Chapter Twenty-Three

Olive stared at the parchment in disbelief. There was a hollow pain in her chest, an empty feeling.

"I told you I'd take everything from you," Scabior said, breaking the long silence. And just when she thought he had nothing left to take, his insanity proved her wrong.

"You've gone mad," she said, her voice a hoarse whisper, eyes never once leaving the parchment. A shudder ran through her and she shifted, wincing in pain from what he'd put her through the past two days. Scabior had held true to his promise of denying her a good sleep and now exhaustion ached behind her eyes.

"You don't want to hurt the baby, do you?" he asked, ego leaking into his words. There it was again. That threat.

"No," she whispered, still staring at the parchment.

"S'not goin' to change anything," he said.

'Yes, it will,' she thought, but it went unvoiced.

"Then why do it?" she asked instead.

Scabior's hand rested on the back of her neck, fingers squeezing lightly. "Because I can," he said. When she said nothing, his fingers tightened. "You've been so good the past two days," he continued, "I 'aven't even had to hit you once. You're not goin' to spoil it now, are you?"

Olive swallowed the thick knot in her throat and shook her head. "That's a good girl, Olive," he said near her ear, making a different sort of shudder run through her.

With shaking hands, she grabbed the quill and dipped it into the ink. She was moving slow, hoping he'd burst out laughing and tell her it was all a joke, but he never did. When the quill hit the parchment she stalled, a small blob building on the line.

"Do it," he said, more commanding than before, and she lost what small bit of bravery she'd mustered. Olive signed her name to the top line, watching the black ink shimmer to silver, ensuring the Ministry that her signature was legitimate. "And the line under it," he said.

The line under it was the one she dreaded. Olive tore her eyes from the parchment, turning to stare at him. It was the most miserable look Scabior had ever seen grace her face. "The line under it," he repeated, no compromise in his voice.

Olive turned back to the parchment and dipped her quill again. Her second signature was slower and sloppier, her hand not sure of the foreign letters. When it was complete, the signature went silver as the first had.

"We'll have to work on your penmanship," he said with a smirk, taking the quill from her hand and putting his name to the third line. Olive's signature was thin and shaky, the little jerks in her hand evident. Scabior's was large and dominant, well-practiced with sharp edges. Somehow they both fit the people they belonged to.

Once his signature went silver as the other two had, the parchment quivered, rising up off the table and folding itself into a bird. Its little wings gave a few pitiful flaps, then it was out through the tent flap, back to the Ministry to be filed.

Scabior crossed the kitchen and held open the tent, watching it flutter away. "We've been here too long," he said, eyes still trained to the sky. Olive watched him from across the kitchen, her arms crossed in a protective gesture. "I'm goin' out to scout for new campsites. Don't go any farther than the wards," he added. They were pushing their luck – they'd been in the same place since the night she killed Oliver and Greyback was still out there somewhere.

Olive watched him turn, taking in her face. A smirk pulled across his features, his eyes burning with arrogance. "I thought you'd be happier," he said in a smug tone, "Now your sons and daughters will get your last name." And then he was gone with a sharp crack.

Close to an hour later, she was still in the same spot, staring at the space he'd occupied.

He'd taken her name from her.

The entire time she'd been standing there, her mind was exploding, but that simple truth brought everything racing in her head to a halt. He'd taken her name away.

A great shudder ran through her whole body, then another. It was out of nowhere, with no warning, but she couldn't stop. The metallic taste flooded her mouth, the ringing screaming in her ears. Violent convulsions shook her, shaking all reason away. Her vision went black, but she couldn't tell if her eyes were closed or not. Then her knees hit the floor and then nothing.

The first thing she felt was thirst. The second was an aching in her right leg. Then she smelled piss. After a few moments of collecting herself, she tried to sit up off the ground and grunted as her leg protested. It was under her at a funny angle, muscles aching from being bent a way they weren't used to. Olive righted her leg and realized she was the one who smelled like piss. The evidence was stained into the pair of Scabior's trousers that she wore. She was thirsty, but there was spittle built up in the corners of her mouth, which she wiped away with the back of her hand.

'Only stress,' she told herself, forcing her body up onto her knees and then feet. The room swayed and her head pounded, but she found sure footing and drew a deep breath.

Well, that was unpleasant. Olive tried to be lighthearted about it, but deep down knew her body was beginning to break down from Scabior. She wouldn't dare tell him when he got back and have him throw yet another of her weaknesses in her face.

Olive ran a shallow bath to rid herself of the smell. While the taps were running, she flung off the soiled clothes and riffled through what clean garments they had. Not many, she found out. There were no clean trousers or socks, no pajamas. Only a handful of Scabior's shirts. Olive chose the longest and returned to the tub. It was a quick bath, only enough to rinse her skin, and then she was out and set on ridding the tent of the stench.

It made her feel more normal having something to focus on and so she gathered all their dirt-ridden clothes and bedding, then waddled down to the lake. She trekked back for the thin rope and the washboard. Normally they brought their laundry to life, letting magic to the job, but it felt nice to have something to concentrate on.

Olive set to work, sitting herself down near the edge of the lake and soaking the clothes. It was an unseasonably warm day and she let her feet drift under the water. It was still chilly, but the sort of chill she could get used to. Back and forth over the board she raked the clothes, producing suds from her wand. It was a long process, but she hummed out-of-tune and tried to whistle, though she never learned how. Washing clothes was simple and that's what Olive needed.

By early afternoon, she had the wash done. She'd strung the thin rope between two trees and hung the clothes up to dry in the warm sun. Not having something to do made her feel anxious, the metallic taste flitting once again over her tongue.

Floors. That's what she could do. Floors.

Olive retrieved the washboard and made her way back in the tent, wrinkling her nose at the stench of piss. Of course, it wouldn't seem so bad to a person with a normal sense of smell, but since she and Scabior both bore Greyback's scratches, it would be unbearable to them.

Every time her mind drifted to her signature shimmering from black to silver, Olive would give a sharp shake to her head and scrub the floor harder.

She didn't want to think about it. Sometimes Scabior wasn't so bad. The more monstrous she'd become, the more she came to realize he could be bearable at times. He'd done terrible things to her. Things she was trying to let go. Her circumstances wouldn't allow her to do anything about his past wrongs, so there was no point in dwelling on it. And sometimes his company was even enjoyable. But what he'd done that morning – what he'd forced her to do – that was beyond the regular scope of his cruelty. It had been unexpected and now had her more downtrodden than she'd ever felt before.

It was no matter. Olive gave her head another sharp shake and scrubbed at the floor a bit harder. There was nothing to be done. As the muggles say, no use crying over spilt milk. But as much as she tried to downplay the situation, she couldn't help but feel disgusted.

No. Back to scrubbing. On and on she scrubbed until all of the floors were spotless. She'd gathered the stale crackers and shriveled apple slices from the bedroom floor, where they still laid from Scabior's outburst two days before. The bits of feathers and torn fabric from what used to be her bed were dragged outside where she used them as fuel for the campfire. It was late afternoon by then and chill had slipped back over the forest. Scabior still wasn't back and she wasn't sure how she felt about that.

An aching growl clawed at her stomach and she realized she hadn't eaten all day. After riffling through what food they had, she found they didn't have much left. Looking it all over, she took the last cut of beef, the carrot, and a handful of small potatoes. Then she went to work.

The tent held only the bare necessities, but they had one dull kitchen knife and one soup ladle. Olive started with the beef first, cubing each piece, and then she sliced the carrot and halved the potatoes. Unable to control her hunger, she popped a carrot slice in her mouth before putting everything in the kettle and lugging the metal monstrosity outside. There was a time in the early weeks of Snatching when they had a holder that the kettle hung from, but it had gotten left behind at some point and now they had to put the kettle directly on the flame. Olive did this, then shot water in over the other ingredients from her wand. There were no spices in the world of Snatching and though she knew she could find herbs off the land, the sun was beginning to rest and it would be dark before long.

Still no Scabior. Olive looked around for something to do, ringing beginning in her ears. Whatever had happened to her earlier when she blacked out was not something she wanted to repeat. Instead, she busied herself with collecting the laundry before the sun went down. First she folded and put away his clothes, noting the crack that came from outside. She was putting on the sheets when she heard him walk into the bedroom. There was a pause and for a fleeting moment she hoped it was him and not Greyback. Olive could feel the presence at her back, closing the gap between them, and then her shirt was being pulled up a few inches in the back, exposing that she had nothing on underneath. She froze.

"Don't stop," Scabior said from behind her. He made no move to touch her, only admiring her backside. Olive did as she was told, finishing the sheets, then the pillow cases, and finally the covers. Never once did she turn toward him.

"You've been domestic today," he said, trying to fill her silence. "Don't really suit you."

"Someone had to do it," she said, smoothing a non-existent wrinkle in the covers. "And I had nothing else to do."

"I was mean to you this morning," he said simply.

"You've been mean to me since you broke into my house and tried to steal me."

"It sounds romantic when you say it like that."

Olive bit the inside of her cheek. "No," she said, dry tone dominant. "It sounds like they let a lunatic free and he made my life a living hell."

"Only sometimes," he replied. "I shouldn' 'ave been that mean to you this morning."

That was something new, something Olive wasn't used to. It caught her off-guard. She said nothing, a strong clash of emotions building in her chest.

"It won't be so bad," he continued. "I started to feel guilty about it as the day went on. Went into some muggle liquor store to find you some lollies and I got you somethin' else to cheer you up."

"A fifth of vodka?" she said dryly. Olive still kept her back toward him, cemented to the spot. He was trying to be kind and tolerable. It had to be a trick. A ploy of some sort. "What could you have possibly gotten a pregnant woman from a liquor shop?"

"Well, bloody turn around and look," he said.

Olive did as she was told and turned her attention to the green monstrosity he held in his hand. For a good ten seconds she just stared at it before the smile twitched its way to the corners of her mouth. With a raised hand, she tried to cover the evidence of her grin, but trying to hide it only made it worse and one muffled giggle escaped her.

"That is…ridiculous," she finally managed to say. Olive tried to pull her hand away, but was taken by another few muted giggles.

"It's an olive," he said, smiling because she was. And it was, in fact, an olive. It was a plush toy, the most horrendous green imaginable, with a little orange hat that was supposed to be the pit. That wasn't why it was so funny. Whoever manufactured these disasters had decided to sew on long, white limbs. A mouth had been embroidered on in a toothy smile and it had two oversized googly eyes glued on that were currently looking in different directions. "Do you like it?" he asked, that boyish grin back in place.

"Absolutely," she said, reaching out to grab it. Scabior let her take a step toward him before raising it high above his head.

"Are you still cross with me?" he said, holding the plush just out of her reach. Olive's smile faltered and her entire demeanor sobered. She crossed her arms and looked down at his chest.

"I wasn't cross," she said. "Just -," he voice faltered, pride refusing the word to form.

"Just what?" Scabior prodded. Olive just shook her head, chewing the inside of her lip. "Go on, tell me," he said, lowing the olive and pressing it into her arms. He closed the gap between them and put his palms to her cheeks, raising her face. Olive's eyes stayed lowered on his shirt and he regretting taking the smile off her face. "Just what, Olive?"

"Hurt," she said, brow tucking. "Confused. Like I don't even know who I am anymore."

Scabior drank in her face, eyes flitting over the small tuck in her brow and how prominent her freckles looked against her pale skin. "You're Olive," he said, reassuring her.

"Not Olive Westin," she said, lips pulling down just the slightest bit. Scabior tucked her under his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"You 'aven't been Olive Westin for a while, sweet'art."

She dug her forehead into his chest, staring down at her belly between them. "I know," she said, voice thick. Scabior pulled away and pressed his lips against her temple, then stepped back.

"Go check the stew, I need to get cleaned up," he said and then was gone. Olive nodded to the empty room and went out to the kettle. The water was brown and smelled like beef, causing her mouth to water. The stew was boiling and she stirred it enough to keep it from sticking to the bottom, but the meat wasn't entirely done yet. When she caught sight of the sky, the soup ladle was forgotten.

It was dark and clear, thousands of white pinpricks dotting the space, revealing constellations and galaxies out of her reach. It was gorgeous and the first clear night they'd seen in ages. Taken by the beauty splayed above her, Olive found a spot away from the fire and laid down on her back. She fingered the plush olive in her hands, a small grin tugging at her lips, and got lost in the twinkling show that was the sky.

A while later she had a sudden moment of awareness and could feel Scabior watching her. "Pretty, isn't it?" she said, not tearing her eyes from the sky. His feet padded against the grass and then he was sitting next to her, staring up at the same stars. He never answered and the two fell in silence, only the crackling of the fire drifting between them.

Olive could smell the soap on him, the fresh scent entwined with his own earthy musk. She tore her eyes from the glistening stars and examined him. Scabior's knees were pulled up to his chest, his long arms wrapped around his legs. In the light of the campfire, she watched his Adam's apple against his long neck, strained from looking up into the sky. Still wet hair trailed down his back, two day growth took over his chin, and dark eyes turned to stare at her over the his straight nose.

"What?" he asked. There was no annoyance in his voice, no anger. Only a mild curiosity.

"I'm no forestwife," she said sternly, so as to cover up the fact that she'd been studying him so closely. Olive tore her gaze away and looked back to the sky, glad for the darkness to cover the burning in her cheeks.

Over the past few weeks, many of the lower-born Snatchers had begun forcing mudblood girls into marriage. The girls were often shared with other men, given degrading tasks, and usually ended up dead when they proved dull and boring. They were called forestwives as a bad joke because most of them never lived long enough to make it out of the woods. "Do not ever mistake me for being that pathetic," she added for good measure.

Olive knew it was bold to say under her current circumstances, but the darkness outside acted like a shield and she felt the bravest she had in the last few days. She swallowed when he shifted toward her, but she managed to keep her face straight and eyes focused on the stars. Scabior stretched his legs out and rolled toward her, bringing his face directly above hers. Olive's entire vision was filled with his face now, his wet hair falling down and tickling her cheeks. She had no option but to meet his eyes.

It felt an eternity that they were locked in their staring contest. Scabior crept closer until she could feel each hot breath dance across her lips. Olive's heart hitched, pounding against her throat, and she lost her nerve, looking away. "I couldn't mistake you for one of them in a million years," he said.

Thump-thump.

Olive's heart beat so hard that it took her breath away and Scabior pulled away with a smirk, then leaned down and pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat. "Smells like dinner's ready," he murmured, then stood and left her before she had a chance to reply. A long whoosh of air huffed though her lips. It took a moment to collect herself, but as soon as she did, she was up and over at the kettle, the plush olive still tucked under her arm.

Scabior had gone inside and now returned with cutlery and two wooden bowls. Olive ladled out dinner and they ate standing in silence near the fire. Scabior's eyes were trained on her nearly the entire time while Olive, aware of this, stared intently at her bowl.

Once the food was gone, she felt warm and drowsy. It was a rare comfort to feel so nice. "It was good," he said and she muttered a thanks, then the two went inside and set their bowls on the counter.

"Did you find a new campsite?" she made herself ask, keeping her back toward him. The spare lantern also sat on the cabinets and she took that moment to light it. Things felt tense after their display outside and she needed space, but knew better than to take his lantern on the table.

"I did," he said. "We'll move first thing in the morning. A lot warmer there than here."

Olive gave a curt nod and then scuttled into the bedroom with the lantern, glad to have distance between them. She placed the lantern on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at the plush olive with a sigh.

Scabior, however, was not one for space. Space meant distance and absence, neither of which he liked in relation to Olive. She'd barely had five minutes to herself before he filled the entry to the bedroom, just standing there and watching her. Olive kept her eyes glued on the toy in her hands, but she felt cornered by him and her feelings. The metallic taste flooded her mouth once more. A great twitch ran through her body, then her shoulders and arms began jerking, as they had that morning. Dread filled her, not wanting him to witness whatever was wrong with her now. She tried to control it, but the exertion only made it worse and another jerk raked through her body.

Scabior took two quick steps and was next to her, laying her back on the bed. "Hey," he said quietly, taking the plush toy away from her and tossing it to the floor. Olive's vision was getting black around the edges and a new tremor shook her. "Hey," he repeated. "It's okay, you're not a forestwife."

"No, but I'm your wife. It's even worse."

The words bit through the air, sounding cruel even to her. Olive drew a deep breath, managing to keep her hands at only mild jitters. Focusing on him seemed to help. She knew she shouldn't have said something like that and braced for him to strike her, but it never came. When that became apparent, she peeked open her eyes and looked at him. Scabior was just staring at her, some strange look behind his eyes that she wasn't familiar with and didn't want to be.

"You'd rather be a forestwife," he said, eyes boring into hers. As ridiculous as it was, Olive felt a pang of regret for her words. She knew she shouldn't, not after all he'd put her through, but the regret was there. Scabior's eyes were suffocating her and so she tore her gaze away.

"It would be easier to hate you," she said, drawing another deep breath and feeling her arms relax a little more. Scabior noticed the little frown line near her mouth.

"I don't want you to hate me," he said, reaching up to brush the wild hair away from her face. There was a time when he liked it, but this Olive – the one who blushed and looked away – this was the Olive he wanted.

"I want to hate you," she said bitterly. "You've done terrible things."

"So have you," he countered, brushing his fingers through her curls. Olive sighed, her eyes sliding shut.

"I don't want to be a forestwife," she repeated. Scabior leaned down and pressed his lips to the place where her brow tucked.

"You aren't," he promised her, pulling away to look at her face. Olive's wide eyes were open now and she'd found a piece of his hair, rolling it between her fingers.

"As long as you're happy, it won't be so bad, right?" she asked, looking back up at him. Scabior found a vulnerability in her eyes that he hadn't seen before, such a vulnerability that it made the darkness in him grow and lodge a knot in his throat. Olive was tough, but she was a girl who just wanted everything to be okay. If she ever looked at anyone else like she was looking at him right then, he would kill them both. Everyone else could have the hard Olive, but he was the only one who got to have the moments of uncertainty between. Scabior never answered her. Instead he closed the distance and pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth.

The jerks and jitters had vanished, replaced by the rampant beating of her heart. When he pulled back a fraction of an inch, he still found that vulnerability reflecting in her green eyes. Something else was clouded there, too. Confusion and desire mixed into one. But, the dissection of her expression was all but forgotten when her tongue flitted across her bottom lip.

Scabior claimed her mouth again, very gently, as if she were some porcelain doll. Their eyes were still open, measuring each other, before he pulled away once more. Not far, though. When he spoke, his lips skirted across hers.

"Is this how forestwives are treated, sweet'art?" he asked, gravel in his voice. Olive averted her eyes, focusing on the lock of his hair she still had wrapped around her fingers.

"No," she admitted, brow tucking again.

"And is this worse than bein' a forestwife?" he asked, her remark obviously having cut him earlier.

"That's not what I meant, Scabior," she said, still refusing to look at him.

"You're Scabior now, too," he said, slight amusement in his tone.

"It sounds awful, doesn't it?" she said, abandoning the piece of hair for the discolored chunk she'd always favored. It was easier to talk to him when she had something else to look at. "Olive Scabior. Doesn't go together at all."

Scabior, well – Dreagan – pulled her hand away from his hair and pressed his mouth to her palm. "I think it sounds lovely," he said, then nudged the bottom of her chin to signal her to look at him.

Olive lifted her eyes back to his.

"You didn't answer my question," he prodded.

"No," she said, chewing the inside of her lip. "It's not worse than being a forestwife."

"Don't do that," he said, rubbing her bottom lip out of her teeth. "You'll drive me mad."

"You're already mad," she said, eyes never once leaving his.

"Maybe," he said, then lowered his mouth to hers once again. There was no pulling away this time. When Olive realized this, she relaxed under him and allowed her eyes to slide shut. The kiss was not chaste for long. It was only a short matter of time before his tongue darted across her bottom lip as hers had earlier. It sent a chill down her spine that she didn't dislike and she opened her mouth to allow him access.

There was always something new between them. Sometimes an expression, sometimes an emotion or drive. This was new, too. He was being gentle with her, slow and deliberate. As much as she loathed herself for enjoying it, she did enjoy it. His mouth was hot and overpowered her, making her think to herself several times that she wouldn't mind spending an eternity snogging him. And just when she thought that maybe it would go on forever, that they would just keep at it until they passed out from lack of oxygen, Scabior pulled back. He admired her flush face, his eyes roving over her swollen lips. A free hand slid up her waist to her chest, his thumb rubbing once over her nipple through the fabric.

Another sigh left Olive, who watched him with lidded eyes. She felt her nipple pucker and tighten, now aching as it rubbed against the fabric of her shirt.

Scabior watched as the thin shirt revealed her arousal, then ran a hand over the other, giving her nipple there a rub and tweak. It tightened and pressed through the material, too, much like he was experiencing in his trousers.

"We have to be up early tomorrow," he said, pulling farther away, though he had no intention of stopping. He only wanted to see where he stood at that moment with the ever-changing Olive.

"Don't," she said sharply, catching him at the elbow and pulling him toward her. A deep satisfaction settled in his chest and he couldn't help the grin that tugged at his face. It was the first time she'd ever reached out for him, the first time she ever pulled him closer. Scabior eyed her tousled hair and flushed complexion as he leaned close and captured her mouth again. He kept kissing her as he sat her up and peeled the shirt over her head, her wild hair draping over bare shoulders. As soon as the shirt was on the floor he was kissing her again, one hand tangling in her curls as they fell back into the bed.

Merlin, it felt amazing to let go of everything, to not have to think. It made her feel strong again, her tongue proving equal to his. This was the Scabior that got her in trouble – the boyish Scabior she could perfectly see charming his way under the skirts at Hogwarts with one smile. The cruel Scabior from that morning, the Scabior she'd met first, was so far out of her mind it was as if he never existed. Some part of her knew she was being stupid, just like all those silly girls at Hogwarts who all fell for charmers and cried when they gave them what they wanted and were ignored afterward. She knew this wasn't forever, or even for the rest of the day, but it was for now and that's all she needed.

Scabior's thumb found her nipple again, rubbing over it in slow and deliberate circles. The tension in her body grew and she pressed her thighs together. When he began to roll and tug at it, heat exploded between her legs and a muffled whine flooded from her mouth to his. Olive felt him grin and pull away, assessing her with his dark eyes.

Was this the part when his cruelty showed through? Was he going to laugh at her for being so stupid? The longer he stared at her, the more uncertain she felt, chewing on the inside of her lip again.

"I told you not to do that," he said, trying to rub her lip free again. Not wanting to lose his playfulness and slip into the other Scabior, she bit down on more of her lip and shot him a look, arching a brow.

Scabior's eyebrows went sky high before he let out a huff of a laugh. "Cheeky girl," he said, successfully freeing her lip and placing a small kiss there. When he pulled away, he just looked at her, drinking in every curve of her face. Olive felt embarrassed – not only at the attention, but at the softness he was displaying.

'Lies,' a voice was screaming inside her head. 'It's all a trick.'

But Scabior's fingers found their way to her hair and all reason was lost when she leaned her head into his palm.

"My stubborn, confusing wife," he said, admiring her. His thumb traced over the remnants of her black eye. Olive winced under the pressure, but didn't pull away. Instead she met his eyes.

"My psycho, controlling husband," she said. Scabior hummed in reply, busy with brushing the hair away from the other side of her face. Sudden uncertainty clawed at her, a new and unspoken question on her mind. Olive opened her mouth, thought better of it, and closed it again. Silence rested between them.

"You'd better say what you were going to say or I'll go mad wondering," he said, fingers running over her split lip. It was almost as if he was taking inventory of each mark he'd put on her. Sure enough, his fingers traced down to her Splinch wound next.

Olive debated, forgot to breathe, then gave a small huff and shook her head. All she wanted was to get lost in the distraction of Scabior's fingers.

"You should tell me when somethin' is on your mind," he said, brow tucking. And Merlin, she knew better, she really did, but her cheeks reddened at the warmth in his tone.

"Did you only do it to be cruel?" she asked, words spilling before she could stop herself a second time. Olive froze under his hand, afraid she'd ruined the moment and now he'd lash out. But part of her was relieved to have it out in the open. She needed to know where she stood in this marriage, not only for her own morbid curiosity, but for the safety of her and her child. That morning she was sure it was pure cruelty, but now…now he was acting like this. And it confused her. Olive just needed to know, then she could act accordingly.

Scabior grew still and the lack of movement made her tighten up, awaiting the impact of either fist or venomous words.

"Olive, look at me."

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment to prepare, then clenched her fists and made eye contact with him. It was…not what she expected. Scabior's expression was soft, the chocolate color of his eyes catching the lantern light in a way she'd never seen before. It made her heart pound and heat raise to her face.

"I want you all to myself," he said. For a moment he was quiet, then continued, "We're the best at our job and a lot of the other Snatchers hate us for it. What's to stop them from takin' you?"

Scabior let those words settle over her before going on.

"It's not goin' to stop them from takin' you away," he said. "Or keep them from treatin' you like a forestwife. But, no one else is goin' to have more rights to you than I do. If you had some other scum Snatcher's last name, I'd end up back in Azkaban." The intensity of his words had her holding breath, heart hammering hard in her throat. "If someone took you again, I -," he paused, dipping his head into the curve of her neck where she couldn't see his expression. When he laughed, the sound was dark and hollow, a huff of hot air running over her neck. It sounded crazed. "- would slaughter every person in my way until I found you."

They were both still, Scabior still at the nape of her neck and Olive frozen. When she swallowed, the sound seemed amplified against the silence.

"Thank you," she said.

Scabior's head shot up, a mixture of both hope and uncertainty on his face. It was the first time she'd seen him wear such an expression and it nearly shattered her to a million pieces.

"I would be humiliated if I went through all this with you only to have some stranger take my name away," she said. "You're the only one allowed to take anything from me."

Olive felt like she owed him that much after his confession. And it wasn't a lie. At least the two of them had built up some amount of fucked up rapport with each other. It would be embarrassing and weak to have someone else swoop in at this point, someone she'd probably never even met let alone gone head-to-head with. No, if she was going to have anything taken from her, it was going to be from someone who worked for it.

At her words, his eyes grew dark again and for some reason she felt nervous, like maybe having sex with him now meant something more. When she realized they would be consummating their marriage, her stomach nearly flipped right out of her body.

"Olive," he said in a low voice, predatory gleam in his eye. "Your lip. You're biting it again."

She hadn't even realized. But, aching to put the serious moment behind them and return to their earlier playful banter, she once again secured her lip between her teeth. Scabior's dark look only grew, as did the smirk on his face.

"I'll make you let go of that lip," he said, smug tone powering over his words. Olive scoffed the best she could and arched an eyebrow, keeping her lip in place. The heat between her thighs had not quite dulled from before and now grew at his words. "Put your hands under your back," he said, tone slipping from playful to commanding. It was too near the cruel Scabior for her to risk giving him a hard time and so she slid her hands under the small of her back, securing them with her own weight.

"I'll be disappointed if you move your hands," he added. Olive kept her bottom lip tucked between her teeth and nodded, blush creeping over her face.

The pain surprised her, but she managed to keep her lip secure despite the muffled whine she gave. Scabior squeezed her nipple tight, rolling it slowly between his thumb and forefinger. When that didn't get her to fold, he began doing the same to the other. While Olive didn't give in, the higher pitched squeak she let escape gave him the resolve to continue. He freed one of his hands and took her nipple in his mouth, biting and nipping while his other hand continued its assault.

Olive chewed on her lip, trying to regain control of herself and failing miserably. When he bit down on her and pulled his face away to meet her eyes, pulling her nipple taut between his teeth, she thought she might explode on the spot. A strangled sounding moan fled her throat and he smirked before returning to the work at hand. She had a sudden feeling of helplessness when she couldn't reach out for his hair, wanting to just touch him, to be involved in this act.

Scabior's free hand slid down the bump of her stomach and found the place between her thighs. What he found there made him release his mouth and give her a smug look. "You're already wet," he said, his eyes holding her captive. "And I haven't even put a mark on you yet."

Yet.

Tense anticipation coiled deep inside her. Words that would have once angered or frightened her now fanned the heat pooling between her legs.

"Told you that you 'aven't been Olive Westin in a long time," he said, giving her a triumphant smirk before lowering his mouth to her nipple once more. The familiar feeling of defeat began to wash over her, but he slid his fingers inside her and all else was quickly forgotten.

For several minutes, all that was to be heard was Olive's labored panting and occasional whine. The aching inside her was growing too large to handle. Each stroke of his fingers or nip of his teeth made the coil of tension within her tighten. Though it was beginning to become unbearable, Olive kept her lip tucked tight, not giving in.

"Stubborn little kitten," he said, finally pulling away. Though it didn't seem possible, the tension inside only grew when he removed his fingers.

Now it was a matter of pride. Only one thing was going to make the longing go away and she didn't want to ask for it.

Scabior watched her face carefully, grinning at the disappointment evident now that she wasn't being touched. He sat back on his knees and pulled his shirt over his head, then drank in the sight before him. Olive was flushed all over and breathless, lip tucked away in her stubborn display, still laying on her hands.

Wickedness gleamed in his eyes as he moved himself between her legs, pressing his lips to the inside of her knee. Scabior's teeth nipped the soft skin and he trailed his lips a few inches closer to her core. Olive froze then, realizing what he was doing, and tried to close her legs. Scabior had anticipated the move and caught them, keeping them pried open the best he could.

"Would it embarrass you?" he asked, then pulled his mouth away from the inside of her thigh to get a look at her face. Olive's eyes were wide in alert, her cheeks more red than before. She met his eyes for a fraction of a second before looking away and giving a small nod. Scabior smirked and bent to nip at some skin a few inches closer, causing Olive to tense again. "I like embarrassing you," he said, looking back up to her once more. "But you're the one holding your own arms back from pushing me away."

The smirk on his face made her feel small and weak. Scabior was right, after all. She could easily pull her hands out from under her and push him away. But, he'd said he would be disappointed if she moved her arms. And she didn't want that, did she? If he was disappointed, then the other Scabior would come out. The other Scabior wasn't a happy Scabior.

"You're not moving your hands," he noted, arrogance crossing his features. Olive shook her head and he grinned – that boyish grin that made her ears fill with the sound of her own heart. "Smart girl."

Olive's chest flooded with pride. She could do this – she could pass any test her threw her way. Scabior seemed to read her mind and rose to the opportunity. With that charming grin in place, he pushed her legs far apart until they dug into the mattress and her muscles began to ache and cramp.

"Hold them there," he ordered, then pulled away. Without the pressure of his hands, it was hard to keep her legs in place, but she managed to do it. The struggle read on her face like a book. Scabior admired the tuck in her brow and pained eyes. "This is fun," he said darkly, removing himself from between her legs and taking a seat at her side. "The only thing that would put me in a better mood is if you'd stop chewin' your lip off." Olive studied him for a moment, uncertainty etched in her eyes. "C'mon, sweet'art, you don't want me to get cross, do you? Do it for me."

Olive let her lip slide free, despite the deflated feeling it gave her. As soon as her lip was in the clear, she clenched her teeth, trying to steady her now trembling legs. Even though biting her lip did absolutely nothing to cover her up, she suddenly felt naked, exposed, and vulnerable. "Good girl," he muttered, leaning down to press his lips against hers before making his way back between her legs. His words sent that shudder down her spine, sating her for giving in to him.

"Will you trust me?" he asked, giving her that smile. Merlin's fucking beard, that smile. Any other day she would have laughed at his question, but she'd follow him off a cliff if he kept smiling at her like that. It was nearly trancelike when she nodded in agreement.

Scabior's smile grew to the point where it bordered on malicious, eyes greedy and possessive, before leaning down to capture her sex with his mouth.

Olive gasped at the warm, foreign sensation. When his tongue began to lap back and forth, her legs started to tremble so bad that Scabior pulled away and sternly reminded her to hold the position he'd left her in.

It was heaven when his mouth returned. Olive had never before experienced the feeling of melting, but she was sure this was the closest she'd ever come. It was like her whole body was liquid, sinking farther and heavier into the bed as her body relaxed. Even her legs grew comfortable and stopped aching, growing heavy enough to stay in place without the effort. Olive's head rolled back, each lap of his tongue causing a new moan to vibrate along her throat. When he began sucking on her most sensitive spot, her moans grew loud and labored.

"Scabior, please," she begged, stopping only to whine out again. Scabior stalled, pausing to kiss the inside of her thigh.

"What kind of wife calls her husband by 'is last name?" he asked, teasing and sucking the sensitive flesh.

"Dreagan," she said, breathless and demanding.

He tore himself away from her thighs and towered over her, satisfaction etched on his face.

"What?" he asked. He put his hands on either side of her swollen stomach and looked every bit of a wild animal prepared to pounce. He kept climbing forward on top of her, finally coming face-to-face, his stomach resting on the swell of hers.

Olive's chest was heaving, reaching up and pressing against his with each breath. "I need you," she said, feeling both safe and suffocated with his face hovering so close to hers.

In the light of the lantern, she saw his face change at her words. For a split second there was something there – she couldn't quite put a finger on it – but then it was masked with something hard and unyielding. He crawled back the way he came and stood at the end of the bed, unbuttoning his trousers while he basked in the image of Olive. Her hands were still pinned under her, her legs spread open in the most graphic fashion.

"Say it again," he demanded, kneeling onto the bed and guiding his cock into her. Olive moaned out at the slow intrusion, all reason gone. There was nothing else in the world besides him.

"I need you," she said, words spilling from her mouth, turning into a whine as he pumped into her again.

"Look at me," he said and she obliged, watching him watch her. Each time he drew back and thrust into her, Olive fought the urge to dig her head into the bed and close her eyes. It was torture looking at him, but it was what he wanted. And right then she would give him whatever he wanted to make him keep going.

Dreagan began to lose his collected mask, his breathing growing ragged, his eyes wild. "You look fuckin' beautiful like this," he said between thrusts, caught up in a mixture of lust, triumph, and pride in Olive for still holding the position. When her lips curled up at the corners, it made her all the more beautiful.

"You look fucking crazy," she said, then cried out when he slammed into a sweet spot. He smiled at her words and the image stunned her, sending her into such a daze that she held her breath and then gasped for air when it passed.

"Don't ever look at someone else like that," he said, hitting the sweet spot again and nearly sending her into delirium.

"I won't," she whined, but that wasn't enough for him.

"Promise me," he demanded, each thrust growing in intensity.

"I promise," she cried, moaning out when he slammed into the spot again. "Only you."

That was all the fuel he needed. Within the minute he had her screaming, then trembling in the aftershock while he finished inside her. She'd screamed out with no reservations – screamed out for him. Screamed out for Dreagan.

For a few minutes they both lay still, stunned and exhausted. Olive began to feel embarrassed of the things she'd said, but Dreagan crawled up next to her, took her mouth with his, and all else was forgotten. She remembered snogging for what felt like hours and then dozing off with her head tucked close to his chest, his arms holding her tight against him.

When she woke, he was gone. Olive knew before she even opened her eyes that something was wrong.