Disclaimer: I made this fanfic for my own pleasure, my characters belong to me and my story idea but other characters belong to Patricia Briggs as well as most of the world my characters are in. And because I'm not Patricia Briggs her characters will not be so accurate, sorry but only she can perfect her characters.
okay so this is slightly shorter than the first chapter, and well the third chapter will be of Libby's past and of all the crazy events she saw/went through... umm don't worry it'll be subtle, and not as bad as you expect (cuz I'm going to skip over a lot and put in the information that will be important further on)
The numbness that had protected Libby was gone when she woke, making her feel vulnerable. It was only the reminder that her wolf was there that kept her from curling into herself. Not that could be an option when even breathing set her stomach aflame with pain. She was healing, but slowly.
The faint rumble of voices started to become clearer the longer Libby concentrated on them.
"Thank you from coming Sam," Someone had said their voice just barely familiar to Libby.
"Honestly this is all worse than I'd imagined it." A different, but slightly similar in the way they pronounced their words, replied with an exhausted sigh.
Apparently, from what Libby could tell, they came from the room next to the one she was in. She also realized that she was clean; she no longer wore her ragged clothing. She smelt of soap, nice clean soap. Her hair smelled nice, and felt softer than she thought possible. Being imprisoned in that room for three weeks had felt like an eternity.
She wondered if someone had fixed her messy haircut, it felt even as she ran her fingers threw her short hair. Libby managed to get up from the bed, clutching her healing stomach as she stood and walked to the door. By the time she got the door opened, she felt the need to lie back down.
"It'd be best if you stay in your bed until you heal," The commanding tone came from in front of her, Libby's vision was slightly blurred but she managed to make out two men. They had some similar features, like brothers, one was taller, more muscular with long features, brown hair, blue eyes, and a serious set expression. The other seemed a bit nonchalant, carefree, he had sandy blond hair and hazel, and although he didn't seem as intimidating by his movement something told Libby that he was more of a danger.
Libby bobbed her head, staring down at their shoes. The taller man helped escort her back to the bed.
"You'll need to eat," He stated, helping her lie back.
Libby groaned, "I thought werewolves had super healing powers." She glanced between the two, "Can I ask who you guys are?"
They glanced at one another, eyebrows raising, "You don't know who we are?" The taller man asked.
Libby shook her head, "How am I supposed to? I…"
She paled, events from the past 24 hours replaying in her mind. The two shot another look at one another.
"I did something bad…" She said closing her eyes, she felt sick. Mostly because the urge to kill and hunt came from the wolf, but whatever had happened hadn't been because of the wolf. It was because of her, or some part of her, that was a complete monster. She could hear it in the back of her mind, claiming to protect her. She immediately shut it down, and all thoughts concerning yesterday.
"Elizabeth," The shorter man started, Libby cringed.
"Please don't call me that," She whispered, "Please just call me Libby," Her wolf called her Little Libby, and she liked it better than 'Elizabeth', the name that her father had given her.
"Libby…" He started, "I am Bran Cornick, I am the Marrok, and this is my son Samuel." He introduced, his tone soft and calm, "We came because we were contact of what happened…"
Libby cringed again, wishing that this conversation would end right now.
"Because I killed all those…people, does that mean that I'm going to die to?" She stared up with frightened eyes, she smelled faintly of fear and anxiety.
"I don't think we'll have to, but we do need to clear up what has happened, to ensure your safety and the safety of the other wolves that survived." Bran informed, trying his best to give the child a little hope for life.
"…So there weren't any survivors?" She asked, her voice a weak whisper.
"There were survivors," Samuel stated, another wary glance towards Bran, "But we would like your input."
Libby shook her head, "That's not…I can't… remember anything but fear and death, I can't really say much about it…" She really didn't want to have remember and retell the events, not if she didn't have to. An idea clicked in her head. She didn't have to tell, but she would have to remember.
Every since she could remember Libby was able to read the thoughts of others, and send her thoughts to them. She tended not to; because of the abuse she went through and heard of certain people's thoughts. It was her secret that she rarely let anyone in on. Then one day, a few months after her mother's death, her father had turned her into a werewolf. She wasn't able to read another's thoughts as easy, but with much concentration she could do it, and sending her thoughts was just as hard.
She brushed Bran's mind, it was easier to reach his than Samuel's. Do you really need me to tell? She sent the thought, eyes flickering in between the two. Samuel was checking her stomach wound, and replacing the bandages with clean ones.
Bran's eyes locked on her face; he had gotten the message.
I can send you some memories, but they will be mine and won't be what happened exactly, she glanced at the wall to her right, avoiding his intense stare.
That would help yes.
Libby froze, she hadn't pried into his mind to read his thoughts, but she was sure that it had come from Bran. She turned to stare at him, eyes wide and heart racing. Did he have the same ability as her?
"Get some more rest, I'll send some food in," Samuel said, breaking the silence that Libby hadn't even noticed.
Samuel left quickly, while Bran took his place next to the bed.
"If you help me, than I can ensure that you will not need to die," From the tightness in his eyes Libby could tell that he had no desire for any more death in his life.
Libby swallowed the lump in her throat, "I can't show you much. I have so little I understand…"
"Anything is better than nothing." He insisted.
Libby took a small breath, it was the best she could do with the aching pain of her wound. She shut her eyes concentrating, and remembering. She linked herself to Bran's mind, letting him in on almost all of her thoughts except the ones she locked tightly away.
She gasped as she could also sense his mind, but stopped and focused on her memories, she needed to show him her memories not his own.