WARNINGS: This story is AU in that Hermione is born in 1959 instead of 1979, and she grows up in the Marauders Era. Fenrir Greyback is her father, and her mother is a witch, so she isn't muggleborn. If that doesn't sound like your cup of tea, shuffle off. If it does, be advised that this fic contains strong violence, smut, non-con elements, wolf-mate elements, and a lot of obscure or made-up-by-me Werewolf lore.

UPDATES: Will likely be sporadic, because I have so many fics I'm currently juggling, but this one and several others have their teeth in me, so I'm sharing for you all to enjoy the momentum.

Much love! xx-Kitten

Devil In Me

By Kittenshift17

Chapter One

28th December, 1958

Fenton Granger didn't hold with rape. It was a small bright spot in a shadowy existence that he prided himself on. A spot that Fenrir was all too willing to blot out. His hackles rose, exposing fangs that were too sharp and faintly bloodied. No, Fenton Granger didn't hold with rape, but Fenrir Greyback did. As Fenrir - the wolf - Fenton crossed a lot of lines he never thought he'd cross.

Staring at the woman sobbing on the ground before him, her thighs bloody with his most recent act of brutality, Fenton realised that Fenrir had pushed him over the line again.

"Get up," he growled at the woman.

She whimpered. With good reason. The command of an Alpha would be hard to ignore even though she wasn't a werewolf, but he'd broken her so badly that she likely wasn't capable of getting up.

He'd never fucked like that before. He'd never raped. He might be a murderer, a cannibal, and a monster, but he'd never been a rapist. Not until now. Fenton snarled again, feeling the Fenris inside of him pushing for release, clawing to break free of his skin, to take control of the last human vestiges within him. The beast pushed him to finish off the woman crying at his feet when she refused the order.

"Up," he commanded again, fighting back the wolf and squatting, naked, to pull her across the grass by her ankles. She didn't fight, even though the fear in her eyes made him think she believed he was going to rut her again.

"I can't," she whispered. "It hurts."

Fenton bit back another snarl at her soft utterance. Didn't she know it wasn't wise to admit injury to a predator? Didn't she know tempting the beast was dangerous?

As he dragged her body toward him, he breathed in her scent beneath the anxiety and fear and blood. She smelled like green tea and jasmine. The idea startled him and he leaned in a little closer. He'd been intending to lift her to her feet and propel her forward, back to the village he'd created for his pack. She wasn't a werewolf. Yet. But that could change just as soon as the next full moon came.

As he leaned into her, intrigued by the scent of her magic, he realised with a jolt just why it was that Fenrir had broken his only rule and ravaged her. She was fertile. Fertile and his.

"What's your name, witch?" Fenton asked of her, pain and panic ripping into him as the realisation hit of who she was and what fate dictated she meant to him.

She shook her head, sobbing softly, her lips pressed together.

"Tell me your name," Fenton insisted. He dragged her under him once more, balancing on all fours as he straddled her so he could stare into her chocolate brown eyes. Her hair hung in a mess of curls about her head upon the grass.

She shook her head again.

"I'll tell you mine," he bargained, nosing at her chest, pushing apart the sides of her shirt. He'd torn them open with his claws in his moment of lust, and she tried in vain to hold the scraps of fabric closed to protect her small breasts from his gaze.

"Please go away," she whispered. "I'm… you've had your fun. I'm beaten. Let me gather the shredded tatters of my dignity and get myself home so I can pretend this never happened."

Fenrir pushed for release again, wanting to claim her. He'd already marked her. The bite wound on her shoulder proved it.

"Can't do that, love," Fenton murmured. "You know what I am?"

She'd been refusing to meet his gaze even as he nuzzled at her chest, lapping at the blood from the faint scratches he'd left upon her flesh when he'd shredded her shirt. The urge he'd thought was merely his wolf's cannibalistic nature rising was far more insidious. His wolf didn't want to eat her; it wanted to tie her to him forever. It wanted to fuck her until she was full of his cubs and tethered to him for the rest of her life. She was his mate and he would not let her get away.

Her eyes snapped to his face at his question even as he licked a scratch upon her chest until it closed over.

"You're a werewolf," she whispered. Fenton wondered at her tone. She didn't sound disgusted at the idea of his curse. He could still smell her residual fear, but that stemmed from being raped, not from his lycanthropy.

"I'm a werewolf," Fenton agreed. "Do you know why I ravaged you? Why, ordinarily, my instinct would be to break your neck and eat your corpse, but instead it's only demanding I fuck you again and again until you're swollen with my cubs?"

She closed her eyes, tears leaking from the corners, and she flinched when he leaned up to lap them from her skin before they could soak into her hair. She tasted salty, yet sweet. Like rich caramel. Fenton groaned softly at the taste, long forgotten from a childhood he scarcely recalled until this very moment.

"Please don't," she whispered.

"Don't what? Fuck you full of my cubs?"

"Don't lick me," she said, eyes squeeze closed. "Please?"

"My form of affection unsettles you?" Fenton asked. He supposed, from a human perspective, licking someone's tears was creepy rather than comforting.

"I want to go home," the witch whispered.

"Tell me your name," Fenton bargained. "Tell me your name and I'll take you home, love."

Her eyes flew open at his soft promise.

"But I'm your…?" she began.

"You're my mate," he nodded. "My name is Fenton Granger, little witch. What's yours?"

He bottom lip trembled as she looked at him. Fenton knew it was likely shock at the sight of him completely human. His fangs had receded at the sight of her tears and her fear. His claws, too. The fur that threatened to push through all over him when he transformed had receded, leaving him as close to human as he'd looked since his first transformation almost thirty years earlier.

He hadn't actually seen his completely human visage since he'd been a boy, now that he thought about it. But he'd be human – or as close as he could come – for his mate. Belatedly, it occurred to Fenton that he'd given her his true name – the one legally listed as belonging to a wizard who'd disappeared as a boy of six, thirty years ago. He realised with a jolt that she would know him by his true name, not by the nom de plume he went by to hide his true identity. She would not know him as Fenrir Greyback, but simply as Fenton.

"My name is Della," she whispered. "Della Stone."

"I'm sorry for hurting you, Della. I… I lost control of the wolf inside of me. I've never lost control like that before," Fenton apologised, feeling a strange, constricting sensation inside his chest as she looked at him through tear-soaked lashes.

"You said you would take me home," Della whispered.

Fenton's heart kicked out a painful beat against his ribs at the idea of taking her home where he'd be expected to play nice. Hell, he'd apologised but that didn't change the fact that he'd raped her. He'd chased her across a field, run her down and raped her.

"Will you let me clean you up first?" he asked, his wolf still yearning to fill her with cubs but knowing he needed to protect her and care for her to ensure she'd live to raise them. "Please? I won't hurt you again. I didn't mean to. I can't take you home with your dress in tatters and blood coating your skin."

Della looked fearful.

"Clean me up how?" she asked, obviously nervous.

"There's a shower in my cottage," Fenton offered. "And something to wear that won't expose you. Or I can lick you clean, if you'd prefer."

He punctuated the offer by dipping back down to lick at the beads of blood on her chest. She whimpered softly, pain, terror and disgust washing through her. He could smell it and he tried to control the urge he usually had to revel in such scents.

"Please don't lick that, Fenton," she requested softly. "It stings."

Fenton closed his eyes at the sound of his true name upon her sweet lips, nodding his head even as he lowered himself further down her body. Aye, it would sting. He'd only grazed her with his claws there, but they would sting and ache for a long time. Wounds inflicted by such a dark creature always did. Skimming his nose over her bare midriff, Fenton's eyes crossed behind closed lids at the scent of her fertility. She was ripe for bearing his cubs, and fuck if he didn't want to take her all over again.

His sensitive nose could pick up their mingling secretions the lower he moved. She sobbed softly when he paused, pressing open mouthed kisses to her abdomen, breathing in the sweet scent of her ovulation. A wicked smile stretched his mouth and he opened his eyes to peer at the witch from his perch over her. Gods, he wanted to take her again.

"Della?" he whispered. He doubted she was going to give him her permission to rut her again, but he had to ask.

"You said you'd take me home," she whimpered, her hand slowly creeping for the wand he'd knocked from her grasp in their scuffle before he'd taken her. She was plotting her escape, he realised. Terrified and in shock, she might be, but she was still planning how best to escape him.

The thought hurt him more than it ought and Fenrir howled from deep within him, furious at the idea that she plotted to leave him when he'd only just found her. The human part of him understood. Mate or not, it would take a lot more than an apology whilst looming over her to make his witch forgive him for attacking her and raping her.

Reaching down deep for his self-control, Fenton sat back on his heels, pulling away from her. He rose to his feet quickly and bent to scoop up her wand – eliciting a soft cry of devastation from the witch. Before she could protest, he scooped her into his arms, bridal style, and Disapparated with a crack.

Landing outside his cottage, Fenton carried the little witch inside it, much to her dismay.

"Stop sobbing," he said, the words coming out harsher than he intended in his annoyance over the idea that as soon as she was able, she would flee.

She hiccupped softly in response even as Fenton carried her to the bathroom in his dingy cottage. He didn't put her down as he adjusted the taps to make the water warm, not until it was ready did he stand her on her feet. He pulled her tattered dress from her small frame, unveiling her to his hungry gaze.

Her knees wobbled and she'd have fallen to the floor had he not propped her back against his chest.

"Why?" she whispered when he helped her into the shower, similarly naked as he climbed in behind her. "Why attack me and then help me?"

She was still crying and Fenton fought the urge to snarl at her. He'd never been the coddling type and he'd no idea how to console or even sooth her.

"You're my mate," he replied gruffly. "I caught your scent and the wolf in me drove us to claim you. I didn't intend to attack you, just got carried away. I'm helpin' you 'cause you're my mate and it's my job to protect you. You're the only one who can carry my cubs, witch. You're mine."

She cried harder at his explanation, hissing at the sting of hot water on the scratches upon her chest and her legs, and the bite mark on her shoulder.

"Does this mean I'll be a werewolf?" she asked dully when he reached for the soap and began carefully bathing the blood and dirt from her skin. She touched her hand to the bite mark.

"I can't infect you outside of the full moon," he replied. "That's not to infect you; that's to claim you. Any other wolf who encounters you will know you're claimed as my mate. None of them will touch you, even at a full moon. Probably doesn't feel like it, I'd wager, but it's protection for you, Della."

He didn't mention that it would allow him to track her, no matter where she went. He didn't mention that it would make her crave her steaks a little bloody or that she'd be restless and horny leading up to and during the full moon. He didn't even mention that with his bite on her shoulder, she'd be unable to conceive with or even want to fuck another man.

He'd let her find those things out of her own. Fenton Granger hadn't become Fenrir Greyback by being stupid. He knew that the minute she thought she could, she was going to run. She would apparate away from him and try to hide from him.

"It stings," she whispered.

She hissed when he pulled her mane of curls to one side to expose the bite before latching his mouth onto it and biting down all over again. She arched in his arms, writhing, trying to fight the pain and the wave of lust infusing her from the bite. Fenrir smirked within him, his wolf pleased at the idea of her arousal.

The bite made her horny for him, he knew. She was terrified, disgusted and even furious with him, but now she wanted to fuck him too. The perks of lycanthropy. Fenton lapped at the fresh blood until it stopped, his saliva healing her and closing the wound, before he kissed his way across her shoulder and up the side of her neck.

"What have you done to me?" she breathed, subconsciously thrusting her hips against his rapidly hardening cock.

"Marked you mine for all your days," he breathed in her ear, nipping her earlobe and drawing a moan from her.

Her hands reached for his, making him drop the soapy sponge and guiding him to her centre. She was still bloody there from the brutal rutting he'd given her and she hissed when he touched her.

Growling softly, Fenton spun her in his hold and propped her against the wall before he squatted once more. When he slung one of her legs over his shoulder and leaned into her cunt, she cried out. His saliva healed her raw flesh and he smirked at the taste of his spunk leaking out of her. He wasn't having that. He'd claim the little bitch and knock her up before he'd let her go, even if he had to fuck her continuously for the rest of his life until he died of exhaustion.

Working his fingers inside her, he pushed his cum into her, driving it back toward the opening of her womb. The scent of her fertility grew stronger with her arousal. Lapping at the tight bud at the top of her slit, he finger fucked her and licked her until she broke. Her terror forgotten under the onslaught of pleasure being touched by her mate could yield, she'd fisted her hands in his dark hair.

Standing to his full height once more, he scooped his hands under the backs of her thighs, lifting her and impaling her on his cock with a grunt. The tail end of her orgasm fluttered her about him and she mindlessly reached to kiss lips that had tasted her flesh. Fenton permitted it though he didn't often allow anyone to snog him. She groaned as he hard-fucked her into the wall, knowing no other way.

Fenton rutted her deep, thrusting high, feeling the tightening inside himself as his lycanthropy pushed for release along with his spunk. His bollocks tightened and he heard her breath catch as he began to thicken, his knot forming. The magic of his curse flared then, shoving her unexpectedly into an orgasm that would last until he was done coming - a good twenty minutes from now. Groaning as the knot formed into a massive, pulsing ball of tissue, locking his deep inside of her, Fenton hissed as the first spurt of cum splashed against her womb.

Like a regular canine, the magic of the knot would push his body into orgasm twenty or thirty times in as many minutes, draining him, filling her with his essence to better ensure her pregnancy. Like a plug in a bathtub, his knot would prevent even a drop from leaking out of her. Fenton groaned and growled and hissed his was through spurt after spurt, his mate arched in his arms, her expression wrought with bliss, the magic prolonging her orgasm and making her delirious with pleasure until he was done.

The last few felt like they pulled every skerrick of energy all the way up from his toes to shoot into her. It went on so long that his whole body ached and the water ran cold. He bit her so many times, marking her again and again, that were it not for the shower, they'd both be bathed in blood. As the last, throbbing, aching ejaculation squirted inside of his mate, Fenton tipped his head back, Fenrir rising within him and howling his release and his triumph to the world.

Beyond his cottage, his pack howled with him, their wolves responding to the call of their Alpha, filling them with celebration. It was a little known phenomenon that the Pack revered cubs above all else. The joy of find one's mate with which to procreate was a joyous moment indeed and they celebrated the idea of their Alpha finding his. Bone tired when it was over, Fenton leaned into Della heavily, panting as she slowly came down from her high.

She'd dug her nails into his shoulders and his back, but Fenton would where the marks with pride.

"Is that… more of you?" she whispered breathlessly as the pack howled beyond his cottage.

"My pack," he grunted. "They're celebrating."

"Why?"

"Because I found you," he said, pulling back slowly to look at her. "No werewolf can breed with any but his mate. To have found you is a rare miracle. They celebrate the notion that soon their Alpha will have cubs, strengthening the Pack in numbers and in bond."

"They think you'll impregnate me?" she asked, frowning at the idea. Fenton bit back a snarl.

"They know, I will." he murmured. "Am I hurting you?"

"Are you… always this big?" she asked, flicking her eyes south as his knot began to loosen.

"I knotted you," he shrugged. The term confused her, he could tell, but he didn't explain.

"I feel like I could sleep for a month. I've never… not for so long like that. How did you…?" her words grew slurred with exhaustion as the magic wore off, ridding her of her energy and leaving her boneless.

Fenton felt boneless himself, barely having the energy to turn off the taps and flick his wand to dry them both. She was asleep, her head on his shoulder, before he reached the bed. Not nearly done with her but needing rest, he stretched out on his bed, lying on his back with his mate sprawled across his chest. His knot – still half-formed – kept his cock inside her. It wouldn't fully recede now until she was pregnant with his cubs or until the next full moon, whichever came first.

He slept heavily, his arms like steel bands around his mate as the exhaustion won out.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

Della Stone woke feeling groggy, her whole body aching and her cunny throbbing with need. Merlin, she'd never felt so horny in all her life, she was sure. Clenching her pelvic floor she moaned when she realised something was lodged deep inside of her. A something that twitched at her clench.

Her pillow grunted beneath her and Della lifted her head, her eyes snapping open in panic. She was sleeping on someone – something – and it terrified her when she recalled who it was. Fenton Granger, the werewolf who'd run her down and raped her. The man who claimed she was his mate. The man who'd made her orgasm for what felt like hours, unending.

His eyes were open when she looked at him, though he looked like he'd only just woken. They glowed an eerie shade of gold despite the dark of the room.

"Mate?" he murmured softly.

Della whimpered. She didn't want to be his mate. She wanted to run. But right then, she also wanted another one of those unending orgasms he'd given her. Merlin, it was wrong. She'd no clue who he was. Not really. He'd hinted at murder and cannibalism. He'd told her he was the Alpha of a lycan pack. He'd even raped her. She should be trying to run from him. She should not be aching with desire to have him fuck her again.

"Is your… are you still inside me?" she whispered, her body clenching tightly upon his cock once more.

"I belong inside you," he replied gruffly and his voice made her shiver with need. Low and rough, it grated upon her senses in the most delicious way.

"I…"

"Horny?" he smirked at her. "You want to go again?"

"You raped me," she blurted out.

He tensed. "Aye, that I did. Not intentionally, but I did. Won't do it again, though. You want me to rut you, you ask for me, witch."

Della groaned at the very idea, her body clenching once more even as she sat up, bracing her hands against his hairy chest and levering herself into a sitting position. The move drove him deep inside her, so deep it ached and throbbed, filling her with desire.

"Please," she whispered, unable or unwilling to voice her needs, but feeling the need nonetheless.

"Please what?" he growled, his hands catching her hips and holding her still when she began subconsciously rolling her hips, seeking more friction; more pleasure.

Della whined like a mutt at being held still.

"Please fuck me," she begged, delirious with need, overcome with a deep ache inside of her to be shagged until she howled her own release.

"With pleasure," he practically purred, arching under her and sliding impossibly deeper. His grip on her hips slid her up and down his cock quickly, shooting her into delirium and bliss almost immediately.

"Gods!" Della groaned. "Harder, Fenton. Please fuck me harder."

His responding growl vibrated all the way through his cock and inside of her and Della sobbed. His cock never leaving her tight, fluttering sheath, Della found herself on all fours on the bed, Fenton fucking her like the wolf he was. His massive form dwarfed her own to such an extent that her back pressed against the full length of his chest and he held her hands on the bed, his hips snapping as he rutted her. Della's mind drifted in a sea of bliss, panting, crying, overcome with it all.

He seemed to swell inside of her then and magic surged through her, slamming her into orgasm. A whining, blissful howl tore from her throat and Fenton joined her, howling as he came deep within her. She was lost, overcome, completely ruined. Her energy waned as her body went limp, held in place only by the arm he belted around her middle, holding her in place. Beyond the cottage, his pack of lycans howled with him again as he fucked her into a stupor.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

Fenton lost track of the number of time over the next four days that he fucked his mate. They didn't stop to eat, their magic sustaining them, pushing them to continue, the lycan magic forcing them to continue until she fell pregnant. His Beta brought them water, waking him without disturbing his mate, but not lingering to share in his success and joy at finding his mate and fucking his cubs into her.

"Her people are looking for her, Fen," Rafe said from the doorway on the fourth day while his mate laid spooned in his arms. Fenton lifted his head, peering at his Beta.

"How do you know?" he ground out.

"There's a notice in the papers," Rafe said. "She's been reported missing. Are you done yet?"

Fenrir shifted slightly and smirked when his cock finally, finally slid free of her. Breathing in deep, the sweet scent of her fertility dimmed, overcome by a rich, vanilla scent.

"She's pregnant," he murmured. His wolf nearly had him howling again, but he tamped down the urge. He didn't want to wake her.

"What are you going to do? Her people will think the worst."

"They should," he nodded, fishing his cock from within her. The puddle of ejaculate spreading across the sheet as it dribbled out of her soaked him and Fenton sighed.

Scooping his mate into his arms, he carried her to the bathroom while she slumbered. He set her on the toilet, holding her in the right position as the mess continued leaking from within her.

"You…?" Rafe asked, letting himself into the cottage.

"I ran her down when I caught her scent," Fenton grunted.

"Shit."

"The magic of the Mating might've pushed her into fondness for me rather than terror and hatred, but she'll come to and be furious soon enough. I need to get her home and safely into her bed before her people catch me.

"You're letting her go?" Rafe asked, eyes wide with shock. "She's pregnant with your cub. With the future of the pack."

"She's human," Fenton reminded him. "And she'll stay that way until she gives birth. You know what will happen if I turn her while she'd pregnant."

"But…"

"Find out where she lives, Rafe," Fenton growled. "Her name is Della Stone."

"She's from Kensington."

"I'll find it," Fenton muttered.

He needed to get her clean and fed, and then he needed to get her home. Working his fingers inside her, Fenton made a face at the thick, viscous strands of spunk that leaked down his fingers. Scraping it all out of her, he carried her to the shower and sat on the floor with her propped against him. She still didn't wake.

"You rode her hard," Rafe commented, watching the proceedings with fascination.

"She howled," Fenton smirked.

"Aye, and we howled with her. She's carrying the hope of our pack in her womb. You marked her, too," he smiled.

Fenton nodded, lapping at the scarred bite on her shoulder. He'd sunk his teeth into it more times than he could count.

"Couldn't let anyone else harm her or lay a hand on her," Fenton shrugged.

"You really want to let her go?"

"She'll be back," he murmured. "Before the cub comes, she'll love me."

Rafe nodded his head slowly. Fenton didn't know if his Beta believed him. Hell, he didn't know if he believed it himself, but he was hopeful. Leaving her would be torture, but he'd do it. He was strong. She'd need time to accept all of this. Time away from him. Time to grow their cub inside of her. Besides, the moon was rising.

Drying off and dressing quickly, Fenton Disapparated to Kensington with a crack. It was easy to follow her scent to her home. There were people waiting on watch to see if she'd come home, but he skirted around them and let himself inside. The wards rippled over him, the magic recognising him as the mate of a resident and circumventing their ability to keep him out. More perks of lycanthropy. Why anyone wouldn't want to be a werewolf was beyond Fenton.

He carried his slumbering mate all the way into her bedroom and laid her under the covers. Pressing a kiss to her forehead and another to her womb, Fenton fought with Fenrir to leave her there, unprotected. He made sure to pull the covers to her chin before he Disapparated with a crack.