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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝑾𝑬𝑹𝑬 understand her desire to leave Tabrien. To the betas, she hasn't exactly been subtle about her dislike for the place. Her white wings are enough of an indicator that she belongs elsewhere, but no one seems to treat her any differently than the other wolves. It must be because of her and Morrow's matebond, a matebond that burns so strong yet she refuses to acknowledge.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Twas only last night when Morrow caught her when her wings crippled from terran iron arrows. The memory of him catching her replays in her mind over and over again, and she tries to stop it. Damn her for even indulging in it, but her creature loves to be in Morrow's presence, and Elowen can't deny the gravitational pull the universe gives when the two enter the same room. As she lays on her bed with eyes closed, she can almost feel his open-mouth kisses upon her neck, the nips upon her pointed ear, each hot breath fanning against her skin.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Stop it, she tells herself. Morrow remains a stranger, an enigma she can never be able to figure out. He's caught betwixt a mess of lies and curses, while she's attempting to pick up his scraps and string together the truth. Mates or not, she won't submit to him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Last night was a fluke, and she is determined to correct it.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her thoughts are brutally disrupted by her bedroom door snapping off the hinges. Wood splinters against the floor, exploding shrapnel in all directions. Like lightning, Elowen sits up, clinging the sheet to her chest as she watches an infuriated Ronyn waltz into the room. Behind him, Cordea rambles on as an attempt to calm him down, but Ronyn's blazing hazel orbs tell her that nothing will soothe him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Nothing at all.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn growls heavily, his muscles expanding as if he was beginning to shift into his wolf. "You."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen glances at Cordea, scowling. "What's going on?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But Cordea doesn't answer. It's Ronyn that continues to prowl towards her. "What the hell happened last night?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"How do you know something happened?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow's been awol for the past few hours," Ronyn grits his sharp teeth as he speaks, "so something must've fucking happened, because his scent is all over you. I can smell it from here!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Can you stop smelling me?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea sets her hand on Ronyn's bicep, rubbing her palm in soothing circles. Ronyn's hazel irises meet the glistening eyes of his beta counterpart, and he dissolves at the touch for just a mere second. The two always seem to irk one another, but it's clear there's a relationship deeper than what they show.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Ronyn," she whispers. "It's clear she doesn't know. Besides, Morrow comes and goes without telling us all the time. What makes this so different?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He doesn't tell you where he goes," Ronyn corrects. "He always tells me if he'll be out of Tabrien."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea nods her head in the slight before lifting her attention to Elowen. It's then Cordea notices the fresh bandages wrapped around her wounded wing, a wound that never existed prior to yesterday. She gasps at the sight, then breaks from Ronyn's side to investigate the damage herself.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Manicured nails rake against the tenderly wrapped wound. "What happened to your wing?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's nothing, and Morrow—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow?" Ronyn growls in defense. "You better fucking tell me what happened with Morrow, half-breed."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen digs her nails into the sheets beneath her, her cheeks flushing in slight embarrassment. "I might have tried leaving."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You can't leave."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I can leave, if I want," Elowen interjects.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn tilts his head. "You haven't, half-breed, so there's gotta be a reason you're choosing to stay."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The were takes a step towards Elowen, leaning towards the wound on her white wing and sniffing the bandages. He growls, anger pitching the dreaded noise vibrating deep from within his chest. Ronyn's jaw clenches, almost instinctively, protectively.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Iron. Morrow says he hates iron." He drops his voice. "I want to know everything that happened last night with Morrow. It might explain where he disappeared to. Don't make me ask again."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen once again meets Ronyn's hazel eyes, and her creature beneath her skin purrs as his gaze falls deeper upon her. It's clear that Ronyn is faithfully loyal to his alpha, to Morrow, and would probably follow him off a cliff had he jumped it.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Like I said, I tried to leave. Morrow told me about the terran scouts encroaching the woods, but I didn't believe that they'd do anything while I took a small test flight. While over the woods, a terran scout must've spotted me and shot me with an iron arrow. Morrow caught me before I hit the ground and brought me back here."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A ferocious growl pulsates through the bedroom. Cordea reaches for Ronyn, who once again twists with bitter rage. His wolf flashes within his hazel eyes, his canines elongating and body hunching as he catches himself mid-shift.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎With just one touch, Cordea has him in her restraint, and he obeys. She keeps her voice oddly calm when everything seems to fall south. "He went for the terrans, didn't he?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"That motherfucking asshole!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn tries to grapple with his inner self, his wolf growling while he steams at Morrow for leaving without notice. If she knew the terrans would snipe her from the clouds, she would've never left the palace. She would've stayed in the sanctuary until the bitter fog lifted, if it ever did. Still, it's not like she cares for Morrow. It's only been a matter of days.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But Morrow... he was still something she couldn't understand. Even now, his disappearance drives a knife into her assumptions of him. The were-wyng seems to be a man of cold calculation, but she discovered so much about him that she knows the other wolves are unaware of. Do they know that he's a virtuoso? That he has the ability to be gentle when he's known for bloodshed? If he went for the terrans, she knows what part of Morrow will come to light, and it isn't the one that saved her last night. He'd go for the terrans in furious revenge.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea swallows a heavy breath. "We've had our fair share of misdemeanours with the terrans in the recent months, and we thought we'd balanced our scales with them. Our borders on the edge of Brecia have been ravaged from the blight, so both sides agreed to put effort into slowing the progression of the disease, but all that changed just weeks before you arrived here. The terrans have been cornering us within Tabrien, threatening to steal our territory." A chord in her neck tightens. "But it's not just the loss of land, it's... it's been malevolent."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Every week, the terrans have captured one of our sentinels," Ronyn says. "They slaughter them when they shift into their wolf form. The terrans want the pelts for trophies to hang on their goddamn walls. Some even make them into coats. They pride themselves in our bloodshed, especially that fucking high lord of theirs."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Alistair Carrin.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's gaze trails to the balcony doors, her mind replaying the moment she decided to test her wings in flight. When everything went awry, it was Morrow who saved her. If they believe Morrow, their alpha, decided to take on the terrans...

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's heart hammers against her ribcage. Her creature panics at the thought of Morrow in danger, and all her wyng instincts tell her to protect what belongs to her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But Morrow isn't hers, just like she doesn't belong to Morrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Will he be okay?" Elowen breathes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The terrans have been trying to get him out of the palace during a shift for ages," Ronyn explains. "That's why it's important he tells us when he leaves Tabrien, because he could be on a stake by now."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We all know Morrow's not a pureblood were," Cordea breathes, "so when he shifts... it's cataclysmic."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The idea of Morrow shifting only seems to spike her creature's anxiety. The image of those wings snapping to conform to a wolfish anatomy goes against any law of nature. He's not a pureblood. He's not like his people, just like Elowen isn't like hers.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Maybe that's the sole reason fate strung them together.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The sound of frantic footsteps echoes from outside the bedroom chamber. Arion appears in the doorway, cheeks rosy as a fresh claw mark bleeds down his jaw. His dark eyes flash hints of a scared, submissive wolf buried inside of him, and his tawny hair stands on end in a disarray. The strong warrior built from boulders and oxen—the one who trains Elowen to give her strength—suddenly appears so cowardly.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Arion?" Cordea breathes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Arion meets Ronyn's eyes, then switches his attention to his fated mate.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea sets her hands on her hips, stalking closer to where Arion stands at the door. "What's going on?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's Morrow," Arion growls when his eyes land on Elowen, because deep inside, they all know who's to blame. "He's shifted."

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*

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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 bolt, sprinting past the betas and Elowen by a longshot. Elowen chases after Cordea and Arion, almost sluggish compared to the two were. She knows their abilities surpass her own on foot. They'll forever be faster, stronger, more in tune with the world around them. They scurry down stairwells and corridors, storming through lobbies and common rooms until they meet the large oak doors of the sanctum.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Oddly enough, those doors remain closed and heavily guarded.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Arion points at the two burly were at the entrance. "Open up. Let us through."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The two were guards part their ways as Arion swings the door open. Not once does he glance behind him to Cordea and Elowen, but instead removes whatever articles of clothing he can before shifting into his wolf, barreling deeper into the large throne room.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea chases after, stopping Elowen before she can see inside. "You can't come in here. It'll be too dangerous."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's just Morrow, isn't it?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Yes, it's Morrow, but..." she gnaws on her lip as blood-thristy growls echo through the room. "But he's not himself when he's like this."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen clenches her fists tight, her creature tugging at her limbs to move in order to see Morrow. She still despises the fact that her inner-wyng adores the half-breed were, but it irks her that she's not allowed to do anything about it. If she's so fated to be his mate, then she should be allowed to see him, through the ugly and bitter times to the golden dawns.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I understand Morrow acts like he's constantly sitting on a thumbtack, but gods, I can handle him."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We can hardly handle him on a good day," Cordea sneers. "I don't know what he'll do to you if he gets his claws on you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He can't be that dangerous—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's voice drawls hollow as a large creature bounds into her vision from across the room. Fur as black as midnight glistens in the morning rays from the skylight above, with eyes flickering a luscious forest that holds any living creature in a trance for just a moment before transforming into pupils so black and feral. Beneath that black fur, wounds of runes peak through, a haunting reminder of what vows he promised the witches. Violent black wings spread from the wolf's shoulders—spread so wide as if to expand his size by double. His pincer sharp teeth are barred, open as a quaking growl silences the room. Blood drips from his jaws from the corpse within his bite.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen stumbles backward. The corpse remains mutilated, but she can identify terran features, and the quiver of iron arrows on his back tells her that this must be an archer.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The corpse must be the man that shot her with the iron arrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎And Morrow? Morrow must've sought revenge after his visit, must've shifted to kill.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's gaze lifts when he notices Elowen in the doorway. The growl that comes from him silences the other wolves, and he drops the bloodied limb that was caught within his canines. In a split second, his attention breaks from the corpse to the wyng standing by the entryway. Her scent must fill the room, driving him to extreme madness.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea uses her body and blocks Elowen from Morrow's sight. "Go to your room and lock the door. Do not unlock it until I say so."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Ronyn broke my door," she gulps.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea's eyes widen, then nods her head, suddenly remembering the morning's meeting and how it all began to unfold. "That fucking idiot!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow breaks, barreling towards the sanctum doors. His wolf hardly takes three paces when he's tackled to the ground by another wolf, one smaller but still burly. Brown fur ripples as the wolf snaps his jaws near Morrow's face, growling profusely. She recognizes this wolf. It's Ronyn, blood dripping down his anatomy from claw wounds. Never does he falter from his apparent injuries. Behind him with tawny fur runs Arion's wolf. Both are strong, but next to Morrow, they appear so small.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea pushes Elowen out of the room. "We need to go."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎This time, Elowen doesn't put up a fight. The two guards lock the sanctum doors behind them, then launch themselves out of the way before the sound of splintering wood wreaks havoc through the silence. From the other side, claws dig into the door, scraping it paper thin.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her feet carry her back down the palace halls, her wings straining to fly so she can gain momentum, but her wounded wing forbids her from catching air. Curse her weak legs. She's only crossed her fingers that her training sessions with Arion would aid her, but she's slow like molasses. Cordea follows close behind her, her gaze constantly tracking behind her shoulder.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The sound of the sanctum doors snapping off the hinges causes both of them to stop.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Gods, not another broken door," Cordea groans as they approach a stairwell.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's thighs strain with every step, pain splintering from her feet as she treks upward.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Where the hell do I go?" Elowen pants as they reach the crest of the steps.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow's room."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No," Elowen shakes her head. After seeing Morrow's wolf with blood dripping from his jaws like crimson tar, he's the last person she wants to be around. "I was told that no one goes into Morrow's room."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You can, and he won't protest."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Don't say it's because of the matebond."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea huffs. "I know you're not aware of were customs, but we uphold the concept of mates very highly. Morrow respects you no matter how unintelligent your decisions are."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen grits her teeth. So that's how the were view her: unintelligent. The only reason they respect her is because Morrow believes the matebond has set in, a matebond even he doesn't agree with.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen bursts through the private alpha corridors—which lately, don't feel so private at all with the betas constantly barging in and out. She passes her bedroom door knocked off its hinges, and then dashes to Morrow's. His door remains closed, and when she tries to wriggle the knob—

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's locked," Elowen breathes, her voice beginning to lace itself with panic. Of course it's locked. She doubted that Morrow would leave his bedroom unattended.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea pushes past her to another door. "His study!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen races into the room. It's just like every other room in the Tabrien castle. Lavish furnishings and houseplants scope around her. There's a desk in the centre, as well as an abundance of papers and notes. It's organised with colourful little tabs and labels, marked with chicken scratch handwriting. What Elowen admires most about this room is that it has something that some of the rooms fail to have, certainly after this morning: a door.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea slams the door behind Elowen and locks it shut.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Only now, the lull in the morning's events lets her thoughts catch up to her. Morrow hunted down the terran archer, but why? It only will leave a larger target on his head for Alistair, because now Elowen knows the two despise each other with blood and soul.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He killed a terran," Elowen breathes, hoping to gain an explanation from Cordea.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The beta nods, leaning against the door as if to brace it shut. "Someone brought harm to his mate."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"But I'm not his mate. Even he admits that."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"That doesn't stop the compulsions," Cordea explains. "You can deny the matebond all you want, but the moment that arrow pierced your wing, I bet my life that Morrow wanted retribution."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The matebond. Gods, Elowen begins to detest that word with every utterance of it, and Cordea never seems to stop talking about it. She can't possibly be so deeply bonded to him that everything she does will impact his decisions, and vice versa. When she tries to reach down her tether to Morrow, she only finds a scramble of chaos. It's unreadable, leaving her creature utterly confused. Much like the night when her mind linked with Morrow's, that void in her chest opens up wide as she twiddles with the frayed edges of her tether.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen opens her mouth to speak when a large slicing claw hits the back of the study door. Morrow. The alpha must've tracked their scents from the sanctum. Cordea braces herself against the entrance, her nails elongating as she catches herself mid shift.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow somehow manages to let his wolf be dormant most of the time," Cordea explains, gritting her teeth slightly as another claw cuts the door, "making his shifts a rarity. But with his mate residing so close, we've been noticing more occurrences where his wolf comes to the surface."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Great. Guilt rises in the back of her throat, as if her mere existence is the reason their alpha is so volatile.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow's wolf always becomes violent in his shifts, and we believe it's because his wolf is angry at Morrow for what he's done. Were are one with their wolves, but Morrow? Morrow never lets his wolf come out."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Can't he just... shift back?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's not that simple," Cordea continues as the sounds of wolves fighting with teeth and claws echo from the other side of the study. She recalls the open scratches on Ronyn and Arion's shifted bodies, knowing full well that she'll never have the strength to take on Morrow's wolf alone. "Because Morrow is at odds with his wolf, they can't agree upon the right time to shift. The easiest way we can get Morrow to return back to his wyng form is if we..."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thump. The sound of a large body hits the opposite side of the door, and it's that same sound that causes Cordea's muscles to loosen and finally relax. She releases the door, leaving behind nail marks from clutching it closed, then opens it wide to reveal what lies on the other side.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎There, laying at Cordea's feet, is a sedated black wolf with wings bent and twisted in all directions. Growlish snores echo through the air, but those once blackened and green hues that always seem to find Elowen remain locked shut. Up close, evidence of deep-cut runes ebb through his black fur, solidifying what Elowen saw in the mind-link.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea sighs. "We sedate him until he shifts back."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen catches Ronyn and Arion just beyond Morrow's sleeping form. Other were surround them, carrying their strewn articles of clothing from before their shifts. In their human forms, claw marks remain evident on the beta's arms and torsos, but their wounds only get concealed the more they redress themselves. One of the were carries a small vial—a liquid sedative somehow fed to Morrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn tentatively grazes his fingers over an open claw wound on his bicep. "Either he's getting stronger, or we're getting weaker."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Arion throws his shirt over his head. "For you, it's the latter."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I hate fucking doing this," Ronyn grumbles as he motions at the spectating were. "Carry him to the spare room across the hall. I want guards on his post at all times, and we keep his door closed. No one speaks of this shift until Morrow's back to normal. We have enough shit to deal with, and we don't need the fucking terrans to raid the palace because of it. Does everyone understand?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎All the surrounding were nod their heads.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Two were curl their arms around the were-wyng, hoisting Morrow's wolfish anatomy into the air and stumbling across the corridor to another unoccupied bedroom, obeying Ronyn's orders. Afterall, no one enters Morrow's bedroom.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Unless your name is Elowen and you get pierced with an iron arrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea sets her hands on Arion's cheeks, her palm sheltering a shallow claw wound on his flesh. Neither of them speak a word, but Arion dips his gaze down and places a kiss on her wrist. Anything spoken between them must be a private conversation through their own mind-link. As Elowen's gaze tracks towards the spare room, she lets her creature tug on her tether to Morrow that connects them, only to find nothing reacting on the other end. Her mind-link is dead.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Perhaps the province of Tabrien isn't as idyllic as she thought. It's spectacular, but these past few weeks have only been evidence of the ruin that runs within the shadows. The blight. The threat of the terrans. Morrow's cursed shifts.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Out of curiosity, her feet trail towards the door to the room. From there, the two were lay Morrow's body down on the bed, straightening his wings and tucking them in behind him. A were drapes a thin sheet over his anatomy, and for a split second, she almost feels pity for Morrow, for the poor cards of fate that were dealt to him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She steps inside the room, only to have a hand grab her bicep and pull her right out. She spins around to face the hazel irises that belong to Ronyn, and the sigh that leaves his lips speaks of a thousand burdens.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Come with me, half-breed. We gotta talk."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

*

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏 𝐀𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃 of her as they enter back into the palace gardens. Every were that passes gets dismissed by Ronyn, obviously wanting complete privacy for their upcoming conversation. By now, the were must know of Morrow's shift and sedation, even if no one speaks it aloud.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The beta takes a seat on a bench, setting his face into the palms of his hands, then lifts his gaze to a pitiful Elowen.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "He didn't need this right now," he mutters.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "I should apologise then," Elowen avoids his blazing hazel eyes, "because it's my foolishness that led him to shift, and if I hadn't tried to leave..." Morrow would be alright. He wouldn't have gone for the terran archer.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Don't beat yourself up about it. We knew that this shit would be more than Morrow can handle. I just never expected it to all fucking collapse on him at once."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "What do you mean?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "He's the leader of the pack, but Tabrien's been threatened with more than he can bare. The blight's obliterating the east of the province near Brecia, and it's only a matter of time until more were begin to die because of it. That's why he's so determined for a cure."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Elowen takes a step towards him, then settles onto the bench beside him, curling her white wings close against her spine. To her surprise, Ronyn leans into her presence, brushing his shoulder against her bony frame. Warmth radiates from him, something so polar to the frigid climate of her homelands in Reovell.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "His desire to protect will always dominate his rationality," Ronyn explains. "So when word spread that the blight was coming for his wolves, sparing those he could became his ultimate goal."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "I don't blame him for wanting to protect his people," Elowen mutters, but her thoughts only drift to the downfall of Reovell. They fell so rapidly without a fight, and now the wyng are extinct.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "He's trying everything, half-breed," he continues, "and he keeps going back to the fucking witches to help him. Now he thinks he needs the fae."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "And what are the fae going to do? They might be drunken arses but they're not going to lend a were their magic."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "That's why I need to warn you of this."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Warn?" Elowen releases a sharp laugh. "I don't need warnings."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Right now, Morrow's blood runs with a witches' serum of fake ancient's blood. He wants to go to Yestrea to ask for fae magic to be used to help cloak him when he crosses Pailon's borders, and he'll keep asking until they give him what he wants. If the ancients let him cross their borders, he won't come back to Tabrien without a remedy."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Elowen's creature yips from beneath her skin at the possibility of Morrow never returning, but the whole plan appears to be ridiculous, almost suicidal. To even dare go to Pailon will certainly mean death, and she knows the ancients won't like the trickery of Morrow's methods.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "You're half fae," Ronyn points out, his eyes trained on her pointed ears. "If going to Yestrea fails, he might resort to asking you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Elowen releases an unimpressed ha. "I don't have fae magic."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "All fae do."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Not me."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "You do."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "I don't."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ronyn squints his eyes, his lips curving into a slight smirk. "Then how did you brainwash me into bidding on you at the auction?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Such a tease.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "I didn't brainwash you. Your alpha told you to go in there so he lock me up in his corridor."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "And mate with you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "But we are not mates! And I refuse to be a pawn in his absurd plans for a cure."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ronyn shrugs, leaning in towards Elowen and taking a deep breath in. "You reek of him."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Elowen pushes his face away. "Gods, you were need to stop smelling me."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Not mates, my ass. You two are more similar than you think." There's a mischievous twinkle in his hazel irises. "Wait until you get a taste of what a were is like in bed. You won't want to sleep alone again."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "You're disgusting."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ He winks. "I can warm it up for you. Give you a glimpse of what Morrow desires for a mate."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "We're not mates," she spits out once again, shooting up from the bench. She sets her hands on her hips, her silver eyes shooting daggers at the sly-smirking beta. "The moment my wing heals up again, I swear I'm going to fly away."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Try it, half-breed."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "I will."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "You won't. By the time you can finally get out of here, I fear we'll all have grown on you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ronyn doesn't understand that she likes the isolation. Ever since the fall of Reovell just years ago, she wandered the woods all alone. She doesn't need the were, doesn't need their gigantic beds, steaming food, and bubbling bathtubs. Most of all, she doesn't need fate to get in the way and tell her that she needs a mate.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She will leave Tabrien.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She will...

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Won't she?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 

▬▬▬▬▬

do you think elowen is going to attempt to leave again? she might leave it all behind just for a taste of that independence, but there's still some time until she (maybe) tries again. for now, elowen is stuck with a grumpy morrow and flirty ronyn.

it also feels like forever since i've posted a chapter, but it's only been a week! i hope these updates aren't too slow for y'all!

have a great halloween!

ivy <3