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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐍.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's a fact he's repeated several times, but Elowen always attributed that to his arrogance and cocky persona. Now, she realises they worship the ground he walks upon. The moment Ronyn stole her and brought her into the night's revelry, they doused him with wine and pastries for him and Elowen to devour.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He accepts the flute of berry wine before setting his palm on the small of Elowen's back.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"How many of those have you had?" Elowen questions, knowing that this isn't the beta's first glass.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He shrugs. "Lost count."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Shouldn't you stay just a smidge sober?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Not really my duty. I always tell Morrow not to get piss drunk, but that's because he can't."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Why not?" she pouts, because the last time she saw Morrow, he had a whole damn bottle.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He's the alpha. He needs to stay level-headed," Ronyn sips the wine and finishes with a satisfied sigh. "Plus he's got a stick shoved too far up his ass to come and party."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen furrows her brows, knowing full well that she just saw him up on the private platforms by Novus and Asphodel. He's the reason she's no longer trying to avoid answering the dreaded question about her name. In a way, he's the one that rescued her from making a complete fool of herself.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn sets his palm upon her jaw, his touch gentle. Hazel irises soften as she looks up to meet his gaze. "Don't worry. You'll be in my sight for the entire evening," he purrs. She gives him a tepid nod. "Now open up."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He sets his thumb upon her lower lip, tugging her mouth open and ushering her head back. With ease, he pours the fae wine down her throat. Its sweetness burns down her windpipe, igniting her blood with that coveted mystical liquid. A buzz overcomes her in a matter of seconds, and the world around her becomes vibrant in hues and colour palettes. When Ronyn moves his hand to cup her cheek, his mere touch reverberates through her like lightning, cackling her nerves in a pleasure that sinks down to warm her stomach.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn. The beta. Not her mate. It takes her a moment to process it all.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn's brows knot together. "You good, half-breed?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She forces herself to nod. Elowen searches deep down inside of her, sensing out her creature. The other part of her has always been fond of Ronyn, but it's never been as heavy and dominating as her tether with Morrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It must be the wine, her sudden magnetism to him. Every drop of it must be poisoned with fae magic.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎At the same time, another pixie brushes past Ronyn's arm. "Would you like some dessert, Sir Ronyn?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Within the pixie's arms rests a platter filled with the most delectable of foods. Tarts. Donuts. Cookies. Cheesecakes. The sugary pastries cause Elowen's eyes widen like two moons, because divine desserts such as these will never exist in the isolated corners of the forests she was exiled tin.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn selects a plateful of donuts before muttering a thank you.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"My treat, half-breed," he grins.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn never leaves her side, not that she wants him to. The way his smile lights up whenever one of her giggles escape has her feigning for another second of his attention. Before she can catch herself, she's lost in the carefree whimsy he brings, the same comfortability he's always brought whenever she finds herself in his presence.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn takes a seat on a davenport chair, taking Elowen by the thigh. His burning hand slips beneath her poor excuse of a gown, not high enough to scathe her panties, but certainly far from the chasity that should mimic two friends. With a light squeeze from his claws, he hauls her onto his lap. Her bare legs drape over his muscular quads, and she's close enough to feel the deep thump-thump of his heartbeat. Elowen clutches the plateful of pastries and sugar-coated cookies close to her chest.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn brushes his cheek against the crown of her head, the softest of nuzzles. "You don't look at me like that."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen eagerly takes the powdered donut between her fingers. "Like what?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Like you just met the love of your life," he grins. "Who knew my biggest competition would be a donut?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"At least I can tolerate the donut," she retorts.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Admit it. You love hanging out with me. I'm a delight."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen giggles, taking a bite into the donut. Bits of icing sugar fall from her fingertips and onto her chin and chest, painting her skin in sugary snowflakes. The doughy pastry melts on her tongue. It's been too long since she's been exposed to such decadence. Her white feathered wings flutter as the rush of sugarish adrenaline courses through her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She takes another bite, tilting her head at the observing beta. "Why do they call you Sir Ronyn? I thought the were and the fae didn't get along."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Correction: Morrow doesn't get along with them, which means Tabrien doesn't get along with them by default."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"That doesn't explain how you—" she pokes his chest, "—waltz around here like you're a god."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He chuckles, running a hand through tousled chocolate hair, pulling at it at his nape. "Years ago," he begins, hazel eyes striking against her silver ones, "I requested to leave Tabrien in search of my mate."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's eyes widen at the word mate, her thoughts travelling to the cursed alpha wyng. For a flicker of time, her creature misses those midnight wings and grumpy permanent scowl, the faintest whisper of the nickname 'sparrow'. Afterall, that's who the moon selected to be bound to her, a connection that transgresses all others. But on Ronyn's lap, so close to the beta's smile, thoughts of Morrow are as distant as the sound of a violin.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow told me to give up," he mumbles. "He hadn't found his mate yet, but I hadn't lost hope on finding mine. Deep down, our wolves desire the intimacy of a partner, and it shatters us whole when we can't find the one set before us by fate. So I left. For months. And Morrow was pissed."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen shoves the rest of her powdered donut into her now-full mouth. "Isn't Morrow always pissed?" she asks with full cheeks.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Yeah, but not like this. Before I left, he'd just become the alpha after killing his father in combat for the title. He had no one, and so did I. I became his closest friend, until... until companionship wasn't enough to satisfy my need to be mated."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"So you came to Yestrea?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He nods. "My mate isn't here either, but it did mean I got to spend a lot of time getting smashed on fae wine. And I never went to bed alone."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen fakes a gag. "Disgusting."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn grins, pulling Elowen closer. He dips his nose against her collarbone, his cheek against her heartbeat as he breathes in her scent. "Call me 'disgusting' again, and I will drag you to my bedroom to prove you otherwise."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She may have irked Morrow about being tied to Ronyn's headboard, but now the tantalising fantasy grows into a full-blown vision. She almost feels her tendons stretching as he bends her with those strong beta palms, kissing her until the world falls black. He would keep her safe with his life, guard her when the terrans come for her wings.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She clenches her thighs a bit, hoping Ronyn fails to notice.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He nuzzles her chest, his voice a joking whisper. "Will you come to bed with me, half-breed?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She hesitates, debating on letting Ronyn bring her to his room. She's aware of his bedtime activities. He's everywhere but his own sheets, isn't he? If not, he's acting as a third for other mated wolves. To him, it must be a way to dull the ache of having no mate.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Keep dreaming."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'll keep it nice and warm."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And feed you pastries."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Ronyn, it won't happen."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'll release all this tension that Morrow refuses to take care of," he whispers, his touch hooking around her thigh pulling her legs a breath apart. "Your hand must be busy when you're alone at night, half-breed."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her cheeks radiate with a crimson blush. She expects her creature to hate him for this, to retreat, but instead, finds her creature submitting to the beta's tenderness.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She swallows, knowing this can't be good.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I don't..." her voice hardly makes a sound. "It doesn't happen every night."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Lingering in the abyss of her confused arousal, remains the fraying end of her and Morrow's matebond. She gives it a slight tug, just to prove that perhaps their matebond was nothing but a fluke. But like before, Morrow won't answer, won't respond to her beck and call.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn's tongue playfully collects the fallen icing sugar upon her chest. Warmth spreads through her veins from the trail of his lick, from the valley between her breasts upward to her pulse. He growls, his tone laced with hunger, before dipping down once more, finishing with a soft nip above the swell of her breast. The grazing of his canines sends euphoria spinning through her in tidals, evoking something dreadfully lost and strange.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn purrs, the sound vibrating her entire body as he tightens his embrace.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You smell like sweets," he mumbles into her collar.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She scratches behind his ears the way he likes. "You smell like you've had a glass too many."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He perks up, waves of chocolate hair brushing against Elowen's skin. Those hazel eyes lock with hers, and the sight of them so close drones the sounds of the festival away, until there's nothing and no one else to look at. Ronyn, gods... he's a heartthrob, and she's always known it. It's not like she's immune to his charms. That smile of his can destroy an entire wall around a stone fortress with just a flash.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She needs a distraction from those hazel hues, to forget the way the flames lap at the edges of his pupils with need.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen tips her head, a slight smile curving her lips. "A dance?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I've been waiting for you to ask that."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The music swells the moment the two meet the dance floor. Elowen forgets the lust that boils between them, replacing the need for his proximity with laughter over Ronyn's blundering steps. The tall goof spins Elowen in circles, her wings fluttering in clouds of pixie dust.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn keeps spinning her. "You're stealing the show, half-breed!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You don't always have to be the centre of attention!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He gives her one too many spins, and Elowen trips over her feet and stumbles into Ronyn's chest. He catches her, arms lacing around her waist and under the base of her wings. It's in that embrace that she falls into the trance of hazel irises. Again.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her heart thunders, her creature aching to be in Ronyn's presence. Her skull won't stop spinning, spinning, spinning—

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His hand grips the dip of her hip, pulling her flush against his hips. Not once does she break his gaze, because everything about him blazes like an inferno. If there were a forest in him, he'd be nothing but a forever wildfire, a blaze that can never be extinguished.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He's beautiful in a way so opposite of Morrow. Ronyn is light, while Morrow is the unforgiving dark.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He swallows heavily as he presses her against his erection, drawing an eager twitch of excitement within his trousers.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Half-breed."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Ronyn."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His voice drops, his breath caressing her pointed ear. "Morrow's gonna take you from me in a matter of seconds. If he can't get you off, you know where to find me."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn leaves her with nothing more than a flirtatious wink before a ring-clad hand grips her waist, hauling her away from the beta. Her back collides with Morrow's chest, and the raw growl that rumbles from the alpha erases all traces of Ronyn's touch.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"How drunk is she?" Morrow grits.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn shrugs. "Just a glass or two."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Just?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Or five," the beta admits. "And four donuts."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎With Elowen in one palm, a half-empty bottle of fae wine remains in the other of Morrow's grasp. She only wonders how much the alpha had to drink, ironically questioning her own sobriety. From Ronyn's stories, the reputation of the alpha precedes him of being a drunken arse in the presence of fae wine.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow spins her around, a flurry of white wings and cascading maroon hair. Silver meets meadow green, his stare so stone and cold that goosebumps rake her flesh. Yet, the contact of his palm seems to radiate with heat.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're done for the night," his words come out in a dominating command.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No," Elowen pouts.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Sparrow, you're done."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Just another dance?" she pleads, leaning ever closer to his sharp immaculate features. "Ronyn said you had a stick shoved up your arse—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Hey!" the beta hisses.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"—so prove to me you're capable of letting loose. Please?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎While Morrow may appear to be utterly unconvinced, their mindlink sparks and zaps inside of her. The sound of a deep coercing growl echoes through him to her, her mind washing away to the sounds of the alpha. He becomes the music, the sound of the night. At once, she feels submissive in his embrace as she takes a small step closer to him, close enough that not a hair can pass between their bodies. He shifts his arm so his palm rests between the base of her white wings.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"One dance," he purrs against her ear. "Just to rid you of Ronyn's fucking scent."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow thrusts the bottle of wine into Ronyn's hands. Without so much as a dismissal to his beta, Morrow escorts Elowen out into the dance floor. She expects Morrow to just stand there and observe, frowning like voidless alpha that he is. Instead, he's as swift and elegant as an eagle, soaring with precision and guiding Elowen through the cliffsides. When he dips her, she follows, and it's in the dominance of his dance that Elowen's creature stirs with a lost sensation.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Flight.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Dancing with Morrow reminds her of the skies, the heavens, and innocence of the morning clouds. A smile spreads across her lips. She feels as if she could take off at any moment, coax the breeze and jetstreams from their slumber, and burst into the atmosphere and never look back. She giggles, spreading her white wings in full, ready to leap into the air.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎In a dance, Morrow has liberated her from his possession for just a moment.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But that's not what he wants. Their matebond pulls at them both, grounding her as she falls into his captive biceps.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her forehead collides with Morrow. Her world absorbs in those two meadowed hues, his pupils a blown possessive black. Up close, he's a different kind of dangerous, a salacious one that will surely leave her heart with wounds. Only, no witches runes will be able to save her for the destruction that will become of her due to his desires.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Don't fly away from me now, sparrow," he murmurs before tackling her with a wolfish nuzzle.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I wasn't going to."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You were."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen frowns, but admits defeat to his affections with a satisfied sigh. Her whole body tingles wherever calloused fingertips scathe, as if the moon whispers his next touch to her before he makes it.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Novus is watching you," he whispers against her pointed ear as takes a hold of her hips. He continues to dance, a slight rotation of his pelvis as he holds her back against his broad chest. "Whatever you said to him has the fae royals running around like fucking fools."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I told them nothing," Elowen stammers. "They wanted my name."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And your name belongs to me."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"None of who I am belongs to you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She hums, her voice following the languid melody of the festival's music. She sways her hips as her rear brushes against Morrow's pelvis, her rhythm becoming sultry as the tone of the song changes. Slow, heavy, lethargic notes only cause her body to crave Morrow's friction.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎In the oscillation of her hips, their tether sparks with a quirked emotion, one that causes her to pause. It's a rash fit of heat, of hurt, of anger and desire combined into one. At the same time, Morrow's nails curl deeper into the translucent fabric around Elowen's torso. A bitter growl rumbles from his throat, followed by a pulse of humid air against her bare neck.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Jealousy.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Except, the emotion didn't just start now. No, this is the overflow of his mental barricade. He refuses to let Elowen in his mind, but when it all becomes too much, the flood gates open.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He fumes with feral jealousy, with hot red corruption. Not just towards Ronyn for acting upon his desires, but at all the lustful gazes of fae observing the sway of her body.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Before she can call him out, his lips begin to suck bruising kisses against her pulse, silencing her as if she knew she'd interrogate.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Mine," he murmurs, the confession more wolfish than his human voice.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Pleasure overwhelms her bloodstream and bones, overthrowing her senses of rationality and replacing it with the domination of Morrow. Against his pelvis, she writhes in need, only to feel the bulge in his pants swell against her rear. Ronyn was right about the built-up tension inside of her, and gods, she needs someone aside from her own hand to release it. When her limbs go limp within his embrace, Morrow's kisses end with a drawl of his tongue over the swollen flesh. He releases a soft hum, satisfied with his branding.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His lips curve into a sinister smirk. "Fuck what Ronyn told you. If you need to come, you'll do it in my bed."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He heard. Damn their lycan hearing.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We're not mates."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He hums against her ear, agreeing. "Hmm. We're not."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His nuzzle pushes her to the edge of the gathering, somewhere amidst the shadows where spying eyes won't catch them. He ushers her against the wall, the marble stone cool against her bare spine as Morrow spreads his black feathered wings wide. His wings become a partition to the outside world. No one can see her. Or them. Or what they're about to do.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Through the shadows, Morrow's lips curve as he sets a hand above her head, another on the curve of her hip bone. She shouldn't trust him, shouldn't let him own her like this, but her curiosity and attraction tell her to follow him wherever he decides to go.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His next order comes out reverent, yet soft, hinting at the compassion locked within the labyrinth of his heart.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Keep dancing, sparrow," he whispers. "No one can see you here."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen sways her hips, letting Morrow enjoy the show of her before him. Her mindlink hums with hints of his voice. Mine. All fucking mine. Flashes of her in his mind annihilate her cognition. Images of her bare skin in the dim light, of her head kicked back with a carefree smile, the music consuming her whole.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But he's just as magnificent, even with all his cruel darkness.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's loose black shirt remains open, a deep v jutting down to the top of his abdomen. Runes remain evident, exposed, no longer hidden from her. When her index finger meets his sternum, she finds the strange pulse of his heart, as if she was surprised he even had one. He's always been so cold to her. Yet, his flesh almost burns, a sheen of condensation building from the room.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She draws her finger downward, unfastening buttons as her touch traipses over the ridges and valleys of hard chiselled muscle. Her mind travels to the other night when her mindlink betrayed her, and he pleasured himself in the privacy of his shower. She'd watched droplets fall down the same path as her finger, until those droplets fell...

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her finger hooks into his trousers at the same time Morrow presses the planes of his body against her own. Calloused palms slither through the slit of her dress, grasping under her thigh. With ease, he lifts her leg up, hooking it around his hip as he steps closer, forcing her to stretch wider.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Hot lips meet her ear. "Is this what you envisioned with Ronyn? To be fucked until every muscle and bone trembled? Until the blood in your ears rang until it howled out his name?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow," she breathes, only to have him tighten her hips against his own. He's fully erect, his large length throbbing to break the fabric of his trousers.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He grinds into her core, hooking her leg around him tighter with bruising possession. His hardness finds her centre, forcing the friction between them to increase, despite the layers of clothes. "I will end this, if that is what you desire. You just need to tell me to stop." He nips her lobe with sharp teeth. "But if not..."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow kisses her cheek, his mouth curving into the most deadly grin. His eyes lid themselves with a wolfish darkness, animalistic and wild.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"If not," he releases her from his hold. "Then follow me."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

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sorry to leave y'all on a little bit of a cliffhanger, especially if you're waiting for some morrow and ronyn content. good news: i'll probably have the next part up tomorrow. if not tomorrow, the next day.

it was a good time to crank up the heat a bit in the story anyways ;)

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ivy <3