Lym breathed out a sigh, she was completely embarrassed. She never ran away, and into the bathroom. What was she? A little school girl? Leaning against the door, listening to her mate try to coax her out of the loo.
Releasing a snarl, keeping an eye on the locked door, she paced around the tiled room. Paranoia was scratching at her, holding her tightly in its grasps, she expected her mate to plow down the door any second. All the while she was wearing a path into the floor, her mate, unbeknownst to her, looked at the door with pained eyes.
A flash of blonde out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Turning towards it she let a soft gasp fly free from her full lips.
She was greeted with the sight of a platinum blond haired femme, a girl with steady gray eyes peered back at her. The girl's hair was in thick locks, small chains were woven through them, back from when her fascination with shiny things was strong. A small button nose was below those even eyes, below her small nose was a pair of full, plump lips, a pretty color of pink.
Looking back up at those fascinating gray eyes, she saw long, curling lashes, and in those eyes were the occasional blue flecks and a splatter of gold around the pupil. Above those captivating eyes were two thick eyebrows, naturally perfectly shaped. And starting at her hairline, was a thick silver scar that ran down through her left brow, splitting it towards the end, creating a small wing. It continue down to her eye, brushing over her eyelid and down her once smooth cheek, and kisses the side of her lips.
She backed up further, trying to get a better look at this anonymous femme.
The girl's body was a horrid masterpiece. Pale skin was splattered with scars, they covered every visible inch of her skin. The girl was short, looked like she barely passed five feet, but the way she carried herself was with a dark confidence, seemingly ready to protect herself if the need arose.
The girl was familiar. The girl wasn't her. She wasn't Olympe Trycker. She was Lym Trycker, the huntress. This was the girl that so many was feared, it amazed her, this girl in the mirror seemed too much of a beauty to kill. Shame flooded through her as she realized that the only reason they feared her was because of the scars.
Anger rose in her. Her wolf snapped and snarled its way forth, wanting to prove her worth. Lym fought tooth and claw for control, gripping the sink so hard that it started to crack, her eyes flashed between gray and black like an old film. The struggle was evident in her hunched over stance, she knew that if her wolf got control while in a fit of rage, there was no telling who she would kill or how long it would be until she had control once again.
"No." She snarled at her reflection, her eyes flashing dull colors.
"You act like you can control me." Her wolf's black eyes stated back at her. Swallowing hard, she shook her head as if to shake away her wolf. She glared at her reflection as her wolf pushed against her innards, clawing inside of her, thin lines of blood dotted across her clothing.
Lym swung her fist into the mirror and grabbed ahold of a large shard and drove it deep into her thigh, trying to do anything to distract her deranged wolf from destroying her mate. Though she didn't care too much for him herself, she knew her wolf would deeply regret killing her mate, as much trouble she went through to influence Lym to go to their mate.
She was slowly losing the battle of wills, she felt it, the coldness, the darkness of her wolf seeping into her control system. The panic of fear of control loss pushed her to fight harder, a migraine pounded at her head, but in reality it was her wolf screaming obscenities at her, demands to be let out. The crack of her left wrist sounded out in the seemingly quiet bathroom, the battle zone was going on in her head. Desperate eyes looked into the shattered mirror, she made out gunmetal eyes with black rings around them.
Letting out an ear shattering roar, Lym summoned every source of energy, power, and will she had and poured into shutting her wolf away and locking her up tight. She collapsed on the tiled floor, the internal struggle drained her. The dribble of warmth came out of her nose, the metallically smell it gave off told her that it was blood. It also told her mate.
Pounding on the door started as soon as the pounding in her head stopped. Tears prickled at her eyes, she just wanted to be left alone. Groaning, she hauled herself to her feet and hobbled over to the claw foot tub. Practically falling into it, she tucked and curled herself into a ball of self preservation.
Creaking and cracking of the bathroom door didn't even cause Lym to raise her head, she knew it was her mate.
"Olympe? Olympe, Olympe!" His deep voice was frantic, so frantic that he forgot to use his senses to find her out. Once he didn't he was hesitant on what to do, not knowing how she'd react to him touching her.
"Please—" her voice cracked. "Please don't call me that," she took a deep breath. "Call me anything but that." Something inside of her broke that day, to hear the name her father called her. She wasn't good any more, she was a monster, a monster that was tired of living in her own personal hell.
"I'm going to pick you up now, if that's okay." Her mate said softly. When she didn't say anything, he snatched up her small body in his thick arms, warmth spread through her almost immediately. He walked them to the bed and rocked her shaking form back and forth.
"You don't love me." She whispered. Romulus looked down at her in shock. "The mating bond creates lies in your head. You don't love the real me, you love the perfect mate you've made up in your head." She told him, and slipped out of his arms as he looked at her in shock.
Taking the chance, she slinked out of the room quietly while her mate stared at the wall, stunned.
Her feet carried her lightly through the marbled floors of the palace. She observed every luxury with a harsh eye. From the way the twenty foot ceilings were engraved with gold to the carefully carved wood railings on the many stairs. The halls were quiet, the only sound was the dainty chatter of the maids.
A tug in her gut drew her out onto a balcony, the vast scenery before her was breathtaking. The rolling hills before her were white from the dead grass, sprinkled with redwoods that rivaled some of the towers in the castle. A small lake shine brightly from the glare of the sun, it sparkles with light. The honk from geese could be heard from a distance, the baby blue sky was void of clouds and the air was crisp.
It was all too perfect for her, too beautiful. The bitter taste of regret burned in her mouth like acid, she should have left New York City when she had the chance. Now she was faced with many things, things she didn't want to have to deal with. Her wolf betrayed her, she locked her wolf away deep inside her soul, and she faces the fact that if she runs away from her mate again she will knowingly be a coward and she wasn't too sure that he would let her escape this time.
Years of her life had been stolen, she had been chained to a burden that was too much for her to bare, she collapsed beneath the immense weight and she built herself up again. Stronger. Better. Colder. She was no longer Olympe Trycker the Gamma-in-training. She was Lym the Chained. And she didn't know how long it would take for her to be free from the that burden, the chains still clicked behind her, it's sound meant only for her to hear, it's weight made only for her to bare. And she wasn't she if she would ever become Unchained.
Romulus gazed at his mate, her lovely plaits of hair were quite strange, but he didn't mind her matted locks, it seemed to suit her very well. He couldn't help but mull over what she had said, maybe he was in love with the concept of a mate. But there was no notation that described the way he felt for her naturally, it wasn't from the way his beast called out to her wolf, nor the way she looked. It was the look in her eyes.
Those eyes had never failed to entrance him, level gray eyes always void of emotion met his every time with out fear or life. But if you looked close enough you'd see those tiny sparks of mischief, they never lurked too far from the surface of her protective mask, he realized that after a year of nearly going insane that she had planned this long before. She wasn't going to be tamed easily, but Gods' be damned, she would be his undoing. She was death embodied, wit honed, genius lurked beneath every crevice of her skin, all ready to be summoned on a whim.
Those were the things he fell in love with. Sure he wanted to get to know her, but they had an eternity for it, she had multiple lifetimes to fighting him. But those lifetimes, he knew, would be used to right her again. He didn't know what happened to her for sure, but he had a feeling it would break her one day, to the extent where there was no saving her.
As soon as he stepped foot near her, she knew he was there. It was impossible for a wolf not to feel the presence of a dominate wolf, it was how the hierarchy worked. Lym, herself wasn't too sure where she sat, ranks weren't just passed onto you, unless you trained for it and fought another challenger for it. Titles, ranks, they were all made to give a wolf a place, but Lym didn't want a place, she wanted to be herself.
"What is it, mate?" Lym snapped, still looking at the tall, white grass that swayed peacefully in the softwood below them.
"Do you want to leave?" His question inwardly startled her. Did she want to leave, yes. But there was a small string that had been form in a short day that bounced them together, separation would be painful.
She sighed, but said nothing. Gael taught her to not say anything if she wasn't sure about it.
"If—" she heard him swallow. "If you are going to stay, a room has been made up for you. I will take you to it, if you'd like." Lym licked her teeth and sucked her lips to them. She didn't want to spend much time with him, it was uncomfortable.
"There is no need for a room. I'll stay in the woods." Her words should have shock him, he knew that. But most of him knew that sleeping outside was the norm for her.
"I—"
"I know there is plenty of room, but my instincts call for the wild." She snarled softly. "Leave me now." Her hands gripped the cement banister so hard that she thought she heard the soft groans of it chipping and cracking.
His retreating footsteps was all that was heard, it was all it took for Lym to jump off the three story balcony and onto her feet, gracefully and unscathed. Slowly she made her way out into the white sea of grass, it brushed her legs and tickled her waist. Though the sun was still quite high in the sky, Lym was normally asleep during this time of day, it lead her to fall into a restless sleep underneath one of the lone redwoods in the area.
The hiss of a dagger meeting its metal target sounded out through the air. Lym observed the younger boy, she was his elder by one year, yet he towered over her. His lanky fourteen year old frame was slowly being filled out with muscle, his mind was becoming sharper, it was all the aftermath of Gael.
The boy, Jaerim, was taken the same night as her, from the same pack. They had always had a mural agreement, to protect one another when needed, the pack bond was still there, causing them to have family like protectiveness over one another. Lym more so than Jaerim.
Lym considered the shaggy haired boy her cousin, the only family that she had left. Of course Gael knew this, he was familiar with pack ways, but he never mentioned anything about it. Jaerim considered it a blessing that he was able to train a few times a week with the broody Lym, her indifference never deterred him. He liked that she was never emotional towards him, but he knew she cared, otherwise she would have put up with him.
They were getting ready for something big, and Lym, sadly, hadn't figured out what it was yet. She felt it in her bones, saw it in a every dark look that glinted in the guards eyes. Lym knew, when the time came for it, she'd be ready for a battle, ready to protect herself, but it was a matter of she would survive or not that are away at her.
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Oh hot damn, y'all. I'm a bit delirious right now from going to sleep at 2 a.m. and waking up at 7 this morning so if anything is iffy and weird, pretty much if your confused tell me.
I picture Emilia Clarke as Lym, she's fine as fuck, if I do say so myself and if I wasn't straight—you get the point.
Comment. Vote. Love goats.