Unchained

Chapter Seven

She watched with amusement as Basile scurried around the kitchen in a pastel and pink flowered apron, throwing spices and herbs into whatever he was cooking. It had her stomach growling, mouth watering smells wafted her nose.

"Breakfast, errrr, lunch is served, mademoiselle." He bowed dramatically, causing her to roll her eyes. She looked curiously at was to seemed to be smushed eggs? "Scrambled eggs, love." She growled at the new nickname. Basile held up his hands in surrender, he quickly sat down a glass of milk.

She hesitantly ate the eggs, she had hardly ever eaten anything other than meat, bread, and water her entire life, she wasn't sure if she liked the change either. Sucking up her pride, she devoured the eggs for the sake of her seemingly never ending hunger.

     "Good, peu gris?" The female shook her head no and a look of surprise from her blunt honesty crossed Basile's face.

"I'm just hungry." Was her short reply. Having a high metabolism had caused struggles in her life, between Gael and Everest, lacking in the food department was an almost constant. Olympe knew she was underweight just by looking at the way her cheekbones stood out gauntly and her eyes were slightly sunken in, her veins visible underneath her near translucent pale skin.

"Alright, what anything thing else?" Basile leaned on his elbows which rested on the countertop. She nodded, and he quickly got back to work. By the time her hunger was stifled she had been through half a dozen pizzas, two liters of water, a banana, and three apples.

That was some good eating. Her wolf hummed with satisfaction, a faint grin made its way on her lips.

"Do," Basile paused, as if he was unsure to ask the question. "Do you want me to get someone to get the knots out of your hair?" There were knots in her hair? Hmmm, this was new knowledge to her, having not looking in a mirror in a good while. She shook her head no, if she's been this long with it like it is, what's the harm in going longer? Besides, she didn't trust anyone else but Basile.

      "It's fine." Added to emphasis to her no.

      "Alright, go ahead do whatever you deem necessary, I'll be around if you need me, peu gris." Olympe could help but slightly tense up at the fact that Basile was so accepting of her, not once her sorry life had someone been so trusting of her in a short period of time. It was all very dumbfounding to her.

She simply hmmmed in agreement, her magnesium eyes surveyed every move he made out of the room, Jacques following his master while Juste watched her with a curiosity and playfulness only a dog could have. Cocking an arched brow at the pure breed pit as he trotted over to her, she eyed him warily. She had heard stories of all the pits that attack, but she knew that from personal experience that you may put the fight into the dog, but you'll never take out it's instinct to survive.

She gave a low rumble when the dog neared closer than she deemed fit for him, not caring whether or not he wasn't a threat to her. People getting too close reminded her of the prison, that's when the darkness spreads again.

With a grunt of discontent, she hauled herself out of the chair and hesitantly wandered deeper into the mansion, and for once, she was unsure of what to do. Taking in the light pallet scheme of the house, which did nothing to brighten her festering mood, she could only gawk at some of the eccentric painting that decorated the beige walls.

One painting particular caught her eye, it was a pair of hazel eyes. So familiar, yet so foreign to her. The brown background of the iris' was accented with flakes of gold and orange, the middle ground a deep, off-set green, and the foreground, solemn red flecks towards the pupils. Long, think lashes framed those magnificent eyes, shiners is what Bracken would've called them. As much as she hated to admit it, she missed the old bastard and his Scottish lay of English words.

Looking at the next painting, she was yet again intrigued by its layout. It was a battle scene from what appeared to be the Battle of Kaleo.

What the hell is that? Olympe thought to herself, yes she was taken at an early age, but she was not stupid. Gael had no tolerance for stupidity, and as his first successful child assassin, he had made sure she knew everything she possibly could about the Supernatural.

     The work showed around a few dozens on one side, the multicolored coats deep with color, the naturalness of it help them blend in with their usual surroundings, the forest. While on the other side stood hundreds of humans, all dressed in light clothing, like they wanted to be seen. But the closer Olympe looked at the picture the more she saw. Like how the humans weren't human, their blandness of skin stood in deep alignment with their white clothing, and how their teeth fell slightly over their pale lips. This wasn't a battle between humans and wolves, which was near nonexistent, this was a painting of one of the ancient battles between vampires and werewolves, the age long feud was never ending, the hatred running deep.

      Looking at the dark, lifeless eyes of the vampires, it gave her chills. The amount of death that they brought was right next to her, but not on a controlled level. Releasing a deep sigh through her nose, she continued on, not bothering to look at the rest of the portraits. The click-clack of trimmed nails on the hardwood floor let her know that the blue pit was still with her, the pesky bastard was stubborn. Holding back an annoyed snarl, the female traveled deeper into the house.

     She soon found a room full of screens and computers, a surveillance room, she supposed. Curiosity got the best of her and she hesitantly walked closer to the movement on the screens. Most of them showed areas where nothing was going on, but a few showed some people. One had the footage of a grassy yard full of wolves fighting, a practice field. Another revealed near a hundred femme's buzzing around a large room, with an expression that seemed to be excitement. Furrowing her brows, she continued on to the last screen. Basile's darkish hair was distinct while he was surrounded by dark haired men, not quite blending in with the crowd. He wore a pleasant smile on his face, as if greeting them, nodding his head and soon turning around. Her heart stopped.

     She knew those eyes. Blue, so heavenly blue. And those tousled dark curls that fell onto a tanned forehead, just brushing his thick brows. Plump, red lips pulled into a forced smile. The only thing different about him was the dark circles that shouldn't have been that prominent against his coloration of skin. Olympe didn't know his name, but she was sure of one thing.

     The man before her eyes was her mate.