Chapter Six

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      The wails of tortured, innocent wolves echoed throughout the facility. Olympe simply stared up at the cracked ceiling tiles, listening to Bracken's even, harsh breathing. It was a calming technic that she had learned early on in her first months of being in Everest.

She had only been here in Everest for a meager yet long year, sometimes she wished she was still at Gael's place, at least there she could roam. Here she never left this small cell, unless it was to eat at the mess hall. Even then, their activities were restricted.

The current ruling 'King' was Rompé, an elder wolf with sharp wit and an equally smart tongue. King, as he was so commonly called, was as selfless as one could get for a prisoner, always looking after the fresh meat.

When Olympe first arrived she took an immediate interest in King, she liked the way she wasn't warily watched or eyed like she was something to eat, he looked at her like she was a living, breathing person. Not a monster. That was his biggest mistake.

If you are to keep your throne, never trust, paranoia is acceptable. King trusted her too easily, he should've been like the others, always eyeing her with concern, for she was always plotting ways to survive.

It had been quite simple actually, taking the throne. She had silently slipped out behind one of the guards when he locked up her cell for the night, slicing his throat with a simple flick of a claw. Repeating the scenario over and over until all the guards on her level were dead and she was able to walk freely among the halls.

The low growls of excitement slowly filled the passageways until the walls buzzed to life. The others knew something was coming. Death was coming, and nothing would stop her until her hunger for that throne was satisfied.

Unlocking King's cell with a key from one of the fallen guards, she slipped in, silent as a cat. King had made sure he was place in a cell by himself, a mistake, so Olympe had just sat on the unoccupied bed opposite of him until his subconscious woke him.

"Are you afraid of dying?" Olympe asks him, looking down into his weary muddy eyes, those eyes held secrets and a lifetime of stories that would never be told.

"Yes." King answered truthfully.

"Don't be, I've heard from the ghosts that it's peaceful." Olympe reassured him in a sick way, her hand rested below the front of his rib cage.

"What did they do to such a young beauty?" His last words would always shake Olympe to her core as she ripped out his warm heart, squeezing it so hard that it busted, blood and tissue flowed freely from her hands and down onto her pants and boots, along with the floor.

The dream woke her, like they always do. Olympe could faintly recall King. Mousy brown hair, brown eyes, broad shoulders and a thickly muscled frame. He stood proud at the age of four hundred and twenty-two, an elder in wolf standards, but an elder who had murdered an entire pack for no reason. The guards weren't too upset went King 'passed'. They weren't worried like they should have been. But they didn't know Olympe, nor what she was capable of.

They had underestimated her just like everyone else. A fatal mistake in the end. Mistakes. Mistakes. Mistakes. That's all they ever made, and Olympe knew she was no exception. There were so many things she could have done differently. But taking in the consideration of how others thought of her was  not one of those things she cared for, people would always talk, so why not let them. If they were serious enough about it, they'd say it to your face, facing a dilemma on how'd you react.

     A swipe of a clawed hand was always ready for Olympe's cocked and loaded self, she couldn't help it. She never thought out petty things, if it pissed her off, they'd die for it. Simple as that.

The coolness of the night air nipped at her damp nose, a thick, warmness was draped over her back, once she was gathered enough will to go on throughout her night, Olympe opened her eyes. She was greeted by the illuminated house in front of her, it seemed like it was alive, the lights being a warm orangey hue. She knew if she tuned in to her heightened senses, she'd be able hear what was going on inside, but she didn't care enough for it. But curiosity was a killer.

Ridding herself of such ignorant thoughts, Lym stood, the fuzzy blanket sliding off of her and into a puddle of warm cotton, and turned into the forest. Her mind was full of fuzz, a rage induced haze settled over her, making her lash out.

The thumps of her paws were the only thing that sounded out through the night, not a single owl hoot nor a nocturnal animal prowled. It was just Olympe. And that was how she like it. Yet, the vexation was still there, for some peculiar reason.

So she did what came normally to her, she lashed out. Her deadly sharp claws torn through the nearest tree's bark, the coldness of its stored water seeped into her dark fur, mixing with her fury spurred sweat.

After the powerful exertion, she slumped against the torn up tree, closing her eyes, trying to block out the anonymous white noise that flooded around her like a raging river.

A soft whimper came from behind a tree to her left, making her snap her eyes open. She was greeted by the wary Basile. He stood his distant, having watched her explosion of emotion. He lowered himself onto the ground until his belly skimmed the dirt, and slowly shuffle towards the distressed femme. A flutter of worrying came over him as he got a meter away from her, but he wasn't sure who he was worried for, him or her?

Perhaps it was her recklessness or maybe it was plain longing for a person who she could blindly trust, but Olympe allowed the male to sidle up to her side and rest his large head over the scruff of her neck protectively. His chest hummed The  with comforting purrs, calming her.

I miss mate.

Olympe lazily opened her eyes, of course the damned wolf would miss him after she practically rejected him. She was so contradictory to herself, it made Olympe's head spin.

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