Author's Note

Oops. Made it sad BUT IT ISN'T ALL SADNESS.
Trigger warning for past sexual abuse. 

The creek beside the teenage boy rushes a lullaby through his perked ears, reminding him of summer in a home that he hardly remembers now, after so many days of wondering aimlessly around with bloody paws. Each time he stretches his legs to move faster than a walk, the tacky blood pulls apart at the movement, and his fur along with it. 

He hates it enough to shift back into his human form, an average teenage boy-- skinny enough to see the pearls of his spine-- with freckles dusting all over his white skin. His chapped lips part just barely, and as he does, the skin sewn together by dried blood pulls rips his damaged skin like wet paper. It's tiny prickles of pain compared to what he had gone through hardly a week before. 

He walks on unsure legs to the creekside, staring at the rushing water as he thought of all of the bad-not-good-things that could be down there, just beneath the dark surface. For a moment he bends beside the shore, only allowing his longest finger to dip into the water warmed by the Texas heat. It seems safe enough, it has to be, and really-- he can't keep moving covered in the blood of people that are hopefully gone now. 

His bare foot lands in the water, slowly and unsure, toes curling up at the touch, before he goes forward another step. When both of his feet are settled into the mossy undergrowth, the water turns a foggy pink rotten with blood. He remains silent, too scared to go past a step, and bends down to settle in the shallow side of the creak. It hardly moves above his hips as he sits down, but it doesn't matter.

Elijah moves his hands, trembling as he does so, and reaches for his lap and what they had done there and how it still carried the stench of things he didn't want to remember. He rubs gently, flesh still rubbed raw and anything more than a light touch sends a rush of pain throughout his body. 

Werewolves are supposed to heal fast, and he can't even do that right. 

Can't heal fast. Can't smell well. Can't hear from miles away. Can't do anything but shift into a form he doesn't feel quite right in. Maybe that's why they spared him. Why try to a kill wolf when he's hardly a wolf at all?

He doesn't realize he's crying until he tastes the salty tears that pried through his closed lips; he glances around, dark eyes blurry with wetness. He freezes, ashamed and angry and so fucking pissed that he allowed himself to sob. Elijah pulls his hands away from his lap to curl them around his face, viciously rubbing at his eyes as he tries to convince himself to stop crying. And why can't he stop crying? Why is he always like this?

The blood on his face runs because of his wet hands pressing down, and every wound on his body stings and suddenly, he realizes how damn alone he is. Hardly eighteen and scared to die but terrified to continue forward. 

He wipes the back of his knuckles across his face as he glances up to the forest surrounding him, it looks empty, at least what he could see. But his eyes clot with tears and this time he doesn't bother to wipe them away. Elijah sways in the creek like a child in the bath waiting for his mother to come back and scrub away the mud hidden behind his ears. 

He allows his head to tilt back until his eyelids flutter closed, his face turning up into the sun like a blossoming flower, stretching out its petals towards the sun's relentless shine. If only he were a dandelion tucked between pebbles beside the creek. This could be a good home. 

"Are you aware you're in Liaison territory, pup?" A deep voice interrupts his peace. 

The boy turns around with wide-eyes full of surprise and overflowing with fear. His body doesn't even have the energy to do anything more than freeze, but oh, is it tiring to become stock-still. 

A man as naked as him stands with his dark arms crossed over his expansive chest, his lack of decency making it clearly obvious Elijah trespassed into shifter territory. 

"No-- I, I apologize," he stands up out of the water when he remembers how to move, and only just barely turns when he feels hands carefully wrapped around his shoulders. They touch him like he would be shattered by a breath. 

"Where are you going?" The words become softer as he continues. "Who did this to you?" They are question that lead to words Elijah isn't ready to speak. 

Elijah knows where the man's gaze is caught, or at least, what his eyes attempt to see all in one look. Bruises and open cuts litter his entire body, but the worst of it decorate his pelvis and backside like permanent fingerprints he will always feel, even after his body becomes well again. 

"I'm just passing through," Elijah whispers and chooses not to acknowledge how his words break in half. 

"Where?" The man stares at him like a battle has been waged across his skin. Maybe one has. "Which pack?" 

"I don't-- I'm not interested in any pack. Wyoming," he tells the man, knowing that only those who have no interest in their bloodline travel towards the only territory which offers a peaceful lone territory without much hassle. 

"You won't make it, little one," the man replies, and it isn't unkind, just a little nod to the truth. The younger wolf still freezes at the words. He's right, even if Elijah doesn't want to admit it. 

Elijah attempts to rip away from the man's grasp, and although it feels soft, it's steel. He doesn't move back or forward an inch. "Please," his lips attempt to plead, finding that all he wanted was  to be out of this man's grasp, to find safety in isolation, even if it would be fleeting and ultimately, sure death.

"I'm Alpha of the Liaison pack," the man's dark eyebrows crunch up like he desperately wants to help, like he can actually help. "I can offer you a home," he claims, earnestly. 

"I-- I'm an... Omega," Elijah hates how the title tastes on his tongue. "You'll make me submit." 

"I make all of my wolves submit," The Alpha admits without thought before he witnesses the young man begin to stink of unruly fear. "But, but not like that, pup. Never like that," he backtracks instantly, the hands wrapped around Elijah's shoulder abruptly disappear with his words, like he knows a sense of unease  

Elijah swallows, unsure as he takes a step that he found in the man's release. "But--" He tried to begin.

"What is your name?" The wolf asked, eyes carefully cataloging every move the Omega made, accessing his weak points so subtly that the man probably hadn't realized what he was doing.

"Elijah," the name sounds foreign on his lips. He hadn't said it in such a long time, had no need to when it felt like he was an inanimate object passed around from a pair of greedy hands to the next. And the next and the next. 

"Elijah," the Alpha breathes as he speaks the younger man's name back to him. "My name is Raul," he introduces himself with a dimpled grin that took the sharpness off of his features.

"H-hello, Raul," Elijah replies in a voice still heavy with distrust. 

Raul didn't make a move to touch him again, instead, he nodded his head towards the forest, where it went deeper, and where his pack must be. His hands would've been inside his pockets if he wore pants. "Tell me what you like to do, Elijah," he asked as they began to walk, the Alpha trailing a few steps behind to watch the teenager as he took a slow and measured steps not to pass him. "We've got a place for everyone in Liaison."

Author's Note

OKAY SO THIS IS THE FIRST VERSE FEATURING ELIJAH MY LIL BABE. AND RAUL. HE'S PRETTY COOL. (PRETTY HOT TOO BUT THAT'S ANOTHER STORY)

I place Raul behind Elijah as they walked back to the pack because Alphas are always situated at the back watching. And yeah. Basically Raul stares at everyone from the corner of the room and on perches and in trees. Kidding about the trees. 

Wanted to open it up with a wolf being welcomed into the pack so y'all will feel welcomed.

Tell whatcha liked and didn't. 

Tell me what kind of characters you are looking for. I've got about fourteen all in my notes right now, so ten more.