"please, just let me help you"
"why should i? everyone i know either dies or thinks i'm a total freak show"
Georgia Ray is a social outcast. Nobody bothers to spare her a second glance, unless it's to roll their eyes or scoff. Living alone w...
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OLIVER BLYTHE: THE NAME alone was enough to strike fear into all those he'd ever encountered. It was unimaginable how many people, mortals and wolves alike, he had murdered. It was what he was known for.
He wasn't very smart. No, Oliver wasn't some brilliant genius, he was a soldier. He wasn't smart enough to be a leader of a real pack, that's why he worked well with Deucalion. The older man was in charge of all the business, simply telling Oliver which threats needed eliminated and when.
Maybe he had an excuse. Maybe Oliver could've blamed it on his childhood—what with an abusive father who murdered his mother, he had plenty of reasoning. But saying he mourned his mother or even cared about his father would be a lie.
Because, honestly, Oliver didn't feel anything. He didn't cry at the funeral and he wasn't sorry after killing his father himself. He was incapable of feeling remorse or sympathy or love.
So he killed. And killed and killed and killed. He did Deucalion's every biddings without question. Through all his years of life he never knew fear, never cringed back from a fight. All he knew was how to inflict pain, not consume it.
Oliver strolled about with a cocky smirk, fearless.
That's what he was doing just then. Walking around carelessly, a bored sigh falling past his thin lips. He glanced around, seeing he'd arrived at an abandoned warehouse. Oliver didn't really know what he was doing there, he was just doing what he did best—listening to orders.
"Ethan?" he called out expectantly, going further in. He didn't gain a verbal response, but he could hear heartbeats. Two, "Come on, dumbass, where are you?"
Oliver continued to look around. He decided that when he found the stupid boy he'd break a few bones, hopefully knock some common sense into him about wasting time. Oliver didn't know why Deucalion would possibly want to meet out there.
It all became clear pretty quickly.
A bomb of some sorts went off. Not only was it loud, but it shot off bright sparks, blinding Oliver. He shielded his eyes with a yelp, backing away. He didn't get far before a second one went off, knocking him on his ass.
Everything was blurry and his ears rung. He could faintly feel someone grabbing him, moving him. When everything came back into focus, Oliver was chained up. His arms were pulled over his head by thick chains, his feet tethered to the ground the same way.
His head lulled back and forth, seeing an unfamiliar woman. She had a gun in one of her hands, the other fiddling with some machine. Oliver tried to speak to her, but felt like there was cotton shoved in his mouth.
Then he screamed in pain.
Fire unlike any other enveloped him. It ran right along his now convulsing figure, making his brain go blank. Oliver began to huff and puff, unable to hold his breath.
