Chapter 15

Scabior's body shifted next to hers, causing her to wake in his arms. Her head lulled to the side, towards him as her eyes opened. He, too, was coming out of sleep, his eyes opening slowly and his arms tightening around her. Pain shot through her as she tried to stretch. He shot her a concerned look as she winced. He then lifted his hand off of her side a bit to look at it, his eyes widening as he did so. "Sira, my lovely, you're bleeding," he whispered as he pulled away from her and started to remove the bandage from around her midsection. She caught sight of the wound and she gasped.

The wound was deep and tight, as if it was attempting to heal but couldn't. The edges were ragged and all of the skin around it was a horrible purple color. Blood seeped from the middle of it and she couldn't stop looking at it. It was disgusting but fascinating. Scabior climbed out of the bed, holding her bloody bandage and pulling his clothes back on. He walked over to the little table and picked up a towel and a little, green bottle and then poured some of its contents onto the towel. "Can you sit up?" he asked and she obeyed.

The familiar stinging went through her side as he pressed the towel against the wound. He held it there until he seemed satisfied. Then he grabbed a bit of the potion that she saw him use the night before and dripped it on the area. He quickly picked up a bandage and covered it, wrapping it around her midsection. "Should the others be okay?" she asked as she looked at the bandage on her arm.

"They should be," he breathed as he made sure the bandage was snug. "We'll 'ave to check." His eyes focused on her neck, fixing on it and never looking away.

"What?" she asked, touching her neck, checking for a cut but couldn't find anything. He looked away quickly, mouthing the word 'nothing' to her. He stood as she started to remove her other bandages to see that, underneath them, there was barely a hint of an injury left. She mostly saw a little bit of scarring and quite a few bruises.

He handed her some clothes as he continued to look at her face and neck. She tried to not notice him as she pulled on her clothing: a pair of jeans, a red tank top, and a jacket. Once she finished dressing, she looked up at him, his eyes still focused on her. "Scabior," she said softly, "is something wrong?"

"No," he exhaled as she stood and touched his face, her fingers barely falling on his skin. Concern shone in his blue-grey eyes, it shone in his face. "Everything's okay." It was the truth, finally the truth. He pulled out of her hands and walked out of the room silently. She wondered what had gotten into him. He was acting odd but she thought it was just because of her injuries and that he was concerned about her.

With a sigh, she followed him out into the main part of the tent. The smell of cooking food wafted into her nostrils, causing her to sniff the air eagerly as her stomach growled with hunger. Scabior was filling a couple of plates with food at a small table when she walked up to him. Her eyes weren't focused on her though; they were focused on a man standing at the stove, stirring some scrambled eggs. The man was pretty grimy-looking, his brown hair a bit long and matted and his jaw was covered in stubble. His clothes were even worse, torn and tattered everywhere.

"Who's that, Scabior?" she asked, barely speaking the words. Her eyes continued to study the man as Scabior looked at her.

"That's Robbie," he said as he continued to pile food onto the plates. "'ey, Robbie," he bellowed, getting his attention, "this is my fiancé Sira." He gave her a little nod and then looked back down at the food he was cooking, turning off the stove as he did so.

"Does he ever talk?" she asked in a whisper as she looked at Scabior. He shrugged a little and didn't look at her.

"'e does, 'e talks to me quite often," he stated as he handed her a plate of food. Suddenly, she wasn't hungry. She gazed into Scabior's face, he wouldn't look into her eyes, and he wouldn't look at her at all when she was looking at him. Her hand touched his shoulder as she set her plate down. He flinched at her hand, finally looking into her blue eyes. Everything about him seemed guilty and nervous but she had no idea why he would even be feeling that way.

"Scabior," she breathed, concern filling her eyes as he looked away, "what has happened?" He shook his head quickly, growing more nervous every second she looked at him.

"It's nothing, beautiful," he said slowly, as if he was saying it more to himself than to anyone else. "I just 'ad some bad dreams last night, that's all." She nodded her head as she moved a little closer to him.

"You know you can talk to me about them if you want," she stated and he flashed her a smile for just a second.

"Yeah, I know," he sighed, "but now is not the time."

"That's understandable," she exhaled as she gave him a gentle smile. "I'll always be here for you." She moved into his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck. His arms tightened around her as he let out a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to stop his racing mind.

"Oh, Sira," Robbie said, causing them both to look at him, "Fenrir came by this mornin', sayin' that 'e wants to talk to ya." Scabior looked down at Sira, concern filling his eyes.

"You better go," he whispered into her ear. "Be careful." She nodded as she pulled out of his arms, her eyes down as she thought of what may happen to her.

"I will," she panted as she turned away from him and headed out of the tent slowly.

"Fenrir," she called as she stood at the entrance to his tent. "Fenrir, you wanted to talk to me?" The flap of the tent pulled back and Fenrir's eyes locked onto her instantly. She wanted to look away but she didn't dare to, no matter how much she wanted to.

"Sira," he snarled, there was something in his voice that worried her for it was also present in his eyes, "come in. I've been waiting for you." He went back into the tent, holding the flap for her to enter. She did as she was told.

The scent that hit her nostrils was foul to say the least, the air smelt of dirt and blood but mostly of wet dog. She wanted to cough because of the air seeming so thick but she didn't. Almost everything in the tent was an animal pelt or made out of an animal pelt. She was revolted, overwhelmed as she continued to study the tent. The only thing that was starting to grow on her was the scent of blood, nothing else and she didn't even know why she liked the smell of it.

"I'm very impressed with you, Sira," he stated in a raspy voice as he came up close behind her, talking directly into her ear. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as a chill ran down her spine. His breath hit the bare skin of her neck, hot and heavy. She stood a little straighter as she drew in a long breath, trying to stop her heart from hammering. "I haven't seen anyone be brave enough to fight me like you did in ages. Actually, I've never seen anyone do that. Most people are too afraid of me even being this close to them." He let out a cruel, bark-like laugh as he continued to gaze at her. Her body trembled a bit, she wasn't afraid of being bitten. "And they should be." His hand placed itself on her shoulder and clamped down on her, his fingernails digging into her. "Are you afraid of me?"

"No," she said softly, looking into his horrible face, "I'm not." A smile twisted his face, showing his pointed teeth as his eyes burned brighter. She finally realized that the look was hunger. Hunger or desire, she didn't know but all she knew was that he wanted her, which did frighten her. He truly was the most savage werewolf alive today.

"You know, Sira," he whispered to her as his free hand touched her jaw, a light touch, "you tasted as beautiful as you look. Most little pretties don't taste as good as they look, but obviously you are an exception. You just have it all, don't you? You have heart, courage, beauty, intellect, and strong instincts." His hand moved from her jaw to her neck, slowly sliding down farther and farther. His eyes focused on her neck as his hands cupped her face, lifting her jaw so he could have a better view. "But you aren't invincible, you can be injured." He leaned a little bit closer to her, his face way too close to her for her liking. "Just look at the bruise I gave you on your pretty little neck." His lips brushed against the soft, tender skin of her neck, causing her to throw her head back and inhale deeply. If he was going to rip out her throat, she wished he would get it over with. She had a bad feeling that killing her was not what he wanted. He drew in a long breath, taking in her sweet scent, as his wolfish eyes closed and his hand slid down her neck.

"Do you still have your other wounds?" he asked as he gazed deeply into her eyes. There was just something so overwhelming about him that made her heart pound and made her want to flee from him but she knew she couldn't run from him. "Or did Scabior already heal all of them?"

"No," she said slowly as she shook her head a little, trying not to break his stare, "I still have one on my side." He nodded as his hands continued to slide down, finally reaching her waist.

"You do realize, my girly, that now you're under my control since you're in my gang," he stated, trying hard to hold himself back. "You have to listen to my orders and do whatever I command."

"Yes, Fenrir," she whispered, her face blank and emotionless, "I realize that." His hunger flared brighter in his eyes as he moved into her, his mouth forcing itself onto hers. Her heart skipped a beat. Her eyes grew wide and her whole body stiffened at his kiss. She didn't expect it, she didn't like it, but she couldn't reel away from him for his hands pressed her into him. Soon he pulled away, a cruel smile twisting his face.

"You are dismissed," he breathed as he released her, finally letting her move away from him. She nodded quickly and walked back to the entrance of the tent, trying not to focus on the taste of blood that was now in her mouth. She was disgusted, repulsed, but there was nothing she could do to stop him. If he wanted her, he would have her.

Scabior lay on his back, gazing up blankly at the ceiling of the bedroom as his mind thought of the dream he had the night before. The dream that was eating him alive, consuming him. He shouldn't have felt the way he did, not when he dearly loved another. He shouldn't have dreamed what he did.

He walked beside a small, clear stream; his head down watching his feet was he traveled on the stones that line the stream bed. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining brightly through the trees that towered over him. He moved in silence, just enjoying the day and listening to the babbling of the water.

"Scabior," a sweet voice said, almost seeming to be the wind that swept through his head. He looked up to see a girl in a wedding dress sitting on a boulder, just a few yards in front of him. She had blond hair that shimmered like strands of gold in the sunlight and ice-blue eyes that glittered as she looked at him. On her face was a gentle smile. He stood completely still, his body rigid with the sight of her.

"Cal," he breathed and her smile grew wider on her face as she let out a light laugh. Without thinking, he raced to her, his heart pounding with his joy. She stood just before he reached her and he threw his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. "Cal," he whispered into her ear as her arms wrapped around his neck. It felt so right to finally have her back in his arms. "I didn't mean the things I said to you, I didn't mean any of them."

"It's okay, Scabior," she said back kindly, "and I didn't mean the things I've said either." She pulled away, just enough that she could look into his eyes. "I still love you, I truly do." The look in her eyes said that she really meant it, she was saying the truth.

"Oh, Cal," he breathed, "I still love you too." He leaned in close, going slowly to see if she would reel away from him. She never did. His lips brushed tenderly against hers.

He didn't know what to feel about the dream, it confused him. He truly thought he was over Cal, that he was no longer in love with her. Yes, he was mean to her. Yes, he treated her badly, but maybe he treated her like that to cover up his true feelings. He had always loved her and, even though he left her, he still felt awful about leaving.

But he knew he shouldn't have been even thinking about her when he was so in love with Sira. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, he wanted to be the man that she would come to for comfort, and he wanted her to never stop loving him. Guilt ate at him, making his thoughts muddled and baffling. He just wished he didn't have to think about Cal.

Soon, he heard someone enter the room and he turned his head to the source of the sound. "Sira," he said softly as she gazed at him, "you're back." she nodded her head stiffly. His blue-grey eyes studied her; everything about her seemed tense and stressed, but also a little disgusted. She seemed a little jumpy, unnerved. Concern filled him, mixing with his guilt, as he looked at her, wanting to ask what was wrong.

"Yeah," she breathed as her hands went into her hair, her breathes becoming deep. He sat up, continuing to watch her as her eyes closed and she shook her head, as if trying to forget something. Quickly, he stood and walked over to her, completely forgetting his troubles and his dream. He put his arms around her and pulled her into his chest.

"Sira, my lovely," he whispered into her ear as she relaxed in his arms, "what 'appened?" she sighed, finally calming down from the recent events.

"It's Fenrir," she panted, her voice filled with pain. Fenrir, he thought, snarling the name in his mind.

"Is 'e angry with you?" he asked as he held her a little tighter, fearing her answer.

"No," she exhaled as she rubbed her face in his shirt, "it's more like the other way around." Fear filled his heart, causing him to stiffen with his shock. He held her even tighter; knowing what she was trying to say and wished it weren't so. Fenrir desired for her and Scabior wasn't sure if he could do anything to prevent him from having her. The tears started to fall from her eyes. "I wish it weren't so, Scabior. I wish he didn't want me."

"I wish he didn't want you either," he breathed to her as he rested his head against hers. He feared for her, feared that Greyback would hurt her, and feared that he would lose her. He didn't think he could be the same without her, he didn't think he would care anymore. He didn't want to lose her to another man; he prevented it as best as he could. He loved her too much to let her slip away from him, even if he did still have mixed feelings for another himself.