Song of Wolves and Sirens | A&F
Even as he edged around the festivities, Fenrir knew that he was being reckless and stupid. So fucking stupid. He knew better than to be this close. A man his size didn’t blend in easily, and the last thing he needed was to be recognized. He could disappear in the chaos. All the screaming and fleeing, it’d be the smokescreen that got him out before the Aurors could come down on him hard.
But why risk it? He didn’t do crowds, or parties, or fun. He didn’t belong here, had no interest in belonging here, and he’d come anyway. It was brash and harebrained, an unnecessary risk. And for what? A look? Even as he cursed himself Fenrir couldn’t pull away. Better sense told him to duck into the dark between buildings and disappear before someone spotted him, but he didn’t. It felt like there was this thing tied to his rib cage and was yanking him along, a leash he hadn’t figured out how to snap and only grew stronger with time.
Fuck. He grumbled a low, quiet noise that vibrated at the base of his throat, a frustrated sound. Her nose and cheeks were rosy, wind kissed. Strands of dark hair kept getting swept into her face and she kept tucking them back, and Fenrir growled again at the jealousy he felt sharpening its claws inside his chest. Dodging around the dawdling stroll of a drunk, his glare didn’t leave her face as a laugh lit up her expression, shining in her eyes. He was too far and the night was too loud for him to pick apart the sound from everything else. But he felt it in that same place where jealousy was scraping its claws inside of him.
She walked to another stand, and he kept pace beside her at a distance. Teeth grit, jaw working as he bit down on his frustration, Fenrir tried to listen to the voice of reason screaming at him to back the hell off and put more distance between them --the whole fucking town, if he needed to. Someone was going to notice him. Be it Rod, or Evan, or any other Death Eater. They were going to see him stalking the veela, and they’d know how to hurt him.
Don’t be a fucking idiot, Greyback. He rounded the back of one of the stalls she’d stopped in front of and came up in the shadow of the other side. He leaned a shoulder on the stand’s post, standing casually as he glanced at her sidelong. For all the world he looked like any other party-goer, a hangaround watching the crowd.
Voice a low, grated rasp, he wondered, “Having fun?”