Chapter Six

"Both my parents were werewolves," Fenrir began, sitting on the ground, a snarling expression on his face over the way she'd tapped his wrists with her wand, binding them together behind his back. A rope he'd have been able to get out of, magic was a little trickier than simply putting muscle or claw to it. "It's why I am the way I am. But it's also why I know a bit more about my own kind than any other werewolf alive. Not many like me are out there—born rather than bitten—and even fewer out there like you. I daresay, you might be the only ones of your kind who exist."

Hermione was aware of Lucius turning to pin her with his gaze. He was still a bit too enraged, he didn't trust himself to carry on the conversation long enough to get all the information they could about what was happening to them.

She also thought, just a flickering little spark dancing through her mind, that it was possible he was watching her because he'd noticed the change in how she was looking at the other male. Oh, she didn't know if she was offended by the notion that he viewed her as his or thrilled by it. Probably a bit of both was the closest to the truth.

Her own mind was flagging back and forth, meandering between focusing on entertaining mental pictures that frankly made her question her morality rather than her sanity and being genuinely upset with herself. This was terrible, she'd literally just shagged Lucius Malfoy less than an hour ago, and yet there was a picture playing in her mind. Every flick of Fenrir Greyback's amber eyes meeting hers, every awareness of how that broad chest expanded when he inhaled, every notice of him shifting his weight so she was reminded again of his stature, of his ferocity, had her imagining reaching forward. Imagining opening his robes and hurriedly tearing at her own clothes.

Imagining crawling into his lap and fucking him senseless.

Fenrir's nostrils flared and his jaw tightened, amber eyes flaring brighter a moment as he watched her. Beside her, Lucius unleashed a rumbling noise from the back of his throat.

Hermione blinked a few times and shook her head. Oh, dear. She belatedly felt warmth in her cheeks and realized she was blushing. Clearing her throat, she again shook her head. So … perhaps she'd let the wandering thoughts take over for a moment.

"What—what do you mean," she started, grateful when her voice came out steady—she couldn't think on Mr. Malfoy's possessiveness, nor Greyback's apparent returned interest just now, "our kind? Aren't we werewolves just like you?"

Fenrir smirked, deciding himself amused at being a source of strife between them. Holding her gaze, he answered, "Oh, you're werewolves all right, pretty thing, but not like me."

She put aside the intended term of endearment. "You said Mr. Malfoy is an apex."

Fenrir nodded.

"And wolves—werewolves by extension, obviously—are apex predators," she added, brow furrowing.

"Aye."

"So apex of the apex?" Lord, that sounded ridiculous, she thought with a wince, yet Fenrir only nodded again.

Lucius was getting a bit restless—none of this really explained anything—and she thoughtlessly reached over to him. Slipping her hand up along his side, she rested her fingers against his neck, just below his ear to knead the skin gently.

It wasn't until after he'd settled a bit beneath her touch, until she became cognizant the gesture had done the trick and was dropping her arm back to her side, that either of them became aware of how strange that was. Instincts again.

She refrained from looking at Lucius just then. Instinct had told her to act to calm him. Dammit. This did not bode well for the days to follow, did it? Conversely, that feral little voice that had been created inside her thought this absolutely boded well, considering the last thing their combined instincts had led them to do.

"What—what does it mean?" the witch finally said. "Where did this all come from? Why … why aren't there more like him if the change clearly comes on very fast and … and clearly one of these … apex wolves can be created by the bite of a regular werewolf?"

Fenrir's brows climbed upward by increments as he listened to her hurried speech. Oh, didn't she just sound delightfully eager, getting herself all wound up and winded like this? It was almost enough to distract him from being impressed at how much she'd already picked up.

"Wait." She lifted a hand, shaking her head as her eyes dropped from his. "It's not an individual effect. Those turned by apex wolves become apexes as well. That's why I've turned so fast, like him."

"Just. Talk," Lucius' voice intruded in a rough, quick mutter.

"Fine, from the beginning." Fenrir shifted about where he sat, cognizant of the way such movement made her dart her gaze over him. He liked listening to her talk, liked that the situation permitted him to pay her such close attention. But he also liked his ability to breathe, and he imagined the new and improved Lucius Malfoy wouldn't let him continue breathing if he didn't get on with it.

The question of whether the apex wolf was more annoyed that he wasn't spilling everything yet, or that his mate wasn't hiding her attraction to him very well would answer itself as he shared what he knew, Fenrir was sure.

"We were always told—well, I suppose it's simply I, since I've never met another like me, I just assumed it's a 'we' situation if there are others running about somewhere—I, I was always told there were creatures like you. Too dangerous to live, my father said. If I were to ever cross paths with your kind, I had two choices."

He hadn't said very much, yet Hermione felt herself riveted, all the same. Perhaps it was more listening to his voice than hearing the actual words. She supposed he did have sort of a nice voice. A bit... rumbly. The kind of voice she could imagine—Oh, bollocks, she'd done it again.

Quietly cursing herself, she refocused. Too dangerous to live, two choices. She nodded, hoping Lucius wouldn't pay her momentary distraction any mind if she got right back on track seamlessly.

She ignored that Fenrir flashed a quick, suggestive grin. Dear God, werewolves could be so irritating!

"So, if I'm to guess, one choice was to kill us?" she asked, though given the lead-in, she supposed it wasn't much of a question.

"By any means necessary, yeah." Those wide shoulders moved in a shrug.

Hermione swallowed hard and gave herself a shake. She'd already known the situation was bad, but they had now tumbled headlong into worse-by-the-minute territory. "And the second choice?"

Once more the elder wolf smirked, but it was a humorless expression. Savage and a little self-deprecating. "Run."

"Why are we so dangerous?" She was only conscious after the fact of how her voice spilt out in a whisper.

Fenrir sighed. Leaning to rest against the wall close at his back, he merely observed her for several heartbeats. More, he observed how Lucius Malfoy grew… twitchy, impatient as the other male's gaze stayed locked on the witch.

"Let me ask this, just… as a point of illustration, if you would." There was something disarming in how this creature before them crinkled the bridge of his nose as he talked. Almost a … cutesy face. "How long did it take you two to jump each other?"

Hermione's jaw fell while her mate's jaw clenched, a muscle in his cheek jumping.

Fenrir found their responses hilarious. He wasn't certain at all how he was holding himself together. Their cluelessness was precious. Or rather it would be if they weren't capable of completely destroying him.

"C'mon," he said, his voice slow and even. Patient, she thought. But not because he was being considerate of them, because he was enjoying this. Being the most important person in the room. Mustn't be a familiar feeling for him at all, she realized. "I've been a werewolf a lot longer than you two. You think I can't smell what you been up to?"

Hermione shot to her feet. Turning sharply away from Fenrir, she started pacing. "Oh, my God."

Lucius' eyes flicked to watch her sudden movement, but other than that, he did not move. Her jumping up like that hadn't startled him even a little bit.

Fenrir noted that away with everything else.

"What's that matter?"

"Because tha' shit's part of you now." Fenrir swallowed down his fear and locked eyes with Malfoy. "If there were a lot of you, it would probably be different. But there's not. The two of you are the only apex wolves in existence, far as I know. That being said, you're driven to ... procreate."

Both of them were acutely aware of how she stopped pacing on that last word.

Pivoting back to face them, her eyes were wide and … troublingly golden as she said, "What?" Well, she thought as she struggled with an immediate flaring of her temper in response to this information, at least this made sense now. The way she and Mr. Malfoy had torn into each other, her new and disconcerting fascination with Fenrir Greyback. She forced aside the recognition as soon as it hit, aware that too much thinking on it would have very fun but very unhelpful mental images chasing through her mind again. "You—you mean we're just going to-to-to-to keep at…at that until I end up pregnant?!"

Trying to hold back a snicker as she was clearly so very angry, yet failing just a little, Fenrir dropped his voice, speaking out of the side of his mouth to Lucius. "She actually does get cuter when she's angry. I thought people like that were a myth."

Lucius answered with a mute frown.

"Greyback!" she snapped, a growl edging his name. She could admit to herself there was a little satisfaction to seeing how both of their gazes leapt up to meet hers. How they both responded involuntarily, each of them staring up at her with their eyes glowing amber-gold.

"Is that what you mean?" Hermione clarified.

"I think so," he answered. Sooner than either of the grumpy superior creatures in the cave could climb all over him about the almost-not-an-answer, Fenrir shook his head and loosed a weighted breath. "Look, from the things I remember being told, yeah. The only other way to make more of, well, you, is with a bite."

"So we have to run around biting poor, innocent humans or end up … God, I can't even say it." Hermione was seething. She was not ready for this… If Fenrir was correct, and this were some instinctive drive they might not be able control, then, well…. She would… she would simply make a habit of casting contraceptive charms. Daily routine, she nodded to herself. Uterus on lockdown!

Aware of them both continuing to watch her, she realized she had fallen into a silent conversation with herself.

Drawing a deep breath, she tried her best to collect her thoughts. How was it possible that knowing the source of this intense reaction she was having to Mr. Malfoy didn't do anything to deter it? She hadn't immediately thought 'well, that clearly can't happen again.' No, instead, the first thing her mind raced to was how to prevent that outcome while keeping at it!

"Don't get me wrong, I'm sure that's the more fun way to go about it, but your bite is the problem."

"How so?"

"It doesn't just turn humans." Fenrir's eyes roved as he amended, "Well, it does 'just' turn humans, but it also… it can overpower someone who's already a werewolf and make them like you."

Hermione and Lucius exchanged a glance. That sounded off. "But if we're the apex to your apex, why would being like us be such a terrible thing?"

Fenrir sucked his teeth. "I said 'can'. The only other option, from the stories I was told, is death. It brings us up to your level, or it kills us. No in-between."

And he had to know they weren't simply going to let him go. Not now. Not when they couldn't know what his next actions would be.

Though, Hermione wasn't certain she had it in her to kill him, savage bloodthirsty beast or otherwise.

Oh, this was a mess.

"Why—" She cut herself off, sensing that Lucius had finally deigned to speak, but she'd unwittingly preempted him. Shifting her attention to him, she gauged his response—did he want to continue or for her to? He gave an impossibly subtle nod for her to go ahead. "Why aren't there more of us? If we're well, scarier than you? More infectious, if that's a term we can use here? If we're…" She paused, rolling her eyes as she went on, "driven to make more of us?"

"Because so far there aren't enough werewolves—or weren't before the Dark Lord's order—to worry that biting someone we shouldn't might happen."

"Oh my god. You're talking about pure-bloods! You've never bitten a pure-blood before!"

Fenrir could not help the wide smile that curved his mouth. "You are sharp."

Hermione shook her head, frowning pensively, too wrapped up to get the usual ripple of joy that accompanied anyone complimenting her mind. "It's the only thing that fits. Remus is a half-blood, his mum was a Muggle. The confrontation between you and his dad was when you were put on trial for attacking Muggles. When you fought Bill Weasley, you only clawed him up bad, passing on some tendencies though his wounds, but you didn't bite him."

With a sigh, Fenrir nodded. "My mum was a half-blood bitten by my father before she got pregnant. It's the only way someone like me happens. Honestly, though. I never thought you were real. I never saw anything like … like you." He uttered a confused canine whine. "When the Dark Lord ordered me to bite your boy, I didn't think on any of that. I didn't remember, not really, because I'd spent so many years dismissing the whole thing. But then when I realized how fast you were changing, it all came rushing back."

"Biting someone you shouldn't," Lucius said, his words slow, as though just catching up to the conversation though he'd been absorbing it all, attention rapt, the entire time. "Why aren't you supposed to bite pure-bloods? How does this… apex change occur? Did your father ever tell you?"

"It's not all of you, just some of you." Fenrir was still processing all this himself, he supposed. His upper arms were starting to ache from the bindings and he rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension. "The more ancient the bloodline, the more likely. He said …." Fenrir braced, knowing already a proud, pompous creature like Lucius Malfoy was not going to like where this ended. "He said some of the ancient families became true monsters when the lycanthropy curse passed to them because it was with them that it began. They were the first, but they learned to overcome it. They adapted and surpassed it, and so the curse settled into their blood, quiet. Sleeping."

Hermione very much did not like the way Fenrir Greyback's voice dropped decibel by decibel with his telling so that he was practically whispering now.

"No one alive could recount which families these were, he said, so it was best to simply stay away from them all, so you don't risk biting something that would be able to kill you if it turned on you."

"You think pure-bloods were the original werewolves?" Lucius' voice was low, disturbingly calm.

"I'm only telling you what I remember. As asked."

Hermione felt a jolt, like a fuse ignited too close to her. Anger. Rage visiting anew. She could tell from the way his eyes drifted closed in something like defeat that Fenrir could sense it, as well.

Yet no sooner had she turned to look at Lucius than was he launching himself at Greyback.

Fenrir let out a mangled howl, and by the time she managed to uproot herself to respond—she'd been too busy having yet another argument with her new instincts, standing her ground about how she absolutely did not find the unexpected display of brutality incredibly appealing just now—Lucius was pulling away. His lips smeared crimson, he stared down at the other werewolf.

Fenrir was fighting to keep his eyes open, his teeth bared at the wash of pain radiating through him so fast.

"There." Lucius climbed to his feet, eyes golden-amber and not likely to change back any time soon. "Let's call this an experiment, shall we? You survive, you become like us… then you can help us go rescue my son."

The witch dragged her gaze from Greyback as he slipped into unconsciousness. "We're going to the manor to rescue Draco?"

Lucius grabbed her hand as he walked past her toward the depths of the caves, tugging her along behind him. "Of course we are. Now all that's left is to pass the time until Greyback wakes up… or doesn't."

"Oh," was all Hermione could say, aware how ridiculously flippant that single word sounded in the face of the other werewolf's possible demise, but it was all she could manage, her attention, and her pesky apex wolf instincts, currently too distracted by Lucius' sudden need to get her away from prying eyes.