A/N: This chapter is early, but I feel bad about making you guys wait so long for the last one. I really hope you guys like this chapter. And please review . ENJOY!!

Chapter XIII: Come to Me, Little One

As day faded into night, Delphia tucked away her wand and returned to her chair in the library, going back to reading. She hadn't even bothered sparring with her dagger, telling herself she didn't need to. A little voice in the back of her head prodded her, trying to tell her different, that she hadn't practised for some nebulous reason that she didn't want to even begin picking apart. Settling back in the plush chair, she cracked open the book to the chapter on the Unforgivables. She had been taught them not so long ago, in seventh year by Mad-Eye Moody. An Auror who had given her the chills since she had first stepped foot in class. Perhaps it was because Aurors were the bane of her peoples' existence, or because she had heard horrifying stories of what they did to her father's kind and their families. Being the child of a known, murdered Death Eater in the presence of an Auror, and being taught the curses of her father's trade by him no less, had made her more than uneasy. Maybe, just maybe, she thought as she looked back, it had been more than that. There had been rumours after the Tournament, after Diggory's corpse had been brought back to Hogwarts; Mad-Eye wasn't what he seemed. It had, after all, just been rumour, but still, something hadn't been right, ever, in his classes.

Studying the Cruciatus, Delphia thought it would be a good place to start. The Imperious took great will and strength of mind as one had to take over the mind of another. And the Killing Curse . . . well, that went without saying. But to inflict pain on someone, especially when she took such delight in it, wouldn't be nearly as difficult as the other two. It was a very useful curse as well, as useful as the others, and in some ways, more so. One could drive someone mad with enough patience, or get information with a few good strikes. Learning this curse and learning to use it with some proficiency would show her eagerness to serve Him. She would abandon all for the glory of the Dark Lord.

When it was getting late, Delphia abandoned her reading and went to the kitchen for a mug of milky tea before heading off to bed. Once she had settled under her covers and was comfortable, she fell asleep easily for the first time in weeks. Finally life had returned to normal, her body ceasing its yearning, her mind no longer troubled. Everything seemed to be going well for her at last.

A noise was stirring her out of sleep. Desperate to stay abed, she buried her face in a pillow and tried to keep dreaming. But already half-awake, the sound was clearer now, slowly rousing her, pulling her from rest. Yawning with an unhappy groan, Delphia rolled over and stared up at the canopy, her blankets bunched up around her. She had been sleeping so peacefully. Of course something would have to ruin that as well. Nothing would ever go completely right in her life she supposed. As the noise came across the grounds once more, she tried to get back to sleep. Just some damned wolves, from the woods on the border of her family's land it sounded like. Closing her eyes and trying to shut out the din, one of her eyes opened a crack a moment later.

What wolves? Blinking a few times with this realisation, she tried desperately to think if there were any wolves, rogue or otherwise, in the lands surrounding her family manor, or even the lands beyond. Ever since she was a child, however, she had known what lived in the trees off in the distance; and wolves weren't one of them. But there was no mistaking that howl. That was definitely a – oh Merlin . . . Leaping out of bed and nearly tripping on the tangled blankets she had dragged with her, Delphia ran to the window and opened it to better hear. It couldn't be.

The sound was haunting and hungry, almost tortured. Looking up, she noticed the moon had passed its full phase and was just coming out of darkness. Well, she wouldn't be in any danger, no matter how needy the howls were. Her body trembled; how had she known? As the voice was carried on the wind to her window, her hands clutched at the pane. To anyone else's ears she knew it would have been a sound that struck fear and horror into the deepest core of them. But what she heard was completely different. It was pleading, eerie and too much for her to ignore. She found herself reacting, wanting to console him, to stroke his matted hair and pull him close.

But she felt nothing, didn't she? Warmth started in her nether regions and moved all through her. Time apart had dulled the feelings, or so she had made herself believe, but she hadn't been rid of them completely. Grabbing a house robe from the back of a chair, Delphia threw it on even as she ran out of her room, nearly choking on the surge of need welling up within her. Her feet brought her swiftly through the house, down the servant stairs, to the back corridors. Coming to the concealed door leading out to the sprawling fields under her window, she opened it deftly and dived out onto the lawn.

She gasped and clutched at her chest pathetically, seeing a figure striding towards her. Unable to stop herself, she began hurtling towards it, knowing even from this distance who it was. Her robe was trailing out behind her and she didn't care that she was wearing next-to-nothing. If she had it her way, she would be wearing too much in a moment. Seeing his golden eyes glint in the moonlight made her heart spasm, her limbs weaken and she stumbled slightly, just wanting to get to him. Her desire ate at her, drove her on even as she felt that she could barely run another metre, her legs as soft as the place between them.

Fenrir stood there as she tore towards him, having heard his call. She leapt at him, her body melding immediately to his as his hands cupped her arse, holding her up as their mouths met over and over, hot and needy. Delphia hadn't even noticed his state of undress, hadn't cared one whit. He was perfect as is, and all the better for it as he bore her down on the ground, their lips still pressing together in an open-mouthed embrace. Stretching out above her, he pushed the slinky nightgown up, her robe sprawled out on the grass as luxuriously as herself. Her chest was heaving as he propped himself up over her on his arms, studying her. As her legs wrapped around his hips he groaned and covered her with him, his body finding hers and finally the rapture they had been begging for was theirs. He sheathed himself within her in one thrust, her body accommodating him eagerly. Her hips began moving, bucking up against him as he moved atop her, his cries as feverishly pleased as hers. They needed this, oh Merlin they needed it. And it was all theirs as Delphia's hands clawed at Fenrir's bare back, his teeth sinking into her shoulder.

The desperation of their mating was made tangible as Delphia tossed her head back and howled into the night sky, her body quaking underneath Fenrir's, her muscles clamping down on him, sealing him within her. He growled into her neck, his stabbing thrusts more fervent now, his want building up until he was blind to everything around him; all but the writhing woman beneath him, relaxing and being brought back up to a second, mind-shattering climax. Her limbs jerked about him as he pressed inside her, unleashing his own howl as his body emptied within hers. He lay gasping on her, his heart beating rapidly, able to feel hers thudding in her chest. Breathing deep the scent of them mingled in the grass, he nuzzled her hair and lapped at the side of her face.

"Fenrir," she breathed as she clutched onto him, holding him inside her even as she felt him soften. There was no way she was letting go now; no way was she going to allow him to slip away into the night and from her life forever. He was hers now; she could feel him deep inside her body, the warmth and slight ache in her channel bringing her an euphoria she had never known before.

Detangling himself somewhat from her limbs, he gazed down at her, still struggling for breath. She stared back up, wondering how she could have ever thought herself over him. He was everything. Bringing her hand down, she dragged her fingers across his cheek in wonder, amazed at the fact that he was on top of her, still inside her, and that he would be hers forever. She would give him no option in the matter.

"Wolves mate for life," she managed to get out, her thumb stroking along the grey whiskers on his face, feeling him stiffen within her at her words. He had liked that? Her forwardness, her soft demanding of his continual attentions? From the way his mouth pressed against hers and his hips began rocking once more, she murmuring her approval, she knew that yes, and he always would.

A bit later into the night found Fenrir sprawled out on his back, breathing heavily, Delphia curled up against his side, her head on his shoulder. They had been silent the past few minutes, both basking in and recovering from their frenzied union. Delphia let out a little sigh and curled her arm around his chest, pulling herself tighter to his side. His muscles twitched somewhat as his body went rigid, unused to someone touching him intimately in such a casual way. Then he relaxed, realising he enjoyed it from her. Hand going to her hair, he held her there as his breathing regulated, his eyes locked on the moon. He had been right, she had been telling him something. And he had found it. Scowling somewhat, he glanced down at the girl resting peacefully on him. What did that mean for him now? For his pack? Dare he even consider what it was going to do to Delphia? He had to contend with the fact that he had just lain with a witch, and not just once, but multiple rapturous times. Though he could comfort the thought by knowing she was a Death Eater. And he and his people were allied with the Dark Lord. Still . . . she was one of the ones he was supposed to hate. In her upbringing those like himself were supposed to be loathed. Her upbringing, however, didn't seem to have much weight in her interest in all things werewolf. He nearly chuckled at that. Interest indeed.

Feeling his shift in mood, Delphia peered up at him and saw him studying her. Cocking her head to the side, she almost looked like a curious puppy to his eyes. In a right world she would have been brought back to his den and lead in his stead when he couldn't. The Alpha female cared for the pack and could rule as the male did. But this wasn't a right world and neither of them could have their way.

"What now?" he grunted, his hand slipping down to her back, hauling her atop him to get a better look. Her nightgown left nearly nothing to the imagination; still, he would have preferred her as nude as himself. Perhaps next time.

Her brows lifted somewhat. "What do you mean? You're not running off, are you?" she spat, a scowl darkening her features.

Throwing his head back with laughter, he shook his head. "I'd have to be a fool. And that I'm not." Returning his penetrating gaze to her face, he frowned somewhat. "You're tired. It's late. Go back in the house."

Frowning back at him, she shook her head, firmly clamping her legs against his sides. "I'm not going anywhere until you explain what you meant, Fenrir."

"Go, Delphia," he growled as he shoved her off, sitting up in the grass and clawing at his messy hair. Falling to the ground, limbs akimbo, she glowered up at him, not making any moves to leave. "Your mother would kill us both," he tacked on as an afterthought, not really wanting to consider the wrath of the elder Sonder. To have her daughter dishonoured, sullied by him would have been too great an insult to ignore. Both of them would taste Crucio were they found out, even for just this, and he didn't doubt that he'd be seeing green moments later. Not to mention if they decided to continue.

Nudging his ribs with her foot, Delphia got his attention back to herself. "What did you mean, 'what now'?" she questioned as she sat up beside him, watching as he propped his arms up on his knees and leant forward.

Lifting his shoulders, he turned his head to her. "I can't take you to my pack."

She grunted her agreement. "Too many questions. Way too many questions. I have to stay here."

"We can't wait for meetings," he murmured as he looked down at the ground in front of him, thinking to himself. "I can come here."

"You do need to teach me how to kill," Delphia pointed out matter-of-factually. "I could try to raise the issue with my mother; I might be able to get permission to see you now and then."

"Not enough," he growled, reaching out and grabbing her, pulling her to him. "You're mine now, whelp." His rasp was firm, forceful, but somehow soft as he snarled in her face. Leaning up and ignoring the instinct screaming at her to run as she had a slightly miffed werewolf grasping onto her, she kissed him.

"I know," she whispered as their lips broke apart. "But it doesn't change the fact that you'll be crucified and I'll be sorely punished if anyone finds out."

"So it's more you want, is it?" he mocked gently, letting go of her, a rumble of approval sounding in his chest as she sat next to him, pressing her body alongside his.

"Of course," she snapped in return, "I'd have to be as much a fool as you to say otherwise." This caused him to laugh again, exasperating her somewhat.

"You're brave, or stupid," he growled back, nudging her leg with his own. "To speak to a werewolf, me in such a manner . . ."

"After hearing you moan my name as you did," she replied dryly, hiking a brow, "you don't seem nearly as dangerous as before." Never in her life had she seen a man so overcome by a fit of laughter, his shoulders actually shaking as tears came to his eyes, and she could have never imagined such a thing from Fenrir Greyback.

Punching him in the shoulder, she smirked at him as he sobered up. "Am I amusing you?" she wondered.

"Always," he rasped, turning and lunging on her, causing her to squeal delightedly. Prying her flailing legs apart, he insinuated himself between her thighs, pinning her to the ground. "So it's this you want than, whelp?" he breathed as he licked the length of her throat, forcing his tongue in her mouth as she moaned, her arms winding around his neck.

"Yes," she sighed as he looked down at her. Snickering, he rolled off her, sprawling back out on the ground.

"Go back inside," he repeated, issuing his former command. "I'll come back to you when I can."

"Ohhh," she started, sitting beside him and poking him in the chest, "so it's your needs that are to be attended to? I'm to languish away in my ivory tower, waiting for my prince charming to come and ravish me on his own cock's schedule?"

She was too much. Brash, fearless and so horrifically passionate; he was going to have a lot of fun with her. "Something of the sort," he returned, squinting up at her, the curling of his lips betraying his somewhat serious tone. Then his face switched and he truly was serious. "Delphia, go inside. It's going to be daylight soon."

Her eyes softened as he pushed himself up and crouched on his haunches. "When will-?" She was silenced when Fenrir put a claw-tipped finger to her lips and shook his head.

Standing, he glanced about. "As the daylight; soon." And he was off, disappearing within a minute. Sighing to herself, not satisfied with his answer but at least knowing he would be back, she hauled her behind off the ground and brushed the bits of grass and leaves from her robes. Then she went back inside, sneaking to her room, hoping beyond hope that no house-elves would see her. Or even worse, her siblings or their mother. Making it safely to her room, she went to take off her robe as she walked through her sitting room. Wincing as she rolled her shoulder with the movement, she managed to cast the robe aside. Going to her vanity, she lit a lamp and used her fingers to probe at the tender, blood-crusted spot. Noticing the bite marks in her flesh, she scowled, knowing that if someone saw it, they would demand explanation. And no matter what she did, werewolf bites just wouldn't heal. Doing what she could with healing potion, knowing it would take the edge off and help a tad, she touched the wound again, this time, smiling to herself. He had marked her as surely as the Dark Lord had. And it was a tough decision to decide which she preferred. Extinguishing the lamp, she went into her bedroom and tore off her nightgown (for it felt as if she was wearing too much now), collapsing naked in the bed sheets.

The sun came up over the gardens of the Sonder manse, refracting off the droplets of dew dribbling down fresh green leaves or collected in the gentle curves of multi-coloured petals. Little figures strewn throughout the pathways, hidden from the view of most, shook themselves off with the touch of sunlight, their metallic forms basking in the warmth. Through the thick bushes up to the fruit trees there merely for decoration, birds called to their mates and warned others off their territory, it sounding like a beautiful clashing of song to the uninitiated.

In the house the elves had been stirring for some time, their day never truly ending or beginning. The manor had to be tidied before everyone awoke; the breakfasts to be cooked needed to be started. Small forms rushed around the kitchen and hallways, making sure everything was ready in the usual early morning ritual. One elf went to Delphia's room to make sure the young mistress was coming down to eat. They knew that grave punishments awaited the girl if she was late for work, and so as good house-elves, they took it upon themselves to make sure everything was sorted and organised. Including the children. Though, they weren't really children anymore.

The massive bed held a single, curled up figure with a slight smile on her face. Sunlight was already streaming into the room, glinting off all the characteristic silver; her family, and those she had grown up with, were inordinately fond of the metal. The house-elf, whose turn it was to check on her, appeared in her room and edged to the bed. A little gasp was pressed back into her mouth as her hands flew to her lips, eyes going wide at the sight. The youngest Sonder was nude, in her bed, and her legs and hips were covered in scratch marks. Trembling, the elf saw dried blood on the sheets, wondering what horrible things had befallen the Miss, and why she slept so peacefully and happily afterwards.

Maybe, like her brothers, a fight had done her good. But she had always seemed more of the studious type, rather than the violent.

"Miss, Miss?" the house-elf squeaked as she shook Delphia, careful to avoid the painful-looking marks. The girl groaned and rolled over, completely exposed, and the elf ducked her head, glancing elsewhere. "You is having to wake, Miss!"

Opening her eyes slowly, Delphia stared up at the canopy. Morning already? She felt like she had just gone to bed . . . Yawning as she sat up, she realised with a start that she was naked. Blinking a few times and completely ignoring the elf, a blush crept up her body, spreading across her chest and cheeks. Oh Merlin . . . she had . . . with him . . . this morning? Moaning euphorically as she collapsed back down on the bed, the smile that had been with her all night finally broke out on her face. She remembered how he looked down at her, the sound of his voice rasping in her ear; she could still feel his weight on her, the way his rangy body moved atop hers, inside her.

Had she actually howled? Stifling the giggle, her eyes went to the small figure purposefully staring away from the bed and she frowned.

"What is it, elf?" she demanded, sitting back up, figuring she had to get up now even if she really wanted to sleep. Or to hunt down Fenrir and demand more. But he had promised he would be back soon; if he wasn't, she'd try out that dagger he had given her next time they met.

"Miss is having to get up now," the elf mumbled, fidgeting with her rags. "Miss is needing healing."

Furrowing her brow at the elf, she shook her head. She had taken care of the bite last night. Setting it into her head to order the elf to not say anything to anyone, for fear of her wrath, she watched as the elf lifted her small hand and pointed at her waist. Her head was still ducked as if she refused to look at her.

Following the pointing, Delphia saw the angry red welts the elf had obviously seen while she was still sleeping. Pursing her lips, she studied her hips and legs, realising Fenrir had done more damage than she had previously thought.

"Fine, get me healed up. No one will see them," she snapped smartly, hopping from the bed. "Get me some robes, I'm tired and don't feel like doing anything myself. Move."

The elf began running around the room at the orders, first grabbing healing potion and daubing it across the claw marks; then she was getting robes and helping Delphia dress. When she was sure that she was completely covered up, including her Mark, Delphia went to her vanity and brushed her hair, contemplating her reflection.

"Elf?"

"Yes, Miss?"

"You will tell no one of what you saw this morning. No one, including my mother. If you do, I will punish you myself; if I have to do that, I will make my mother seem as a joke." Whipping about, the brush still in her hand, she snarled viciously. "Am I clear?"

The elf bobbed a curtsey and nodded. "I is understanding, Miss."

"Good," Delphia purred congenially, returning to the mirror. "Now go. Make sure my breakfast is ready." As the elf disappeared, Delphia's stomach grumbled, telling her that she was, in fact, quite hungry. She hadn't even realised that; then again, from the exercise the night before (the thought making her blush further, a sigh welling up) she supposed she needed the energy.

Tossing the brush down on the vanity, knowing someone else would clean it up for her, she headed down to the kitchen for breakfast.