*.*.*.*.*.*

DAY FIVE

*.*.*.*.*.*

Over the next day, they did little more than fuck like mad, stopping only to eat, bathe, and drink. Hermione flat out refused to eat the Merwoman, despite the fact her mate had skinned it and cut it into unrecognizable chunks with his claws, and that it appeared somehow cooked. It looked no different from Pollock, but she knew better. Sushi it was not, and even then, she wouldn't touch the stuff.

After another rather athletic session, Hermione lay slumped over Malfoy, who had finally allowed her the chance to take the dominant role and ride atop him, rather than under him. He'd actually rather enjoyed it, from what she could tell, but really it had mostly been for her pleasure. As it always took a while for the swelling in Draco's length to go down, he spent that time licking her, nuzzling her, and sniffing her. When he could finally pull free, he was quick about it, but was tender as he rolled her onto her back and dropped his muzzle to the spot and licked over her swollen lower lips, as if attempting to ease any hurt he might have caused. Sated and wilted, Hermione lay unmoving and without protest as he bathed her genitals.

"I love the way you taste."

She sighed, physically content, but mentally concerned. "Draco, please just tell me what you want with me," she requested, resigned to the fact that now she shared the telepathic ability to speak to another wolf with her thoughts. "Why bite me, really? Why save my life?"

Malfoy finished his attentions and crawled back up her body, gathering her into his arms. He was so touchy, grabby even, as if he were making up for lost time without human contact. She wondered when the last time was he'd actually 'talked' to anyone.

"I'm going out to hunt in a bit," he replied, dodging her question. "I want you to stay in the caves. It's not safe outside while you're fully human."

That Draco had refused to answer that same question three times now over the past day had made Hermione more desperate than ever to escape him.

The wolf within her rebelled at the idea, but the fact of the matter was, she was still technically a captive, and this was just another game that she'd been unwilling forced to play. Malfoy was toying with her as much as the Death Eaters in Azkaban had, only he was enslaving her spirit, not just her body. Yes, his touch was affectionate, but he didn't love her and she didn't love him. They'd barely known each other during their school days, and despite the amazing sexual ride she'd been on for days, he was nevertheless a virtual stranger to her.

One thing was for certain: he wasn't helping her out of some noble desire or with unselfish intention. He'd made her into a monster to save her life, he'd claimed, but she knew better; his mind was still very much as it had been before he'd been turned—cunning, sly, selfish, with an edge of cruelty to it. Her guess as to why he'd turned her, rather than killed and ate her, was that he'd been lonely and wanted companionship. He'd probably been waiting for any female to show up, so he could mate her.

Realistically, he'd probably been tracking her from the moment she'd landed in the forest, biding his time and contemplating what to do with her. When the Bugbear had attacked and she'd been so badly injured, he'd recognised his opportunity. Now, he was trying to keep her in his den, mating her in the hopes she'd conceive. She could sense his intentions peripherally in her mind. He was careful and controlled enough to keep them mostly hidden, but there was an edge of excitement and anticipation to him each time he'd knotted her, as if he was hoping for them to create new life.

He'd said he wanted her to 'save' him, and now she understood how: by helping him create a real pack.

Which meant, he had no intention of ever letting her leave the forest.

Was she pregnant even now? If so, what could she do? Would the children come out deformed half-breeds? Hagrid had claimed in his Magical Creatures class that the wolves that had once inhabited this forest had been the pups of Werewolves that had bred under the full moon. They'd been birthed as regular wolves, but with human-like intelligence. Would her pups be the same if she had conceived, or would they look human, like Remus Lupin's son had been rumoured to have turned out?

Malfoy growled and gently nipped her earlobe. "You're thinking too much. Your jumbled thoughts are making my head ache. Just stop. Relax." He extricated her from his arms and stood up to his full height, his wolfish head nearly brushing the cave's low ceiling. "Stay in the den. Don't go near the entrance. Predators roam around at all hours here, not just at night anymore. I'll be back."

Hermione watched him go, careful to shield her thoughts, remembering her brief Occlumens lessons before her capture years ago. When he was finally out of sight, and she sensed away from the cave, she took a dip in the hot springs to ease her achy body, and planned out her escape.

*.*.*.*.*.*

DAY SIX

*.*.*.*.*.*

Hermione figured it had been six days since she'd been dropped from Rosier's broom, using the day of her transition as a focal point for counting backwards and forwards.

She'd slept most of the first afternoon and evening after being unceremoniously dumped into the forest, and had been bitten somewhere in early morning hours of the next day, probably close to the midnight hour, she'd guess. It had taken three days for the change to happen after being bitten, Malfoy had said, and it had been two since then according to him. That meant that two dawns from now, she had to be at Hagrid's cottage or she'd be forced to find a way out of the Scottish wilderness by herself –on foot, barely clothed, without a wand, and in the middle of winter, most likely with her Werewolf mate chasing after her to bring her back. Not good odds for her survival, even with the items in the bag to help sustain her and without a weapon.

The question was in which direction should she strike out once she made her move? Hagrid's hut and where the castle stood, she knew, was to the west of the forest. If she chose the wrong way, she could end up missing the rendezvous point, or stumbling deeper into the forest, right into the lair of the spiders.

She remembered reading once that one could find north by seeking out Ursa Major in the night sky and looking for Polaris, the North Star, directly above and to the right of The Plough's edge. The problem was the forest's canopy was so thick, even in winter. She'd have to find a hole through it or climb a tree to the top, if possible, to see the sky. That would slow her down – and give Malfoy ample chance to catch up.

She'd have to risk it. There were no other options.

When Malfoy returned hours later, he carried home one dead Murtlap the size of his torso. He explained he'd caught it chasing some crawfish into that same small pool where he'd caught the Mermaid. The crawfish had gotten away under the barrier, but the Murtlap hadn't made it, caged in by the invisible force field.

Hermione made a face at the smell. "Phew. Disgusting!"

Malfoy stared at her in irritation and then turned on his heel and walked right back out again.

"It's only the raw fish thing. If it was cooked, it would be edible! Can't we build a fire?" she shouted at his retreating back.

He didn't reply, leaving her to stew with a growling stomach.

He returned an hour later... with cooked Murlap, on the half-shell and sliced. Hermione was astonished, and impressed. "How did you-?"

"There's a cave further down with hotter water than this. I boiled it on a stick."

An odd catch in her chest made Hermione's throat clog. He'd gone through the trouble of stripping the edible meat from the rest (and even had the forethought of doing so out of her sight, so she wouldn't be traumatised by the blood and the stench of the innards), and then cooked it for her. Werewolves traditionally just ate whatever they caught, the same as any other apex predator. He'd gone through a lot of effort to please her; the old Malfoy would have probably let her starve.

He really had changed, hadn't he?

"Just so you know that's how you ate the Mermaid when you changed. I didn't feed her to you raw. I mean, I thought about it, just for shites and giggles, but then I remembered you can be rather vindictive for a goody-good Gryffindor, and I'd rather not be locked out of your knickers for life. Watching you puke your guts out wasn't worth losing a good shag." He preened a little bit, like some runway dog, nose in the air. "I hope you appreciate how much I've matured over the years, Granger."

Okay, maybe he hadn't changed that much.

"Er... Thanks," she managed, feeling a little ill at the thought of cannibalising a Merperson.

"Food is food, Granger. You need to eat, to keep your strength up. You're too thin, and the change took a lot out of you."

She nodded, staring down at her bare feet. The moss under her toes was warm, she noted.

He approached, holding out to her a stick with something that looked like a sea cucumber skewered on it. "You're my mate now, so you'll do what I say if you want to survive. Eat."

Despite the fact his tone offended her she still took the stick from him, thankful for the food. "Okay."

They ate in silence, with Malfoy feeding her pieces of the Murtlap from his hands after she'd finished off the strip on the stick. He was so careful with her, and the feeding was so intimate. She almost felt cherished.

Afterwards, food coma set in – a natural side-effect of eating Murtlap that was un-pickled, she knew. Without asking permission, Hermione lay her head down on Malfoy's furry legs, and cuddled up against him into a ball. As she started to doze, she felt his claws very gently stroking over her long hair.

It felt good. It felt right.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's Notes:

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