‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I wouldn't want to leave," he stops, turning over his shoulder as a slight smirk purses his lips. "Because I wouldn't have come here."
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I didn't have a choice," Elowen clenches her fists. "You brought me here."
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Ronyn brought you," he corrects.
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Under your command! All because I'd be safe here, and—"
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"—and you are safe here," he drops his voice, those meadowed hues on the edge of a firefly glow. His wolf and wyng are colliding inside his chest, and whatever words leave his lips are the god-honest truth. "And it's because of me and the hells I endure, that you can stay that way here. So fucking safe."
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He grits the last word on his canines before continuing on his way. He enters into the sanctum. Right on cue, she sees his council of loyal submissive followers—his three trusted betas. Elowen can never comprehend how she fits into the picture. Well, she forced herself into it, to wring the were of any information she can get her hands on.
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow points at Ronyn, not even stopping as he walks past them to the doors that lead to the front gates. "Seven days. That's all."
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And you're going alone?" he taps his foot against the tile floors, almost irritated at Morrow's exit.
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's nearly at the doors, flashing a thumbs up before he kicks them open. Some exit from the alpha. His betas wait for a debrief, but this is all they get. A pathetic thumbs up and a timeline.
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Is it always going to be like this in Tabrien? Unanswered questions? A faulty matebond that she longs to snap in two? She's supposed to stay here because she's protected by the were, a domesticated trophy wyng, but the last few years have been nothing but riding on the cliffs of danger. She's grown accustomed to danger, so much so that it almost seems like the safer option.
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The irony of it all. She needs to get away. She needs a taste of the world outside of the Tabrien palace.
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She gives her wings an experimental flap. The arrow wound still gives her grief, but this time around, she will get out of the palace and back into the woods where she belongs.
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎At the same time as her devious little plan forms, her mind-link cracks into place. Morrow's voice echoes through her head, a sinister chuckle.
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎No. You're not leaving.
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She hates when he does this, hates that he knows how to navigate their mind-link while she's left in the dust. Through the tether, she tries to peel the outer layers of his mind just to catch a glimpse inside, but that thick skull of his is impenetrable.
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Damn him.
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her eyes drift over to Cordea and Arion. Mates. They're masters at the craft of telepathic communication. Even if Elowen despises Morrow and his ability to read her thoughts, she needs to learn how to counterattack. No more sporadic connections. She wants to learn how to control the mind-link so Morrow no longer has the advantage over her, so she can trespass into his mind just like he does to her.