EDITED: 08/17/2015
Chapter Sixteen
It wasn't just sex he had wanted.
Short rasps of breath were leaving Olive as she clawed at the ground, trying to get as far as she could from the spot where Greyback had nearly torn her apart. For two days, she'd been content to lay there and die. Death was welcome to the fire that burned inside her. On the third day, a fit of paranoia took her over and she crawled, inch by painful inch, away from where she'd laid. Greyback was long gone, having left her for dead as he promised, but the thought of him returning to finish the job made bile rise in the back of her throat and so she crawled and crawled. With one arm stretched in front of her, fist clenching the dead grass, she laid a forehead on the hard earth and cried out at the pain ripping through her body.
Away from her, in his familiar stretch of forest, Scabior sat still and looked at the campfire with a new level of hatred. Two days he'd looked, each seeming longer than the two months she'd been gone with Potter. Olive and Greyback were nowhere to be found. For all he knew, Olive was slashed to pieces and that fucking wolf was out there somewhere bragging about how he finally got even with him.
Something twisted in his stomach when a new possibility struck him. What if it had all been planned? What if it was all some ploy for Olive to run off with Greyback? He'd only told her she couldn't be friends with him, he'd never ordered her. Scabior wondered if the Vow would kill her for that, hoping it would. Taking Olive away by force was bad enough, but if the werewolf manipulated her to go with him willingly, that was the worst of all. If that was the case, he wished the slut dead so he could wash his hands of the situation and never have to feel this hopeless anymore.
Something irked at his insides, though, telling him Olive hadn't gone with Greyback of her own will. Not with the way she'd looked up at him from Greyback's shoulder, hope filled in her eyes for that last brief second he got to see her.
Then they were gone. Just like that, in the blink of an eye. Greyback took his Olive away.
He should have known that day when they first came across Walrich. Scabior had never seen Greyback miss a shot and yet, somehow, Olive ended up bound. The werewolf had to have been testing the waters - he'd had something planned all along. Maybe he meant to take Olive away from him that day, maybe his plan got messed up when Walrich got away or he decided the timing wasn't right. The thought made a shiver run down his spine as he pulled another cigarette from his pack, lighting it with a fist clenched around his wand.
The same scene kept replaying over and over in his head, that small moment he saw her face, the glimmer of hope in her eyes before they disappeared. The sound of them apparating was one of the most horrible noises of his life and he knew it would haunt him until he found her. Dead, alive, or with Greyback - it didn't matter. Not having closure would drive him mad.
Elsewhere, Olive was near giving up again, laying crumpled on the ground and sobbing into the grass. Yesterday, maybe even the day before, she morphed to hide her stomach, the sight of Scabior's brutality making her stomach turn.
The cool ground was no comfort. Everything was on fire. The dirt clung to her skin, mixing with sweat to make patches of mud on her arms and face. Even her blood seemed to scald her veins, burning her, cooking her from the inside out. A constant layer of sweat made her hair stick to her neck, but it hurt too much to raise an arm and move it.
She recalled with another sob that Greyback, at some point during her torture, pressed her face into the dirt, the blood from her broken nose mixing with the ground to make a dark mud. He'd slammed into her from behind, a place not even Scabior fucked her, and she screamed out in pain while he mocked her, calling her a mudblood.
"Scabior, why aren't you helping me?" she choked out, half-delusional from the fever. A violent convulsion took her over and Olive screamed out, face pressed against the scratchy grass.
Scabior heard nothing. He was two countries away, staring at the campfire with a horrible image in his mind of her laying lifeless somewhere. This was what he got for Lysia. This is what Greyback did to make them even. Heat was beginning to creep up his neck, the hatred he felt for the werewolf burning through him like never before. Greyback should have killed Mira. That would have made it even. Olive was just convenient for him and the wolf knew it would hurt him more. With a scream, he threw another bottle at the tree, watching it smash into a thousand little pieces and scatter into the grass. His head was pounding and had been since he woke up in the Malfoy's courtyard and heard Olive being carried off.
"Somebody help me," Olive yelled out, drawing ragged breaths at the overwhelming heat coursing through her. Olive's other arm shot out, clutching at the grass and drawing her body another few inches forward. In the beginning, she'd worried about being found naked, especially if it was a man who found her, but she didn't care now as long as anybody would just help. Anything to stop the pain.
Her stomach gave a fierce growl, but the pain in her belly was nothing compared to the fire reigning through her body, through her organs, through her bones.
Again, she started sobbing, collapsing on the grass. Why the fuck didn't she listen to Scabior? Why didn't she take his warning seriously? Now there was no mistaking the truth that there were far, far worse people in the world. Scabior never made her feel like she'd caught fire. Scabior never even lied to her, that she could remember. He did awful things, yes, but he never told her he wouldn't. Even the dreams of Scabior, which started up again while she slipped in and out of consciousness, didn't disturb her as much as they had the first time she had one, all those months ago. They'd become her only escape - when she slipped off into dreams, he was always there. Sometimes he pulled the glass from her hand, sometimes he just bent his lips to her forehead. Once he even tortured her again, Olive dreaming of that night in the snow. Even that pain paled in comparison to the torture Greyback had set upon her body.
"-what he fuckin' deserves," the werewolf had ranted, ramming into her from behind, her screaming heard by no one except him. "I'll fuckin tell 'im how I tore ya apart before I murder 'im'. Watch 'is face go all pale while I kill 'im slow."
Olive sucked in a breath, hope hammering in her chest for the first time since she'd seen Scabior barreling toward her rescue. Her hands darted out into the grass, feeling for a wand that wasn't there. In her excitement and disorientation, she'd forgotten Scabior took both her and Hermione's wands before they went to Malfoy Manor.
When she remembered that, the hope fizzled inside her. Not completely, though. If she could do it - if she could apparate without a wand - she could find Scabior or help elsewhere. There was a reason now, a way around the Vow. Greyback was going to kill Scabior. And Scabior was a pureblood. As long as she was protecting a pureblood to secure the bloodline, the Vow wouldn't kill her. And even if she was miscalculating, even if she broke her Vow, death had to be better than the misery Greyback bestowed upon her.
Maybe Greyback had already killed Scabior. Then she would be free of the Vow anyway. Olive knew that should make her happy, but it made a new pain run through her chest. Not what Greyback had done to her, not the Vow, something new. A panic, a yearning. Under normal circumstances, she would have been disgusted with herself, but she focused on that horrible feeling, imagining Scabior lying dead somewhere. Where would he be? Where would Greyback have found him? The only place she could think of was Scabior's meeting spot, where the Snatchers met when they got separated. Clenching her eyes until colors began dancing in her vision, Olive concentrated as hard as she could on those skinny trees, those rolling hills. A familiar squeezing sensation came over her and she focused harder, giving a scream as if it may push her there.
It did.
Olive was spinning, a new pain raking down her arm as she landed with a distinct pop.
"Fuck!" she heard before she could even open her eyes. Footsteps crashed through the brush, taking an eternity to reach her. The tension released in her chest, that awful feeling disappearing. It was him. It was Scabior, she knew his voice anywhere. Somewhere inside, a fleeting thought passed her, glad she'd hidden her stomach a few days past. That was another problem for another day, now that she would live another day.
Rough hands grabbed her naked arms, turning her over. Olive heard him draw a breath when her face became visible to him. She knew it was bad. Beyond the fire that burned through her, everywhere ached. Greyback had pummeled her face so hard it was a wonder she'd lost no teeth.
"Olive?" he said, an underlying note of panic in his voice. She had the intention of answering him, but when she opened her mouth and eyes, only hysterical sobbing came out. Again, she was taken by the worst kind of convulsions, the sort that ravaged her whole body, not just the slight twitches. Olive could feel him brushing the hair back from her face, calling out her name a few more times.
"Sweet'art, you've splinched bad again, don't move. I've got to get the Dittany."
"No!" she screamed, trying to reach out for him. When she saw the raw skin, the blood pouring down her outstretched arm, she tilted her head and heaved with another sob. There was nothing in her stomach left to vomit, only acids that burned her throat and nose.
"Olive, you're bleeding' out, just wai-"
"Don't leave me," she pleaded, crying harder now. Scabior didn't understand the feelings raging through him, so he pushed them aside and ran into the tent, fingers shaking while he threw vial after vial aside from his first aid kit. There. His fingers found the Dittany and he was outside in an instant, kneeling beside her. Olive was so disoriented that she hadn't noticed he'd gone.
"It's going to sting a little," he half-lied. It was going to burn like hell. The girl in front of him was unrecognizable, her face a swollen, purple mass. There were deep cuts covering her, dirt and leaves tangled in her greasy hair. If it hadn't been for the honeysuckle, he'd never of known it was her. But, her scent was tainted with others - blood, dirt, Greyback, sex. When he laid a hand on her arm to steady it, Olive's flesh burned under his palm.
Scabior froze, a strangled noise escaping his throat. With a panicked huff, he looked her over, every inch of her, dissecting each cut. Then he saw it. There, hidden behind smeared blood. There across her stomach - four deep claw marks.
"Just hold still," he told her, though his own hands were shaking in a newfound rage. When the Dittany hit her wound, Olive screamed louder than he'd ever heard her scream before. Even louder than the night in the snow. Scabior wished he could tell her that was the worst part, but he wouldn't lie to her.
"I'm taken' you inside," he said, scooping her up before she could protest. Olive cried out at the movement and Scabior felt an unimaginable heat in his arms, a heat he knew all too well. She continued sobbing, half-delirious when she clutched the front of his shirt.
"Every-thing h-hurts," she managed, the convulsions beginning again. Scabior shushed her the best he could with the storm of thoughts and emotions running through his head. He took her to the bathroom and laid her in the cool tub before running the taps as cold as they would go. Olive cried harder, covering the sides of her head with cut and bruised arms, the sound of water pounding in her ears. If Scabior wasn't sure about Greyback's scratch before, then he was now. The sounds were unbearable when he first changed, too.
"Everything'll make your head hurt for a few days," he said, scooping some water in his palms and trying to get the blood and dirt off her. Now that he had her up close and undressed, Scabior saw how thin Olive's hands and face had grown. As if on cue, her stomach growled. "How long's it been since you ate?" he asked. Scabior knew he could be cruel, nasty, manipulative, but he couldn't stand the idea of Olive being hungry.
"I don't know," she croaked, hands still over her ears. The cool water seemed to be bringing her down from the hysteria. "It was a few days before I saw you last." Olive shifted, grunting in pain and avoided looking at the water, which was a dirty pink color. "They started burning the forests," she said, brow tucked from the pain, though the heat was easing. "There was no food anywhere."
Scabior said nothing. While she'd been gone with Potter, his unit had taken to doing as the other Snatchers had - holding small sieges to burn out the mudbloods. Food wasn't something he'd thought of - the fire was only to smoke them out of hiding. The Snatchers might kill them, sure, but a man had to have a code and starving was a far crueler death than being killed quickly. A terrible feeling hit him, memories flooding him of life before Aunt Lottie took him, of empty cupboards and stolen bread.
"Do you want me to get that stew you like from the pub? With the beef an' barley?"
Olive's eyes clenched, his words adding more pain. Of course he remembered. Of course he made it harder for her to hate him.
"You can't go," she said, glad when he reached over and turned the taps off. The roaring in her head stalled, though a dull ache continued. "We need to move camp," she continued, tilting her head and looking up at him.
Scabior narrowed his eyes, scanning her face. It was hard to read her when she was all swollen and bruised.
"Olive, how are you not dyin' right now? Why 'asn't the Vow killed you for usin' magic?" Instead of answering right away, she dipped her hands into the cold water and pressed them to her face with a shudder of pain. Scabior was relieved the cool water had calmed her down, but there was still a grimace on her face. "I can't do anything for the inside," he added, knowing from experience that it felt like your bones and blood were on fire.
"Greyback means to kill you," she muttered, ignoring his second statement. "I came to warn you."
Silence, their only other friend, joined them. For a moment, Scabior almost pitied Olive. The fever, the venom, it makes you feel like you're dying, but another day or so and she'd of sweat it out. She could have stayed where she was, let Greyback kill him, and lived out the rest of her life in freedom. But, she came back to him. She came back to someone who beat her, raped her, humiliated her, so she could warn him about Greyback. Though he knew Olive was only trying to survive, part of him hoped she came back because she didn't want him to die.
By then, the shakes were just tremors, so he took to digging the leaves from her hair.
"Where do you want to go?" he asked, glad he had her hair to focus on. Anywhere but her swollen face.
"Away," she whispered, leaning her head against the side of the tub so he didn't have to reach so far. For a disappointing moment, he thought she meant away from him. "Take me anywhere but the forest, I can't stomach looking at another fucking tree right now."
Something in his chest unclenched. She wanted him to take her away. She wanted him to stay with her.
"First you're eating," he said, voice stern. That was not a suggestion, it was an order. It made her think of the beef and barley stew and her stomach growled again. Everything made sense now - how she'd craved the stew, how the nausea would roll over her. The way it was uncomfortable to hide her stomach, even now. Those few times her stomach had squirmed, it had to be the baby flitting around. And Hermione's jeans, how they pinched. It hadn't been that Hermione had lost weight - Olive's body was fighting her off, not wanting her to push down on the baby. Even now, unclothed, her belly was just the slightest bigger than usual. It wasn't enough for her to notice while she was in hiding, but now that she knew she was pregnant, there was no missing it.
Olive didn't even know how far along she was. How could she when she wasn't even sure of the month? In retrospect, she hadn't had a period in a long time, but that wasn't the sort of thing she kept track of anymore. Not when she had no concept of time - not when every day was filled with trying to survive. Now it would be even harder. Now she had two of them to keep alive.
A protective hand slid to her stomach, but Scabior thought she was only feeling at the wound Greyback had marred her with. Olive wondered if the claw marks killed the baby - she hadn't felt that squirming since before then. Or maybe she suffocated it with her disguise. Was she suffocating it right then, all because she was afraid for Scabior to know? Some dark part of her hoped the baby was dead already, if only so it wouldn't know this fucked up life. If it was still alive, she would fight tooth and nail to keep it that way, but the thought alone exhausted her.
It was no matter. Scabior would find out - she had to go into labor eventually. If it wasn't dead when it came out, she didn't doubt he would kill it soon after. There wasn't time for babies in their profession. And the thought of them as parents was even more terrifying than killing it. But, still, Olive would have to fight him and she would break her Vow if she had to. If the baby was dying, then so was she. It was half Scabior, but it was half her, too.
"Lean back," he told her, helping Olive dip her hair under the water. Olive thought of that time at her house, when he'd nearly drowned her. Scabior's fingers were gentle this time, though, rubbing the grit from her scalp. Olive didn't protest, not even a flinch or shudder rising at his touch. It made him feel disgusted with himself for being this kind.
"Don't start trusting me," he warned, wanting to pull her hair taut, but finding himself unable to hurt her when she was in this state. Olive just stared up at him, making his anger and confusion grow. Why wasn't she frightened of him anymore? Why wasn't she scared he would hold her under the water, like last time? He released her neck, leaving her to get up on her own. Olive tried to sit, grunting in the final push that returned her to leaning on the side of the tub.
"Who else do I have?" she asked, words haunting the narrow room.
Scabior blinked, watching her. For a moment his lips pursed, thinking of something to say. "Only me, I guess," he said, watching how her shallow breathing barely made ripples in the water.
"I trusted him," she said. "And this is what I get for that trust. I trusted myself to be a friend to Hermione, that mudblood girl. I tricked her and tortured her." Olive lifted her head, meeting his eyes. "I tortured her like you tortured me. And when I left her with Greyback, I tried and tried to make myself cry, but I couldn't. I liked hurting her. I can't even trust myself anymore."
Scabior stayed silent, only reaching over to brush a few wet strands of hair from her forehead.
"And I even trusted Draco Malfoy," she said, just letting the words slip out in her delirium. "We fancied each other - he even kissed me once. Sometimes it made me feel like everything was going to be alright. But, do you know what he did? He could have set me free and he didn't. I begged him, asked him to just loosen the chains and I would do the rest and he turned his back on me because he was afraid of Greyback." Olive drew a deep breath, getting herself worked up. "He just left me there to die," she said, betrayal sparkling in her swollen eyes. "And out of all fucking people, it was you who came running after me. I laid there for three days and tried to be angry with you for not making it in time, for saying you wouldn't let anyone hurt me, but I couldn't because you were the only one who tried."
Olive looked away now, down to her toes, just because she couldn't stand looking at him anymore.
"You're the only person I can trust," she said, words feeling thick in her throat, like they didn't want to leave her mouth. "You never tricked me with pretty words like you have the other mudblood girls. You've always shown me what a monster you really are. All I have left to trust is that you'll be terrible to me."
A beat of silence passed between them, but Olive wasn't done. The words just kept running from her throat, spilling out against her will.
"You tried to save me twice, once when you thought someone took me and once when someone really did. Warning you about Greyback is payback for one. I still owe you the other. But don't you dare trust me, Scabior, because I will murder you for the things you've done."
Scabior studied her. This was Olive - new, old, a third one - it didn't matter. This was Olive and she was back with him, back where she belonged. And she was right. She could trust him. He would go through hell and high water for her and, if she had nothing else to trust, she could trust his predictable cruelty. But, to say he trusted her in return was laughable. Olive had escaped him twice, run off once, stolen his wand, plotted with Greyback behind his back, and he never knew how she would react to things. Even the small comfort she held in trusting he would be violent and cruel to her was something missed by him. Some days she was angry and fought back, other days she was compliant, and there were those few stretches when she just went off into a daze and his words to her went unheard.
"I'm not sayin' you won't kill me," Scabior admitted, knowing she had it in her. Olive was battered beyond repair and it wouldn't surprise him in the least if she killed him herself, knowing it would kill her, too. "But, until the end, we work together."
Together. A pair.
Olive nodded, her head leaning back against the tub.
"I need a cigarette and some clothes," she said, sounding far more tired than she had just a moment ago, as if the conversation took most of her energy. The pained expression never left her face and he knew it wouldn't for at least a few days. Cold water would dampen the fire, but it would keep burning low. Scabior let out a long breath, chewing the inside of his cheek.
"The cigarette I can do. The clothes…" his voice trailed off. Olive scooted her head against the tub, craning her neck to look up at him with a tucked brow. "I got angry when you were gone," he said, not looking at her. "I burned all your things."
Olive wasn't sure if he meant the first time she was gone or the second and it really didn't matter. As sad as it was, she hardly cared. "Did you burn the things my Dad gave me?" she asked, voice surprisingly neutral.
"Yeah," he said, looking down and picking the dirt from under his nails. Olive's laughter was not what he expected, sick titters echoing against the water, magnified in the small space. For a scary moment, he thought he'd lost her again.
"Of course you did," she said, ghost of a smile tugging on her mouth. "Burn it all, burn the damn house down, I don't care, it makes it easier."
Scabior wasn't sure what she meant or even if she'd slipped back into delirium. Burn what house down? Her house?
"Makes what easier?" he asked, finally looking at her. Olive wasn't looking at him, though. Her eyes were closed, that half-grin in place. She only shook her head.
"Nothing," she muttered and when she opened her eyes, he saw clarity there. She wasn't delirious. Whatever she'd meant, she'd really meant. Scabior had no idea and was unsure whether to ask. He didn't know she meant things would be easier for her if she wasn't constantly reminded of her father. The way her heart beat around Scabior wouldn't seem so bad if the memory of her dad wasn't always lurking.
"I've still got these," he offered, digging in his pocket and pulling out the silver hoop earrings. Olive had taken hers off before the first time she went in search of Hermione, afraid she would forget, leave it in, and blow her disguise. Scabior leaned down toward the water, putting them in her hand.
"One is yours," she said, picking up a hoop with her free hand. "Come here. Together, remember?"
"Together," he agreed and he let her put the earring on him, before he did the same for her.
That night, he took her back to the same muggle motel as before. This time there was no laughter, no burst of giggles when he Imperio'd the same poor desk clerk. Olive just stood there and watched, silent as ever in Scabior's baggy sleeping clothes.
When he returned from the pub, Olive ate the beef and barley stew so fast that he felt sick, wondering if it hadn't been longer than a week since she'd eaten. After that, she slipped into a food coma and he took that time to patch the rest of her up. After digging through the vials in his first aid kit, tossing aside the poisons and Veritaserum, he found a few salves that had her face to normal proportion in no time. Olive stirred each time he dropped Dittany into a new cut, but never fully woke. The broken nose was fixed quickly, though he had to reset it twice before it looked comparable to how it had before. The worst damage he found was a broken wrist, the same hand that the glass had gone through. It took him awhile to mend it because he'd gotten distracted at first, tracing the scar on her palm with his finger.
Scabior fell asleep knelt next to the bed, his forehead resting against her arm. When he woke, the sun blaring through the window, he lifted his face to see Olive just staring at him. She said nothing, though, and for that he was thankful.
Things were better that day. The fever had gone down and she didn't eat as fast each time he returned with food. They held a few mumbled conversations, Scabior telling Olive that Potter had escaped Malfoy Manor and Olive explaining what the telly was and how it worked. Scabior was so enthralled with the little black box that when he tore his eyes away, the outside world had grown dark and Olive was sleeping soundly. Ignoring the free bed, he kicked off his boots, turned off the picture box, and crawled under the covers with her. Olive was facing away from him and stirred when his arms wrapped around her, but she made no protest. Some sort of knot released in his stomach - relief - and he drew her close to his chest. The honeysuckle attacked him as he leaned into her hair, clenching eyes and fists when his forehead rested on her crown. One of the worst thoughts he'd had over the last two months was that he wouldn't be able to do this, to hold her or even touch her, ever again. And when they woke the next morning, he was still holding her tight.
"I can smell it," she said, a tremor in her voice. Scabior drew himself back, pulling his disheveled hair away from her face where it had fallen. He could tell from the clarity of her voice that she'd been awake for a while. He could also tell, to his relief, that her fever had finally broken.
"Smell what?" he said, voice groggy compared to hers. Scabior was rubbing a fist into his eyes, trying to shake the sleep, when Olive rolled toward him and grabbed the ends of his hair. She buried her face in it, drawing a deep breath.
"The forest in your hair," she said, pulling herself away. Olive leaned up, burying her face in his neck. Scabior could feel her nose drift from his ear down his jaw, the slightest trace of her lips on his throat. The honeysuckle was everywhere and he was nearly overwhelmed when a huff of her hot breath spread over his neck. Scabior slid a hand to her throat, gentle but firm, and forced her away before he lost himself and hurt her. All he could focus on were her lips and how they'd been at his throat just moments ago. The heat of her breath was still lingering beneath his chin.
"He made me like you," she said, even though they both already knew. It was just the first time either had said it aloud. "It stormed while I was gone. I can smell it on your skin."
"Very good," he muttered, thumb brushing back and forth over her bottom lip. "It rained the day before you came back to me." But his mind was elsewhere, eyes glued on her lips. Fuck Lysia, this was all her fault. Olive wouldn't have been taken if it wasn't for that bitch. Why should he stop himself from kissing Olive just because of her? Thoughts were racing through his head, growing darker by the second. Scabior didn't want to just own Olive's cunt, he wanted to own all of her, every last inch. Now they were a better match, now they were equals. He had to keep himself ahead, he had to own her before she got the idea that she could leave him again. Olive would never leave him again. Scabior wouldn't look away from her lips, paranoia flooding through him at the thought of her leaving, at being alone. The Vow was forgotten to him - all he could think of was her not being with him at any given moment and how awful that would feel.
Olive saw it coming, felt him pull her throat closer to him, to his face. "Don't you dare," she said, turning her head to the side with a pained expression.
"Olive, look at me," he said. When she didn't, the slightest squeeze wrapped around her throat. She kept her head turned to the side, though complied and looked at him from the corner of her eyes. There was a different fear there, one he'd never seen before, but it was a fear of him nonetheless. It made the dark feelings, the paranoia, calm down within him. If she was scared, then he could control her. With a slight jerk, he turned her face back toward him and studied the strange expression on her face. "You're afraid," he decided. "You're afraid you'll like it."
"I'll never forgive myself," she said, self-loathing ringing in each word. Scabior released her throat and slid his hand up her loose shirt, resting his palm in the space between her breasts.
"Who owns you?" he said, feeling a tremor run down her.
"I hate you," she spat, another twitch taking over her face.
"Who owns you?" he said, pressing his hand into her chest, into her heart.
Olive gave him a miserable look, knowing there was no hiding their sick attraction toward one another any longer. She'd barely gotten the words, "You do," out before his lips captured hers. It was like unwrapping a candy bar one piece at a time - this was a new piece of Olive he hadn't claimed yet. Now that the stupid little Malfoy twat was out of her mind, he was staking his claim. If he had to claim every cell in her body to make her his, he would do it. If only to make her stay.
Scabior lingered, relishing in the soft gasp she'd given and the way her bottom lip trembled when he held it between his own. It seemed an eternity as he pulled away.
"No apologies," he said, finally looking up into her green eyes.
"I hate you," she repeated, leaning up to capture his lips once more.