Well... You had all better enjoy! ___! But you will ;) Naughty children that you are. I suppose this is a belated Halloween treat. Eat it up. And please say thank you with a review ;) 3

BL

Chapter XXIV: You're Mine, Now

Delphia hit the ground outside her family gardens, collapsing to her knees even as she appeared. It was a struggle to breathe, to hold herself up as her muscles quaked, twitching and shaking uncontrollably. She heard a popping sound and then felt a figure beside her, a hand on her back.

"We're fine," Fenrir rasped, helping her back up, "we didn't get caught."

She stared at him, eyes swimming, her whole body trembling against his. "I feel funny," she breathed, wrapping her arms around his waist clumsily, barely able to hug him. Her arms felt like jelly and she was unable to stop the tremors going through her. The closest thing she could remember to ever having these stomach-roiling shivers was when she had been caught by Snape after curfew in third year. That had been more finalised dread, however; this, this was something new. And it was awful.

He grinned over her shoulder, feeling her quiver. Aftermath and the fear of being caught; she knew what it was to hunt now. It had been close, a little too close, but thankfully they hadn't needed to run. She still had her dagger clutched in her hand, holding it as if it was the only thing grounding her to reality. Gently extracting himself from her body he plucked it out of her hand, wiped it off on his robe, then lifted her skirt. She just stood dispassionately there, waiting for him to tuck the blade under the thong. He did so carefully, righting himself when done, rubbing the side of her neck soothingly.

"You did well, whelp," he murmured, the sunset glowing orange against the side of her face. She nodded at him, smiling weakly, her eyes going to his.

"Thanks," she breathed, rubbing at the drying flecks of blood on her face. She scratched some of the black-red bits off, wrinkling her nose. "I'm a mess, aren't I?"

He shook his head, still grinning. A mess? No, she looked ideal. A feral, innocent child, who had just committed an unspeakable act and revelled in it. She hugged him again with a sigh, smirking at his expression. Then she jumped when she felt the jutting hardness under his robes, sighing down at it.

"You really need to learn how to restrain yourself," she informed him wryly, the trembling fading from her limbs. They were just weakened now, as soft as her clenching belly was becoming. His grin broadened as he drew her back against him, running his nose against the side of her head, inhaling before he kissed her flesh. Was she too shaky, too uneasy to go to her room with him? Or did she need this, need to relax, expel the aftermath in the most perfect way?

He held her out in the brilliant, dying sunlight until a hazy glow covered them and lights began to flicker on in the windows of the mansion. Withdrawing, Fenrir studied the blood on her face, her exhausted eyes. The adrenaline had faded, he noticed. She was tired, sagging against him.

"Is this normal?" she finally whispered, looking entreatingly at him.

Was what normal? Wanting to sleep with a werewolf, and not just any werewolf, but him? Murdering someone in cold blood and enjoying it? Wanting to wrap her arms around him and be coddled and cooed over by a fierce beast? There was nothing normal about this. Then he realised she meant her reaction after their hunt. He smiled faintly, holding her face in his hands. Of course that's what she meant; she wasn't questioning anything else.

Thinking for a long moment, he finally gave her a nod. "Yes. Its aftermath, whelp."

"It's fading," she breathed, reaching up to touch one of his hands, placing hers over his and squeezing. "I don't feel so odd anymore." She nodded to punctuate her point and leaned up suddenly, pressing her lips to his. He felt too good, even as he stood there, startled. When he began returning the kiss, more insistent than she had been, her body went slack. It was different from the crushing weakness of before; she almost felt weightless even as she sank. Wrapping her arms around his neck, holding herself up, she eagerly fell into the feel of him. It felt too good, too right to be doing this now, still covered in blood. Comforting; a sense of familiarity swept her, making her clutch him tighter, moaning into his mouth. This was more than right.

Fenrir had his hands up her skirt and was pushing her back before he caught himself, realising what he was doing. Dragging himself away with a pathetic groan, he tried to catch his breath as he gazed at her. Her lips were pouting, swollen and her face was touched with heat. She obviously wasn't troubled with what they had done, with what she had just done. He could still see the knife plunging into the man's back, repeatedly, endlessly. It was a glorious sight, still, even in his mind.

"If we go through the side door," she whispered as she went on tiptoe, "we shouldn't get caught. Let my mother think we're still out, looking for a victim. I don't want her to know we're back yet."

Looking down at her, he stroked her hair and nodded. That was exactly what he wanted; how pleasantly reassuring it was to hear her needs were the same as his. Besides, the poor thing seemed like she still needed comfort. And he would give it to her, a lot of it. Hard, brutal, bone-melting "comfort". He wanted to hear her scream for him, have her moaning as she writhed, impaled beneath him.

His erection twitched slightly, throbbing against her stomach. How long had he been nursing this thing for? His reaction to her was unsettling and beautifully agonising. Nipping at her mouth, he gave her a wicked leer, receiving a blushing pout of a smile in return.

"You want to?" she wondered, touching the bulge under his robes, stroking almost too lightly. He gasped, shuddering. He hadn't been expecting that nor did he wish her to stop.

"Touch me," he growled, tearing off his robes, clutching them in a hand as his arm fell to his side. With his free hand he wrapped her fingers around him and let out a groan, moving against her palm. Relief shivered up his spine, spread out through his body in a rolling warmth that made his knees buckle. He moaned as she stroked him, softly, too softly, teasing him mercilessly. His whine made her stomach ache hollowly, her belly seizing. She felt her sheath contract, slicken as suddenly she needed him. Desire ate at her until she was grabbing his hand, running past the garden, dragging him along with her. He chuckled at the headlong way she charged forward, not even aware of her surroundings, mind focused on one thing only. Naturally he wasn't about to chide her for being blind to everything, even if it would one day put them at risk. No, he wasn't about to break her concentration and make her angry. Her single-minded hunger was cute, endearing. It was all for him.

He watched her body shift under her robe as she pushed him into the house. Her breasts jiggled with the movement and he licked his lips, able to see the sweet curve of her body even through her clothes. That was his, all his, every inch of her. In a moment he'd prove that to her as fully as she would him. Her eyes darted to his and she gripped his hand again, flying through the back halls, up the ancient servant stairs to her room. If a house-elf had seen Miss flitting through the house with a naked man in tow, the pair didn't have any clue. Hopefully they'd be in the kitchens, as they usually were when the family was about. Or working on cleaning any number of the empty rooms. The mark of a good house-elf was never seeing it, only the results of their hard work.

Fenrir idly wondered how long it would take even the Sonder elves to clean up his den. A few years, perhaps? He didn't know if magic, even, could help the place. Not that it mattered. Delphia practically tossed him into the front room of her chambers, shutting and locking the door behind them. She seemed to stall then, shuddering as she watched him walk casually towards her bedroom doors and open them, walking right in like he owned the place. Her trembling whimper was all he could hear as he sprawled out on her clean, comfortable bed. He grinned up at the canopy. How long would it take her to join him? And how long would it take her to strip this time? Waiting, taunting her, testing her, he propped his head up on his hands, relaxing back in the pillows. He could stand to lay here a bit longer, if it meant she had to come to him. Especially since her bed was comfortable. He could even fall asleep right here, hard-on and all. Wouldn't be very fun, and he'd have a bit of a problem in the morning, but the image of her rage as he snored peacefully before she could even get to him was tempting. He snorted with laughter, wondering how long she'd scream for. Perhaps she'd even force him awake, demanding his attentions.

Now that was a thought. How far could he push her, prove to her that she was his? If she didn't wake him, he'd just roll onto her and force her legs apart. However if she did wake him up, it'd prove that her demure, shy attitudes towards him were more of a show than not. Some form of posterity she had to keep up? Only Merlin knew why she'd do such a thing. He just wanted to get inside her.

Shutting his eyes, he listened for her entering the room. So she had finally managed to walk in. He heard her hesitation, her footfalls ceasing only a few feet from the bed. It took quite a bit of effort to keep from smiling. Was she debating something? After a moment he heard a rustling of cloth and her steps again. Damn it, she had taken off her clothes and his playing possum only made it easier for her. She had to get used to him watching, to becoming naked with him.

Her side of the bed sagged slightly and he shifted his body a bit, hoping it wasn't too telling. Warm flesh pressed against his, making him stifle his groan. Then her finger was jabbing repeatedly into his chest as her leg hooked around his.

"Are you sleeping?" she wondered in a teasingly menacing tone. "Wake up Fenrir. I'm not done with you."

Within a blink, Delphia barely able to visually register what he was doing, Fenrir had his arms around her waist, rolling on the bed with her. His eyes opened and he pinned her down, too eager to mate to bother with anything resembling foreplay. Her eyes went wide as he shoved her thighs apart and plunged right into her ready body with a satisfied howl. Her gasp tore through him, her nails digging at his shoulders as she moved with him. She was already lolling on the bed, moaning those breathless, feminine pants he was starting to adore. Every time she gasped for air when doing something redundant had him remembering her under him, writhing for him as he built her up and made her cry out in blissful surrender. He placed a hand above her shoulder, his whole body rocking in unison with hers, filling her frantically as she arched. She couldn't know how perfect she was in these moments, how her body clung to him; it was too natural, too intuitive for any of it to be a conscious decision on her part. Every movement in her was eager and hungry, begging him just a little harder . . . deeper . . . He tossed his head back as he grunted, losing control, taking her hips in his hands. He loved doing this to her, pounding her yielding body until she shrieked, reaching for him, staring blankly as she gasped and shuddered. His hips rolled when she did just that, whining his name, her hips meeting his as he dragged out her orgasm with gentle, slow strokes, having to fight with himself to manage even that.

Finally she groaned, falling back, shivering in the blankets as he became frenzied on her, his pleasure wrapping around him. He was falling, soaring, seizing uncontrollably, his seed filling her as she sighed, nails biting his neck and back. Still plunging within her, his body unable to stop just yet, he dragged in a ragged breath. His muscles trembled and he collapsed with a heartfelt groan, feeling her sheath milk him instinctively as he finished. If she turned out to be always this good, this frantic and wanton, he was going to have trouble doing anything but laying with her. Aneya would have to take over the pack as he endlessly satisfied his body; and Delphia's as well. As it was, her fingers drifted lazily up and down his spine, taking in the feel of him as they rested, absolutely drained.

Her contented sigh thrilled him and he didn't know why but it felt delightful. She relaxed then, her hands resting on his lower back, her legs falling to curl about his. He felt her foot rubbing against his calf. It was like being petted, but in a good way. Her head turned and she smiled at him, her eyelids drooping in satisfaction. He managed to move a bit, gathering all his energy to just roll over, still looking to her. She shifted on the bed, going up on her side, dragging her nails up and down his ribs, his hip, then up his belly. He grunted at that; it almost tickled and he wasn't ticklish. Her lazy grin tore at his chest, made him grab her and haul her closer, resting his forehead against hers.

"Feel better?" he rumbled, rubbing the silken hair at her temple with a thumb. She nodded and hummed, sounding utterly gratified, completely pleasured.

"A lot better," she breathed. Stretching a bit, flexing her toes, she snuggled into him. He turned slightly, draping his body partially over hers. Another smile touched her lips and she sighed, her eyes shutting.

"Tired?"

She grunted in return, snorting a little laugh. "Exhausted. After work I spent hours duelling with Jaeger."

Fenrir hissed, wincing slightly. "Ohh, he's a tough opponent. I've seen him fight; nasty piece of work. Your mother's always been bloody proud of him."

Frowning a bit, she shrugged and opened her eyes slightly. "Yeah. He's her pride and joy. Everything a pure-blood should be, brilliant with a wand, greatest killer to walk the earth, blah blah fucking blah."

Outright laughing at that, Fenrir shook his head. "Language, whelp."

Her brows lifted. "Language? You're worried about my language, in bed, after killing some poor sod? Should I repeat the in bed part for emphasis? Perhaps the fact that you're Fenrir-freaking-Greyback?"

Shaking with mirth, he stared down at her. "You just did."

She joined him in his laughter, wrapping her arms around his neck as she pulled on him, giving herself leverage to plant a kiss on his smirking mouth. "Alright," she murmured, "so I did. You want me to apologise for my language?"

"Kiss me again," he rasped, eyes glinting, suddenly invigorated now, "and we'll call it even."

Grinning, she pressed her lips softly to his, almost chastely but completely adoring. He stroked her hair, surprisingly tender. It was an exercise in bliss just touching her, feeling her body pressing alongside his own. No wonder he lost his mind so completely when he filled her belly. She ran her fingers along the rough, grey whiskers on his face, poking his chin then, just gazing at him. It felt nice lazing here, doing nothing but enjoying each other. What could be greater than this? Even killing wasn't as good, Delphia realised in a indolent epiphany, especially if it was to happen without him. With him though, everything was brilliant. She liked sharing with him, being around him. Having a man in ones bed, she knew then, was the greatest feeling one could have, even when doing something as simple as just resting. Why did this seem so wonderful, so perfect? Even seeing her potential future in the Dark Lord's eyes paled when put against this. She wanted to do nothing but lay there all night, touching him as she pleased, learning every nuance of his body. He bristled with energy even as he was tranquil, every movement dangerous and threatening but he was eternally placid with her. When she displeased him or angered him, he still held himself in check, struggling with patience. It would have been too easy for him to lash out at any point, but she felt no fear of him. Here she was at his mercy. If he chose, he could kill her. Rip out her throat, break her limbs, use her body with complete disregard for her pleasure or needs. He didn't though and that got to her. He could do anything he wanted but he was content to just have her wrapped up in his arms, almost purring as she languidly stroked his biceps, or his chest, panting when she made her way down to his stomach. Her fingers followed the darker trail of hair down to his groin, pausing teasingly, her eyes dancing. He could have made her touch him, even made her want him and accept him in her again. But he didn't; he liked this, as much as she.

Nuzzling his chest, she hugged herself to him, feeling his hands rub her back. Oh, that felt nice. She murmured into his skin, then sighed in his throat, her head tipping back. His hands gripped her arse and he pulled her harder against him, cradling his hips between her legs. A girl could get used to this, and fast. Already she felt herself yearning for him. He taunted her, teased her, dragged out every reaction from her as endlessly as he could. It shouldn't have felt this good, but it did.

Why shouldn't it though? What was wrong with pleasure, especially in their world? Everything was changing and would change. A war was on the brink of explosion. Didn't everyone deserve some peace and respite when they came home? Or at least didn't they deserve to find it somewhere? Enjoy it while they could? Was this truly endless, then, or was she just something for the moment?

Withdrawing slightly with a frown on her face, Delphia's eyes scanned Fenrir's. Surprise worked slowly over his features until he was stroking her hip, questioning her silently with his gold eyes.

"Fenrir? I wanted to ask you something," she whispered, idly petting his side.

He grunted and huffed, looking exasperated. "What is it, whelp?" he rumbled, irritated that she had interrupted him in his basking. He had been enjoying himself, he really had. His mate curled up with him, letting him touch her as he wished? What was better than that? And the prospect for another mating was edging at his mind, lulling him comfortably.

She cleared her throat and glanced away, giving him pause. This was serious then, was it? Or was it one of those female games he had never bothered to learn about, let alone master?

"Well," she stared, pulling away a bit more, finally being dragged back to him when her warmth left him completely. A grin flashed briefly on her face and she settled her head on his arm, studying his face. "My mother, she . . . she warned me about you."

His brows lifted and he looked thoroughly amused. "Did she now?" he rasped. "About how I'll somehow manage to infect you without being transformed? Even Preia should know I'm not capable of that, no matter what else I'm capable of doing."

Delphia sighed heavily, giving him a womanly glower. "No, Fenrir. Well, sort of, but she knew you wouldn't do anything like that. I think. No, I mean . . . she warned me about you and you, um, touching me."

Snorting with laughter and shaking his head, he gave her a wry look. "Me? Touch you? A pure-blood? A young, delicious girl like you with the sweetest arse I've ever seen, at my beck and call and she thinks I'd touch you? You're insane, Delphia. Utterly, completely mad."

Groaning in frustration, she pounded her fist gently into his ribs. "Fenrir. Stop it."

He grinned. "Making you hot, whelp?"

Another feminine glare. "Even if you were, that's not the point."

"So you're saying there's a chance that I could be."

Biting her tongue, fighting the smile and failing, she ended up sighing resignedly. "She scared me a bit, I think."

He grunted in return, eyeing her. "How?"

"Well, because she said . . . she said something like you being able to turn me without having to bite me."

Snorting, he shook his head. "I have bitten you." Touching the marks on her collarbone, the ones that would never heal, he smirked. "A few times."

Rolling her eyes and baring her teeth in challenge, she pushed him slightly. "Fenrir, for one minute be serious. I want to know what she's talking about."

He wanted to hit her for the defiance but restrained himself. She didn't deserve that; not when it was actually his fault. Why did she have to try and be serious now? When he was finally enjoying himself after how many decades? It was annoying and he just wanted to bed her again. Or sleep. But the former sounded much better to his mind and body, even as he knew he was tired.

Groaning unhappily as he rolled over onto his back, sprawling out, Fenrir stared up at the canopy for awhile. "What else did she say?" he growled, moving his eyes towards hers to take her in. If he was going to get anything more from her tonight, then he had to get this over with.

She shrugged at that. "That men can turn young girls or something without actually, you know, turning them and . . ." she trailed off, punching his hip then with a snarl. He winced, more at her fury and the expression on her face than the stinging in his skin. "Damn it!" she snapped, hating being coy. She wasn't stupid; she knew what her mother had been saying. Why couldn't she just be open with him about it? It was easy enough to open her body to him, so why not her mind? Words were so much more difficult for her to share with him, with anyone. She had to though. "Damn it, Fenrir, she said you're using me. And I want to know if you are."

He snorted and frowned. "No, Delphia," he said at length. "Your petty pure-blooded concepts of using are not involved in this." It was so much more than using. He needed her. At the very least, he had to mate with her. It was written in the moon, in his blood. Since he first spoke to her she had inflamed his body like no other little whelp. Not even a fully grown, experienced woman had driven him as completely insane as she did. And was doing now.

She returned the frown. "Then what is this? Why did she warn me? What was she saying? And wouldn't you say that even if you were using me?"

He had to laugh, it rumbling deep in his chest before bursting out of him. She was on quite the tangent, wasn't she? Where it had come from, he didn't know, but he had to fix it fast or his chances of fucking her again were going to sharply diminish.

"Yes, I would say it even if I was . . . manipulating is a better word. But you're enjoying it anyway, aren't you, whelp?"

She had to agree, blushing as she muttered an affirmative, ducking her head so he couldn't see her shamed face. Reaching over, he tipped her chin up so he could look at her, smiling at what he saw.

"Ah, I thought so. Did darling Preia specifically say me?"

Delphia shook her head, trying to remember what her mother had been going on about. "Well. No. We were talking generally of you, then she said that men do this sort of thing."

He laughed some more. "If men do this sort of thing, then don't women as well? Delphia," he grunted, flopping onto his side to better look at her, "just get it out so I can have you again."

Her cheeks went even more flaming red, her chest beginning to burn with the furious flushing heating her face. Why did his words have to affect her so? Why were her words such a tangle on her tongue? "Alright," she whispered, worrying her lip. "I wasn't thinking any of this before, didn't even consider it. But mother said –"

Before she could finish, Fenrir broke in, mocking her. "Mother said, mother said. You're developing a complex," he huffed, scowling. "If your mother said men, and she did, then are you going to believe that every man is out to get you? The Sonders are notoriously paranoid, I know, but that's a bit extreme even for your family. How are you to ever breed if you think that way?"

She shrugged. "Mother doesn't want me to."

He rolled his eyes. The day this girl had a single thought of her own, he'd celebrate. "And what do you want, whelp?"

Another shrug, her chin dropping until he forced it back up once more. "I don't know," she mumbled. "I don't. And it's best not to consider things like that."

That had slipped, and he had only meant it as a hypothetical. Something for her to balk against Preia with. It was dangerous to bring up though, and he found himself cringing along with her at her words. "Your mother wasn't being specific," he grumbled after a time. "You could have been taking lessons from Malfoy, or Parkinson, or shite, Snape, and she'd be warning you. She's being careful, cautioning you before you enter the big, wide, scary world," he went on, emphasising it by gesturing largely around the bed. "Besides," he grumbled, settling a bit, "it's too late for her warnings. You schemed and plotted all this so you could get what you wanted. She'd applaud you. Why worry now?"

Delphia took a bit to ponder this, realising after a few moments of thought that he was right. Once again, she was falling prey to her own game. Her mother knew nothing and was merely being protective. She tried to remember the words her mother used, settling on something that was at least close, and began dissecting. Her brow furrowed then, her green eyes going to Fenrir, looking confused.

He sighed heavily. Perhaps sleep was the better option for the night. "What?" he barked, tempted to just haul her to him and shut her up.

"My mother called me a young girl and a woman in the same breath." She paused. "Why is that?"

How the ruddy hell would he know? "Because men think of you as a little girl and all the better for it," he shot out, completely at the end of his tether now, gesticulating wildly, "and everyone else sees you as a woman." He almost added "There, are you happy?" but somehow restrained himself. Merlin she enraged him sometimes. Then her fingers were on his chest again, playing with the curls that ran down his torso and he forgot his anger, drawing her in as his mouth went to hers. Enraging, invigorating; it was all the same. His mind wasn't even bothering to make coherent sense any longer, just as long as she'd keep simpering and wriggling against him like she was, whimpering in the back of her throat. He growled, moving over her, stabbing his tongue in her mouth. She really was delicious; his blood pulsed into his loins and he realised he was bucking over her, trying to find purchase. He just wanted to be inside her body, locked against her. Nothing in him had patience for games, especially when his whole being was clamouring for her touch. She sighed under him, her hands pressing into his back.

Their mouths parted momentarily and she stared up at him, slightly bemused.

"Do you see me as a young girl?" she wondered, her voice thick and husky. Her eyes were sultry and positively begging him as she licked her lips, moving into him for more.

He grinned at that, brushing her mouth with his as he spoke. "For Merlin's sake, Delphia, I'm your mother's age. What do you think?" At her scowl, he shook his head. "Will young woman do?"

Sighing woefully, she wrapped her limbs around him and squeezed. "You're impossible," she murmured, opening her mouth to flick his tongue with hers.

He groaned. "No more than you, whelp." His hands found her hips and he silenced any more of her pointless chatter with a kiss that had her gasping for air. Then she was crying out, staring at him as she wailed. He thrust hard, pounding into her, rutting her like some mad beast in heat. Which, he admitted to himself with some pride, he practically was. She had to stop this questioning, had to find her own place apart from her mother and take what she wanted; she had already begun, now she had to follow it through. In him was the perfect cure for that, and it became evident in her flesh as his name tumbled from her lips, her body trembling beneath his. If this was using a woman, then punish him for it, because he wasn't going to stop. At least, he wouldn't until he howled her name to the moon and fell atop her, sleep engulfing him as comfortingly as Delphia's arms surrounding him.