Damon warily surveyed the darkness before approaching the scene, nose working overtime to root out any dangers. It was a scent he hadn't noted in a handful of years and given the owner's status it seemed likely that it was a trap. Ironically, it was that very scent that had drawn him out. He'd followed it for miles, curiosity and memories fueling him. His keen senses didn't detect any other presences and the scene looked more like a graveyard than a live trap, so he decided to move closer. Unsure if the person wearing the scent was even alive, Damon approached cautiously, paws as soundless as the night. He paused several feet away, head tilting in question at the dark, gelatinous mass at her feet, something of which he'd never seen the likes of and sort of hoped to not see a live one - ever. Even slumped as it was, like a puddle onto itself, it was still near as large as he and taller than its would be prey. Whatever it had been, it was dead now. Surrounding its disgusting corpse were trails of black, burnt ground that circled and wove this way and that. One such trail led right to the blob, beside which a small pile of smoldering ashes still smoked.

He turned his attention to the woman, his nose following the invisible trail to her shoulder, one so distinct even the smoke couldn't mask it. He pressed it against her ice cold skin and snuffed deeply several times, confirming his suspicions.

Fenrir Greyback.

Interesting. What was the old dog's mark doing on this human? Last he'd heard, Greyback had become a permanent resident of Azkaban and that had been several years back. Damon shifted back into human form and felt her wrist for a pulse, it was present but very faint. With one final look at the vile blob, he scooped the woman into his arms and headed back towards his cave. She'd managed to kill the thing, wand still clutched in a deathgrip, but if he didn't get some heat into her it would be at the cost of her life.

Damon stoked the fire and threw another log on, despite how badly he was sweating from the intense heat. She looked less blue now and much less dead, though she'd been out for what felt like hours. He didn't own any time keeping devices, those were for humans too concerned with life to actually live life.

He still couldn't figure out why the woman had been in the dead of the woods without a jacket or shoes. Sometimes the claiming caused a spot of madness, which would explain it, and she would hardly be the first human Fenrir had driven mad. Was she an unwillingly claimed mate that had fled from Greyback and gotten attacked by the globule-thing or was she his willing mate and had gotten separated from him? The former could be another reason as to why she was half dressed but she didn't look spritely enough to have given a wolf the dodge, not that many could. Regardless, Damon was positive that the tale would be worth the wait.

With her fingers pliable at last, the wolf gingerly extracted the wand. It looked nice enough, intricately carved and probably very expensive but he'd never had much use for wood beyond a fire. With a dismissive grunt he dropped it into the blaze, hastily ducking when a small shower of sparks came spraying back at him, accompanied by an almost human shriek. Huh...funny little sticks, he thought and shrugged. From beside him a mournful groan escaped the woman's pallid lips and she began stirring.

Lilith groaned at the first waking sensation, a deep, cold throbbing in the core of her chest. Her hand moved to clutch at it, eyes still soldered shut, sending the planes of her skin into an explosion of hot tingles. Her lungs pulled in a hard earned, raspy breath, then a second, though neither left her body feeling fulfilled. Lilith whimpered softly as the visage of that thing floated against her closed lids, the ghost of its presence stealing what little breath she had. She fought against the vision of the creature, bringing up her wand hand in defense. Her lips worked to form the curse fiendfyre as her breath plumed into the air, but suddenly there was a deep warmth constricting her hand and a finger, softly but firmly, pressing her lips.

"Shhh now woman, don't curse me." Damon wasn't too sure if the words alone could do damage but he wasn't taking any chances.

Lilith's eyes popped open in shock, body bolting upright. As her heart pounded out a stuttered rhythm, she found herself nose to chin with the owner of the finger that was still hushing her lips. He lowered his chin a bit so that they were of eye level but didn't back away an inch and the witch was still too bewildered to do more than blink.

"Welcome back." he greeted softly in a voice that sounded raspy from disuse.

Her widened eyes scoured her new surroundings, or rather what she could see around his head. The thing was nowhere to be seen, there was a fire off to her left and the heat from it was hands down the most wonderful sensation she'd ever felt. They appeared to be in a cave of some sorts, soft furs beneath and covering her... and her clothes laid out by the fire?

He smiled a bit when her mouth opened slightly and closed again several times wordlessly with his finger still covering it. Perhaps she wasn't fully back yet. Damon waited patiently, feeling surprisingly content with the physical contact he hadn't had in quite some time, until she tentatively moved his finger aside, as if unsure of how he'd react.

"Why am I naked?" Lilith breathed, too horrified at the sight of her panties laid out to properly sort through how she felt about it.

Realizing that their close proximity was the only thing holding the fur up, she hastily brought both hands up and clutched it tightly to her bosom.

"Your clothes were wet."

Well, at least he knew she hadn't gone mad.

"Did you take them off?" Lilith asked stupidly. His clear blue eyes were so vibrant and intense, that the thought of them intent on her flesh as he stripped her bare made her highly uncomfortable.

The stranger pulled back for a moment and flashed her a very wolfish, very feral grin, revealing one long eyetooth, but continued on a matter of factly.

"It was me or no one and you were half froze."

How funny the humans were, Damon chuckled inwardly, always worried about being proper. He had only donned jeans on her account, often going days or weeks in his natural form. Most of that time was spent as a wolf but the point remained the same.

"Right." she replied, looking away with a blush. "Thank you..." Wait, did she just thank him for undressing her? Good gods, she needed to change the subject and get her panties back. "I'm Lilith." she offered, scooching a bit away from the half naked stranger.

"Damon."

"Damon, that thing...did you kill it?" Lilith asked nervously.

She had no clue as to what the soul sucking blob had been, had never seen anything like it before, and deep down she knew she wouldn't live through another encounter.

He shook his head and her heart dropped. It was still out there waiting.

"You did."

"Me?!" Lilith demanded incredulously. She'd gotten the wand to work again? It seemed impossible after all the hexes that had fizzled out that she'd landed a killing blow, or any at all. She must have attempted to cast a dozen spells while on the run. "You're sure?"

"Positive, it was dead at your feet." the wolf assured her, looking deep into her fire lit eyes.

Damon wasn't a deep thinker really, he loved being a wolf, running, hunting and being one with the wilds, but Lilith, she had him thinking. There was a wildness about her, though he didn't think she knew it, and he could imagine what the old dog saw in her. He was having a difficult time thinking that the alpha wolf was interested in starting a new pack after what had happened, so what was he up to? He badly wanted to know Lilith's relationship to him but it wasn't the right time to ask, she was still too freaked out. And depending on what that relationship was, he might not want to reveal that he knew Greyback.

"Let's not worry about it right now though, you've had a rough time of it. Are you hungry?"

"Starving." Lilith admitted.

When had she last eaten? All the time since the escape had just sort of melded together, it could have been a week ago for all she knew.

"Ok, you rest, I'll go run something down." Damon declared, getting to his feet and finally giving the witch a good look at him.

He was the epitome of what she thought a werewolf would look like, with wild blonde locks down to his shoulders and a long scruffy beard tied off with a leather strip. His body was long and lithe, but with enough muscle to insist that he wasn't to be trifled with. Damon was a bit intimidating, though Lilith wasn't sure if it was because she felt vulnerable or because he was actually menacing. He had probably saved her life by taking her out of the wilds but she would need to keep her guard up. Her brief experience with the DeathEaters had taught her caution and to not take everything at face value, if nothing else.

She wondered if he was acquainted with or knew of Fenrir, she'd been told that he was once the alpha of a large pack. If he did know Fen, did that make Damon trustworthy as she now wore his mark? Fenrir certainly wasn't trustworthy but that didn't mean this werewolf deserved the same reputation. Still, it was best to be cautious.

With a last look in the direction Damon had disappeared, to ensure some privacy, Lilith abandoned her fur to retrieve her clothes. Her jeans were still pretty damp but everything else was warm and dry, so she climbed into her underclothes and shirt and back between the furs to wait. Her limbs were heavy and aching and before long she had drifted off.

Draco stumbled away from the apparition point, knowing only two things, that he had to get back to the safe house and pain. The tears in his mother's eyes were nothing more than a distant memory and he'd lost the words he was supposed to say, where had they gone? The words hurt, Draco didn't want them, but he needed them.

Somehow he made it to the safe house, where his feet failed him and he collapsed on the porch. He tried to call out but managed only a whimper. Desperately, he reached out a shaky hand and began rapping his knuckles against the door but couldn't keep it up for long. Draco kept trying to remember the words or at least where he'd put them as he lay looking up at the sky but they were gone.

"Draco?" he heard what seemed like hours later but his body was no longer listening and refused to respond to the call. "Guys get over here, it's Draco!" It sounded like Thorfinn to his ears but he couldn't be sure.

And then there were three gruff faces looking down on him, three horrified faces.

"Draco, what happened?" Dolohov asked in an uncharacteristically fatherly voice and squatted down beside him. "We need to get him inside." he barked at the other DeathEaters. "We're going to carry you inside, ok lad?"

He felt himself being lifted bodily, though his numb limbs barely felt it.

Thorfinn grimaced as they laid the impossibly paler than normal Malfoy on the couch. He was shaking like a leaf and his eyes were looking right through them.

"The fuck…?" Thorfinn hissed. The white button up shirt beneath his black vest was torn and flecked with red. He'd only been gone a few fucking hours.

Antonin took a last look at Draco, whose eyes had closed but lips were moving, before gingerly unbuttoning his shirt. If they'd had any doubt about how they fared with their newly resurrected dark lord, one look erased every trace of it. It was almost as if he'd used sectumsempra to write words. The letters, if you could call them that, were crude lines and slashes used to spell out a grisly message.

My witch

One week

Or I will hunt you down