Chapter 14

Sira's pack fell to the forest floor as a sigh escaped her chest. Her eyes looked at the little tents around her and the small campsite. There was a small pile of coals that were growing cold and there were a few canvas chairs sitting out in between the tents. She wasn't impressed but she didn't expect it to be much anyways. Scabior stood beside her, placing his hand tenderly on her shoulder. "Well, this is it," he exhaled and then headed over to one of the farthest tents, pulling back the entrance's flap when he reached it.

"So where is everyone?" she asked as she picked up her pack and headed over to him.

"They should be 'ere soon," he stated and she nodded and entered the tent, pulling her pack along with her. "Its 'bout time they should be returning from today's scouting." He entered the tent after she did and found her walking around inside of it, studying everything with fascination. "What?"

"I didn't expect any of this," she said as she looked at the fine furniture and the tasteful decorations. It was beautiful, stunning, and quite homey, along with being spacious and well-planned. She didn't expect a tent, even a magical tent, to look like this; it was all so perfect and warm.

"Is that bad?" he asked, seeming to be growing concerned.

"No," she said with a smile as she turned to face him, "not at all. I thought that I was going to be roughing it." She let out a little laugh and he came closer to her.

"I'm glad that you like it," he said as he took her bag from her hands and slung it over his shoulder, his eyes never looking away from her. He walked away from her slowly and pulled back a flap of canvas and exposed a bedroom, which he entered and set her pack down in. Curiosity filled her and she followed him into the new room.

It was fairly large, warm and bright, just like the rest of the tent, but what surprised her was how similar it was to her bedroom back in her house. The bed, the dressers, and the placing of them were almost exactly the same. She felt Scabior's gaze fall heavily on her as she looked around but she didn't care. She actually kind of liked it here.

Then, muffled voices came from outside the tent, causing her head to turn to the sound. Scabior heard them too and, with a turn on his heel, was out of the room and she followed him closely. In an instant, they were out of the tent and standing in the campsite, their eyes focused on the approaching figures. There were five of them, all male and all brimming with a victory. Her eyes locked with the largest man long before the others realized she was there. Fenrir, she growled in her mind as he came closer, his walk becoming more swaggering and animalistic with each step he took. Her eyes never left his, even when a cruel smile twisted his hideous face.

Once he was finally close enough, he stopped and everyone else halted behind him. "Scabior, you've come back," Fenrir said in a snarl, his eyes still focused on Sira. "It's good to see you and you've brought your bitch with you." Anger flared in her chest and she took a step towards the werewolf.

"Excuse me?" she asked in a growl, her rage entering her eyes. "What did you just call me?"

"Sira, don't," Scabior breathed as he reached out for her, causing Greyback to laugh menacingly.

"That's right, Scabior," he barked with his laughter. "Control your bitch." The smile and the laughter wiped off his face and his eyes grew suddenly icy and serious. "You don't want to see what I do to bitches that don't know their place and that step out of line," he hissed as he stepped closer to her carefully, coming close enough to touch her face with his grimy hands. "Such tender skin, I bet it would be so sweet to taste."

At his last word, a snarl broke out of her chest and her fist connected with his jaw, making him let out a low and dangerous growl as he regained balance and lunged at her. She was going to pay for that.

She was too quick; she had already shifted into a wolf when he started his lunge. Her body jumped to the side, dodging his attack completely, and then her jaws sank into his leg. A howl of pain escaped his throat and he slashed at her, his 'clawed' hand barreling down towards her.

When she realized she needed to move, she was too late to do anything. His fingernails ripped into her flesh, sending pain through her body like a wildfire. She snarled and lunged at his throat, gazing into his vicious eyes as she did so.

The next thing she knew, she was hitting the ground hard. Pain jolted through her, she thought she heard something crack, but she jumped back up to her feet and raced towards him, her ribcage bursting with pain at every, single movement. He slashed at her again, but she threw herself at him, her jaws catching his outstretched arm.

Another pained howl escaped from him as her jaws sank deeper into his flesh. His free hand grasped the scruff of her neck and forced her off of him. She could feel the flesh moving as her teeth raked through it as he pulled her. He threw her to the side again, his eyes examining the wound she left him, letting out a disgusted snarl as she hit the ground and rolled quite a distance.

Her eyes were still fixed on him as she pulled herself to stand again, a snarl twisting her face and exposing her fangs. Her breathing was labored and she made no movement towards him. They just watched each other. Blood oozed from the wounds that they had inflicted on each other. Their eyes held the same look, the same longing. The other Snatchers looked between them, watching intently for the next move. Sira finally realized that she had many more injuries than she thought she had for her body was flooding with pain at each breath she took and her coat was went with her blood in multiple places.

She could feel the eyes on her, wanting her to make the next move while one was only wanting her to stop, to quit. She would never quit, she would quit when she was dead. Finding some strength, she barreled towards Fenrir again, her eyes burning with her fury and her jaws open, at the ready. He was expecting her to do that.

She jumped, throwing herself at him and his hand caught her throat, his fingers digging in as he body suddenly stopped lunging. His hand held her up, hanging her in midair as her vision started to blur. She was suffocating.

He let out a cackle of harsh laughter as she struggled against his grip, her paws digging at his hands and her mouth trying desperately to rap around his wrist. "You don't mess with me, bitch," he snarled as she fought harder. His hand released and, finally, her mouth wrapped around his wrist, snarling as she did so.

His other hand pulled her jaws off of him and she fell to the forest floor with a thud. Dazed and confused, she looked up to see him barreling down onto her. His fingers tore at her flesh, causing her to howl and yelp with her pain. Before she knew it, his hands braced her down as his wolfish teeth sank into her. Her yelps became pained screams and shrieks.

Each bite sent pain through her. Her breathes became rapid and frantic with the agony and her vision became more blurry. She was being ripped apart and no one was doing anything about it, Scabior wasn't even doing anything. Her eyes found him and she just watched him. If she was going to die right now, at the hands of Fenrir, she wanted Scabior to be the last thing she saw.

He never looked away from her. His face seemed relaxed and so did his body but his blue-grey eyes told a different story. He was horrified and he knew that he could do nothing to help her. If Fenrir wanted her dead, then dead she would be. No one could change his mind, no one could stop him. Silently, he hoped he would stop; he didn't want to have to witness the death of his fiancé and especially not her death in this way.

After a few minutes, the pressure of his hands left her and he no longer tore into her but she hurt too much to do anything. He stood up and walked away from her, barking something at his Snatchers. She didn't understand the words he said for her eyelids were growing heavy. She fought off the pain and the exhaustion but it was defeating her. The very last thing she saw before the blackness overwhelmed her was Scabior sprinting towards her.

Her eyes opened to see the canvas ceiling of the tent and to feel a stinging sensation in her left arm. She let out a little hiss as she jerked it away, only to be grabbed. "No," a male voice, which sounded so comforting to her, said softly. His hand held her wrist as he pressed a towel soaked with some astringent to her wound.

"Scabior," she breathed as she looked at him. She was back in her human form somehow but she didn't care about that. She was just happy to be alive. His eyes looked up into her face rapidly with the sound of her voice, stopping everything that he was doing.

"I 'ope you don't mind that I'm trying to mend you," he stated as he put his towel on a small table beside him. His eyes searched the table and he picked up a bottle of some potion and then started to drip it on the wound.

"I don't mind," she said kindly, just before she realized something. Other than two towels, her necklace and some bandages, there was nothing covering her. Her head turned a little to look past Scabior to a pile of bloodied and ruined clothes. Oh well, she thought. "How bad are my wounds?" she asked, her attention turning back to him and she finally noticed that his shirt was unbuttoned and showing his bare chest.

"They're cursed wounds, you know that," he said as he bandaged her now-closing wound on her arm. The potion worked fast and she didn't even feel a thing. "Other than that, I don't think they're serious and they should 'eal quickly because of what I've done." He smiled a little as he looked for other wounds to mend, there were none.

"I'm sorry that 'e did that to you, lovely," he muttered as his eyes returned to her face again, "and I'm sorry that there was nothing I could do to stop 'im. 'e's just not merciful and, if I did something, I feared that 'e would 'arm you even worse than 'e did. I didn't want that, so I stayed back. I 'ope you can forgive me." She nodded her head a little as she sat up a little in the bed.

"You were amazing though," he said proudly, "when you fought Fenrir. You 'ad such a fire burning in your eyes and in each movement you made. You were furious; you wanted 'im dead and you wouldn't stop until 'e was. You almost defeated 'im, you could've but 'e started playing scrappy. 'ow dangerous that was though, rarely anyone leaves a fight with 'im not severely 'armed. Its luck that you're 'ere with me now." She gave him a little smile.

"It's not the first time I've dueled a dangerous opponent and walked away still alive and aware," she said, a bit arrogant. "I've dueled Bellatrix twice." He chuckled a little as he nodded his head.

"Yeah, you're right," he stated happily. "I'm just glad that you're still alive after all of this."

"I am too," she exhaled with a big smile.

"Do you 'urt?" he questioned gently and a confused look entered her eyes. Did she hurt? She hadn't really thought about it for she hadn't felt anything, which baffled her. It seemed like a miracle to her.

"No, not at all," she responded and a sudden desire entered his eyes, causing her smile to become seductive as her eyes reflected his longing. He stood from his chair and pulled the shirt off of his shoulder. Her eyes never left him; they never wanted to leave him. She laughed a bit, a soft, provocative laugh. He climbed into the bed, on top of her, and then her mouth met his fiercely. Everything she had just done was worth it now and satisfaction filled her chest. The only thing that could've made the moment even better was if she could get the taste of Fenrir's blood out of her mouth.