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.
I will have different version of this story up in a different scenario so if you recognize the main female (Elizabeth Carter AKA Libby) that's the reason.
This isn't going to be a love story between Bran and an OC. In fact I'm not even sure this will have any romance in it. *shrug* I haven't really decided
The surrounding world was beginning to become dull, feelings were numbed, and soon she became the mindless killer. The man was nearing her; she was cornered, but no longer afraid. He had magic, and started to cast a spell that would leave her unable to retaliate.
His spell started to surround her, but the magic slid off, and she was unaffected.
He hadn't seen what was coming.
She didn't have any weapons at hand, only the inhuman strength that he had given her just for his own pleasure. He was bigger, stronger, and more powerful, but surprise was on her side.
She stayed perfectly still, waiting for him to get closer.
He reached out, probably to touch her face, like he usually did. She took his wrist twisting it until she heard it crack and pop, a kick followed to the gut, and with the same leg, she brought up her knee and used her other hand to slam his face down.
He fell backwards, nose broken, arm useless, but her attack wasn't finished.
Her eyes were a fierce yellow, her finger nails grew into claws. His eyes snapped to hers, also the bright yellow glow that she had. He growled, rage building.
"Sit." He ordered, their eyes locking. It was a different type of magic than what he used before. It touched her, but it held no strength.
"Die." She said her tone bland, like a robot. She reached down tearing out his throat.
Bran Cornick arrived in time to see the man at the door get taken down. The windows of the house were shattered, the front door long torn down. A few men were lying in the yard, they smelled of death. The girl stood on the man, soaked in blood; her eyes were a bright yellow. She stared into Bran's eyes, her face like a mask, and her emotions hidden by blood and death.
The man she used as a rug was still alive, but he stayed perfectly still recognizing that his hope had finally arrived.
Bran waited for the girl to submit. She looked no older than thirteen or fourteen. She had short, uneven, black hair, her pale skin hidden by the blood that stained it. She bared teeth at him and snarled, displeased with the challenge she was losing. Bran curled his lip, and she looked down, growling.
"Elizabeth Carter," Bran said using her name to enforce the command to come, "Come to me."
She obeyed, taking on heavy step after the other. Even with the wind in his favor, Bran still couldn't smell her emotions. Usually werewolves that went on such killing spree scented of bloodlust and rage.
She stopped just a few footsteps away, staring at Bran's chest. Her eyes slowly dulled from yellow to a golden green, and finally to a soft pear green. She started to shake, the wolf losing command faster than Bran had expected possible. Tears started rolling down her face but she made no sound.
"Take me away," She whispered, her throat rough, mangled by her falling tears.
Please do not blame the wolf; she was the one that tried to stop me.
Bran froze. The thought had come from her. Bran wasn't able to read people's mind, he had lost that ability once he became a werewolf. Instinctively he pulled her into him, embracing her; he had known this sorrow for himself. Was she a berserker like he?
The man who she had stepped on now stood, head bowed, he avoided looking at either of them. He was checking fallen comrades, searching for anyone else outside who had survived.
Bran ushered the girl to his car, he had left the door open in his rush. He placed her so she couldn't view her work. He crouched in front of her, looking at her intently. She had her eyes squeezed shut.
"Will you be alright to stay here?" Bran asked, searching her face. Numbly, rigidly, she nodded her head.
Samuel would be coming; Bran knew that there would be casualties.
He entered the house; there were a few more dead lying about. The first floor was in wreckage, anything possible used as a weapon. Further search he found some living, huddled together in fear, submissives.
"Are any of you hurt?" He asked his voice soothing. They all shook their heads, "Please go outside. Help where you can, but don't get in the way." He had heard Samuel's car approached.
He went downstairs first; he could hear some noise from below, and nothing above. There were severely wounded, some he carried upstairs, Samuel had been making his way down from upstairs, carrying two female wolves. Their wounds hadn't come from the girl. They made several trips into the house, and one last to get a look at the dead to get a good estimation of what had happened. They would get a better story of what happened from the survivors.
"I don't like this one bit, that girl couldn't have killed all those werewolves," Samuel said watching as more help arrived, the rest of the wolf pack that had been lucky enough to be busy elsewhere.
Bran shook his head, he wasn't so sure either, his eyes on back of the girl's head.
"Should I take a look at her?" Samuel asked following his father's gaze.
"Let's wait," Bran replied he started towards the surviving wolves. Some men comforted female mates; the females without mates seemed fine with one another.
"I need to know what happened, and not just from today, what has led up to this event." Bran commanded without really commanding.
"It was the alpha." Replied one of the females, she seemed strong but still a bit beaten down. "He went crazy one day. He started killing some of us, than locking others. He came with two witches, a male and a female; he took the female as a mate. The witch had a child." He eyes flicked to the girl, she smelled of fear, "I'm not sure what happened, the female witch died, and the male and the alpha, they got worse. They took turns." She paled, and was unable to continue.
"The alpha had somehow gained magic from the male witch; he would use it on us. Silence us, or make us black out." A male had picked up the story, and sneered, "He was her dad and he treated her worse than scum. I'm surprised she's alive. If only the witch bastard had died, but he had escaped once the alpha had died."
Bran raised an eyebrow, "So then, she killed and hurt you all by herself?"
"I assure you we couldn't put on much of a fight," He shuddered, "We were already beaten down, and then she took us by surprise."
Samuel suppressed a growl.
Bran sighed, "I'll need more details, later though, for now rest."
The girl was leaning against the seat, she looked a lot more relaxed now, as if she were about to fall asleep.
"Elizabeth," Bran called, his voice soft, her eyes slowly opened, "Are you okay with my son, Samuel, looking you over?"
She seemed a bit lifeless. She looked like she was in shock.
"He is a doctor." Bran continued, she closed her eyes again. She seemed so fragile.
I think I was shot, it burns like sliver.
Once again her thought had come to Bran from her. He looked to Samuel, but he seemed to have been left out. He looked back at the girl. She peeled her blood soaked shirt from her abdomen, revealing the bullet wound. It was slow to heal, as sliver was.
She started to fall back on the car seats as she started to fall unconscious.