Chapter 2: The Wild Run
Rodolphus's gaze landed on her, and the hunger in his black eyes was a mirror of his brother's. That was the crack that broke her open. Hel's mind, drowning in the heat of Rabastan's come still cooling between her thighs, snapped clear as ice water.
She moved before thought. Muscle memory from a war that had trained her to fight, to flee, to survive. Her body rippled, bones flowing like water, fur erupting across her skin, and the black leopard that replaced her was a shadow given teeth and claws.
She bolted.
The marble slab, the ruined mausoleum, the two men still breathing hard behind her, it all fell away. She launched herself through a crack in the crumbling wall and into the silver-dark woods beyond. Moonlight carved paths through tangled branches, and she took them all, her paws silent on the leaf litter, her tail streaming behind her.
"Potter!"
Rabastan's shout came from behind her, raw and enraged. He was running, she could hear him, the crash of his boots through the underbrush, the ragged pant of his breath. He was fast. The Veil had made him fast.
But she was a cat.
She streaked between trunks, low to the ground, her whiskers reading the air currents, her ears swiveling to track the sounds of pursuit. The forest opened around her, endless and silver, and for a moment she thought she might lose them.
Then she caught the scent.
Not Rabastan. Not Dolohov. A third. Rodolphus had flanked her, circling wide through the trees, and his scent was a green and mineral musk that made her fur bristle. Earth magic. He had pulled it from the Veil like the others had pulled fire, and now it threaded through the soil beneath her paws.
She veered right, toward a thicket of brambles. Her sleek body slipped through gaps that a man could not follow, thorns scraping along her flanks. For a heartbeat, she thought she had made it.
Then Dolohov was there.
He stepped out from behind an oak, shirtless and gleaming with sweat, his pale eyes catching the moonlight. Fire flickered along his fingertips, and even in her leopard form, she felt the heat of him.
"Where do you think you're going, malyshka?"
She snarled and pivoted, but Rabastan was behind her now, his chest heaving, his grey eyes lit with something fierce and dark. He had removed his torn shirt somewhere during the chase, and his skin was slick, his muscles carved by shadow and moon.
"Enough," he said. "You're not running from us."
She bared her teeth. A low growl rumbled from her chest.
Rodolphus emerged from the treeline to her left, his steps measured, unhurried. He was still in his suit jacket, though the trousers were torn at the knee, and his dark hair fell across his forehead. He studied her the way a man studies a map.
"Did you really think the trees would hide you?" he asked. "I can feel you in the earth. Every step you take, every heartbeat. You're a creature of this wild now, Potter. But so are we."
She should have kept running. Should have pushed past Dolohov and vanished into the dark. But her body was betraying her again. The hunger that had burned in the mausoleum had not faded. It had only retreated, coiled and waiting, and now it stirred at the sight of them. Three men. Three hunters. Circling her like she was prey.
She was prey. That was the horror of it. Her body knew it, and worse, her body wanted it.
The leopard form dissolved, fur receding into skin, bones reshaping her back into the small, golden-skinned woman she had been. She stood naked in the moonlight, trembling, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Her nipples had hardened in the cool air, and she could feel the slickness still coating her thighs.
"Look at her," Dolohov said softly. "She's shaking. Not from cold."
"What do you want from me?" Her voice cracked on the last word, and she hated it.
Rodolphus moved first. He closed the distance between them, and even without the Veil, he had always carried an aura of command. Now that aura had teeth. He reached out and traced a finger down her cheek, along her jaw, down the curve of her throat.
"What do we want?" He repeated the question like he was tasting it. "We want to understand what you've become. We want to make sure you don't run off and get yourself killed in this strange world. And if you're offering something else, Potter, we're not going to refuse it."
"I'm not offering anything." Her voice was steadier now, but her body was leaning toward him, and she knew he could feel it.
"No," he agreed. "You're not. But you're not running either."
Rabastan came up behind her, his chest pressing warm against her back, his hands closing over her hips. She felt his hardness against her ass, still slick from what they had done, and she could not stop the small sound that escaped her.
"She came apart so beautifully," Rabastan said to his brother. "Screamed my name when she came. Took Dolohov's cock down her throat like it was made for her."
"Rabastan." Her protest was weak, barely a breath.
"She's been nothing but a weapon all her life," Dolohov said. He had moved closer, and now he stood at her side, his fingers tracing patterns on her arm. "Used and discarded. But here, in this world, with us, she can be something else."
"She can be ours," Rodolphus said.
The word struck her like a blow. Ours. Possessive and absolute, and the worst part was the surge of heat it sent through her. Her thighs pressed together, and she could feel herself getting wetter.
"I don't belong to anyone," she said, but her voice was a whisper.
"Not yet," Rabastan agreed. His teeth grazed her ear, and she shuddered. "But you will. By the time we're done with you, Potter, you'll know exactly who you belong to."
Rodolphus's hand found her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. His black eyes were fathomless, bottomless, and she felt like she was falling into them.
"Let me see you," he said. "The real you. The one the Veil made. Not the weapon, not the soldier. The woman underneath."
She had never been allowed to be that. From the moment she had learned her name, she had been Potter, the Girl Who Lived, the weapon, the sacrifice. Dumbledore had shaped her, the Order had used her, and the Veil had remade her. But none of them had ever asked to see her.
"This isn't me," she whispered. "This hunger. This need. It's the Veil. It's magic."
"It's yours," Rodolphus said. "It always was. The Veil just gave you permission to feel it."
His thumb traced her lower lip, and she was helpless against the pull. She opened her mouth, took his thumb inside, and sucked. The taste of him was earth and salt, and the hunger in her core flared bright.
"That's it," he breathed. "That's it, Potter. Don't fight it."
Rabastan's hands slid up her belly, cupping her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples. She moaned around Rodolphus's thumb, and Dolohov's hands came to her hips, tilting her forward, pressing her against Rodolphus's body.
"Three of them," she managed, pulling her mouth away. "You can't be serious. I'll tear."
Rodolphus laughed, a low, dark sound. "You won't. The Veil made you for this, sweetheart. You'll take us all, and you'll thank us for it."
His hands found the waistband of his trousers. She watched, transfixed, as he freed his cock. He was huge, thicker than Rabastan, and the head was dark and glistening. Dolohov stepped closer, his own cock already hard, and she realized they intended to take her together.
Panic flickered. But beneath it, the hunger roared.
"Please," she said, and she did not know if she was begging them to stop or to begin.
Rodolphus understood. He swept her up, lifting her easily, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. His cock pressed against her entrance, slick and blunt, and she felt herself clenching around nothing.
"Ready?" he asked.
She nodded, and he pushed inside her.
The stretch was blinding. He filled her completely, spreading her wide, and she cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders. Rabastan moved behind her, his hands parting her ass, the head of his cock pressing against her other entrance.
I can't, she thought wild. I'll break.
But her body opened for him, slick and yielding, and Rabastan pushed inside her with a groan. She was impaled between them, full to bursting, and the sensation was so overwhelming she saw stars.
"Fuck," she gasped. "Fuck, yes."
"Hush," Rodolphus said. "Let us work you."
They moved together, in rhythm, thrusting into her from both ends. Each stroke sent pleasure arcing through her, and she was lost, drowning, her body nothing but a conduit of sensation. Dolohov knelt in front of her, his cock at her lips, and she took him without being asked.
She was filled. Everywhere. Mouth, cunt, ass. The taste of him, the stretch of them, the heat of their bodies surrounding her. The warmth in her core exploded, flooding her, and she came with a scream that was swallowed by Dolohov's flesh.
They did not stop. They kept thrusting, kept pumping into her, and she came again, and again, until she lost count. They came inside her, one after the other, filling her with heat, and only then did they slow.
When they pulled out, she collapsed onto the leaf-strewn ground, trembling and debauched. Her body was sore, stretched, and singing with pleasure. She could feel their seed leaking from her, and the warmth in her core was banked now, satisfied.
For now.
Rodolphus knelt beside her, brushing a curl from her face. "We need to find the others," he said. "But first, we need to find you something to wear. This world won't welcome a naked woman with open arms."
Dolohov chuckled. "Depends on the woman."
Hel laughed, a broken, surprised sound that startled them all. She had not laughed like that in years. She sat up, wincing at the soreness between her thighs, and looked at the three men who now surrounded her.
"What now?" she asked.
Rodolphus's smile was slow and dark. "Now, we hunt. We find the rest of our people, and we learn this world's rules."
"And after that?"
He reached out and pulled her to her feet, his hand lingering on her lower back. "After that, we decide what to do with it. And with you."