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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄, 𝐍𝐄𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃. Although, their minds tell a much different story.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's thoughts remain a vicious storm, a constant roar in her skull that she can't dim. She needs to get accustomed to the increased volume of his thoughts due to her strengthened bond to him, but that all takes time. He's constantly thinking about his pack and what to do when he reaches Pailon, the longing to protect the were almost eating at his heart. What lies on the other side of Pailon's invisible walls is unknown, and she only wonders if the uncertainty scares him. If it does, he doesn't seem to show it aside from his repeating thought pattern. It certainly leaves her stomach a little queasy.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎From above, most of the woods remain scorched with blight, blackened and dead for hell knows how long. The towering oaks and maples remain vacant of leaves and growth, allowing the sun to bleach the soil below. Still, to her surprise, there are still patches of land untainted by the blight's evils. There are trees in full autumn foliage, burning red in a sea of black. It's sparse, but there are some, perfect havens for her and Morrow to rest, just like Thorn had said.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Oleander's compass dangles from Morrow's neck. He pauses in the air, his eyes analysing the device before lifting his gaze to find Elowen. A lost charcoal wisp curls across his brow, dangling into his vision.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The meadow Thorn told us about shouldn't be far," Morrow commands.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen nods, trying not to release the most irritated groan. She's been flying for hours without a second of rest, and her wings feel as if they're about to fall off. Her shoulders ache from carrying the weight of her, and even a bird needs to land when night falls. All this time of her being bedridden due to arrows and iron burns certainly didn't help her stamina.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow tilts his head over his shoulder. "You can keep going a little longer, can't you?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Not even tired," she lies, plastering a faux smile on her lips.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Then you won't be pissed if we keep moving through the night."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She scowls. "You know how dangerous that is on foot."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He chuckles, his meadowed hues darkening. "I promise I'll let you sleep tonight." Unlike last night, he growls through mind-link, ending it with a sharp wink before flying into a jetstream.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The blush on Elowen's cheeks increases, but she's glad no audience can spy on her. It's just Morrow, the last person she ever imagined she could be interconnected to.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The sun soon sets and the stars hang over their heads, a mosaic of twinkling lights that gives them enough sight that they don't require torchlight. The moon acts the same, hovering above a vast clearing, guiding them to their promised haven. It's empty of trees, but the tall grasses that sway in the breeze ripple like the ocean waves. In the moonlight, the blades remain golden and untouched by evils. Goldenrod grows within the grasses, a speckle of sunshine in the bleak night air.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎In the centre of the clearing remains stone architecture, one collapsed from years of neglect. The rooftop remains concave, half the structure vacant of shelter and exposed to the elements. Windows have long since shattered, allowing vines to weave into the inner balconies and beams.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow must see the structural shadows too, pausing, his inner wolf growling in caution.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her brows furrow. "What do you think it is?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Can't be fucking sure. There weren't any markers of a settlement on the map."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It looks like it's been abandoned for years."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The fae probably left it behind when the blight took over," he mutters. "But the blight never destroyed the clearing."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Don't you think that's odd?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow doesn't answer, but instead flies towards the ruins. The closer they glide, she soon recognizes it as a temple, one where the columns have cracked and crumbled, only to be eaten away by ivy.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Are you sure Thorn didn't warn you about this?" she asks.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He didn't," Morrow grumbles.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He lands at the entrance, the doorway miles above his head as he enters into the divine space. With every guarded step, his boots echo off the marble beneath him. The half-caved ceiling lets in only strings of moonbeams to touch the ground beneath, illuminating Morrow's pathway into the forgotten room. The once marble floors remain cracked, broken in shards from knotting roots. A single willow stands in the centre of the temple, shorter than the vast ceilings but still a pillar of life. Drooping branches cover most of the sanctuary, all whilst robins flutter to their nests in the branches.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎In a way, this room breathes life, so unlike the woodlands that surround the meadow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow steps towards it, only to cause a rippling splash from beneath his soles. A cricket chirps from beside him as his meadowed hues scan the pond surrounding the willow, one born from ages of neglect. Elowen follows behind him, her eyes locked on his midnight black wings, but even she distracts herself within the majestic aura woven into the abandoned temple.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her boots splash in the shallow pond as she follows her alpha deeper into the darkness, her blood sparking beneath her skin. The hum she felt begins to rise from its slumber, a call from her fae blood to remind her of the magic that exists. Only now, it feels stronger, like a pulse of lightning striking in her veins. It's fast, abrupt, it's wrath furious within her. Just as rapidly as it came, the heat ends, as if it never existed in the beginning. Whatever this place is, her magic recognizes it, as if this was the location it was birthed into existence.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow stops, sensing a change in her aura. "You good?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She bites her cheeks. "Just fine."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He narrows his gaze, but succumbs to her bitter lie. He continues to make his way deeper into the temple and past the drooping willow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎While Morrow gravitates towards the darker shadows of the sanctum, Elowen finds herself mirroring the light. In the moonlight, her white wings flutter at the gentle caress of heavenly light. Light, Thorn had told her, is a magic that is rarely yielded. It's the coveted magic by all, a representation of one's soul.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But without light, there is darkness.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎With darkness, there comes the icy demise of desolation.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Sparrow!" Morrow calls from across the room, snapping her out of her thoughts.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen follows his voice until she finds him standing at the head of the temple elevated above the rest of the sanctuary. She climbs the stone steps onto a slabbed platform, an altar in place of worship. A statue remains carved of ancient granite, chiselled into the shape of an exquisite fae lady. Her hair cascades down her shoulders in waterfall-esque strands, draping over her smooth skin and breasts. Her pointed fae ears remain stark against her elegant fox-like features, radiating beauty and power despite being forged by stone. In her hands, she holds a large saucer, a tureen meant to protect what lay inside.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎In that tureen, she sees a faint light flickering, a single flame.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen stares at the orange flame. "It's been ages since anyone's step foot here, and yet it still burns."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's impossible," Morrow mutters.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"There must be someone nearby, perhaps a caretaker of this place?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"If there was a caretaker, there wouldn't be a fucking tree growing in the middle and the roof wouldn't have collapsed."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She shakes her head. "A flame can't burn like this forever."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It can't," he agrees, "but there must be a cask of oil feeding it somehow, or some sort of fae magic interfering. Either way, it makes it a hell of a lot easier to make a fire for the night."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You can't steal the flame for a fire!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His aura sparks with dejection. "And why's that?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The flame belongs to her. It's sacred."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You can't be fucking serious," Morrow mutters, his meadowed hues latching back onto the orange flame. "Hell knows what goddess the fae worshipped, but it's clear that they don't send their prayers to her anymore."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen watches as Morrow turns his back on her to find some timber, salvaging up scraps of old wooden furniture and debris. Her creature squirms under her skin, almost possessing her body just to keep Morrow from snuffing out that flame. Her movements become agitated, and yet, she forces herself still and submits to her mate's wishes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It just doesn't seem right to steal her flame," she breathes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'm not going to steal it," Morrow says as he kneels down near a shattered window. A beam of moonlight catches his sharp features, dousing him in angelic shadows. There, he begins to build his shell of a fire out of flint and wreckage. "Just think of it as borrowing it."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Well, I don't like that either."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She remains tense as Morrow wanders back up to the goddess statue. He holds up a cracked piece of timber, the dried edges disintegrating to ash as the orange flame laps at it. The light dances off Morrow's features, intrigue rising within him as his irises transform into that firefly glow. For a beat in time, he almost looks as ethereal as the goddess statue, as if his cursed blood was written in the tapestries of fate, woven in time to bring him to this place.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But, it all snaps when the broken shard of wood lights up in a vibrant orange glow. Fire.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow returns the piece to ignite the rest of the wood, letting it burn until it rages into full warmth.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎While Morrow tends to the fire to keep it alive, Elowen pulls out some of their provisions to eat. Her stomach grumbles, missing the luxuries of powdered donuts from the fae castle, although she certainly can't indulge on their delectable treats forever. She pulls out a small provision of bread, handing one over to Morrow when he's finished.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow settles in beside her, his wing extending and draping around her shoulders to keep her warm. It's like second nature to him now—him and her, bound in the threads of fate.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You should get some rest," he says. "I'll need you to be alert when we reach Pailon."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen nods, letting her cheek nestle on Morrow's shoulder. His body is hot beneath his coat, hardly chilled by the autumn air. Yet, instead of falling asleep, she remains focused on everything about him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Are you afraid?" she asks, the question slipping from her tongue.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Of what?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Of going to Pailon?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His jaw ticks, and his thoughts run wild in ways to avoid the truth. There are some memories of his buried so deep within his psyche that not even her strengthened bond can pull them from that abyss. It's something he has to do on his own, a trust she knows she won't ever betray.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Not of Pailon," he finally admits, his voice gravelled. "Of what happens after is a different story."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎There's no way to predict the outcome of their expedition. Failures or not, at least some answers will be given to his never-ending questions. He'll know if the witches' spells are working, or if they're nothing but wasted time. He'll discover whether the blight originated from the lands of the ancients, one sent to destroy the remaining provinces so Aelethia can return to their hands. Yet, he needs her magic to cloak him along the way, to harbour him from threats that he crosses.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You need my magic," she breathes, something that she can't give.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I don't need it." A sour taste fills her mouth, a lie on his lips. He does. He'll need every shield of protection he can receive.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You do. Thorn said he felt signs of it when—" She bites her tongue, shaking her head at the thought of Morrow in peril. "—when he played his tricks on me. He told me he's certain it's connected to you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He's full of shit."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's cheeks flush, her voice dropping to a timid whisper. "My magic responds to your music. You were playing the violin. I can't remember the exact song, but I can remember the glimpses of you down our bond."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His meadow hues glow, latching onto his violin. "It's just the moon tying me to you. There's nothing either of us can do about it."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's not just the music," Elowen turns to face him, studying every handsome scar etched into his sculpted skin. "You're different when you play. You almost look free."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's hand finds her palm, bringing it to his lap. Calloused fingers draw intricate swirls into her skin, fondling her as if to distract himself from her confession. Yet, isn't it true? The alpha of Tabrien suffers under the burdens of his past and debts to the darkness. He was born cursed, and he'll die cursed. Not once did he ask to be brought into the light, but perhaps the light has always been his greatest wish. Somehow, within the reverie of his instruments, he found a cure to his sorrows.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'm not free," he mutters, but fails to hide his intentions within his own brain. He's forcing the words out, hoping she'll give up on the conversation. "Only fools feel freedom, because they don't know what's at stake. They have nothing to fucking worry about, no purpose or goal to follow."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Then call me a fool," Elowen pries herself from his embrace, finding his leatherbound violin case. She cradles it in her arms, almost afraid that the instrument will burn her at the touch.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Sparrow," he warns.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Play a fool's song," she breathes. "If you didn't have any purpose in this world, what song would you play? What would it sound like?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Like misery."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She scowls. "I know that's a lie. You're forgetting that I can tap into your mind whenever I please."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow begrudgingly takes the violin from her grasp, unbuckling the golden latches of the case and unearthing his prized violin. It's something he's done at least a thousand times before, a habit that becomes second nature. The lacquered veneer shines in the firelight as he removes his instrument and places it on his shoulder, the base of it almost brushing against his mate's mark on his neck.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's inner creature floods her senses with giddy as Morrow raises his bow. She doesn't dare try to break into his mind, knowing that it'll only leave him irritated at the end of the night, but what floods her leaves her lungs breathless.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎When he strikes the first note, she's encompassed in waves of him, of everything soft inside his heart to the fears that have hollowed a void in his soul. Long ago, Morrow Killian was a fool himself, believing that everyone in this world could be free of their sins.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Even him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her mind-link ignites in flashes, images and memories of him as a young child, of the days he once felt that naive freedom. The idea of being completely liberated is one so childish, so innocent, but it replays before her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Sheet music. She envisions his sheet music, as well as the metallic golden brass of a trumpet as a young Morrow plays a song of old. The same ballad plays from his violin now, a reminder of that day where for a moment, he believed his blood wasn't cursed.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Only, his nightmare was just beginning. A young Morrow lowers his trumpet, the scene flickering to the silhouette of a man occupying in the shadows of his room. The man stands there, a complete mirror of Morrow. He contains the same sharp features and high cheekbones, but he dawns the scruff of a black beard on his chin. No hints of compassion lace the man's expression. Dread and sorrow fill Morrow's aura to the brim with one glance at that man, overflowing through his veins until they transform into salted tears. He weeps. Oh, how he weeps.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She wishes she could travel back in time and change what had happened, as she longs to understand the consequences of that day. It changed him, morphed him into the stone calculated reaper that he is today. Perhaps if she had known him since her own childhood, she might've been able to persuade him from digging himself deeper into the witch's debt. For him, she almost feels powerless, but why does the lack of power stir that heat in her blood? It's not like magic could save him back then, not like it can now.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow ends the song, an abrupt ending, much like in his recollection. He doesn't say a word as he lowers the violin and places it back in its case, buckling it up as if to forget about what just happened. His jaw clenches, his aura pounding like a jackhammer against her own. He showed her too much of his darkness, fearing she might become just as tainted as well.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"That was beautiful," Elowen breathes, unaware of her own tears cascading down her rosed cheeks.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow shakes his head. "You should get some sleep."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I mean it," her voice cuts through his gloom, ignoring his order to end the conversation. "You haven't played that song in awhile, haven't you?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Sparrow," he grits, then lounges backward, hiding himself in a bundle of midnight black feathers.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen shimmies up against the heat of Morrow's body, crooning her head in the alcove of his own. She studies the mark of her teeth on his skin, the claim jagged and scabbed, but healing better than the poison of his runes. She traces it with her fingertip, feeling his heart beat within his arteries and veins, before leaning in and leaving behind a gentle kiss.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His shoulders loosen as he takes a hold of her body, hoisting her onto his lap. His nails dig into her hips, tracing the stitches of thread in her trousers. Her legs straddle around his muscular thighs.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'll stop fighting it," he admits under a hushed breath. "This bond between us... I've already made my decision with it. I think I made that clear last night."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She squints. "You want to mark me, don't you?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It would be a lie if I said no," his hot breath fans over her cheeks, then down her throat. "Say the words and I'll do it, if you're ready."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow—" her breath hitches as he suckles kisses against her pulse.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Never had she thought she might be able to crack Morrow, but he's a warzone of a man, fighting on whether to resist the moon or to cave into charms of his mate. Even Elowen slowly accepts the bond written in the stars, woven into the threads of the constellations. She marked him. She sunk her teeth and took in his blood as if it belonged to her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But tomorrow, it will all change when they reach Pailon; a probable separation looms in their future. He aches for her, even if he's suppressed it deep within his mind.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The truth is, a part of her still wants to run away. She can't commit to him in the way he desires.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's okay. Don't do it because it's what I want," he murmurs, reading her apprehensive thoughts. Morrow licks up the column of her throat with a growl, his wolf coming to the surface to play. "Just distract me from what I have to do. I can't stop thinking about Pailon and the pack..."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The confession surges her dominance, or maybe the alpha's blood tied within their bond is to blame. She settles her palms above his rigid torso, prying away his coat and shirt until his golden skin flickers. Runes. So many hideous runes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She pushes him down to the ground, her lips colliding in a rash battle of teeth and tongue. She lets the pad of her finger draw down his bare skin, down his abdomen, over toned muscle until she brushes the buckle of his trousers.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She sends one word down their tether: submit.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎And for one night, he does.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎While Morrow's growls and moans fill the temple, echoing off the empty walls, he falls captive to her touch and kiss. There's a song written between her and Morrow that plays whenever they're together. Harmonised. Syncopated. An oath that transgresses the might of the gods. It's the only thought that plays within their minds.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She fails to recognise the fire of the goddess glowing a little brighter in the tureen as their song writes itself in passionate throes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎That song gives Elowen power, a power so close to be awakened in full.

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hi everyone! thanks for reading sparrow thus far! i return to work again tomorrow which means updates will slow down as my availability to write will be cut in half. i'm so happy that i got to bring you this chapter, but be warned! a lot will change in the very near future!

tbh, i'm so excited for the NEXT chapter!

ivy <3