𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 | 𝟏𝟖+

xxvii. moonglow.

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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐏 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑. Morrow barricaded himself in the washroom while giving her no indication of his mind. She doesn't dare knock, knowing that her presence might just irritate him more, and the last she needs to do is piss Morrow off. Ever since they departed from the royal Yestrean castle, Morrow's kept his end of the mind-link open to her, even if all she can stroke is fragments of his aura. Yet, he won't indulge in their bond. He told her that she was exactly what he can't have, even if the wolf inside of him desires the intimacy of its mate.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's that same desire that will rip him apart for what's to come. Thorn told him to take Elowen along to Pailon, but Morrow refuses to let her come when her magic remains flat. His wolf needs her to be protected, to be kept away from harm's way.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He wants her to be locked away in the Tabrien palace forever, even though he once said that he wouldn't make her stay when this was all said and done.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Maybe she should leave him before he needs to make the decision. If she flees, Morrow won't have to take her to Pailon. She won't have to go back to Tabrien and be a gemstone locked in the were's prison cell. Yet, if she goes, there will be a part of Morrow that will hunt her down day by day until she's back in his possession. He'll shed the blood of whoever keeps her from him, a madness driven in wolfish instinct.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her eyes remain on that door, centred on thoughts of the were-wyng behind it.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A guttural growl rumbles from the washroom, reverberating down their tether in tidals. The sound of Morrow twines around her and her inner creature, whelming her in throngs of bliss, heat pooling to places between her legs. With a small pull of their invisible string, he beckons her to him. He's in control, ready to machinate with the authority woven into his alpha blood. She takes a step closer to the washroom door, then another, and another, until she's standing in front of it with her hand clasped around the golden knob.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's wolf stalks into her psyche, followed by the phantom kiss of his lips against her pulse. He drags a ghosted claw down her navel between her legs, although she dreams of it being real. Sleeping next to him night by night hasn't halted her dreams of him, neither has it diminished the ache she wakes up with due to their unfulfilled bond.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Don't think you can hide your thoughts from me, he murmurs, his voice a breeze against her ear.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She closes her silver eyes, the phantom caress of his palm swaying between her legs, although it's nothing like his real touch. Hide what?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Y‎‎‏‏‎‎ou called me your mate when you thought I was in trouble. I heard it in your thoughts.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She's never felt more betrayed by her own self. You know that's not true.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎I can't get it out of my fucking head. Look what it's doing to me. It's pathetic.