Chapter 3
The cavern was too quiet.
Hermione paced near the fire, her fingers twitching at her sides as she willed herself to think. Every second that passed in this place, bound to him, made her feel like she was losing control.
Fenrir hadn’t spoken much since their argument. He watched her, always watching, his golden eyes tracking her movements like she was something to be hunted.
The bond throbbed between them, a presence neither of them could ignore.
She felt it in the way her breath hitched when he got too close, the way her skin prickled whenever his gaze lingered on her too long. It was like an invisible chain had wrapped around her, linking her to something primal, something dangerous.
And he knew it.
The bastard knew.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep pacing like that,” Fenrir said, voice rough.
Hermione shot him a glare. “Forgive me for not handling being magically bonded to a psychopath with grace.”
Fenrir only smirked. “Temper, temper, little witch.” He leaned against the rough stone wall, arms crossed over his chest. “You’ll have to get used to this. The bond isn’t going away.”
“I don’t accept that,” she snapped.
His smirk widened, as if he enjoyed her defiance. “You will.”
The heat in her blood flared, but it wasn’t just anger anymore. That was the problem.
The bond was doing something to her.
The air felt thick, heavy with something unspoken between them. Her pulse was too quick, her skin too warm. She could feel his presence, the raw power in his body, the heat rolling off him in waves.
Hermione clenched her fists. This isn’t real. This is just the bond messing with me.
“You look flushed, Granger,” Fenrir murmured, pushing off the wall. He took a slow step toward her, deliberate, predatory. “Feeling something?”
Her stomach flipped. “Stay back.”
He didn’t listen.
Another step.
The heat from the fire flickered against his sharp features, making his golden eyes burn. He smelled like the forest, like earth and pine, but underneath it, there was something else—something warm and male.
Hermione hated that she noticed.
“I don’t think you want me to stay back,” he said, voice low.
She spun to face him fully, forcing herself to stand her ground even as her pulse betrayed her. “You’re delusional if you think I—”
Fenrir closed the distance in a breath.
He was so close.
Too close.
Every inch of her body tensed as he loomed over her, heat radiating from him like an open flame.
Her back hit the rough stone wall.
Fenrir’s arms caged her in, hands braced on either side of her shoulders. Not touching, but there.
Hermione sucked in a sharp breath.
His scent wrapped around her, his presence overwhelming.
The worst part?
She didn’t hate it.
Her body betrayed her, recognizing the bond even as her mind rejected it.
Fenrir smirked like he could smell her hesitation.
“You feel it, don’t you?” His voice was rougher now, deeper.
Hermione lifted her chin, refusing to let him see how much this affected her. “I feel nothing.”
He leaned in, lips dangerously close to her ear. “Liar.”
A shiver ran down her spine before she could stop it.
Hermione’s nails dug into her palms. This is the bond. This is not real.
She turned her head sharply, locking eyes with him, forcing herself to glare despite the heat curling in her belly. “I’d rather die than give in to this.”
Fenrir chuckled, low and dark. “Then you’re in for a long, miserable existence, little witch.”
And then, just as quickly as he had cornered her, he stepped back.
Cold air rushed between them, and Hermione exhaled shakily.
Her knees felt weak, her skin tingling where his warmth had been.
Fenrir’s smirk was knowing.
“Get some rest,” he said. “You’ll need it.”
She glared, hating how smug he looked, hating how her body still hummed from his nearness.
As he turned away, Hermione pressed her back against the wall, forcing herself to breathe.
This was going to be hell.