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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍'𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄. A whole new world unravels itself with every step she takes deeper into the abode. Corroded antiques and relics stash themselves in the corners of the stone walls, while lush bountiful plants grow in ceramic pots in cold dank rooms. In an area of Yestrea so obliterated by disease, the sight of something so fruitful only leaves her in bewilderment. Within the stone walls of this house is life, as well as an abundance of magic that has Elowen itching her arms to get a piece of it.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn weaves his way through claustrophobic corridors, not once looking back at his guests.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're safe from the blight anywhere in my house," Thorn says. "But if you decide to leave, which by all means go and do, then it's not my problem what happens out there."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎There's a stairwell at the edge of the passage, but as they walk by open doors, Elowen finds herself stopping at the dining room.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎So many lush plants—vegetables on the brink of harvest, wildflowers and golden rod in full bloom. There's a robin or two chirping near a glass window, as well as a hive of bumbling honeybees. Aside from the hazy light pouring in from closed glass windows, a small table with a set of six wooden chairs settles in the centre of the room. On top of the table sits a wax wick candle, one that almost mimics the sun as the flora and fauna seem to gravitate towards it.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎With a gentle featherlight touch, Morrow squeezes her hip from behind her to coerce her to keep following Thorn up a flight of stairs.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen mumbles an apology, but can't get the thought of Thorn's gardens out of her head. So alive. So bright and untainted by evil, a complete contrast to the outside world.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn trudges up the stairs. "I only have one spare room, so either you share or the hound gets the doorstep. I'd prefer it if you chose the latter."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's jaw ticks. "We'll share."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's cheeks pipe up red. She's shared a bed with Morrow before, so what's the big deal? It'll be seven nights of a were-wyng trying to roll on top of her, or worse, one trying to release more of their built up tension from resisting the matebond. Maybe he'll opt for the floor.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Just keep the noise down to a minimum," Thorn mutters.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn wanders into the upper spare room ahead of them, but Elowen can't stop the heat swelling within her cheeks. Behind her, the low husky chuckle of the alpha swarms her senses, followed by the prowl of his wolf within her head. As his breath fans against her pointed fae ear, he shoots a quick image of them through her mind, a recollection of the night of the harvest moon's festival. Her legs are parted wide, his mouth feasting upon her with such reverence.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Don't scream too loud, sparrow," he murmurs against her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her breath accelerates as she closes her eyes, indulging in the memory for a second too long. As if to edge her on, Morrow trickles his touch between her wings, nails tracing her vertebrae in delicate swirls.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎That is, until he brushes past her to the spare room.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His voice rings through her skull. Needy little bird now, aren't you?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn gestures to the bed: a twin mattress, hardly big enough for Elowen, and definitely not for Morrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's comfier than it looks," Thorn chides. "And there's a squeaky spring in there, so don't toss and turn too much, else I'll hear you down below. If it doesn't suffice for you, alpha, there's always the doorstep—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow clenches his jaw. "We'll make it work. Thanks."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Wow! So gratuitous."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's black wings shift in irritation, evidence of his boiling annoyance with Thorn. Instead of creating more unneeded friction between the two, he lets his belongings fall to the floor, taking special care with his violin case. Elowen does the same.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The fae wallows back towards an old ensuite washroom, pushing the creaking door open in full. Rusted fixtures and stained faucets stare back at them as cobwebs drip from the ceiling. There's a small tub and shower next to a window, one that'll be a tight squeeze for her and her wings.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I haven't used it in years, but it should all work," Thorn twists the tap, only to curse when clear water doesn't immediately begin to flow. "All the water runs through a filtration system for the blight, so it should be clean to use."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And it works?" Morrow questions.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn narrows his gaze. "Do I look dead to you?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A tendon in Morrow's neck ticks at the sight of the dingy water slowly transforming into a cleaner crystal.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Doesn't look fucking clean, he mutters down the mind-link.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen holds back a small snort of laughter, but manages to keep it at bay. She's not ready to be in such close proximity to Morrow, but there's only so many ways in which they can grow closer. He's already infiltrating her mind, altering her thoughts with one delicious growl. She's afraid her guard will slip so vastly and leave her unprepared for what else he might try with her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn starts to exit the room, but hesitates at the door's entryway. "I think I've forgotten my manners. Er, I haven't gotten your names yet. Not that I care, but it'd be good to know."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's white wings stiffen at the remark. Her name belongs on no one's tongue, for fear if she says it, it'll bring the terrans straight towards her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow," the alpha states, then nods over to Elowen. "She's the sparrow, or whatever the hell you wish to call her. You won't get the real thing out of her."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn grunts as his stormy irises pierce into her. "Did your mother not name you?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen blushes. "I have a name, but—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You don't want to tell me it. I wouldn't want to reveal my name to me either," Thorn answers for her, raising a brow with curiosity. The look he gives her almost seems like he knows more, as if he could guess her first name with the snap of his fingers. Fortunately, he turns towards the exit. "There's food downstairs. Help yourself, and don't bother me. Training starts at dawn."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎With those words comes the end of Thorn's hospitality, leaving Elowen alone with the were-wyng.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow slowly shuts the bedroom door once Thorn's sluggish footsteps wander down the staircase. When those meadowed hues strike against her silver, a fire combusts in the pit of her stomach. The heat trickles downward between her legs as the alpha approaches her, revealing wolfish canines as a sly smirk develops on his fine lips.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"That mind of yours never stops, does it?" he purrs.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen gulps. "Perhaps the problem is you and your constant invasion of my privacy."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She feels the invisible claws of his wolf scathe the outer barriers of her thoughts, followed by the tempting brooding growl of pure dominance and allure. She closes her eyes, using every bit of her mental strength to feign him off. She needs to focus on uprooting her docile magic, not on wolves and their stupid matebonds. Not...

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She opens her eyes, only to have his claw trail against her windpipe and guide her attention upward to the sharp angelic features of his face.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Don't worry about me, sparrow," he murmurs. "I'll take the floor."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎That's what she wants, isn't it? They can't cave into their matebond, not when there's so much at stake. His priority will be finding a cure for the blight, a remedy to end all the pain it ensues. And hers? She needs to figure out her blood and magic.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The decision leaves her creature in a puddle of disappointment.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Besides," Morrow leans in, his voice a curdling low tone. "We wouldn't want to wear out that squeaky spring on the first night, would we?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The words leave her heart aching and body heady to pounce him. The tension between them keeps building inside of her, threatening to collapse into an avalanche and sweep her away. And Morrow? He's fully aware of his charms, of her attraction that beckons her towards him. It's another method of his manipulations that he finds so dreadfully amusing.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He chuckles again as he turns away, taking more interest in his things than with her. Like the flick of a switch, his thoughts no longer seem to be heated ones about her, but rather about his alpha duties to save his pack. There's thoughts of Arion and Cordea, worried ones about Ronyn and his travels back to Tabrien, but beneath all that, there's one thought that lingers like a gloomy fog.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He thinks of his sparrow and her magic, knowing that in order for him to enter Pailon without the ancients knowing, he'll need every drop of her fae blood. He'll do anything in his power to get a hold of her magic if she refuses to comply, methods so dark and twisted it leaves her with an arctic chill. Mates or not, nothing is off the table.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's those thoughts that scare her most, the ones of him sacrificing his mate for the betterment of his pack.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎In the end, she might just be collateral damage to his wicked schemes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Or if he's not careful enough, maybe he'll be swept away by the magic he's so desperate to possess.

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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 twin bed, the mattress squeaking beneath her as her white wings fan over the edge of the sheets. On the opposite end of the room, Morrow sleeps on a makeshift cot of old quilts and pillows, whatever he could scourge up in Thorn's old linen closet. She thinks he's deep in his slumber, but even he tosses around every so once in awhile, stiff limbs cracking as they stretch.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎At least tonight, the moon is nearing its peak, and its lackluster glow illuminates the shadows of the room. She detests complete darkness.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen rolls over once more, staring up at the ceiling and counting wooden beams to take her mind off of her upcoming training with Thorn in the morning hours. One, two, three, four—

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"There's fifty-seven," Morrow mumbles from the other side of the room, his voice hoarse from exhaustion. Yet, he lies awake.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You counted already?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Three times."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She keeps her eyes on the wooden beams. "So you can't sleep either?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎There's nothing more than a hum as a response, but the sound of his joints grinding causes her to lift her head from her pillow. Morrow sits up, running a hand through a tousled bedhead of charcoal hair. He hides his face in the shadows of the night, looking away for just a moment, then shifts to rummage through his belongings.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎When he finds what he's looking for, he stands up and approaches the edge of the twin bed. He towers above her as the moonlight finally glosses over his tanned skin. In his calloused palms, he carries a thick book, one so large that Elowen had difficulties carrying it on her own.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's the book he confiscated from her in the fae castle library. Envoys of the Ancients.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She takes it from his grasp. "You brought this for me?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Figured you might want to read it," Morrow admits, although she can tell by the way he clenches his jaw that he doesn't like confessing it outloud. "I don't see any fucking libraries you can sneak into around here."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You said I shouldn't stick my nose into places I shouldn't," there's a smile hidden beneath her words, one that causes the alpha's meadowed hues to glow in ecstasy.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'm not wrong," he grits, but ticks his head towards the book. "But I'm tired of hearing your fucking loud thoughts when I'm trying to sleep."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'll try to keep them down for you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Good."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow stumbles back towards his cot, and Elowen stares at his drooping midnight black wings as he takes every sluggish step. Her mind only wanders to a handful of nights ago when Morrow asked her to stay in his room, the first night since his return from the witches. Together, they read a book by the hearthlight until her eyes fell lidded and his neck kisses became the catalyst to her sleep.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow almost lies back down, but hesitates when the thought of them ripples through her mind. She knows he sees it. His muscles tense from beneath his shirt, a physical resistance to their bond.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Stay," Elowen breathes across the room. "Read this with me."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Sparrow," he growls under a breath, a warning of what events the night could foreshadow. She knows he'll break for the bond if Elowen asks, a submission he won't ever reveal in open doors. Tonight, under the glow of the moon, he might fall under fate's spell unless her mind changes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He wants her to read the book alone while he sleeps across the room, but Elowen could use his heat to end the chill raking against her bones. She vows that nothing between them will conspire. Or, internally vow that is.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He must be reading her thoughts when he sluggishly returns back to the twin bed. He ticks his head upward, a signal for her to get up from the bed so he can settle in first, to which she complies. It'll be a tight squeeze, especially with their wings. Morrow's feet hang off the edge of the bed as he extends his arms to her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Sit."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The simple command causes the blush in her cheeks to rise tremendously. There's no room on the edge of the bed for her to sit, just his lap, just within those strong herculean arms.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎When she fails to move, Morrow takes her by the waist and pulls her onto him. She yelps, causing that squeaky spring in the mattress to creak, before she finds solace within his embrace. Her back presses against his broad chest, and Morrow manages to tuck her wings out of his vision as his head peers over her shoulder to the dusted cover of the book.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The blush on her cheeks never ceases as she opens the beginning excerpts of the book. None of it makes a lick of sense, most of the words acknowledgements towards heroic fae of the past. Still, she lets her eyes wander over the words, absorbing what she can of the contents:

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The seven provinces believe that Pailon is an isolated territory kept far from the realities of Aelethia, but fae scholars have long since proven that wrong. Ancients contain a sort of unworldly magic more powerful than that of the fae. They can balance the scales between life and death, alter reality so it becomes their own. One would be a fool to believe such lies that an ancient would stay on their own grounds.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎An envoy is an ambassador of another land visiting as a representative of their people. If what fae scholars say is true, then the ancients have sent a vast amount of envoys across the lands, starting with Yestrea. Evidence of unworldly magic has become more common in the southern regions as more ancients decide to cross the impenetrable barriers of Pailon and into the rest of Aelethia.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ancients have the capacity to blend in, to shelter their strengths and portray themselves as fae. Although these envoys don't appear to pose any harm, the fae know better than to trust the ancient blood. They are the embodiment of power and a lust for control.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A crease between Elowen's brow forms as she flips the page. "There can't possibly be ancient envoys still living in Yestrea, are there?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A waft of warm breath fans against her neck, causing heat to rise from the depths of her. Her creature purrs in delight.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Not with the blight spreading like this," Morrow answers.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What if..." her eyes scan over the page once more, catching faint words. Alter reality. Power. Lust for control. "What if Novus was an ancient posing as a fae?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Novus?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He's the strongest fae in Yestrea, isn't he?" Elowen retorts as her mind begins to swim into her newfound conspiracy. "He can alter reality. He froze me in time at the dinner table that first night, remember? He's powerful and holds so much authority over the fae. Those are all traits of an ancient."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're forgetting that they like to blend in," Morrow rouses. "Being the fucking king isn't the best way to blend in."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Still, there's something off about King Novus that puts her on edge. There's the plausibility that the king is an ancient. Morrow might think that wearing the crown isn't the best form of camouflage, but to Elowen, it is. Adorning the royal crown would be what the fae would least expect from a disguised ancient.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But he's only one man against thousands of fae in Yestrea. She's have to investigate every single one of them to see who reeks of ancient blood, but even then, what would she compare it to? She's never met an ancient in her life.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen returns to reading the book, but the words on the pages only seem to melt together into gibberish. Still, she forces her focus:

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ancient's keep their blood covert, making it nearly impossible to determine whether one is fae or foe. Numerous reports of ancient infiltration of the throne lead to the assumption that there are more envoys from the ancient's Pailon than previously expected.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎T‎‎‏‏‎he god that transpires on the throne must be sending their envoys into Aelethia for a reason. Fae scholars believe an upheaval of ancient power will fracture the serenity and solace of Aelethia. The cursed darkness has been in its slumber for too long. Long ago, the ancients held dominance over the other creatures of Aelethia, but lost it in their isolation. Scholars fear they will attempt to take back what was once theirs.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She keeps reading onward, but stops when Morrow's head droops into the crook of her neck and shoulder, soft charcoal cloves of hair brushing against her soft skin. He takes a deep breath of her in as if to fill his lungs with the scent of her, his embrace tightening around her figure.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen closes the book. "You good, sleepyhead?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He groans into her, weighed by his fatigue. He keeps his meadowed irises shut as he nuzzles her. "I'm wide awake."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Lies, Elowen hisses down their tether.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He growls in response.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She lifts her hand up, scratching behind his ear until those satisfied growls fill the silent air. She doesn't want him to leave her bed, because she adores having him so close. It'll be best for their matebond to stay away, to avoid any sort of excuse to entwine at all costs. Yet, it was her who asked him to join her like this. It was him who agreed.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Stay," she breathes against charcoal cloves.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He nips at her pulse, teeth sharp as he takes the sensitive skin in his mouth in the gentlest of lithe bites. One word trespasses into her mind: Always.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Those growls transform into soft snores as he lays against her, his mind in a state of bliss so untouchable that it puts her and her creature at ease.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She snuggles in against him, her eyes catching the celestial body illuminating through the trusses of the house. The moon has always been to blame for their connection. Under the glow, their invisible string knots tighter and tighter. Most nights, she spits curses at it for the mess it's bound her to. And maybe, Morrow Killian is a mess, a mistake that will become her undoing.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But tonight, she's thankful that the moon blessed her with Morrow. For the shards of his heart that he won't ever reveal, and for the demons that writhe within the corners of his mind, he'll forever be someone she can call upon when the tides take her out to sea. Begrudgingly.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎With a kiss against his brow, she curls up against his heartbeat, defeating the insomnia that once kept her wide awake.

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i always knew i was going to incorporate the one bed trope somehow, because i absolutely adore it! space is really minimal for morrow and elowen right now, and they've already caved into the matebond once. will they do it again? and will thorn catch them?

it feels nice to have a few days off of work so i can continue to provide you all with updates. i appreciate all the encouraging comments and likes for Sparrow so far! thank you!

ivy <3