Hunter and Prey

Fenrir did not immediately leap on her, slightly to her surprise. He crossed the kitchen to the pantry and set the little girl down inside in a half-full laundry basket. Before the werewolf closed the door, Hermione noted there wasn’t another way out but there was a louvered window above the sink. She knew how easy the glass panes were to remove. Her grandmother had once accidentally locked them out of her house and she had climbed in through the bathroom window after pulling several panes free. They could get out quietly that way. She planned to check all the windows because he had to sleep sometime and she would much rather rescue herself.

The werewolf walked back to where she sat and stood there looking at her for a while as he stroked himself. Hermione made herself not look away. He was showing off. She let her eyes move over him, noting the absence of the Dark Mark. Did it gall him he had been denied it? Perhaps not. Her impression had always been he was an opportunist, allying himself with Voldemort for the perks rather than the ideology. He hated all wizards not just muggle-borns.

He knelt between her legs and leant forward, running his tongue over her stomach. That broke her composure and made her shudder in revulsion. Fenrir chuckled and kept licking her until he had worked his way up to her breasts. He looked her in the eyes then, catching her gaze before he took one of her nipples into his mouth to play with it. Hermione tensed again but this time to keep from making a noise.

He laughed, making her breast quiver, and she wanted so much to hit him she had to clench her hands in the blanket to keep from pummelling him. Later, she promised herself. When she was in a position to ensure he hurt no one else, she would kill him quickly. Not because he deserved mercy, he didn’t, but because triumph was best with the deed complete. None of that cartoon villain gloating while the hero got away. Fenrir Greyback was going to die efficiently.

“How many men have you had, smart witch?” He asked, lifting his head to admire his handiwork. Her nipple was dark pink and stiff, pleasant to look at and all for him. Fenrir turned his attention to the other one, knowing by her scent that his bitch was aroused. He knew the answer to his question too. She’d only ever mated with the ginger wizard. But he wanted her angry not just lying there letting him take her. He’d had her like that several times already. It had been a long time since he’d had a mate.

Hermione didn’t answer him. It had always been her and Ron, and Harry and Ginny, at least as far as Ginny was concerned. The Golden Trio with Ron’s little sister thrown in to keep it from getting kinky. There were a couple of guys at work who looked promising but she had wanted to find herself before she jumped into bed with Mr Rebound. To be herself alone, not the third of a triplet. However, she was not going to tell the werewolf any of that because she wasn’t having him. He was taking her and had no right to anything.

Unfortunately, he was not hurting her. This would be easier to bear if he hit her. That was a foolish thing to think as Hermione had no desire to be beaten. But if he used violence then there was no question of coercion. No argument, no grey area, no lawyer’s words like those that had got the Malfoys off their collective hooks.

Now she was awake, Fenrir wanted her lively not gritting her teeth. So the werewolf nuzzled her breasts until her breath quickened. Then he sat up and lifted her hips, squeezing her buttocks as he pushed into her. She was warm for him. He slid his hands down her legs to move them over his so she was wide and welcoming. Leaning over her with his hands on either side of her shoulders, he smiled down at her.

“Guess how many times I have had you?”