(A/N - Oh dear lord! I'm sorry for the wait on this chapter, but you know how life happens, and motivation seems to take a back seat to it. Anyways thank you all for reading as always I love and cherish each and ever review: MetallicHiss - Sexy - Jess thank you both for leaving your wonderful support through your reviews)
Chapter 5
"He who despairs over an event is a coward, but he who holds hope for the human condition is a fool." – Albert Camus
Hope is a belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one's life. Hope implies a certain amount of perseverance, for example – believing that a positive outcome is possible even when there is some evidence to the contrary. Beyond the basic definition, usage of the term hope follows some basic patterns that distinguish its usage.
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Hermione looked down at the book in her hands not really seeing the words of black against white, and wondered for the hundredth time that day how it had wound up in her possession. It was odd really - she had left her room that morning on the now ritual walk through the bustling village, and returned to find the brown leather bound book copy of "Oedipus Rex," lying on the folded sheets of her worn bed.
It struck her as odd, and nagging in her mind how things like this kept on being so in her presence. Then her mind got to really categorizing the recurring strange events since arriving. First there was the fact that she hadn't been killed right away, but that she understood, and had figured out quickly (because Fenrir was a creature of sadism, and would undoubtedly love the thrill of the case and hunt when he was well enough to do it) Then there was the reality that she had been given a place to stay, however temporary, away from the elements, in a structure well equipped for any body to survive on. Then lastly which tied into the reasoning of her first found fact that she was being given the chance to heal.
There were the meals she was given twice a day, the clothes and hot water for her bath, and the small amount of freedom to walk around as she pleased. None of this at all was like a prisoner of war would be expected to receive. Now someone had given her something of material value, and at first she had thought it had been from Benoit, but knew for a fact that he had gone with his 'father' to hunt for the day. They had left before dawn and wouldn't return until sometime after nightfall. So, the book was odd, and left her feeling strangely on guard.
She had, had the feeling of someone watching her for days now, so whoever this was, was probably doing this to watch her reaction to it all, and more then likely hoping for some sort of breakdown on her part. Or perhaps she was reading too much into it…or maybe not. Hermione couldn't be for certain anymore. There was definitely no signs of her friends coming for her, but that did not bother her like she thought it would, sure there was that wayward pain that settled right behind her heart, but it was easily shoved aside.
This place, this small haven for the outcast, was probably so obscure, and out of the way that no one would think to look for where it actual was. Hermione supposed that some sort of disillusion charm much like most magical structures were, so it appeared unsavory to the average muggle observer, shielded it. But she figured by the quietness of her surrounding that muggles were the lowest priority of thing on these people's minds.
And the thought of magic just brought about a whole slew of unanswerable questions accompanied with only unfound able theories. Although her open aired prison was quaint, and at first glance didn't look threatening, there was the crackle and tinge of magic in the air. Hermione knew that she must have been extremely foolish or just hard set on ignoring the obvious facts around her. It could possibly be both, she supposed, and she wasn't used to deluding herself so all these things were of equal possibility.
True she hadn't openly seen anyone here handle a wand, and it only made her wonder where her own was. It was a strong likelihood that Fenrir had it snapped in two, but she rather thought he would tease and taunt her mercilessly if that were the case. Either way she didn't have it so her source of accessing her magic was not, literally, at hand. This was the most thinking that Hermione had done in the past fortnight and she found that it made her head ache terribly. Stirring from her internal pondering Hermione deftly plucked the wrap she had taken to wearing, from the end of the bed and made her way to the door. A nice stroll would do her good.
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Fenrir only wished the full moon would hurry up and come around, because as each and every day that passed the presence of that insufferable woman in his home made him think strange things and do all sorts of illogical stuff. These past seven days he had been watching the petite brunette and the way she seemed to drift almost thoughtlessly in and out of things here burned him to no end. He knew of Hermione Granger from when the war raged, and knew that she had been an intelligent creature. Well it wasn't that she any less smart now but Fenrir could see the lack of disinterest shining dully through her eyes. Even though he would enjoy nothing more then ripping her to shreds as soon as the next transformation came around, he didn't want his meal just waiting for him.
What fun would that be?
Oh, he knew she wished for a swift death, and there to be no delaying the inevitable, but Fenrir just couldn't let that happen. He had a notorious reputation to keep up – one that he would enjoy upholding to the fullest. But if the food was plain, then what was the point in preparation? The thought sent a sadistic little spur of amusement through him and he grinned. Fenrir let his train of thought stay on that particular set path and continued to smile, garnering uneasy looks from those he passed.
Not really caring for where his feet took him he steadily walked the familiar path of the place he had built with his own hands, knowing each and every dip and snag in the dirt roads that snaked through the structurs. Suddenly the sound of rustling grass, and the smell of another person brought his attention back to reality with a almost violent snap. His dark yellow eyes quickly found the intruder and they narrowed in suspicion.
The sound of slowly trickling water, and birds calling from the protection of the trees around joined his sences as well, but his eyes were trained on nothing more then the bain of his existense. Hermione Granger, crouched at the knees while she stretched out her good hand to the bubbling water in front of her. She had her slim back to him and apparently didn't notice him or was ignoring him.
Fenrir oddly enough didn't move as he studied her with a blank face, increasingly curious as to what she was doing, and what she was going to do, or even why she was here. He watched as her outstreatced hand hung lightly over the water before her fingers plunged slowly into the clear water. The action of her movement caused the light shaw to drop from her thin shoulder and slip down her arm, presenting the sight of the raw wound there. Fenrir's attention was captivated at the sight of the jagged line that ran its way from the top of her shoulder to slightly up her neck, and down where he couldn't see but knew it ended at her chest. His hands had made sure it would be a painful thing and not easily forgotten. His fingers twitched slightly at the remembrance of how his long nails had sliced open that delicate skin, almost like paper.
The skin around the puffy injury was swollen and red making it all the much more glaringly obvious against the staunch, stark color of her pale skin. Fenrir's curiosity peeked when she brought her hand from the water and slowly pressed it against the redness. No doubt that the wound was fevered and hot with pain and the cool, crisp water eased that somewhat.
As her hand moved from her chest to her throat, Fenrir's mouth watered as he watched small droplets of water run their mindless courses across the open expansion of her skin, leaving small raised bumps in their wake from their coldness. His resolve broke and he found himself directly behind her within a couple of long strides. Still the woman did not look up and he knew she didn't know he was there. His grip seized her small arms and she gasped in shock, and her body stiffened instantly.
From his position kneeled slightly behind her he could see the myriad of emotions that she hadn't been able to stamp down pass through her eyes: shock, confusion and above all a smidgen of fear.
'Now thats what i'm talking about' Fenrir thought to himself with a small grin. Oh but how he dearly wanted more then just a small piece of fear planted within this woman, he wanted her consumed with it until she couldn't think straight. He wanted her so completely drowned in it until she thought she would die from the shear suppressing weight of it all.
The raging need of that emotion he so desperately wanted to plant there in her made him take a deep ragged breath in and slowly exhale it against the mark he so kindly bestowed on her. Watching as a small shudder racked her body he couldn't stop the small tingling thrill that ran down his spine causing a low animalistic growl to rumble up from his throat and across her vulnerable neck.
His eyes had shifted from it half view of her face to the still red wound, and without giving it much thought he opened his mouth and ran his tongue along it, tasting the familiar tangy sweetness of blood that had yet to clot at the surface. Fenrir was enjoying himself greatly with the taste of her skin and metallic twinge as it mixed together on his tongue. What he wasn't ready for was the small whimper that past the woman's lips or the sudden limpness of her body against his.
It was the sudden submission from the small woman that threw him off as he continued to lave the mark slowly and growl against her skin. His right hand quickly found its way up her arm and his fingers found their place around her delicate neck. And with a swift motion that could only seen as feline she was on her back with Fenrir hovering above her, one hand fisted into the grass beside her head and the other still snuggly around the slim column.
Fenrir could feel his knees getting thoroughly soaked from the moisture of the ground, but he ignored it all as he sized up his prey. Her long curly brown hair was splayed haphazardly around her face and across his fingers, and even though she looked at him blankly and with out much interest, Fenrir saw the way her chest heaved slightly and heard the short wispy breaths she panted out or the way she uncomfortably shifted her legs. Even though it was cool out, the bright sun was warm enough to allow the comforts of short-sleeved attire, seeing as how winter was giving way to spring. And as such Hermione wore a thin strapped top that bunched slightly, showing a mere couple of inches of her stomach. The earthy colored ankle length skirt she had worn was now gathered dangerously above her knees, flashing just enough thigh to elicit another growl from Fenrir.
"Your were the one..."
Her voice was so soft and airy that Fenrir almost missed it and it caused him to snap out of his inspection immediately. He snarled once he registered her words, flashing his canines at her in amusement.
"I was the one to what, woman?"
"The one that gave me the book."
His amused grin spread when she asked why. "I don't know if you know what kind of...man...I am," he stressed the word loosely. "But you'll find I do in fact like toying with my food first, and one thing that us werewolves like more then anything is to have a lively dinner...so to say."
He was pleased to see the preverbal wheels turn in her head, right behind those honey colored eyes of hers, and his grin turned into a smirk as he watched realization dawn on her face in the form of a small frown.
'That's it...give me something other then that unwavering resolve as you wait for your end to near,' he thought to himself knowing that she had probably wondered about the when, why and what of everything happening around her. He thought now would be a good time to unload a piece of information he had been keeping out on.
Slowly he leaned down his smirking lips ghosted dangerously close to her own. "Would you like to know something good, woman?"
He almost chuckled as her eyes widened a fraction, but made no other motion.
"It seems your friends are foolish enough to come for you, and it seems they are making increasingly good progress in finding you even with the trail on you as old as it is."
Fenrir's tongue flicked out slowly and traced to exposed fangs hanging forebodingly down, "It also seems that they'll have the pleasure in seeing you torn to bits. Perhaps your friends will be a fair sport as well."
He had the satisfaction of seeing her pretty little features harden; her brow burrowing furiously at that statement and this time he couldn't help the chuckle that came through his mouth.
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A/N - once again thanks for reading, and I am so terribly sorry for the stupid spelling mistakes before I updated. Gah – I did a spell and grammar check and I wanted to bludgeon myself with something anyways sorry about that:D hope ya'll come back now, ya hear?
