Unchained

Chapter Thirty-Three

What's this? An update?

Unedited

In the heart of the Siberian wilderness a lone wolf walked it's path of solitude.

Despite the brunt force of the harsh winter, the female wolf stood tall and proud, never once wavering under the iron fist of Russia's renowned winter. With fur thick with icy snow, the female Wolf never bowed under the heavy weight, a flash of brown movement caught her observant eyes. Lazily following it, sniffing the air, she realized it was the male's strange pet. To her it seemed like a command to come back to him, to come back to her new supreme. Growling softly at first, Lym snapped her jaws at the imposing deer like creature, and when it refused to move, she sent a rumbling snarl its way. With mirthful satisfaction, she watched the animal scamper away in fear.

Swishing her heavy, snowed down tail, she stood silently in the howling wind. The female was as lost as she had ever been. She had no pack that she could immediately reunite with, no mate to return to, for she was afraid of the judgement she would face. Never in her entire life had she felt so alone, everywhere she had ever been to Wolves and human's alike seemed to gravitate towards her, no matter how much she pushed them away, and now, Olympe was starting to wish she hadn't.

Thin wisps of billowing snow swirled around her paws, shaking her head, she realized the only pack she could go back to would be the male waiting for her in the warm caves, her supreme, her alpha. It was an instinct engraved deeply in the ancestry of Wolves to belong, to have a pack, to protect the pack. But with out a pack a werewolf was merely an outsider, a loner to a world that would never truly understand them. And all of her life, Olympe was surrounded by Wolves of every type imaginable, yet she always seemed to be different, the underdog with a vicious attitude.

It was a hard choice, to pick between two different instincts, one side of her begged her to go back to her mate while the other snarled at her to return to the only other Wolf that could even possibly begin to understand her. Lym did not want to choose between them, for her mate should always be the answer, with no hesitation but it was not always that easy. Her mate was a man of power, which meant she was exposed to the prying eyes of the Council, the very Wolves that torn her life apart time after time.

Breathing deeply through her nose, Olympe came to an understanding with herself, she knew what she had to do. Throwing her shaggy head back, she let out a sorrowful howl resonate out through the windy night, unaware of what was going on across the ocean.

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Olympe strode through the dense forest on two legs, stark naked, her hair was matted with ice and debris, but the cold dealt no damage to her body, for her mind was far away in its own lands of solitude. The female was having an internal struggle, one that could only be fixed by herself, and the dark, wispy voice in her head did not help, it taunted her, trying to goad her into killing once again. Squeezing her eyes shut tight, she let the cold chase the voices away, knowing if she listened much longer, she would do their bidding.

Murder. Gore. Tears. She was no stranger to it, though it did not bother her to kill, there was something in her, a distant thought, that told it was wrong, that by her killing she was hurting an endless chain of others, and that was the worst punishment. Not so much the fact that she was guilty, but causing suffering. Olympe was not one to torture her prey unless she felt the need to toy with them, she rather get it done. But to torture prey she had never started hunting, that was irksome. It was not necessarily the fact that she liked the killing of other living, breathing beings, but the simplicity of holding ones life in the palm of her hand, the ability to control ones life.