Chapter IX: An Undefined Torture

The restlessness in him grew. Before he had been fidgety. Now he couldn't even sit down without twitching uncontrollably. He hadn't felt this way since his first hunt, if it had even been this bad. It had been such a long time ago that he wasn't too clear on the exact details of how he had felt. All he could remember was the sensuous ripping of creamy flesh, tearing like damp threadbare cloth and the crimson burst as it flooded his mouth.

Ah, in these reposes he could almost calm down. Almost; that was the problem. Even hunting and killing were quelling his pounding chest and the ceaseless tingling for only short amounts of time. His pack had started to take notice of his endless turmoil, his boundless energy. Once again he tore out of the den and into the woods, careening through the trees until he finally snagged himself on a rock and went sprawling into the moist, dark dirt. He lay there for a moment, finally feeling calm wash over him. Pain thudded in his shin and he felt warmth itching down his leg. Perhaps now he could rest, allow his eyes to close. Fenrir tried it and realised that when he did, the anxiousness didn't swell in him, hadn't eaten him whole yet.

Too bad his only relief from the agony inside was to create pain on the outside. As much as he enjoyed screams and anguish, he wasn't fond of having them turned on himself. There was no way he would wound his body just to cease the clamouring that rose constantly within him. No, he wouldn't give the enemy that pleasure of watching him self-destruct. Instead he could throw himself more completely into killing and mayhem: if the damned Dark Lord lengthened his leash! How could he ease his mind if his only avenue of relief was forbidden at the moment? He had no recourse, no other way of settling himself.

For a long while he just lay there, inhaling the fragrance of the soil, the sweetness of new life and fresh decay surrounding him. He knew he looked a right mess, but there was a stream near-by; he could scrub down there. No reason why he had to go back to his pack bleeding and dirt-smeared, never mind reeking of apprehension. He could smell the shift in the night, the dusky musk wafting about him. Groaning as he screwed his eyes shut, he forbade himself to linger on the images, the memories of scents imbedded in his head. She had smelt different from the twilight of the earth, but the underlying scent was torturously similar. That pure smell of a ready bitch, but with the tangy pang of fear cutting through her want. It had been enticing and so strange. He had never come across anyone, especially a whelp of a girl, who could stand so bravely before him and demand to be taught in his blood-letting ways. Even when he had frightened her and threw away her wand, leaving her defenceless before him, she still held her ground. She had cowered and been full of fright, but she hadn't turned tail. It was a curiosity he couldn't get his mind over, a need his body told him to grab onto.

What was this girl who could wind a spell more thoroughly with her unacknowledged lust than with a wand? And who the hell was he to react to the foolish child?

She interested him as a novelty; that was all. Even as he told himself that, however, he knew the torture wouldn't end. So caught up in his mind, he had barely registered the padding of one of his fellows; hardly scented her on the dry breeze. Turning over as Aneya approached him almost silently, she shook her head disparagingly at him. He growled in challenge but she gave him a look, the look all women had that could silence even the greatest of men.

Staring up through the tree branches, Fenrir could just make out the moon. What did she want? For once his thoughts towards her were weak, his admiration waning as surely as she did every few weeks. He wanted to know why she was doing this to him and why he felt the way he did.

"You great rutting beast," Aneya snarled as she stepped up to her Alpha, quailing him under her glower. He ducked his head slightly even as he wondered what she meant. Every woman, he decided in that moment, was completely insane.

Nudging his thigh with her toes, she studied him. "If you were female, you would have been bleeding for weeks now." At his somewhat aghast stare, she began laughing, it a shrill sound. Birds fluttered overhead, shooting off from the trees as the laughter echoed through the wood.

Dragging air into her lungs, she brushed the tears aside and smirked. "You really have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" she wondered, hunkering down beside him as he sat up and examined his leg.

Glancing over at her, he gave a low rumbling from his chest to let her know to cease this insubordination. While he might accept more from her, he had limits, especially of late. Prodding the gash in his shin, he winced and applied pressure to staunch the blood flow. Aneya shook her head, almost sadly this time, and patted his shoulder.

"You're a fool," she finally sighed, squeezing companionably. "We love you and respect you, but sometimes, you're too stupid for your own good."

This was really going too far. Fenrir barked in her face angrily, snarling as he bared his pointed teeth. His eyes narrowed as he moved dominantly over Aneya, who shirked back and turned her face away from him even as she exposed her throat.

"This is what I mean, Alpha," she said with her eyes closed. "You're too on edge. You start at every sound and find insult in every honest word. I try telling you what's wrong and you become angry."

"You're the fool," he rasped, nipping her throat before he sat back, studying her. The urge to take her as she had lain under him had been almost too much to deny, but as quickly as the urge had washed over him, it had disappeared. He wouldn't do that to any of his pack and after silent retrospect, realised he didn't want to. As his eyes took in her hardened, muscled form, completely naked before him, he felt nothing except what had already been there.

He needed something, he realised, his face becoming almost serenely thoughtful. Someone rather, pinned beneath him as he wore out his urgent, frantic need. Clutching at his toned belly then hanging his head as he doubled over, Fenrir shut his eyes. A moment later, he felt the gentle hand of his elder, his Beta, upon his back, hushing him.

"You have been restless, my Alpha," she commented softly, lifting his face so she could look at him. "We all realise it. But we also realise that you have become worse and worse, especially when you went to meet with the Dark Lord."

What was the little wench's name? He had never even managed to get that out of her, before and after handing over his prized possession. It had been his since he had been a normal wizard and he had had it on him when he had been attacked. At first he had needed it for his kills; with time, his reliance on it had dwindled. But he couldn't part with it. In a night, he had given it away. And he didn't truly know who she was. All he knew was that she had to be completely daft to have spoken to him as she did and to have quivered so lusciously under his gaze.

Seeing the flickering bewilderment and anger pass over his face, Aneya just smiled in a smug manner. Deftly getting to her feet, she gave him one last look, then was off into the trees, running back home. Alone once again, Fenrir collapsed back onto the firm, mossy forest floor and stared upwards. Tucking his hands behind his head, he shifted slightly, getting more comfortable. His whole pack knew something was wrong. From what Aneya insinuated, they most likely knew exactly what it was. So why the hell didn't he know?

What did it matter? Out here on his lonesome, without anyone to bother him or to refresh his mind with tantalising torments, he could indulge. It wouldn't hurt the girl, she would never know the churning she had set in on him. The thought gave him pause. He had promised to teach her, solidifying it by handing her substitute claws and fangs until she had her very own. So she would know, eventually, wouldn't she?

But she was so young, so small and seemingly frail. If he touched her she would break; if he went near her again she would this time know to run in fear. He didn't have much choice though. She had been the one eager for tutelage. From what he had smelled on her, she wanted to learn much more than how to kill. Did she even know that of herself? Or was she so coddled and pampered that she knew nothing of her baser urges?

Dragging himself up with a groan, Fenrir padded silently off to the babbling stream deeper in the trees. Pushing aside branches as he followed the smell and sound of water, ignoring one as it whipped across his face, he came to the river bank. Just seeing it was relief in itself. Jumping in the waist-high water, he rinsed off dirt and bits of stray leaves, watching his blood flow away from him, threading through the water until it faded. When moderately presentable, he crawled out of the water and lazed on the bank, cradled in fragrant flowers and grasses. Allowing himself to dry, he curled up, gazing off at nothing. This was unfair. He had done everything for her, that glistening orb that commanded his blood. Yet she still thought it apt to torture him with this unknown feeling, these urges he couldn't understand. Restlessness creeping into his mind, Fenrir somehow managed to nod off. Exhaustion had, finally, suffused him.

Aneya returned to the pack, looking somewhat sullen as she passed wrestling pups and the older young who were chatting aimlessly. She plopped herself down on the couch that was always taken up by the elders and gave them a shrug along with a sigh.

"He told you nothing?" one of the males growled, his brows shooting up in shock. "It's rare he keeps anything from you."

Grunting in reply, she allowed her stare to sweep the room. Everything seemed in order, nothing was different from any other night. Except that their Alpha was out in the woods somewhere, being plagued by something she understood, yet couldn't quite grasp. He should have been there, with his pack, romping with the young ones, teaching them what they needed to know. Instructing them all on their place within their society and what he was doing to claim their rightful place of power.

"What is wrong with him?" came the soft gravely voice of a rather dishevelled, worn-out looking woman at the end of the couch. Aneya just looked at her and pursed her lips, shaking her head woefully. The other woman studied her for a moment; then her eyes lit up in realisation, a sadness flickering across her features.

"Poor Alpha," she murmured, hugging her knees to her chest, one of the few who still chose to wear her ragged robes rather than gallivant around naked. She had been a well-bred woman once, and couldn't rid herself of the distaste of going around nude. While she accepted it in the others who chose that way, she just couldn't bring herself to do it. Fenrir had tolerated that after many nights of trying to change her ways. It seemed the more he insisted and the more he beat her for being a slave to the wizards, the more she insisted on being stubborn and having her wish. Finally he had given up, finding some humour in the situation, and allowed her eccentricity. It didn't harm the pack, after all, and he could appreciate how deep-rooted the rules of wizards were when trying to control their own.

The males looked to each other, absolutely bewildered. What was it with women?

"He won't ever find what he needs," the somewhat clothed werewolf sighed, pitying their poor leader.

"Jeddie?" Aneya said tentatively, eyeing her.

"Hm?"

"The problem is . . . I think he already has."

That revelation of the night had the males barking and growling their insistence on knowing exactly what was going on, while both women kept their mouths firmly shut. It wasn't their place to say what they instinctively knew, though Jeddie kept glancing at Aneya, wanting further clarification. It made sense, with how he was acting after being with so many people, that he could have found the cure to his agitation. It was impossible to get her to talk freely though, as there were others in the room. Both resigned themselves to speaking in private, wondering when such a time would come. The health of their Alpha was the foremost important thing to the pack, and it was their job to do what they could. How they could go about it, they had no idea.

Rejoining his pack an hour or so before dawn, Fenrir looked drawn as he stumbled sleepily into the house. Nearly everyone was sleeping with daybreak coming soon, and so he didn't bother with any of his pack, not even to inform them he was home. Instead, he wandered slowly up to his room and shut the door, flinging himself onto his bed like some sullen brat. But it was a sullen brat who had him worked up now, wasn't it? It was her fault for making his insides twist and his chest ache with the need to . . . His eyes went wide even as his body begged for more sleep.

No, the moon wouldn't have done this to him. She was their protector, the guide in their lives. He had refused for so long so why did she choose the time to be now, why did she make the instinct so strong his whole body shook?

Why did he have to speak to the whelp? It would have been easy to have just walked away, never allowing her to know he was there. At the time, however, she hadn't been a threat to his sanity. Knowing what he did now, he would have stayed silent. But he hadn't. He had to deal with things, somehow. Perhaps it was just the memory keeping him going. When he saw her again, he would realise this was nothing; that his interest in her had been merely from her strange reactions, her lack of dread. Her demands for knowledge and the appreciation of the way his kind, the way he, killed.

Of course, that was it. He snorted to himself as he rolled over on the rickety bed, realising the simple answer to all his woes. Everything about that night was trumped up from his constant mulling, the curiosity. Not because she was actually anything special or that he wanted anything from her. Next time he saw her, there would be no problems.

The next day the pack was outside sparring. Fenrir was overseeing the fights, pointing out weaknesses and the best way to prolong bleeding and death or to instigate immediate demise. It all depended on the reason for the attack. The wiry youths clawed and leapt at each other as they tried out their attacks and alternately spoke amongst themselves, referring to different points on the body in discussion over why they did certain things where. A bite to the thigh, a puncture to the ribcage. All was spoken of most seriously, allowing Fenrir some rest. With them all dealing with themselves, he didn't need to be in the tussle as much as usual. And, thankfully, if anything was needed, he had his elders to intervene.

He was still fidgety, but had done a good job in convincing himself why and how best to ignore it. Relief was almost his; now he was telling himself he was back to how he was before the whelp. A little nagging voice in the back of his head told him he was just lying to himself, but that wasn't very comforting so he squashed it as best he could. He had to be right, or he'd go mad.

Ignoring the others and the glances shot briefly his way, Fenrir went and sat in the old, weed-ridden flowerbed. It was shaded there, soft and almost comforting. He could watch everyone and not have to partake. Of course he still had to be around, but he didn't really have to be there. This was a right he had earned through the years; to just observe his pack. There wasn't much to do anyhow. As his elders looked to him one by one, he turned his face away with a slight snarl. Who were they to wonder, to scold? This agony was nothing they had been through before. Gazing defiantly out at the grouping, he smirked to himself as each of his elders ducked their heads as they glanced away. Good. They had to know that even with this rumbling inside him, this body wrenching unease, he was still their leader. He could still best them even in his most weakened state. If they wished to challenge him for supremacy, they could; and they would be once again reminded why he was Alpha.

Self-assured and feeling surprisingly calm, he relaxed, leaning back against the house front, draping his arms over his knees as he pulled them up. This was where he belonged. This was his life. And all thoughts of some young Pure-blood writhing under his glower shoved peacefully, for now, under the wash of confidence.

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Fast update, I know, but I figured no one was reviewing, so meh, here's some more nn Hope you enjoyed; yay Fenrir! Wooo! Please review? Reviews make me happy; and they make Fenrir happy too, because he wants to play with Delphia more, but he can't until I write it oO

BL