CHAPTER NINE
The day was warm, and Greyback's pallid, listless eyes stared at the leaves of the trees in the Wolves Wood, old, gnarled twisted bark, though there was a small part of him that could not deny the exotic and fiery appeal of these woods. Like a midnight candle burning bright amongst the shadows, he thought, though the muffled noise that his latest captive, the three-year-old pup of the Jameson's brought his mind back out of his wanderings, and he eyed the boy.
This material of strangeness, not like its parents. A human born to Wolves. The skies above his head were dull, grievous, and showed no hint of the sunlight. Greyback had taken this boy, this child, for a purpose. To show the rest of the clan what happened when you defied his orders and their way of life, though he wanted the mother present for his little act of mercy. He'd put the child out of his misery, for if you could not spend your life free of restraints, free of the cage, why live?
The killing was his least favorite part. It was a necessary chore for him rather than a pleasure. He hated it when others of his clan died so soon, but Fenrir had to punish them. "We spill blood to those who need it," he murmured lowly under his breath as he watched the blond-haired, blue-eyed three-year-old boy playing with a toy under the tree.
And if he was being honest with himself, most of the wizarding world sorely needed it. They were tainted, not like him. Not even the ever-present darkness of the Wolves Wood, a section sequestered off by Fenrir and the others of the Forbidden Forest in secret could conceal the way Fenrir Greyback's emotionless yellow eyes widened with desire for the little boy that he had dead to rights and within his sights, and he could strike.
Oh, yes, he could, but what was the fun in that if both parents were not here to witness the boy's salvation? His Turning would be an achievement for the clan, and he would become the youngest Wolf within their ranks. The boy's parents, Wes, and Norah Jameson were a fine couple, and the husband had true potential to be an Alpha of his own clan. If their undesirable behavior could be corrected and the mischievous streak within the wife stamped out. One day, the boy's going to make a fine Wolf. But first…find the female, he thought, grinding his teeth, and locking his molars so hard he heard a sickening pop!
Wes, the boy's father, had uttered the words Greyback himself had just spoken, and during his interrogation as to the whereabouts of his wife, the She-Wolf, that blonde little minx, the words had tumbled unchecked from the man's mouth. Wes rarely ever said anything so violent and even rarer still in a confident and unwavering tone of his voice.
Greyback's vicious mind ignored it that Wes suggested it to help their people, their own kin. All he heard was the words 'spill blood' and those two words spoken from the very man's lips who he considered as a blood brother to him, were enough to make his predatory heartbeat that much faster and the blood surging within his veins to ignite.
The imagery of himself and his clan spilling blood for the greater good of werewolves everywhere was all levels of delightful for Fenrir Greyback and as strong as any Fire Whiskey or dosage of Felix Felicis had ever done to intoxicate the burly and savage werewolf. Greyback blinked and forced his attention to return to his captive.
Sweet, precious little Jax. Greyback's lips curled upward into a twisted sneer, revealing his gums and slightly yellowed teeth and unnaturally sharp, pointed canines.
The little three-year-old boy moved like his knees were just hinges, wobbling everywhere before falling on his padded bottom. Then the kid clapped like it was all part of the plan and rolled to his stomach to get up again. The boy was a spitting image of both his parents, with most of his mother's genes and cute as hell, though right now, Jackson 'Jax' Jameson was anything but cute as the kid opened his mouth and screamed.
The scream told of pain within, of confusion. The boy craved the touch of his mum, of soft skin. Needed her scent, the movement of her body, and the feeling of his little feet leaving the ground for the safety of Norah Jameson's arms. But the kid wouldn't get it.
The boy was staying with him for now, as his prisoner. That's what happened to those who defied him. Why? Greyback himself did not exactly know the reason as to his 'why.' If he had enough power over another Wolf, male or female, it put Fenrir in control.
Having control makes you strong, and nobody likes a weak Alpha, Greyback mused. It gave him satisfaction, to have this much control over another Wolf's life. Almost like it was the thing that drove him. The thing that he would do anything for, really.
When anybody else in his clan, especially Norah Jameson, that minx, that Wolf, was flying high, Fenrir would drag her down. Drag them all down with them if necessary.
He would eat at her problems just long enough to break her, but still, be the one to soothe the witch. Norah Jameson had chosen this life by not realizing what he has done to her. She was his little plaything, and her son's wretched life was determined by what happens to the boy over the next week. He would find the She-Wolf. She would return to their camp of her own volition, or both the three-year-old boy and her mate would die. It was a simple choice, really. One that Greyback sincerely hoped she'd do right by.
Greyback involuntarily stiffened as he felt a figure nudge beside him. Wes. The distraught father watched his screaming three-year-old son under the elm tree for a moment before darting forward and scooping up the blond-haired boy in his strong arms.
"Stop this," Wes growled animalistically, baring his own fangs. "There is no need for this. Let my son free. Do whatever the hell you're going to do to me but spare my son. Let him go. He's just a boy, Greyback," Wes snarled, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
"There is every need," Fenrir growled in response, bearing his canines. "Your precious little mate dared to speak out against me. Did you really think I did not know the vicious lies that she spread? That she'd be able to just get away with this?" he hissed, narrowing his yellowed eyes. "I think not, boy. I know she fled from the camps, Wes."
Here, he leaned in and shifted at the waist, so he was now facing in front of the unnerved younger werewolf, whose grip tightened instinctively around his little boy.
The tip of his nose was practically touching Wes's, and he let out a low warning growl. "And don't even think of lying to me, boy. I detect when you lie," he snarled.
Wes flinched and attempted to shirk away from the older and taller wolf. His Alpha. He berated himself for not seeing what would happen sooner. Everyone in the camps knew of the disappearance of Greyback's rumored illegitimate bastard, a little wolf-cub sired by an unknown She-Wolf, though Wes and Norah had their suspicions of the identity of the boy's mother, thinking the mother of Greyback's little wolf-cub was Rena, a female werewolf almost just as savage as Greyback and shared his viewpoints.
That to Turn other wizards and witches when they were just little children and too young to comprehend what was happening to them, to turn them against wizardkind at an early age, was the way, the only way to get the rest of the community to understand.
Wes bit down the inside wall of his cheek, wishing he could commiserate, but he was too nervous to allow even a single wretched tear to escape his lids, and he thought he would die before he would ever hear himself whimper in front of Fenrir Greyback.
Every modicum of what little was left of his energy in his otherwise exhausted body went into ruminating on the fate of his wife, what would become of Jax if Greyback decided to kill him here and now where he stood. Wes, earlier, left to rot in the cage that Greyback had put him in and clad his wrists to chains bolted to the wall, had made himself physically ill imaging the possible tortures his wife was undergoing, not knowing his whereabouts, or what fate had befallen their son, and all of this for a bastard Jax's age.
What the boy, Collin was rumored to be. The natural son of Greyback himself.
No one had known exactly what happened to the little wolf-cub following his Turning, that his father had done himself, only that he had disappeared, his remains turned up in the river on the edge of the forest's borders. Rumor had it the kid had been snatched up by un-turned wizards and spirited away by them in broad daylight when no adult Wolf had been watching the boy. There were whispers among the clan of foul play, of murder…
Or so that was what their Alpha had thought. And anything Greyback suspected, so too did the rest of their clan, out of a sense of unbridled fear of what Alpha would do in retaliation against anyone who had dared to speak out against his claims. Wolves like her.
As visions of Norah's sweet face flitted in front of his mind, refusing to part from his troubled thoughts, Wes squeezed his eyes tightly shut, not wanting his boy to contract his father's panic, though Jax was only three and way too young to fully understand.
Of course, no one within their tribe knew exactly what had happened to Collin, but Norah and Wes had heard gossip amongst some of the other Wolves that he had initially dismissed as fearmongering and insisted that his wife do the same thing: that no matter what grisly fate that boy had met, Greyback would find a way to take his grief out on the other Wolves, and it was no secret that Norah openly defied his more brutal practices, such as performing the Turning, the act of biting a non-werewolf being at the full moon, effectively rendering the other person likes them, a fully-fledged werewolf, when the other person in question was just a defenseless, innocent child, and hated him.
And in seeking vengeance for his lost son, bastard though he was, Greyback had made it a point to separate Norah Jameson from hers, and Wes hoped that wherever Norah was, that she was safe, and had succeeded in finding the only Wolf who'd help.
Wes closed his eyes and silently shot a prayer to Merlin above or whoever would listen to a werewolf's prayer these days that his wife had managed to find the other Wolf.
Remus Lupin. Perhaps one of the few werewolves in all of Great Britain who had openly defied life as a werewolf and had attempted thus far to live amongst other humans.
Let her be safe, Wes, thought opening his eyes when he felt a second figure nudge and recognized another Wolf, a nameless face, had come to take Jax from him. Let her find the only man who can help us. Let her find Lupin, no matter what happens to me.
No doubt Greyback was going to attempt another round of questioning in a moment. Reluctantly, through gritted teeth and much to Jax's screaming displeasure, he relinquished control of his boy and allowed his son to be carted off, hopefully to safety.
He knew, at the very least, that Fenrir would not hurt Jax while Norah was missing.
Greyback was a brutal man who prided himself on his thoroughness, of this Fenrir knew. Though as he was left alone to bask in the thick uncomfortable tension, seeing the perceived venom in Wes's yellow eyes, he realized he did not know the true meaning of thoroughness until now. After Collin's disappearance, Greyback had been rendered completely immobile, physically.
The child's mother, a She-Wolf named Rena, and easily one of the prettiest women in his encampment had taken a particularly bad shock and had collapsed when she had heard the news. Rena had yet to rise from her bed, even with Fenrir visiting Rena in her own tent at least every other day without fail for an hour.
Despite his best efforts to console his unofficial mate, Greyback felt that what little conscience he had left was now wracked with guilt. Sleep evaded him since his bastard son's disappearance and many futile, begging pleas to Merlin above ended in bitter tears. And now, he was faced with a confrontation that Greyback could no longer ignore. Collin's death was Merlin's judgment on him for his relationship with Rena. Their kind was not meant to breed, and they had done it anyways, and now… now this happened.
Fenrir stifled a low growl as he pinched at his temples with his thumb and forefinger, feeling the beginnings of a stifling headache coming. He was tired and irritable, but he could not stop. Wes Jameson was going to tell him what he knew, or Merlin helps him…
"Wes," he began in a voice that suggested how curt and annoyed he was coming, which failed to elicit a response from the younger male werewolf. He did not stir at all.
Wes did not move or speak, though his wide, frightened yellow eyes spoke untold volumes, a truly pitiful sight which pleased Greyback, bringing a rueful smile to his lips.
"You present a rather troublesome and curious case for me, dog, and now I find myself at a loss, Jameson," he growled lowly. "You do know why I've brought you and your little cub here, don't you, or shall I spell it out for you?" he asked, gesturing with a curt wave of his burly arm towards the old abandoned Muggle business on the outskirts of Glasgow.
Wes straightened his posture and ensured his face remained impassive, though a muscle in his jaw twitched as he swallowed down hard past a growing lump in his throat.
"I am here on a false accusation. You think my wife and I are behind that boy's disappearance and the killing of your only bastard son, Alpha," he spat venomously.
Poor Wes Jameson had virtually no time to react as the leader of their clan closed off the gap of space between the two of them, twisting his thick, sausage-like fingers which more resembled that of claws into his matted tuft of dirty blond hair and tugged.
Hard, which caused Wes to let out a yelp that sounded like that of a wounded dog in pain as Greyback dragged him downward, forcing Wes to crane his neck upward to meet his cold and listless gaze. "Watch your tongue, beast," he snarled through clenched teeth and rooted jaw. "That boy was the natural son of Rena Lestrange, and that is only how you will refer to him, Jameson? Do I need to say it a second time? Don't make me."
Wes's gaze hardened, and his yellow eyes met Greyback's with a critical interest as his slightly pointed ears perked up and gave a twitch and his posture stiffened involuntarily. "That boy's death was a tragedy that neither I nor my wife has any knowledge of Greyback, so don't you try to pin this on us! More of your lies, Alpha!"
Fenrir felt his eyes narrow and his curled fist relinquished its grip slightly on the material of Wes's jacket. "Don't think for a second this changes my decision, Jameson. Did you really think that I did not know that you take me for a blind and bloody fool? I saw your pretty little wife leave out of the back of your cottage within our camps, boy."
For perhaps since the first time since looking upon his leader's face, a flash of panic alighted across the younger male werewolf's face, rendering his pale features pallid. A small victory, Greyback thought, but a victory, nonetheless. Well. He would take it.
"I have every reason to believe your mate, that bitch, was the one who killed that cub."
If it was possible, Wes Jameson's face paled even further in his shock and outrage.
"Alpha, no," he begged, and hearing the dip and crack in Jameson's faltering voice as his resolve left him was like music to Greyback's ears, the hearing of it totally delish. "Norah had nothing to do with your son—that boy's disappearance. My wife is innocent!"
Fenrir Greyback let out a growl and dipped his hand into the pocket of his trench coat, pointing the tip of his wand at the column of Jameson's throat, seeing how the man's Adam's apple bobbed up and down as the man swallowed nervously. "Norah running away from our own tribe is proof enough of that bitch's guilt, and I'd see her torn apart limb from limb for this, but not before I repay the favor, Wes, and take your own son…"
Though Wes said nothing, Greyback could tell the younger Wolf was trying and failing to keep a neutral expression, and Fenrir at long last, after over a week of questioning the father and distraught husband, finally felt like he was getting somewhere.
"You will tell me where your whore of a wife is, Jameson, where she ran off to, that little wolf," Greyback began slowly and dangerously, and there was a hint of steel in the Alpha's face that told Wes not to take his leader's words lightly, as he dug the tip of his wand deeper into his throat, almost hard enough to pierce the sensitive flesh without even the need so as to much utter a single jinx. "Or I promise you, you will regret this."
Wes did not immediately respond to Greyback's goading in an effort to elicit a forced confession from him, though the weighted gravity of the severity of his predicament hit him square in the chest like a Knockback Jinx. He was going to die here.
Weeks spent down in that filthy hole in the basement of Greyback's safe house, in the middle of nowhere, slowly being broken, death was all that Wes could hope for.
A release, it was. Or so he thought, and as Wes looked into the listless eyes of his leader, seeing nothing within those soulless yellowed eyes but pits of burning wrath, he realized that he dreaded Death. To leave this world and leave Norah and Jax behind seemed to be an inevitable fate that he could not escape, closing in on him as fast as ever. And he did not want to acknowledge the fact that Wes at the moment felt utterly helpless as he struggled against the firm, hairy hands of Greyback currently gripping onto his shoulder, only to receive a punch in the stomach.
As he doubled over and coughed, wheezing, and gasping for breath, Wes felt like his mind was now clouded with fear, and his body went limp. Pure terror surged through his veins, icy daggers straight to his heart.
The fear he had felt when he and Norah had discovered Jax was missing was nothing compared to how he felt now, with the literal tip of Death pointed squarely at his face.
Fear curled up and clung to Wes's ribcage, settling uncomfortably in his chest. He did not doubt the feeling was there to stay, reminding him of his existence every time Wes opened his mouth to plead with Alpha to show even a semblance of mercy on him.
"You will tell me where your wife is. Now." The command left Greyback's lips as a low growl.
Wes felt his mouth move of its own accord silently before managing in a hoarse cry, "I—I don't bloody know where my wife went! I—I swear to you!" he gasped raggedly.
Greyback's dark brows furrowed together in suspicious contemplation. "She told you nothing?" he snarled, baring razor-sharp canines at Wes as he towered over him.
"I don't remember."
Greyback felt the edges of his lips curl upwards into a twisted sneer as he revealed yellowing gums. This was a typical response of Wolves, especially inferior werewolves, the ones who were afraid of him. Skilled in almost a woeful ignorance, Norah had taught Wes well to resist against Greyback's more persuasive methods. Still, he didn't bother to tamper down the vicious smile that crept along with his features as he pointed his wand at him.
"That's all right, Wes. I believe you," Fenrir Greyback growled in an animalistic, wolfish snarl, sounding every bit the beast that he knew himself to be as he made a show of steadying his hand that had curled tightly into a fist around his wand. "I shall help you to remember…