Instincts

Thoughts of Home

Hermione glared at the large werewolf as he exited the bathroom, half dressed, his hair still dripping from his shower. He met her eyes with a vexed glare of his own. She saw his jaw tighten as he glanced over her; he turned to the large wardrobe on the far side of the room and grabbed a t-shirt, watching her out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly, he looked sad again, concerned eyes peeked out from behind his otherwise closed expression. The glare slid off her face, replaced by a slightly confused stare.

Fenrir walked toward her slowly; his gait determined but wary, as though she was an animal that might spook at his approach. Placing his arms on either side of her, he leaned down to her level and pressed his cheek against hers. His stubble was rough against her skin, but it was not an unpleasant sensation.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as his warm skin rested against hers. His breath was deep and even; the heated air from his nostrils blew past her ear and warmed her neck. An involuntary shiver coursed down her spine as the warm air tickled the hair on her neck.

The werewolf chuckled quietly; his chest rumbling pleasantly as he stood above her, seemingly simply enjoying the contact. It truly was a simple touch; his cheek rested on hers in the gentlest pressure, warmth seeping from his skin to hers. It reminded her of the kind of nuzzle a dog might give, but it was so much calmer and more subdued. It was not playful, it was...intimate. He felt so warm against her; the rest of the room was suddenly lacking in any heat; all of it seemed to have been stolen by the werewolf's presence.

Hermione grabbed her own hands to keep herself from reaching out; she was so tempted to wrap her arms around the man's muscular torso. She knew how warm it must have been, and found herself craving the heat that seemed to roll off of him toward her. She was beginning to become accustomed to his presence; his warm body had been pressed up against hers so often lately; now that it was not, she felt the loss. She struggled to remain impassive as she felt the same loss as he pulled away from her.

She stared at him as he met her eyes. He let out a huff, his golden irises never leaving hers. He reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face before standing up to his full height to pull the shirt on over his head. She found it was becoming harder to look away from him. She did not even bother to hide her stare; knowing it would have been an unsuccessful endeavor. He seemed to know whenever she slipped into wanting to believe what he had been trying to tell her. Her heart began to beat rapidly as the werewolf turned to face her once more. She found herself more drawn to him as the days passed, and she was realizing that she no longer hated it. He was not as cruel as she had thought; he seemed to care for his pack very much. He was a wolf, but she was slowly realizing that did not mean he was a monster.

The witch shook her head. What was she thinking? He was only this way with those he cared for. He could be as brutal and merciless as any Death Eater; he was cold-hearted and enjoyed destroying his enemies, often in the goriest ways possible. She swallowed as he turned toward her again. His white teeth were visible behind slightly parted lips; those horrible fangs that had ripped people apart. They may have been free of blood for now, but, in that moment, that was all Hermione could see. He was always covered in the dreadful liquid. She did not want those stained hands on her; running down her arms, caressing her cheeks, holding her in a comfortable embrace, chasing away her nightmares with his warmth; keeping her warm and safe. Her thoughts deteriorated rapidly, and she was once again caught up in the desire to reach out for the strong arms of the man who chose her. Whether his tale of her being his mate was true or not; he had the option to continue to be cruel. There were many unspeakable things that Hermione could not bear to think of that he could have done; but he had been very nearly tame with her. He was not tame, and thinking so would have been a very dangerous move; but he seemed to truly want her to believe him.