. He pulls her close against his chest, her trembling fingers touching the bare skin peaking through his unbuttoned loose shirt. Her index finger sinks beneath the fabric to the base of a scabbed rune, and she expects him to release her, to condemn her for finding what he longs to make forbidden.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But he doesn't. His sinewy arms only strengthen.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The iron-headed arrow remains wedged in her wing. Blood stains her once white feathers, tainting them with the marks of decay. Disappointment flushes through her. Not my wing. Because that means she's back where she began.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Trapped. Confined. Grounded to Tabrien and the were.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's arms weave around her torso, calloused fingers sifting through bloodstained wings until he finds the weapon lodged within her flesh. She winces as his fingers tug at the arrow's shaft.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Fuck," he looks away, spitting out saliva as his face drops a few shades. "That iron is nauseating."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen cries out in pain, only to have Morrow guide her face into the crook of his neck to muffle the noise. Her teeth caress his pulsepoint as she screams, a shrill echo across the silence.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I got you," he murmurs against her hair, giving the iron arrow one last tug.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The arrow finally dislodges. He growls again, his embrace tightening around her. He hooks an arm beneath her legs and carries her, but not before sharing a soft nuzzle.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He nips the tip to her fae ear, just a grazing of his wolfish canines. "It's out."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She nods her head, her body grateful for the lack of iron poisoning it. Yet, she's more thrown by Morrow's tenderness. She gives their tether a gentle tug, a tepid curiosity for the truth.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He lifts his head, brows furrowed into a scowl that suits him so well. "Your thoughts are deafening," he mutters.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Before she can answer, Morrow spreads his midnight black wings and ascends into the air, Elowen curled up within his arms, and carries her back to the Tabrien palace. Not once does she pipe up a word, but she can't help the delicate purr coming from her creature. Morrow must feel it too, because his growls become a low soothing constant that nearly lulls Elowen to sleep.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎That is, until he lays her on the handmade quilts of a bed, a bed that's not her own. Her eyes briefly scan the surroundings, taking in the musk of winter, cedarwood, and brass. Brass? Her eyes avert to the corner of the room. Brass instruments line themselves against the wall, as well as guitars, violins and cellos. Joining those instruments is a large grand piano bathing in the moonlight from a window. She expects them to be covered in dust, but they remain clean, kept, almost as if they'd recently been used. Dumbfounded, she analyses the were-wyng a little longer as those meadow hues turn away.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She watches those black wings disappear into an ensuite bathroom, only to have him reappear with a spool of bandages in his hands. He analyses Elowen as her eyes dance at the shiny ensemble surrounding her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I never took you as a musician."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎And the glow in his meadowed hues? It returns, just for a second, before fading away into oblivion. "Yeah, my mother taught me..." He cuts himself short and gestures to her bloodied wing.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She lifts the arrow wound in her wing to her vision. Fortunately, wounds to the wings are never fatal, but they hurt more than any sword, and certainly so when the weapons are forged of iron.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The moon illuminates Morrow's tanned skin as he towers over where Elowen sits. "It wasn't your fault," he finally says, his eyes falling down to the blood now staining his hand-stitched quilts. "I knew the terrans would come for you on my territory."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"How did you...?" Elowen finds herself at a loss for words. "How did you find me?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Had a hunch," he mutters before taking Elowen's wounded wing in his grasp. She lets those calloused-padded fingers touch her, and she closes her eyes as her creature swims in the presence of the alpha. "I caught your scent on the balcony, then I saw you fly away. Thought I should follow just in case you got into shit."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She shakes her head with a soft laughter meeting her lips. "You wolves and your bloody sense of smell."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"My sense of smell saved your fucking life."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'm glad you have so much faith in me beyond these walls."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Not with what Arion's told me," Morrow never once takes his gaze away from the way the bandages wrap around the wound.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Arion said I was improving."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Yes, but you're still not able to hold your ground, sparrow."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Why do you call me that? Sparrow?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"One of the weakest birds around here," Morrow explains. "That'd be you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Out of who? Me and you?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He chuckles, a sound so subdued and rare that it causes Elowen's heart to melt. "We both know it's not me, but if you'd wish for me to call you something else—because god forbid you tell any of us your fucking name—then feel free to give a suggestion."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen crosses her arms, shifting away from Morrow's touch as he finishes bandaging the arrow wound in her wing. For a guy who has always appeared so stone, the slight curve at the corner of his lips tells Elowen that his own personal shield has been stripped for now, especially when she's surrounded by instruments that she knows he keeps close to his heart. It's that realisation that causes her creature to nearly jump Morrow's inner wolf.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But she won't let herself, and she ties her creature with an internal rope before she can get away.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You really want to leave here?" he asks, those green irises piercing through the darkness.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"This isn't my home."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He growls defensively, but quickly pulls the reins on his inner wolf, muttering a soft apology under his breath. "Then what is?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her gaze travels to the balcony, to the mountains that rim the horizon. Beyond those mountains lies more towering peaks that touch the heavens. It's there, between earth and sky, Elowen finds her calling.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But Reovell has fallen to the hands of the terrans, the same people who Morrow suspects shot her with an arrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow catches her wandering gaze, his voice almost... amicable rather than stale. "I've never been to Reovell."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's connection to Reovell delves deeper than her skin. Her mother raised her in the mountains, taught her to fly when her wings refused to give her strength. She just knew Elowen from the moment she was born like a second intuition. Her mother understood she needed the soil beneath bare feet, to be one with nature even when nature delivers hurricanes and typhoons. It's why she never minded the isolation in the woods for years, because the earth has always reminded Elowen of her mother, of the joys of Reovell.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The terrans," she murmurs. "Do they always trespass on your lands?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow takes a seat at the foot of the bed, just close enough to Elowen that the edges of their wings brush against each other. Most wyng possess white wings, much like Elowen. But Morrow's are rare, a shadowed shade that long ago represented a dark, evil soul. It seems so polar to what the rest of Tabrien perceives him to be—a hero, a leader. Yet, she sees past that to a being plagued in generations of curses.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's been months since they've set foot on my territory, but that was before they discovered you, " he says, lifting his green eyes. "When Alistair sets his sights on something he wants, he'll do anything he can to get it."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Like shoot me with an iron arrow?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He swallows. "Or destroy the entire province, just like he did to Reovell."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And you're afraid that'll happen to Tabrien?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No, because the terrans are weak without their weapons. Iron will destroy the wyng, but it's not the same poison to the were."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen shakes her head. "I'm not worth the trouble I'm causing you by being here. You should've let me fall to my death."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're not," he ticks his tongue, then rises to his feet. "You're not worth a damn second of my time, sparrow."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Don't call me that."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Sparrow," he repeats, then tilts his head towards his bedroom door. "Now that you've ruined my evening, I believe you should be going."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen rises to her feet, brushing past Morrow but never letting her eyes trail from his own. Both of them study another with such scrutiny, his gaze filled with dominance and hers with wonder. As she steps ahead of him and into the corridor, she becomes suspended by his powerful presence. She may not be were, but there isn't a doubt that Morrow is the alpha.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎No light reaches these halls aside from a few flickering torches. With the lack of light, she knows Morrow remains close. Close, but not near enough to satisfy her creature's craving for the wolf. Her heartbeat accelerates within her chest as she feels a caress of his wolfish aura against her own. She sighs in delight at the growl that rings through the darkness, because no matter how desperately her or Morrow attempt to suppress the matebond, it still lingers.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎What if she submitted to him for just a moment? It's not her fault, according to the were. They're mates. She blames fate for her stupid attraction to such a devilish being.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow growls again, his hand snatching the dip of her hip and spinning her around to face him. "I won't stop you, if you choose to submit."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're in my head again."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Blame the fucking mind-link."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What are you trying to prove? We're not mates."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We're not," he agrees.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But their auras tell another story, for her creature remains fully entangled with his own. Their words say no but everything that courses beneath their skin speaks oaths of a fated bond. Morrow has let his guard down, and Elowen, not knowing how to put her own up, stumbled right into his treacherous embrace.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He's still close, but not close enough.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's a battle between who will crumble first.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎As if he were condemned by the same inner turmoil, Morrow tightens his grasp on her hip and ushers her into the wall. Her body makes an impact against the wooden planes, white wings splayed, her breath escaping her lungs as she tilts her head upward. Meadow green eyes study the vulnerability of her neck, and his irises disappear as a darker wolfish entity takes control. There's no green to be found, just the black blown pupils of his wolf.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow enters into her space, one large hand spread across her lower back while the other brushes maroon red locks away from her throat, granting him further access for what his inner wolf and creature want him to do. Bite. Mark. Claim. His wings expand behind his back, blocking out any source of minimal light and sheltering their two figures. His lips brush down her throat, mouth parted, breath heavy and hot. To Elowen, it feels like fire, and it's descending down into the pit of her stomach to burn for infinity.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His tongue licks her rapid pulse, his voice nothing but a helpless whisper. "Tell me your name, sparrow."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She laces her hands against his back, against the base of those shadowed wings. He feels exquisite. Under his gaze and touch, she almost unravels into a needy mess.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She grasps onto the little control her creature lets her have. "No... I can't..."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You can."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She gasps as a firm hand rounds the base of her neck. The golden rings on his knuckles chill her skin, sending goosebumps to every part of her body. He presses his thumb against her windpipe, just enough slight pressure so she can still breathe, before descending into open mouth kisses on the other side of her throat. She shivers in delight, her silver eyes falling drowsy beneath his touch.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Your goddamn scent is everywhere," he murmurs between lithe kisses on her skin as his mouth dips to her bare shoulder. Her wings bristle in satisfaction at just a brush of his mouth. "It's pathetic."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What's pathetic is your ability to keep yourself under control." Because it's slipping, slipping fast between their fingers. His hand runs from her hip to her thigh. His palm widens.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You need to tie a leash to that creature," he groans.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"My creature can do whatever the hell she wants."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Oh, your creature is satisfying mine in all the right ways."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎And Elowen knows it. Feels it. The invisible auras that tether them finally start to breach physicality. Every touch from Morrow's calloused fingertips sends fire through her bloodstream, a heat she's never felt before. It revitalises her, brings her back to life as if every moment before she was dead. Just when she thinks she's alone in the matter, she feels Morrow tighten his hips to hers, and she welcomes it. A deep growlish moan escapes him as he places a rough nip on her pointed fae ear.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎In that moment, no matter what words leave her lips, her body opposes what she knows is right.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We shouldn't be like this," she breathes as she tugs open his loose shirt. Beneath the fabric lines scarred tanned skin, runes she can't decipher in the dark. "I drank the tea. It was supposed to suppress the matebond—

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"—and it isn't fucking working."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She won't submit, won't cave, even when Morrow tempts her with his close proximity. He's of vile danger, a dark lord of destruction.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He said it himself. He's not fit for a mate.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's Morrow that snaps away, removing any hold he had on the wyng. Heavy breaths fill the void between them. His black wings fold behind him as the torchlight dances off his sharp, salacious features. Morrow's black windswept hair remains tousled in all directions, the cowlicks and curls untamed, much like the alpha himself.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He takes another step away, a low growl rumbling from the depths of him. "Go before I do something I'll regret."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's all he manages to say as she rushes to her bedroom door, pushing it open and locking it closed behind her. Her creature scratches beneath her skin for just another minute in Morrow's presence, but whatever waters they dread remain perilous.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Yet, the moment her head hits the pillow, she can't help but replay the moment she fell from the heavens and right into the arms of her mate.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The last she hears is Morrow's beautiful sound, a sound that no one else in Tabrien will ever hear.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

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hehehe this is the first time elowen and morrow have talked privately! don't worry, there's a lot more elowen and morrow scenes coming up very, very soon, sooner than you think :) i love writing them, so i hope you all love reading about them.

also, the sparrow has once again been grounded. oops.

i hope you all have an amazing week!

ivy <3