The Alpha's glare was a frightening thing, and Scabior was relieved not to be its recipient. He could almost taste the effort it took Fenrir not to bash the girl's head in. What was she even doing here? There had never been a female in Asgard before, not since they'd taken residence in the abandoned prison seven years ago. And how dared she act as she did, let alone address the Alpha so rudely?

Fenrir must have sniffed out his anxiety and confusion, because he suddenly shifted his attention to Scabior and briefly explained what was going on. Their surprise guest would be staying with them indefinitely, he said. Scabior was to find her a room, as far away from anyone as possible, and make sure that the pack knew not to approach her, not until he'd determined what to do with her. If anyone touched a hair out of her, Fenrir added, he would see them dead and hold Scabior responsible. After that last remark, the Alpha walked away without another word to the female, who was frowning at them both in turn, arms crossed over her chest. She probably didn't speak Polish.

When he was certain that Fenrir was out of sight, Scabior raised his head to gaze at the girl. She gave him an appraising look in return. She was very young, barely more than a cub, and quite short. What truly mesmerised Scabior, however, was her scent.

It was different than that of anyone he'd ever met. Every person – every human being – had their own, unique scent, and those who were more – or less – than human had something extra, like the vampires, for example, who reeked of decaying flesh, even though they didn't actually rot, of course, not until the day of their death. Scabior could recognise most creatures by their scent, but this was nothing he'd ever encountered. It was not unpleasant, far from it; it was sweet, almost disturbingly so, like…like candy, or sugary liquor. What the hell was she?

Scabior considered asking her, but he was thrown off by her steady, accusatory glare. Well, it was hardly his fault that she was here. The Alpha had provided no name for her but, thankfully, he'd said nothing about making conversation, so Scabior simply cocked his head toward the other end of the dining hall and indicated that the girl should follow.

The other men present gave her uncertain glances and scowls and Scabior heard several of them mutter to themselves that females had no place here. He couldn't agree more, if truth be told. There were over three hundred werewolves who lived here permanently and about forty more who came and went as they pleased – the few who had families. The families, however, were not allowed on the grounds.

"Can you speak now?" the girl asked as they made their way to the east wing, where they accommodated the wolves who visited only occasionally. It was almost empty at the moment. Scabior made no reply. "I see," she muttered. "Is that what he told you, earlier? To give me the silent treatment?" She sniffed disdainfully. "What is this place, anyway? I mean, it's a prison, obviously, but what are you doing here?"

Is she going to talk the whole way? Scabior thought dismally. He'd known her for barely five minutes, but he was already getting a headache.

"Are you mute?" she asked after a moment. Hopefully, she would take his silence as an affirmation.

If she did, however, it didn't stop her from chattering. "I don't know how you can work for him. Do you have any idea what kind of…beast he is?" The hesitation had been clear. She didn't consider Fenrir as a person. They were all the same, weren't they? Werewolves weren't human, to them. They were inferior beings, rabid dogs that ought to be put down. The Alpha never failed to remind them of this simple fact. Werewolves had no rights, none at all. That was what they were doing here. They were trying to change that. And if it took an alliance with the Dark Lord to accomplish it, so be it. Scabior didn't bother to reply. Biased as the girl evidently was, she wouldn't understand. She would never see that she was the one who had been brainwashed.

They arrived in the wing where the guest rooms were. Scabior carefully elected the one farther down the hall, as far away from the others as possible, but her mere presence – her scent, really – had already caused a few wolves to awaken. The girl gave them wary glances and Scabior felt her step a little closer to him. What in the blazes made her think that she was any safer near him than anywhere near the other, inferior werewolves? He was Fenrir's second, for crying out loud!

With a resigned sigh, Scabior ignored her and everyone else as they approached the cell he'd selected for her. The door was open, of course – they could be closed, as they used to be back when the place still housed Muggle prisoners, but they rarely used the old mechanism anymore. Thankfully, it was still functional.

There was a colourful drape masking the inside of the former cell, to give the guests some privacy. Scabior gestured for the girl to get in, but she simply stood there, her posture rigid, gazing up at him stonily.

"What now?" Scabior mumbled eventually. He'd already decided that, whoever she was, whatever the reason for her presence, the girl was going to be a serious pain in his arse.

"I want you to tell that murdering bastard that, no matter how long it takes, I will find a way to reverse the bloody curse," she said. Her eyes were blazing with intensity.

Scabior scoffed disdainfully. Curse? Why did they always call it that? Being a werewolf wasn't a curse, it was a blessing. The girl turned away without another word, apparently confident that Scabior would deliver her message to the Alpha.

Well, he certainly wasn't going to. He rather enjoyed being alive.

Scabior was accosted several times as he made his way back to the dining hall, but Fenrir hadn't given him any substantial information about the girl, so he could only grunt in reply and warn everyone to stay away from her. The Alpha must have had a good reason to bring her here, he assured them. He also quietly reminded them not to question Fenrir openly, if they wanted to live.

More wolves were beginning to emerge as Scabior entered the dining hall; dawn had come, and breakfast would be ready soon. Word was spreading fast, and Scabior suspected that the female's lingering scent had the men even more puzzled.

He would eat later. He needed to know exactly what was expected of him regarding their…guest. He paused only to growl at a few lesser wolves who tried to pester him with questions, and they scattered like sheep.

He reached Fenrir's office a minute later and waited to be admitted in. He didn't need to knock, of course; the Alpha would have heard him approach and recognised him by his scent. "Come in," Fenrir called out a moment later. Scabior stepped inside and remained standing. He kept his eyes on the polished desk. "She settled in?" Fenrir asked. He smelled…annoyed, irritated.

"Aye. She's in the east wing," Scabior replied softly. It wouldn't do to aggravate Fenrir's already foul mood.

The Alpha nodded. "Good. Don't worry, I'll make an announcement." He paused, and his scent shifted. Determination, focus. That was more like it. "She's not a regular witch, as you might've picked up," he went on.

Scabior let out a noncommittal grunt. As far as he could tell, she was a bloody alien.

"I have no idea what she is," Fenrir admitted. "I don't suppose you've recognised her scent as anything you know?"

Scabior frowned at the desk. "It's like…candy floss, or maybe cherry nalewka, or a mix of both. I've never–"

"What are you talking about?" Fenrir barked at him. "She smells like fresh, raw meat, not candy floss."

Scabior felt a sudden rush of confusion and worry. Meat? That was not at all what he'd gotten from the female. He had to tread very carefully. The Alpha was clearly angry now, and it seemed directed at Scabior. "I… Fenrir, I don't know what to tell you. I swear that's what she smelled like. To me," he added after a brief hesitation.

The Alpha was silent for a long time. "Go fetch Gene," he commanded eventually.

Scabior stood up smoothly and hurried toward the entrance, where Eugene was to stand guard for another hour, and led the wolf to Fenrir's office. "Gene, that girl I brought in earlier," the Alpha said, "can you describe her scent to me?"

Eugene was obviously uncomfortable at being interrogated by Fenrir. He was one of the lesser wolves, situated somewhere near the very bottom of pack hierarchy. "Whisky?" Gene replied uncertainly. "Aye, she smelled like Lagavulin, boss," he went on more firmly. "30 years old."

How could they possibly not agree on what she smelled like?

"Has either of you ever been in contact with Amortentia?" Fenrir asked after a moment.

"Don't know what that is, boss," Gene replied. He wasn't a wizard, so the answer was expected.

"The love potion?" Scabior said with a frown.

"Ja, the love potion. I've never encountered it, personally, but it's said to smell different to everyone," Fenrir said.

Scabior shifted uncomfortably. "That's… That would be… Do you think the girl changes her scent on purpose, to mess with us?"

"I wouldn't put it past her," Fenrir muttered. "But I don't think so. Most likely, she's not even aware of it."

"Fenrir… Who is she?" Scabior finally forced himself to ask the question that had been torturing him for half an hour.

He sensed…hesitation from the Alpha. That was unusual, to say the least. "Thank you, Gene. You can go back to your post," Fenrir told the other wolf. Eugene didn't need to be told twice.

"I bit her," Fenrir said when Gene was out of earshot. Scabior opened his eyes wide at the desk. "Yeah, I know. But I did, and she's here, alive and hale. That's not even the worst part," Fenrir went on. "We're…linked, somehow. Remember those bloody puncture marks?" Scabior nodded without raising his head. That had been a puzzle. Fenrir, believing that a vampire had somehow infiltrated Asgard, had turned the place upside down looking for the bloodsucker – without alerting the rest of the pack, of course. "Well, it was her. She got bitten. We mirror each other's wounds, for some reason, and she heals just as quickly as I do."

Oh. That was likely what the girl had meant by 'curse'. Now Scabior could better understand her revulsion, if only because he sensed Fenrir's. "And, last but not least," the Alpha said, the distaste clear in his voice, "she can turn invisible. Like the fucking Swindler or those other two, whatever their stupid nicknames are…"

Scabior was the only member of the pack who knew who Fenrir was – who he really was. Because of that, he was also aware of the existence of those so-called Ancients – vampires who fancied themselves gods, or the next thing to it. But the female… What did that make her? She wasn't a vampire, and she couldn't possibly be a werewolf. The very idea was ludicrous. Scabior told Fenrir as much.

"I have no clue what she is, but I intend to find out. What I do know is that she will be staying here, under constant watch, until we figure it out. No matter how long it takes," the Alpha said resignedly.