Addressing an Anon Review, here, because they were reviewing precisely because they are worried that if the story doesn't receive enough reader-love, it may end up abandoned. I do not abandon stories based on lack of response or low review count/readership. That said, yes, I love reviews, we all do. We adore reading how much our work means to someone, or how much they liked this or that scene, or even if a particular character action didn't sit well with them. I will never make you feel obligated to review in order to keep the story going, but honestly, reviews do give me the warm heart-fuzzies, so I appreciate that you take the time to leave them. That's all. ?
Chapter Three
They had been walking in silence for a time—Hermione'd honestly forgotten how long it was from Hogwarts to the village of Hogsmeade by foot, but they'd agreed that there might be clues otherwise missed along the way if they traveled by any other, any faster, means—and she wasn't certain if his reason for remaining quiet was the same as hers. She was having a rough go of it, trying to balance out keeping her attention on their surroundings and her memory of how he'd leaned nearer.
How his gaze had flicked over her features as his lips came so very close to brushing hers. How he'd swallowed hard before pulling back, nodding as he said in that low, purring voice, "We should be on our way."
How she'd nodded back, watching him as he straightened up and swept a hand out for her to lead the way. How she'd had to peel herself off the wall and force her legs into motion to step away from him.
She couldn't be sure if he was as aware of her walking beside him as she was of him, but there was a fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach that told her the feeling was mutual.
"You must have questions," he started, snickering a little when it appeared she jumped just a bit at the sound of his voice. "About my kind . . . about me."
"As I'm sure you have questions about me." Hermione shrugged, glancing at Eric—observing the way he continually scanned the distance as they moved, looking for hints her near-human eyes would never be able to catch—while they walked.
Arching a brow, he nodded, keeping his voice low as he listened for any noises that seemed even little out of place in the wild foliage that lined the cobblestone road on either side of them. "I suppose I do. A question for a question, then?"
"All right," she said, though she could not imagine that anything about her could be remotely interesting to him. "I'll start?"
Again he nodded, making a sweeping gesture for her to proceed.
"Sunlight kills you?"
"Burns and then kills. It's not instant, I'd have time to find shelter. But the older the vampire, the less time they'd have." He cast her a sidelong glance from the corner of his eye. "You're one of those witches who's born to normal humans?"
"Yes. We call normal humans Muggles, thereby those of us not born in Wizarding lines are called Muggleborns." She was aware of his gait. Though his stride was relaxed, it was naturally rather long and she had to walk faster just to keep pace at his side. She didn't know if he found the dramatic difference in their statures amusing, or didn't actually notice her struggle. "Have you ever been married?"
He chuckled. "No. In fact, one of the last things I did with my human life was argue with my father about not wanting to get married. You?"
"No. I came close, once, but . . . for a long time something was telling me things weren't working." She shrugged, remembering how crushed Ron had been when she'd turned him away. "When he asked me to marry him, it just clicked that things weren't working because we didn't work, if that makes sense." She waited for him to respond in some fashion, only going on to her next question when he nodded. "You're a millennia old and your name is north-man. You were a Viking before you died, weren't you?"
"You're a smart one, I like that. And yes, though I'm technically still a Viking. My turn, again?" he asked, his gaze skittering to hers for a moment before returning his attention to their surroundings.
She nodded, aware that as they'd walked, they had slowly drifted closer together. So near to each other that her shoulder pressed lightly to his arm.
"Your blood tastes different from other near-human witches I've known." He tipped his head side to side as he considered how to explain better. "A bit . . . feral, somehow. Why?"
"Wait, feral?" She was suddenly very aware of her breathing as she echoed that word. "How is that a 'taste?'"
"Well, there's actual tastes in the way a human would know them, and then there's tastes that have nothing to do with flavor." He shrugged. "Sometimes, the way blood tastes to us is like that. It isn't about the way the blood actually tastes—though I must say, yours is quite sweet. A bit like wine."
Hermione snickered. "Is that because of me, or because I'm a witch?"
"A bit of both." A half-smile curved his lips. "There was a definite similarity between you and your predecessor, but then there were things that were only you."
"Like a 'feral' taste?"
"Exactly. That wasn't all. There is a bit of spice to you, by that I do mean as a flavor." He narrowed his eyes as he fixed his attention on something in the distance for a few seconds. "Some tastes can only be described as feelings, though. And your blood made me feel like I was running through the woods. I felt things like soil beneath my feet and teeth tearing into a fresh kill. Hunting as an animal would."
Her steps stilled nearly of their own volition and he reflexively halted beside her. "Shit," she said in a hissing whisper.
Eric gripped her shoulder with gentle fingers and turned her to face him. The soft, derisive laugh that had bubbled out of her with that single word was a weighted sound, full of far too many emotions that they all crowded together, making it impossible to detect what she felt.
"This upsets you, but you're not shocked, are you?"
"No. And not upset, either, not exactly. It—my feelings about this are complicated." She watched his face as she shook her head. "It was something I suspected about myself for a long time, but there was . . . never any way to confirm it, not really."
His brows pinched together in a questioning look as he waited for her to elaborate.
Frowning, Hermione turned forward and started walking once more. She reached blindly for his hand, tangling her fingers with his as he fell into step beside her. "Sorry, just . . . I think Minerva was right, it's more of a distraction not to touch. Anyway, I have had reason to believe that I have . . . werewolf ancestry. I don't know who, or how far back. It's most likely that the witch or wizard in my family tree and the werewolf were one and the same."
"Werewolf, really?"
"Well, magical werewolves are different from the natural ones you're probably more familiar with. Ours are cursed, not hereditary, passed along through a bite. Unless you're the direct child of a bite victim, then there's a fifty-fifty chance of ending up like your werewolf parent. Otherwise, though, it's like folklore. But there have simply been . . . things that made me think somewhere back, once of my ancestors carried the curse. I would've thought something like this died out somewhere along my lineage before it got to me, especially if it's far enough back that I can't know who it was. But, like I said, there've been things that tell me some traits linger."
"What sort of things?"
Again, she stopped and turned to look up at him. God, he was so pretty under the light of the half moon and the stars overhead it hurt. "There was an incident when I was fourteen. I had to distract a werewolf—the friend I mentioned—from attacking another friend." She shrugged, aware of his cool fingers tightening around hers—giving her the impression that he didn't have a particularly pleasant history with werewolves. "So I—"
"Doesn't sound very different from the non-magical werewolves I've known."
Hermione ignored the slight against Remus—Eric had no way of knowing who he had been, or how important he'd been to her. "You didn't let me finish. To distract him, I howled, and he stopped mid-hunt to come looking for me. That never should've worked. Werewolves respond to the call of their own kind, but my vocal cords are human, or they're supposed to be. He should've been able to detect the difference. Then, during the War, there was another werewolf and he . . . tried to lay claim to me."
His gaze searched hers as he brought up his free hand to cup her jaw. "You're scared of him. This other werewolf. Even now, you fear him."
She kept her attention fixed on his eyes as she felt it from him. He was angry. Angry, and . . . . "You're jealous?"
"I find it mildly infuriating to think of someone trying to lay claim to you." The vampire smirked. "Blame the Covenant."
She laughed and shook her head, liking the way the movement pressed the chilled skin of his palm a little tighter against her jaw. "I, um, I can't help the fear. I got away from him, but I watched him tear into this girl I grew up with. During the final battle, I saw him killing her." Her eyes rolled skyward for a moment as she blinked an unexpected wash of tears away. "He's the one who bit my friend and turned him when he'd only been a child. The things he said he'd wanted to do to me . . . . Not being afraid of him is too hard."
"Where is he now, this werewolf you fear? I'd be happy to kill him for you.
The witch let out a shocked giggle at his offer. "I've never heard a suggestion of lethality sound romantic before."
He grinned. "It's part of my charm."
"We sort of got off track here, didn't we?"
"Right, question for a question." His gaze flicked down to trace over her mouth before returning to her eyes. "What would you ask of me next?"
The look he was giving her just now reminded her of the images that had greeted her when she'd been curled in his lap earlier. Reminded her of the sensations that had played across her skin and coursed through her limbs.
That . . . experience was a result of our blood mixing.
She barely refrained from shifting in his light hold to nip at his fingertips. Well, the first night of their investigation was certainly going nowhere fast. "The experience we shared because of our blood mixing . . . how different is it from what typically happens?"
As though he'd read it from her thoughts, he slid the tip of one finger between her lips. Holding her gaze, he skimmed that delicate touch along the edge of her teeth. "Among humans, it's not uncommon for them to use vampire blood like a drug. Just a drop can make them hallucinate; I'm given to understand that if they take it with another person, those two will share in whatever experience results. It's a grave offense to take a vampire's blood in such a way—except in instances like the Blood Covenant, or if a human one of us has claimed needs to be healed. A human who's had blood directly from a vampire will feel an attraction to them. They can't help it."
"Or near-human, in my case?" she asked with an arched brow, her teeth and tongue moving against his stroking finger as she spoke.
"As I told you, what we're experiencing is because we shared blood. A vampire can give someone their blood and feel nothing about it, whatsoever. It's capable of telling us where that human is, the state of their emotions, but it doesn't cause us to feel anything for them."
Hermione reminded herself to breathe. It was far too easy to get lost in his gaze. "That's how you could tell I was scared?"
"And how you could tell I was jealous."
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "And angry."
Silence fell again as they stared at each other. Hermione had no idea what could be going through his head, but given his explanations, she thought it couldn't be very different from what was going through hers. "When you say 'experiencing', you mean we're still—?"
"This is supposed to be question for a question," he said, unsure how he was holding his fangs at bay. She was so warm, the smell of her skin so alluring. He could feel the beat of her pulse humming through his still veins like it was his own. "I believe it should be my turn, now?"
She nodded, cognizant of their bodies brushing against each other. When had they moved closer together?
Eric swept his palm down from her jaw and along the side of her throat as he held up their clasped hands. "You did this so we wouldn't be distracted by not touching. How long do I have to wait for you to realize it's not working?"
