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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Everything surrounding Morrow is a bitter arctic gust, only there's no wind, just the damp melancholy of the crypt. Light is a scarcity in Scaerus, the only source of it the flickering flames from half-melted wax wicks. Elowen can almost smell the blood dripping down Morrow's naked flesh as he kneels before the mother witch. Still, she holds that warped dagger.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's palm takes a hold of his thigh, the new rune mark bleeding down his calf. He raises his meadow-hues, one bruised from a blow from Ronyn, only to find them hollowing due to the spells of darkness circling around him. Elowen senses the distress of his wolf, the hatred of Morrow due to his sins. Nothing can cleanse the reaper of death from his past.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The mother witch taps her long black nail against his chin, forcing the alpha to look upward. "You look a little more like your father everytime we summon you," she murmurs to him. "It's a shame you have to pay his debts, but it's not like yours don't exist either."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow bares his sharp wolfish canines. "Do what you have to. Just get it fucking done."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Oh, Morrow," she coos, now cradling his cheeks. "It's not that simple, hmm? You're asking for us to replenish your store of lives. Even I never expected you to kill eight of them this fast."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Eight? Elowen swore Ronyn said it had only been seven of nine.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow lowers his gaze to her feet, a gesture of submission. The sight nauseates Elowen, and an anguished growl reverberates from Morrow's wolf.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His voice sounds as cold as the air. "Tell me the price."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The mother witch laughs, a cackling howl that splices Elowen's eardrums into two. Although her face is hidden beneath shrouds of black linen, a faint shadow of her sinister smirk etches through the darkness.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's an offer you'll find rather enticing. Your grandfather and father were on their knees for me, begging for something that their wives couldn't provide." She presses her lips near Morrow's ear. "Heirs."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow spits at her feet, keeping his jaw locked shut.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"That's how your father and mother created you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His wings snap, a whirl of shadowed feathers. "They shouldn't have brought me into this world with your fucking interference."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"But it's my interference that allowed you to be breathed into existence. I know how important is for the an alpha and luna to have offspring. When the alpha is blessed with a child, the rate of pregnancy increases within the pack, allowing Tabrien to be blessed with young pups." She kisses his cheek. "Why haven't you provided your pack with your spawn?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Get to your point," he growls, the sound bitter.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I want your firstborn, your heir, to be a descendent of the witches. If you do so, I'll replenish those lives you so foolishly wasted."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's heart stops.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No," Morrow raises his gaze, his meadow-hues so enraged they become a weapon in themselves. "Fuck, no."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Then I guess your immortality means nothing. It's about time we received our end of the bargain. If you wish to live forever, Morrow Killian, then so shall my coven."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's thoughts jumble into her own, an influx of fears and sharp warnings, but one word rings through them all: mate. He won't allow himself to agree to such a preposition, because he's a were who believes that his matebond came from the moon. Even that belief remains in question for him. He won't mate unless it's to uphold that same bond, unless he wishes to break it, to betray it.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow spits at her feet once more. "You're a bitch, Sybil," he growls, his voice almost unheard.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'd watch it with your choice of words," the mother witch, Sybil, murmurs close to his ear. "You have so much to decide, and one of my daughters would love to be your... what's the word? Your mate."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's heart aches as Sybil places a placid kiss on Morrow's temple. This is far from what Morrow wants, but he's descended so far into the pits of hell that no one can tug him out. Elowen reaches down her tether once more, screaming his name in hope of a response. He can't agree to Sybil's proposal, for he'll regret so every day of his life if he does.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow, please answer me.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Silence, but a tendon in his neck tightens the moment her voice leaves her thoughts.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You have five days to decide if you wish to continue your lineage with Scaerus in exchange to replenish your immortality," Sybil gestures over to two witchers, both of them burly in size and covered in the same black drapery. One carries iron chains. The other receives Sybil's blade. "Until then, we have a process to finish to transform your blood to ancient's blood. Have you attempted to cross Pailon's borders in search of a cure for the blight?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No," his response drawls out under a heavy breath. "That would be fucking suicide."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Then those nine more lives must sound tempting," she nods her head at the circle of chanting. The choir of shrill voices ceases. "Draven and Marrox will deal with you now. They've been eager to continue with the transformation."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's growl comes out roaring, an almost bitter scream. Yet, he willingly lets the two witchers bind him in iron chains. Iron, a poison to the wyng. Elowen can feel the phantom burns of the iron as the witchers latch him with their chains, then the grazing of the warped blade beneath his chin.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Have fun, darlings," Sybil's voice sings, a song that echoes down their tether.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎New runes bleed from Morrow's flesh as they browbeat him into a corridor of shadows. His muscles flex within the chains, his body bare with only the cloak of black feathered wings to hide his scars. This is a side of Morrow she never asked to witness, a stark vulnerability that he's been humiliated to show. He's under the witches spell, walking further towards his demise as he faces a proposition she knows he'll agree too.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's then, when no ounce of light reaches his skin, his voice thunders through her mind.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎I'm sorry, sparrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Then, the tether splices into two.

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*

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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "𝑯𝑨𝑳𝑭-𝑩𝑹𝑬𝑬𝑫," 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐀 𝐔𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐒, his voice tempered with concern.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen shoots up, finding herself tucked within fae quilts as her gaze darts around the room. A hearth burns in the corner, the orange flames licking against cedar wood, the silhouette of the glow dancing against the man sitting at the edge of the vast bed. She flutters her white wings at the sight of him with welts framing his handsome face.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Salty droplets dampen her cheeks as she wipes them away with the back of her fist. She must've been sobbing whilst in the midst of her mind-link with Morrow. Not that she can control it. For only moments, she lived as a ghost in his reality, wandering the walls of Scaerus without anyone but Morrow knowing. To think he's out there getting knived by witches and witchers, plagued with bleeding runes, just to spare his pack from the blight's destruction.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Still, she finds herself in Morrow's designated room in the Yestrean castle, in his bed. Her creature finds a strange solace in his lingering scent within the sheets.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn sets his worn palm atop hers, a coy smirk perching his lips. "Who knew an angel could fall from heaven and right into my arms?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A sharp laugh somehow makes its way from her lungs. "Flirty bastard."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Can't help it," he mutters, then squints his hazel irises. "Is there a reason you're trying to leave?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's heart races within her chest. Ronyn has been missing for the day, so it's not like he's aware of her sneaking antics around the castle in search of Oleander. Ronyn also might be a goof, but he's not brainless to the fact that she wants to escape either.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It was just a flight," she mutters under her breath.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"A flight over the forests outside of the city or...?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I don't see a problem with this," Elowen rouses.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn holds his hands in surrender. "Okay, it was just a flight. Definitely not you trying to get away from us while Morrow's gone."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Exactly," Elowen huffs, staring deeper into the beta's hazel hues. "Now do you care to explain where you've been these past few—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She cries out in a desperate sob as a phantom knife wedges deep within the base of her wings, most likely pangs fed from Morrow's end of the mind-link. She crunches over, her hand reaching between her shoulder blades as a way to dull the echoing throb. Damn the moon for connecting her to Morrow like this, because if she knew his agony would transcend down to her, she would've begged to have the celestial body choose someone else.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn sets his palm atop the blistering pain between her wings, his touch easing away the ebbing torture.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Your matebond?" he mutters, the word a curse against his fine lips.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen nods. "It wasn't this bad before."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"That's because the bond is stronger after what happened last night," his eyes drift over to Morrow's violin. Just seeing the leatherbound case reminds Elowen of the most beautiful melody in existence, the symphony that's written beneath their bond.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I think... I think he might break it," she whimpers, her thoughts swarming with images of an exposed Morrow standing before Sybil the mother witch. When she speaks again, her voice hardly makes a sound. "They want Morrow's firstborn to be of the witches' descent, which means he'll choose one to be his mate."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She's never heard a growl of disgust so thunderous. "Those fucking bitches."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He said no, but I fear he might change his mind when he's done his time in Scaerus." Elowen gulps. "If it means saving the pack."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen ponders the idea why Sybil's deal might seem so tempting. Morrow's on his last life, his last straw, and if he makes one foolish mistake, it'll be his heart that ceases to beat. But does Ronyn know that? He's the one that told her that Morrow died seven times, but what about the eighth? What loss happened that caused Morrow to live out that careless lie?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She opens her mouth to speak, but it's clear that Ronyn's already distraught enough over Elowen's vision of Scaerus.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You know," he begins, his features woven into somber stone. "Since Morrow's the alpha, we're all connected to him in one way or another. All the were can tell when Morrow's moods shift and change."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"So you can feel him right now?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Distantly," Ronyn mutters. "Everything's a little colder."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen pulls a quilt tighter over her body, while also letting the warmth of her white feathered wings cushion her behind her. The chills of Scaerus have certainly left a layer of ice on her bones, ice that has crept its way into the pack of wolves.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Last night, I felt something... new," Ronyn meets her silver hues, his shoulders sinking in defeat. "There's something about you that my wolf can't shake, something that it likes."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen recalls their time last night betwixt dancing and powdered donuts. She'd never seen Ronyn's smile so wide, so carefree that it might break his cheeks. Perhaps that glee led him to ask Elowen to his bedroom if Morrow failed to do so, or maybe it was a whole other reason altogether. Either way, she knew he wanted her for more than just simple friendship, and crossed the threshold into his own temptations to do so.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's still there," he mutters, "and it's the closest feeling I have to a fucking matebond. But it's not complete." He ruffles his hair. "Something like that should feel complete, right?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen shrugs. "This is all very new to me too."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Fucking hell," he hisses. He cracks his neck, the firelight framing those swollen welts. "I don't think I was the only one that felt something last night, though."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Oh?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn's fingertips between her wings coax upwards, tracing whorls into her skin. "Morrow."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The mention of the alpha's name sends another throbbing dagger into her flesh, this one near her hipbone. She winces, causing Ronyn to shift onto the bed closer to her. Her matebond with Morrow makes her feel so cold, so frosty when the beta next to her remains so warm. All she longs for is to rip Morrow from the witches grasp and bring him back to the safety of Tabrien.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Like I said, the pack knows his moods. Last night, he was strangely... happy."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's lips curve at this. "And he's never happy?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Gods, the fucker always acts like his wings just got clipped," Ronyn smirks, but it quickly falters as his voice drips in a low growl. "You're good for him. Too good."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The sound heats the blood beneath her skin, her creature intrigued by the confession off Ronyn's lips. Any other man would send her into retaliation, but Ronyn's right about the strange bond woven between their souls. It's a fainter tether than what she feels for Morrow, but one that still exists, one that has her creature nuzzling his aura for more.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen brings her knees to her chest, hugging them close to her heartbeat. "I don't think it's wise to interfere with Morrow's matebond. Not when he has a decision to make with the witches."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I agree," he stops, his mouth agape as a rosy blush storms his bruised cheeks. "If Morrow were to agree to their demands, would you... would you consider it?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Mating with you?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No, mating with the door," he smirks. "Yes, me."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I think I'll choose the door."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A bellowing laugh echoes through the room, and for the first time in the night, Elowen feels no pain rioting from Morrow's end of the bond. She studies the beauty of Ronyn's features. He's bruised, but still godly charming beneath all those welts. It's impossible to comprehend that it was his own friend that dealt him such blows. It comes as a reminder that the two were need to mend their transgressions in order to fix the mess of the blight.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What happened between you and Morrow?" Elowen asks, her voice featherlight.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn tenses. "He just needed to get it out of his system."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Get what out?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Me?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He'd do it to anyone that dares to take what belongs to him away," he mutters as he looks away, if almost ashamed of his appearance. "I wouldn't be worried about Morrow and I. He's just territorial, dominant, and I crossed a line."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"But you said you feel the bond."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He sighs, then presses his temple against her own, the growl that rumbles from his chest coerces her to sink back into the sheets. Ronyn makes it impossible to think about Morrow when he's like this, even when she lies in his bed next to his scent. As if to remind her of her true mate, a sharp jab runs through her bloodstream from her spine, this one a scarlet slice.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The bond can wait," he whispers, then pulls away. "You need to get some rest, half-breed. You took quite the beating when you fell."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn leaves the edge of the bed, and Elowen can't help but stare at the muscles that pull beneath his navy shirt. She shouldn't dare ask him to stay, should she? Just the marring bruises on his cheekbones remind her of Morrow's disapproval of Ronyn's desires.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Ronyn," she calls out before he can reach the door.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The beta looks over his shoulder, crooking his brow. "Half-breed?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You'll be back tomorrow?" her voice quivers. "You won't disappear again?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"From you," he winks. "Never. Someone has to find you when you fall, and I'll be there to bring you back home."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He lingers for a second, hazel hues sparking against silver, before he makes his exit. One word burns from his confession, one sovereign reminder of how strange her circumstances are.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Home. She doesn't have a home. Not Tabrien. Not Yestrea. Not even Reovell.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The beta just gave her an offer to build one alongside him, but even she knows she can't accept. There's a were-wyng out there that needs her, whose heart pounds in sync with her own. She's in his bed, wrapped in his sheets, savouring the scent of his quilts.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎As she falls asleep, she reaches down into her bond with Morrow, only to have his wolf respond in the most tender caresses.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Sleep well, my sparrow, Morrow's voice purrs.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎For the first time, she obliges to the alpha's orders, and in return, he shelters her from the phantom pains driven from the witches' knives.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

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ronyn is once again shooting his shot with elowen lol. poor guy having no mate [but also, can greatly relate to ronyn's singleness.] there's something strange with ronyn and elowen's bond that differs from the one elowen has with morrow, and i do love writing that little bit of mystery  between them. also, what do you think about that small glimpse of morrow in Scaerus? i honestly LOVED writing it, since i feel like Scaerus contrasts Yestrea so much.

i hope you've all been staying safe out there!

ivy <3