Accepting My Twin Mates

Chapter 103

Accepting My Twin Mates Chapter 103

CHAPTER 100 – WON’T YOU PLAY?

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This would be taking place roughly around the time when the twins would be setting off to ‘dysfunction around France’.

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Evgeniya

“Are you sure you’ve never played this before, dad?” I wiped away the filled grid drawn in dry-erase ink from the glass and penned out another.

“No, your mother never taught this game,” a small yet easy smile spread under his much thicker beard. “She used to play spy in eye to help my English.”

My laugh echoed between us. “I spy,” I helped correct him. “But I think we’ll stick to tic tac toe. There’s only so much we can spy in here.”

‘Unless one of those fuckwit guards passes by,’ Evva yawned and stretched, bored out of her mind. ‘There’s at least twenty things there and all of them swears.’

As I looped a circle to make my first move, she bellowed a huge and overly dramatic groan. ‘Can you play anything else? It’s been three hours!’

‘You wanna go back to hangman?’ I asked sarcastically, knowing it would shut her up.

‘If you go near that game again, I will force a shift and gnaw my leg off.’

‘That’s what I thought, so drop the attitude.’

It wasn’t entirely her fault she was being so snippy. Two months sealed away in my mind was getting to her, creating an increasingly cantankerous wolf. Her spirit buzzed under the surface of my skin needing release and in a few more months, when my belly would begin to show, our pup would be too big to safely cope with the physical stresses of a shift. If she thought a couple of months were going to be tough, how would she cope with half a year?

“Pravyy nizhniy ugol,” my dad said slowly, enunciating his syllables and pitch, telling me in Russian where he wanted his ‘X’ placed.

Small moments, like these, over the last few months, we had taken to teaching the other. I helped my father with reading English and he taught me some Russian.

“Bottom right corner?” Diego beat me to it, stealing my thunder.

“Da,” my father praised. “Molodets, well done.”

“Not just a pretty face, ay Diego?”

“Under all these finely chiselled muscles, bruises and tattoos, tía (girl),” he flexed his bare-chested physique playfully, preening like a peacock. “There’s a pretty sharp mind.”

“Is that sharp mind present when you’re calling the guards gilipollas?” I raised a brow at him, writing the ‘X’ in the grid and placing my ‘O’ in the opposing corner.

“What?” I tilted my head in question at my father as he stared at me.

For the first time in a long while, his eyes held a twinkle of genuine amusement. The dark circles looked a little more faded and his face seemed less haunted.

“You smile… you look like your mother again.”

My cheeks heated at the compliment. Just as my father looked a little lighter, something within me felt the same too. Perhaps it was the serene quiet that we were experiencing, coupled with our little game, that had given us a brief sensation of normality. I had been trying to distract my father since he had woken from the after-effects of whatever foul tranquilliser they used and the exhaustion of his match. I needed the distraction from my any-time-of-day sickness and the strange fluctuations in my emotions.

Yesterday, I had felt a bizarre faint wave of anger and then similar ripples throughout the day. This morning, I had felt somewhat back to normal; sweaty, aching and nauseous. And in the last few hours, the inner strain on my bond had eased somewhat, tugging away still, but not as painfully. I put it down to the bond with my pup, blanketing my troubles for a reprieve. My little winkle was growing as strong as ever and as tough as his fathers.

After two more moves of tic tac toe, my dad had won again.

“Dammit, I thought going first would win it for me.”

“That is why I win,” he said in his dad-tone filled with wisdom. “You thought you had won and grew cocky.”

I wiped the glass clean and tossed the pen to the side. Like my wolf, my eyes were beginning to bleed after several consecutive hours of gameplay. That, and my ass had long since fallen to sleep from being seated on the hard wooden floor. I shuffled back to my bed by the wall, the only spot in my cell that had a blind spot from the CCTV camera outside. After all the trekking back and forth from my cell to Marceau’s private dining room, I had managed to peek a glance at the inside of the sliding door right by the exit to these cells; a surveillance room that sat a single guard who monitored us in our prison.

Most of the cells were presently empty. Inmates were either taking their recess time outside or were attending their fights. In Bastiaan’s case, it was the latter. He had been gone since my father had returned. Both my dad and Diego were on a day of rest, to prepare for a large match tomorrow. It had to be an important one because the two of them had been plied with high-calorie and rich protein food all day long.

My eyes flitted to the thin window, the last rays of the sun were vanishing at speed. I hadn’t been summoned for a dinner in two days and I was overdue. As if on cue, the sound of boots approached, followed by Diego’s curses in Spanish and finishing with my father’s growls and the swish of the glass cell door opening. It was an all too familiar symphony that followed the same tune consistently.

I knew the routine well by now. I was only glad that it coincided with a day I would have no audience to have to parade past.

“I’ll be fine,” I mouthed silently to my father.

I don’t know why I did it each time because I knew he would worry regardless, but it made me feel better, like a lie to myself that everything would be fine.

As always, I was led the usual route. The only route I didn’t know yet was the one that would lead to freedom.

“Ma chérie,” Marceau’s slimy voice greeted me from the table nestled in front of the large open fire.

The electric lights of the room were switched off, the darkness illuminated only by the long candles lit on the formally set table and the fire crackling away behind. A large roasted chunk of meat from wild boar steamed from the centre, surrounded by bowls of vegetables and potatoes. Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

He stood and pulled out a chair, gently sliding it under me as I reluctantly sat. I wished he would take the furthest seat, but I knew he wouldn’t. He would sit himself as close as possible, knowing it would

bristle me and my wolf the most.

“You look exquisite, as always,” he snatched my hand, holding it fast against my pull of resistance from his vile lips.

‘As long as Pepé Le Pew’s lips don’t wander anywhere else,’ Evva snarled internally.

I bit my tongue until the bitter taste of iron saturated my taste buds, beating down every impulse I had to cram the man’s dinner up his rear.

He chuckled at my silent attack of anger, all part of his sick game of control, and carved up slices of the roasted meat, sliding them onto my plate. Next, he spooned the vegetables on, making a show to press himself as close as possible.

“Won’t you smile for me, ma chérie?” He tilted his glass, filling it with a pale rosé wine. “I know you can.”

I remained silent, my scowl deepening as I stabbed a piece of cauliflower and shoved it in my mouth. These were my tiny acts of rebellion, the only things I could control. And so goddess help me, there was nothing he could do to force a smile on my face or engage me to speak.

“I’ve watched you on the cameras,” a cruel smirk twisted his lips as he sat back in his chair casually, making a clean slice into his meat. “You do look so enchanting when you smile.”

I inhaled my food, not out of hunger, but the sooner I finished, the sooner all of this would be over. It in no way surprised me that I was watched, yet ripples of agitation wound around my neck as though a band had been clamped around it, squeezing on my airways. My stomach lurched again in a motion I was all too familiar with, from either eating too fast, my pregnancy nausea or a panic attack. Which, wasn’t obvious.

“So eager to eat,” he drained his glass, pouring a second immediately. “Care for dessert?”

He pulled the lid from the dome nearer the edge of the table, something that looked akin to a brownie. The rich chocolatey scent hit me, too rich, too overbearing, too sickly. My insides churned and the food I had just demolished threatened to pay a revisit.

‘If you’re going to puke, aim it at dickless or one of his bitches,’ Evva encouraged with venom. ‘They can’t blame you for pregnancy symptoms.’

I threw the dessert plate clear across the room, wanting the smell away from me, the consequences be damned. Fantastic, I adored chocolate and now it was added to the list of food I had to avoid. This particular elimination to my diet would hurt.

“Here, drink,” a cool glass was pushed to my lips and a disgusting hand rested far too low on my back.

My mouth clamped closed, refusing to take anything he offered bar what I had to, out of spite and anything else I could muster.

“Be my well-behaved girl and drink,” he lowered himself at my side, whispering into my ear with his lips too close to my skin. “Or your father may well find himself battling against silver in his grand match tomorrow night.”

He knew my weak spot too well. Just as my father would do anything to protect me, I would do anything to protect him… such as swallowing my pride and the damned water I was forced to drink.

“No chocolate. I’ll make sure it’s never served to you again, until its appeal returns.”

There was little option available other than to drain the contents of the tumbler pressed to my lips. I didn’t need to look to know one of the two guards present, hovering over the only avenues of escape, was busy clearing up the dessert I had flung.

“That’s my good girl,” I flinched away from his touch as he tried to stroke my hair, fighting against the twitch of my hand to slap him. “Since you have no desire to eat anymore, won’t you play for me?”

Marceau gently laid the tumbler glass down and returned to his seat, leisurely taking up his knife and fork and carrying on with his ‘friendly dinner’. He paused when I remained in place, the food on his utensil hanging in place and his eyes fixing on me, daring me to disobey. I shoved away from the table with an ear-splitting screech of chair legs on polished wood floor and banged the fall board up that covered the keys on the piano. It was infantile, I knew so, but these outbursts were the only vent for mine and my wolf’s frustrations. I couldn’t say no, I couldn’t tell Marceau to ‘eat s**t’ and smack him around the head with the wine bottle he loved so much, but I could slam things. So slam things I did.

There weren’t many pieces of music I knew fully off by heart, and my repertoire was running low, so I stuck to an easy and gentle Chopin piece.

‘If you’re getting desperate for songs, you could always play some Rage Against The Machine again,’ Evva inappropriately snorted. ‘If there was ever a moment more fitting to play f**k you, I won’t do as you tell me, this would be it.’

‘Did you have fur in your ears when he placed a very real threat on our father, or are you just that dumb?’

Sometimes my wolf and Diego were like two peas in a pod. No wonder she found his company agreeable.

“Ma chérie, you do play so beautifully,” Marceau called out behind me.

I knew what would follow. He would rise from his seat, once he was finished, waltz over, most likely stand too close for comfort and pay superficial flattery as though he was some smooth talker. The only smooth talking I would ever fall for came from my mates; Astennu with his sweet yet dominant quips,

and Badru, who managed to be dumb, dirty and innocent, all in a single sentence. No man would ever compare with either.

“Did I tell you your former Alpha asked after the pup’s health last week?” The wolf broke slightly with his standard routine, swirling the last dregs of his wine in the glass, but I knew his focus was me and my reaction. “I may have let it slip that you carry his grandson. He seems more conflicted than ever about our deal. I doubt I’ll be receiving any more business from him when his little heir is not returned.”

My fingers on the keys halted in a clash of mixed tones upon the piano. If he wanted my attention and a reaction, he now had it.

“A shame, really. His was a business I always found rather amusing. Selling rogues to me, of all wolves, thinking he was protecting his mate… if only he knew,” Marceau teetered to himself, standing, and, like I knew he would, he approached, not addressing the lack of music.

“Am I meant to guess the secret? Or are you gonna break out hand puppets to assist?” I bit through clenched teeth.

“Ah, so she does speak. I have missed that razor of a tongue of yours,” he chuckled, resting his hands on my shoulders. My entire body tensed on contact and a hiss of my wolf escaped beyond my control. “What is amusing is that he thought the rogues he was selling to me were like the very animals that destroyed his mate’s pack. And never once did he consider he was actually selling rogues to the very animal that destroyed his mate’s pack.”