𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 | 𝟏𝟖+

xxxvi. solace.

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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖'𝐒 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐏 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒, letting the breeze carry her rather than the sanctuary of his embrace. By now, the evening sun honeys his skin, and she swears she sees a brief resemblance to his mother, the one with blood so cursed, and yet the one who gifted him his hidden goodness. Morrow has always been involved in the despicable, but the massacre of what he's done goes beyond her comprehension. She should fear those palms that hold the power to rip through cartilage and flesh, the hands that carry the strength to cease a beating heart. His history paints itself with death. It surrounds him. Defines him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But his pending death from the blight is far from karma. Not to Elowen. His reputation stains him to the point that he can't clean it from his slate, but there's still a small candle that flickers within his shadows that beckons Elowen.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She studies his avoidant meadow hues. The sunlight catches them, causing a rare twinkle to sparkle from his lost gaze. A brisk heat tingles through her nerves as his inner wolf prowls down that invisible string guiding her to him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"So?" he murmurs, his voice cold. "Does that change your thoughts about me? Would you have entered this room if you knew what I was?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎There are so many names that could define the were-wyng, many that he'll despise, but Elowen never viewed him as the villain he fears that he is. A nuisance to her, yes—but never something undeserving of forgiveness.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I never believed the rumours when I met you," she confesses, her voice soft as if to calm his inner wolf. "The rumours always said the alpha of Tabrien was something to be feared. I heard the stories, the tall tales, the lies. I saw the wreckage of what you're capable of with my own eyes, but your mistakes were never the reason I wanted to run." Elowen craved her true safe haven, the one she'd spent years creating for herself. Only, there's no returning to the woods she once wandered.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I deserve to die like this," he mumbles, his knuckles tensing. "Just because you're my chosen mate, it doesn't erase my sins."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And just because you carry those sins, it doesn't make you a monster."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His shadowed wings tense at the word monster. It's a label that's been placed on him that he can't peel away, and it's stuck to him like moth's wings to glue. What would Morrow change if he could start over? What does he regret? Is it his killings in the fight ring? His witch's runes that violate everything that he is? His lack of remorse for his father's death?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow pivots from her, shaking his head before he peers out at the fading sun. "I know why you came in here, sparrow. I can read your thoughts."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Then I shouldn't need to ask if you're willing to accept my offer."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎To mate, to accept the bond.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The alpha tilts his head in the evening light, a glow goldening her mate's mark on his throat. The urge to have those fangs sink into her vessels and leave their scars has grown as Morrow unravels his past. For the first time in weeks, the pieces of an uncompleted puzzle finally fall into place. She just needs to know if he feels the same.