Chapter Two

Skittering to a halt, she found herself in a small, woefully misplaced—but then, what was new for anything in Knockturn Alley, really?—yard. The sorry dead lawn, and deader flowers, were tucked between two shopfronts so that the space was not visible from anywhere but directly at the entrance.

As she caught her breath, she flicked her gaze about the sad little garden area. Made it easy for her to forget it was spring, right now.

There were no sounds . . . . She didn't see anyone, now, but she'd been so sure. And this entire area smelled of that blood and fire tinge, making it impossible for her to tell where he might've gone.

She knew she saw him come this way. It was a dead end, though. Perhaps there was a hidden door somewhere?

Hermione took a step, that was when she heard it. A deep exhalation behind her—as though someone had been holding their breath.

She whirled on her heel, lifting her gaze to accommodate Thorfinn Rowle's well-remembered height, her mouth open to loose an admonishment. What to yell at him for, first? Leading her on this idiotic little chase, or being stupid enough to get himself bitten by a werewolf when he was already on the run from Aurors scooping up Death Eaters who'd survived the War—never mind that she only knew he was bitten because she was, too.

But, rather than meeting familiar blue eyes, she found herself staring up at a dark-blonde beard. Taller than Thorfinn . . . ? Whatever her words might've been they died before even reaching her lips as she tipped her head back further, still.

Blue eyes, as well, but brighter than Thorfinn's. She felt her jaw fall open as she held the gaze of this . . . mountainous wizard who resembled a modern-day Viking every bit as much as Thorfinn Rowle did.

But she hadn't the foggiest notion who he was.

A smirk curved his lips and he took a slow, measured step toward her. He tipped his head side-to-side as he watched her watching him, as though assessing her.

His nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply—Hermione was unbelievably aware of his chest expanding with that breath in her periphery—before that smirk spread into a wicked grin. "Hello there, little witch. Don't you just smell like the cure for what ails me?"

She was completely cognizant of the fact that she'd not backpedaled as he'd moved forward. No, no, all she seemed aware of was the way the long, haphazard waves of his blonde hair hung about his broad shoulders, and how she . . . .

Hermione swallowed hard, trying to deny it, but dear Lord she was fighting a spontaneous instinct to throw herself on this man and climb him like a tree!

Again, his nostrils flared, but his smile faltered, giving way to a much more serious expression. "And now, you smell even better."

She blinked rapidly a few times before realizing—of course he knew what had just run through her mind, they were both soon-to-be-werewolves, he caught the scent of it coming off her. Oh, how terribly embarrassing, but then, she had to think a similar scent must be coming from him, because it seemed she'd never been more drawn to anything in her life than she was to this man she'd never even met!

The absurdity of the entire thing did nothing to help her talk sense into herself . . . . And certainly nothing to make her stop him as he brought his mouth crashing down on hers in a brutal, hungry kiss.

She returned his kiss, just as eager, as she wrapped her arms around his neck. It all seemed to happen in a blur, as the next thing she knew, he was sitting on the ground with her straddling his lap. Had she pushed him? Had he pulled her? It didn't really matter, did it? All she could focus on was the sensation of caressing his plunging tongue with her own as he slipped his arms around her hips and pulled her tighter against him.

He broke the kiss and she tipped her head back. Taking the invitation, he raked at her throat with the very edge of his teeth, lapping at the soft skin with the tip of his tongue as he went.

Hermione rumbled out a small sound of satisfaction as she gripped her fingers tighter in his hair, guiding his mouth a bit lower. Again, he followed what she wanted, nibbling at her collarbone.

"So," she started, fighting to catch her breath and shuddering in his arms as she moved in his lap, rocking her pelvis against his—she let out an airy giggle at the way it forced a purring-growl out of him. "Who are you, anyway?"

He pulled back only the tiniest bit, just enough to answer with his lips brushing her skin as he spoke. "Orias Mulciber."

"I know that name," she said, her words nearly lost in a moan as he cupped her arse with splayed fingers, working her over him harder. "You—you're a Death Eater."

Orias snickered, his warm breath against her skin tickling her. "Not going to tell me a witch who skulks about Knockturn Alley at night is scared of some big, bad Death Eater, are you?"

"No, but then . . . ." She bit her lip, holding in a second moan as she shivered. God, was he hard? As though understanding her thought, he pushed his hips forward, against her rocking motions, just then. That would be a yes. "Never met one as big as you, before."

She didn't even realize the pun until he snickered again, nodding as he dipped his head to snap his teeth on her nipple through her shirt, drawing a delighted gasp from her.

"Oh, I'm rather sure you'll find out just how big I really am soon enough, little witch."

"I'm never . . . I don't normally do this sort of thing."

Orias lifted his head, watching her dazed, blissful expression. "Never gave me your name. But . . . you're Hermione Granger, aren't you?"

"My fame proceeds me, I see," she said with a laugh, even as she dropped her head down against his shoulder. This was ridiculous! How were they possibly having a conversation at a time like this?

How were they possibly having a time like this when they'd only met five minutes ago?!

"You were bitten by Fenrir, weren't you?"

"Mm-hmm," he breathed the sound as he pulled her harder against him, still.

Hermione thought he was determined to get her off—and she had to say she liked his persistence in the matter—because as her muscles started to tense, he shifted his hold on her, just enough to take the burden of movement away from her. "At—at the Battle of Hogwarts?"

He nipped at her throat—she was so going to pay for making him this hard once her got her someplace he could tear off her clothes. "Yes, you?"

"Same . . . ." She sank her teeth into his shoulder through the fabric of his robes then, stifling a scream as she came.

"There we go," he said, his tone soothing as he worked her harder over him, feeding into her need. God, he even liked the press of her teeth against his skin—if only his bloody robes weren't in the way.

He waited until a violent shudder wracked her, until she started moving against him, again, before he slowed the rocking. Orias returned control to her, letting her ease to a halt on her own after the last aftershock of her orgasm had subsided.

Hermione forced a gulp down her throat, unable to fight the gesture as he turned her to cradle her in his lap as she caught her breath. "So is it . . . actually me you want, or the wolfsbane I nicked from that shop?"

Orias nodded thoughtfully as he listened to her breathing, and the slowly steadying beat of her heart. "It was the wolfsbane, but now I'd have to honestly say both. With the wolfsbane lagging to second place."

"Do you even know how to make a wolfbane potion? Seeing as we've only got two weeks before we can't touch the stuff, anymore, this would be a hell of a time to try to learn."

"My potions lessons are a bit rusty, but I think the better bet would be for me to assist you."

She lifted her head from his chest to meet his gaze.

He lifted his brows as he stared down at her. "Your fame proceeds you. Apparently, the word bookworm has your photograph next to it in the dictionary."

Hermione laughed. "Well, then you certainly are lucky you found me, aren't you?"

That smirk returned. "I suppose I am."

For a few heartbeats, they only looked at one another in the sparse illumination of the night sky over Knockturn Alley.

Lavender had said there were two more Fenrir had bitten. "You're one of the others, then," she said, her tone offhanded. "She said there were two, so that's half the battle."

"Who said? And half what battle? What are you talking about?"

"Well, we are planning to make Fenrir pay for doing this to us, but we need the whole pack, if you will—bloody hell, I studied werewolves, and I never came across talk of modern werewolves having packs, but I can't imagine any other reason he bit so many of us at once. Not when he risked getting pinched and sent to Azkaban, anyway."

Lifting her in his arms, princess-carry style, he stood and then set her on her feet. "So, your plan is to go get revenge on Greyback?"

"After we find the last one of us, yes."

Orias nodded, a frown gracing his lips. "Count me in."

There was a strange tone of relief beneath his voice. So slight, she thought, that—like the blood and fire scent—it was more a sensation than an actual sound.

Her brow furrowed as her gaze searched his face. "You've nowhere to go, do you?"

Shaking his head, he tried not to care about something as meaningless as sympathy. "Been on my own since the War's end."

"C'mon, then. God, I hope Lavender knew this was going to happen, or I'm going to have a lot of explaining to do."

She turned and started walking toward the same easy-to-miss side street entrance that had allowed her to slip into Knockturn Alley, unseen. Perhaps that was why Lavender had not argued more to accompany her? She'd foreseen this meeting with Orias? Did that mean she was okay with this? Or that she felt it inevitable?

"You lost me, again, little witch," Orias said as he fell into step beside her, their height difference making it appear he was looming over her. "Who's Lavender?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed and she squared her jaw. "Um . . . another she-wolf? Also turned at the Battle. It messed with her head a bit, though, now she's unique. She's also . . . sort of my girlfriend. Or, well, lover, I guess. Pack mate."

Orias Mulciber halted mid-stride, one brow arched impossibly high as he pivoted on his heel to peer down at her. "You have a girlfriend?"

She nodded, pursing her lips.

This time, he skipped the smirk, and went right to the wicked grin. "Count me in for that, too."

He started walking, again.

Her brows shot up. "I—I never said—"

Spinning back to face her, he caught her chin between his fingers, the action cutting short her words.

For a moment, he only held her gaze, his teeth scraping against his bottom lip. "Oh, little witch, let's let your girlfriend make her own decisions, shall we? But you and I?" He let out a deep breath and shook his head. "I've got a feeling you and I are going to have a lot of trouble saying no to one another."

Hermione felt her skin warm, even as he relinquished his hold and turned away, again. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to focus and hurried to catch up to his irritatingly long-legged strides.