Need

No one saw much of either Gregorov or Loup over the weekend. Kessler had some risqué observations of what might be happening but, without seeing either of them, nothing could be proved. Kessler tried to place a bet, but had no takers.

The reality was that he would have lost his wager. In the game that was played, there would only be one winner and that role had been firmly cast. By Monday morning, Gregorov was completely confused and depressed. Loup had led him on several very long chases in both forms. Frustrated and angry at something he could not define, he lumbered into the staff room, looking for a fight. Paul Wronski leaned against the counter, sipping a cup of tea. Never a morning person, Wronski mumbled something that might have been a greeting or, more probably, a neutral noise meaning nothing. It was enough.

"What did you say?" Gregorov snarled as his hand shot out to claw into Wronski's shoulder.

"Nothing!" Wronski flinched as Gregorov's fingers dug in. "Let me go!" The Potions professor ducked, almost falling to the floor. Gregorov's hand, tired after hours of running and digging as a wolf, relaxed just enough. Wronski scrambled to his feet and raced out the door, leaving Gregorov in a rage with nothing or no one to vent at. He turned to face the wall, alternating between all-consuming anger and the less-familiar confusion that took turns eating at his sanity.

The scene, while dramatic, was hardly a rarity. After several tense minutes, cautiously silent professors rattled papers, sipped coffee and tried to prepare themselves for the day. Gregorov stubbornly stayed where he was. Unfortunately, he chose to stand next to the sink. Coffee finished, Rolf Haken took the initiative and walked over to rinse his mug. Stopping a carefully estimated distance away, Haken cleared his throat to announce his presence. Gregorov growled as he turned, expecting to find someone to fight with, but Haken growled back in a stand off. The short Haken, his toothy grin traded for a snarl, waited until Gregorov stood aside. In an attempt to salvage what little dignity he had left, Gregorov threw up his hands as if in disgust, then stalked over to the table where he sat down to brood.

"I don't think he's had a drink since she got here," Wronski whispered to Jones. "Is that good or bad?" He stood in the hallway watching from the doorway. Jones leaned against the doorjamb, watching the depressed Gregorov.

Jones was in a foul mood. She lit a cigarette and sucked down half of it in a long draught. Although there was no formal competition, she wore the mantel of defeat and wore it poorly. She made a point of inhaling deeply again, holding it and timing her exhalation to coincide when Loup brushed past her to enter the staff room. Glowering at the other woman's back, she mumbled, "Good. I think. I've never seen him so..." Jones dropped the cigarette and killed it with a sharp turn of her foot as she tried to find the right description.

"Stable," Lowenstein provided as he walked out of the staff room. "Yes. I believe that is the correct word. I had forgotten how odd the dynamics are in a pack. Of course, I have never seen one with a woman before. The balance of power is tipped entirely to her side." He smiled over at his wife. "I almost feel sorry for our Professor Gregorov."

Jones, Wronski and the Lowensteins watched as Gregorov offered his seat to Loup who took it without a glance. He then stood behind her until Kessler kicked a chair over to him. Ignoring the grunted slight from Kessler, he positioned the chair to one side and sat as if protecting Loup, not that she seemed to need much protection.

Lowenstein stroked his bead. "Almost. It seems a small price to pay for the quiet." Magda laughed as she handed her husband a cup of coffee and they returned to their rooms.

The bells began to toll the eighth hour. Slowly, the group collected itself in preparation for the day's tasks. Loup left the staff room to retrieve her cloak from Jones' quarters, ignoring the hiss from the shorter woman. As soon as she was out of sight, Kessler grabbed Gregorov's arm. "Are you mad? What is wrong with you? You stand there like a whipped puppy. Where is your spine?"

For an instant, Gregorov balled his hands into a fists, but his shoulders sagged and he looked away. "I do not know. I cannot explain it, not even to myself. Part of me wants to kill her." He looked around to see who was left in the room, but there was only Kessler. Almost in a whisper, Gregorov continued, "I feel better when she is around. I have not felt whole in years and now..." His face twisted in a scowl. "I need her, Siegfried. I do not even like her, but I need her. Since Tal's death... I, I have been empty. "

Kessler gave Gregorov's arm a brief squeeze. "Then, I will not beat her to death, although I would enjoy it greatly. Perhaps Inge could introduce one of her classmates to you. There are many beautiful girls this year. I am certain that one would sweeten your mood."

Gregorov considered the proposition. Normally, he would be more than happy to find a lovely girl or girls to help while away the long nights, but now he knew that his alpha would not approve. The human self and the wolf self debated the problem.

Kessler watched the internal struggle and decided that Gregorov needed something or someone to enjoy. Slapping Gregorov on the back, Kessler boomed, "Inge will know any number of willing lovelies. Soon, things will be normal. You and I, we will have our fill of women. That hunt, after all, is the one most worth pursing!"

* * *

At lunchtime, Kessler sequestered himself in a corner, Inge on his knee. "Surely, there is someone almost as beautiful as you that could be introduced to Yuri. He is a fine man and a lonely one." He trailed a finger along her cheek and then jiggled her until she laughed. "Tonight? Yes?"

"Perhaps, Siggy, but what is there for me? What do I get?" Inge unbuttoned the long, red leather uniform coat and reached inside.

"What would you like?" Kessler asked, eyes beginning to glaze.

* * *

At the Dark Arts table over lunch, Loup watched everyone and everything. She had little to say and seemed more inclined to eavesdrop on the various conversations at the table. Gregorov sat silently on her right, occasionally offering her things from the plates and bowls. Her rough edges seemed less abrasive. When Gregorov offered her a platter of desserts, she smiled and muttered, "Thank you."

Jones rolled her eyes every time Loup said anything. Wronski's attempt at suppressing a grin slowly failed over the hour. Jones' annoyance only fueled his amusement. "Someone's got a problem," he sang quietly, receiving a sharp smack on the arm for his troubles.

The afternoon classes provided a welcome distraction for Loup. Chasing a student away from a desk, she managed to squeeze into a spot in Lowenstein's sex spell class and found it fascinating. Smirking now and again, she badgered the boy sitting next to her into giving her a scroll of parchment and a pencil to take notes with. After the class ended, she joked with Lowenstein that it was a pity she had no one with whom to share the information. Lowenstein coughed politely and tried to change the topic. One of the adoring girls who loitered, obviously waiting for Lowenstein, piped up the obvious question: What about Professor Gregorov? Startled, Loup furrowed her brow as if trying to recall a face to go with the name, making it obvious that Gregorov was not even being considered.

A storm system came in during the afternoon. The winds screamed around the castle, draping the grounds in white. Dinner was a rushed affair for the Dark Arts professors as they grabbed up food to take back to their building. No one wanted to be stuck inside the castle and be forced to beg for a place to sleep. Once back in their building, a fire was lit and everyone contributed a warming spell or two until it was almost comfortable.

Loup paced the corridor for a while. Even her taste for the hunt was dulled by the weather. Stationing herself in front of one of the few windows in the hall, she watched the snow pile up, mesmerized by the creeping whiteness. She looked up briefly when the door slammed, taking note of Kessler and some others coming in. The snow was more interesting and she let herself be lulled by it.

In a fine mood for a Monday, Kessler herded his companions into the staff room. The sight of two girls instead of the usual one received a few raised eyebrows and a stern glare from Rabe. Wronski stifled a snicker and looked busy as he pretended to grade the homework assignments that he was already late on.

The girls took their shaggy cloaks off and handed them to Kessler. Inge had succeeded in convincing a classmate to come along. The girl was shorter and darker than Inge, but she was quite acceptable in Gregorov's opinion. The two eyed each other, both knowing why she was there. Disgusted, Jones promptly lit a cigarette. The offered girl had just sat down next to Gregorov when Loup entered the room.

It wasn't hard to figure out what was going on. Leaning in the doorway, Loup yipped, an odd sound coming from a human and it caught Gregorov's attention immediately. He forced his attention away from his present and looked up to see his alpha's disgust. Loup shook her head, turned and left. As Gregorov rose to follow, Kessler grabbed his arm and hauled him back into his seat. Gregorov looked at the confused girl, at Kessler and back at the empty doorway. He struggled with the set of very conflicting emotions and then, hating himself for it, got up and followed her.

"I believe that was a point for the visiting team." Wronski took out a felt tip and began to grade the scrolls. The main drama was done and the sheer volume of homework assignments began to inspire him.

"I don't get it." Jones stubbed out her cigarette. "I just don't. She won't be here that much longer. Please tell me she won't."

Haken glanced up from his place by the fire where six sets of homework assignments had quills poised over them as he prepared to start his grading spells. "I do not believe he can help himself. A wolf needs a pack. It will be very hard when she leaves. For both of them."

With an unpleasant growl, Kessler forced himself into a better mood by putting his arms around both girls and promising to show them a good time. Jones groaned loudly and lit another cigarette.

The drama in the hall was done in silence. Two sets of wills met. In a pantomime of postures, eye contact and facial tics, the battle was fought. Gregorov fell in the space of seconds and gloomily leaned against the wall, waiting to find out what would happen next.

For Loup, it felt far too familiar. There had been many similar fights with her mate. Armand might be dead, but his spirit lived on and she felt like she had stepped back in time. Looking Gregorov over, she wondered what she was going to do with him. She felt no physical attraction, so why didn't she leave him to the girl? The child was more like it. She allowed herself a brief flight of self-righteousness and then went back to the question of what to do with him. "Do you have any wine? I don't drink very often, but I feel like having a glass tonight."

Gregorov, still looking very annoyed, led her to his quarters. He opened the door for her and then followed her in. Walking past her into his living area, he stopped before a cluttered corner and began sorting through the detritus.

Making a show of looking at the mess, she sucked in her breath and made a face. "You live like this?" Gregorov was not a housekeeper. Papers were piled in haphazard stacks. The desk was buried under a pile of books, papers, a bottle or two and what looked to be a sweater. Folding her arms tightly over her chest in an effort to avoid touching anything, she slowly followed him into the small living room. If possible, it was even messier. Gregorov had been at the school for a long time and it looked as though he had never put anything away. Objects lay scattered over every surface and heaped in the corners. Dust was thick over most things and clothing was draped over the small couch and chair.

With a look of disgust, she gingerly cleaned off the chair. Seating herself, she continued her examination of the room, taking note of one particularly large pile of clothing and books that filled a corner. "How do you find anything in here?"

He looked up from a newly-excavated cache of bottles. "If I need it, I find it."

She looked dubious and kicked at a pile of clothing on the floor. "Don't you ever do laundry?"

Gregorov slammed a bottle and a water glass down on the table in front of her. It would have been a more impressive gesture if the sound had not been muffled by a pile of papers. "You are not my wife. Nor my mistress. How I keep my quarters is my own business."

The outburst caught her off guard and she settled back into the chair.

He continued to search near the bottles, looking for something else. Loup watched him until she grew bored. Leaning, over, she picked up the bottle and read the label, making an interested sound. The vintage and label met her approval. The search moved to another pile of rubble. Shrugging, she took out her wand and said, "Alohomora" to open the bottle. The popping sound caught Gregorov's attention. Looking a bit sheepish, he scooped off a place to sit on the couch and poured a large amount of the bottle into the water glass.

"Only one glass?" She picked it up and sniffed the wine.

"There might be another, but I do not know where it is. We will have to share." He gave a crooked smile. "I have had all of my shots."

She ventured a small taste. "Very nice. Not what I had expected." As she passed the glass to him, she realized how her comment must have sounded. "That was meant to be a compliment."

Gregorov said nothing but instead took a sip, then another before handing the glass back. They didn't bother to talk, sipping the wine was enough for awhile. While waiting her turn, Loup inspected the living area. Her nose wrinkled regularly at the piles of clothing and papers, but her attitude shifted when she began looking at the various books scattered throughout the room. "I can't read the Cyrillic script. What are most of these?"

Gregorov scooped one from a stack next to the couch. "Philosophy."

"Philosophy?" She curled her lip briefly. "I'm surprised. Doesn't seem like something you would read."

Gregorov leaned back onto his couch, cradling the glass. "I am a surprising man."

He got a noncommittal sound as an answer. "Where are your spell books? I don't see anything that looks like a working library."

With an air of great annoyance, he handed her the glass, got up and walked over to a chest that was buried under the usual debris. Papers, books and a pair of pants cascaded to the floor when he opened it. The familiar sickly-sweet smell blasted forth. She crowded next to him to see what books he had.

"Are they all in Russian? Is it ok if I touch them?"

Gregorov grunted and stepped aside. He watched as she pulled out a pair of gloves and reached in for one. She flipped through it and made a few interested sounds. "Wish I could read them. The calligraphy is beautiful. Is the binding human skin?"

"Learn Russian." Gregorov took the book back and replaced it in the chest. "This one," he pulled out a very small book bound in some kind of green leather, "is very special." He did not offer it to her, instead opened it and smiled as he read a page.

"What is it?" She reached for the book and was disappointed when he drew it close to his chest. Her hand fell slowly back. Even she felt it was not her place to demand a book from another wizard.

"Mine. If you were kinder to me, I would let you read it, but you are not." With that small dig, he closed the book, placed it back into the chest and shut the lid.

To his surprise, she gave a small smile. "Sorry. I can't help myself at times. The whole dominance instinct thing. I think it gets worse when you get older."

She resumed her seat and picked up the glass again, taking a sip and then swirling it around. "Look, about the girl. It really isn't my business who or what you sleep with. I tell you what, let me finish my glass of wine and then I'll go back to Jones' quarters. With the weather the way it is, I'm sure the she'll still be here. I'll have all of my alpha instincts made happy by keeping you here for a bit and you can do whatever it is you planned on doing."

Saying nothing, he reached out for the glass and considered his response, the shrieking wind the only sound. She tucked her feet under her and leaned against the arm of the chair while she waited.

They finished the glass in silence, the wind the loudest sound. He poured the last of the bottle into the glass and they finished that, too. She took the last sip, stood up and just as quickly sat back down. "I don't drink very often. Give me a second." The seconds ticked by as she sat very still, concentrating. "OK. Let's try that again." Loup stood and held still until she was certain all was still. Flashing a grin, she ran a hand though her hair, stopping to tug at a snarl. "Thank you, that was quite pleasant," she said as she walked unsteadily towards the office. At the door, she stopped, turned around to say something, forgot what it was and walked into the doorjamb. Gregorov smothered a laugh. Rubbing her shoulder, she leaned against the doorjamb and laughed. "I don't drink very often." When she stepped forward, her head jerked back. Mumbling under her breath, she grabbed her hair and tugged herself loose from the hinges. "Good night," she said, rubbing the back of her head as she left.

Gregorov leaned back on his couch and felt more confused about her than he had been before. The wind screamed again and his thoughts wandered back to the dark-haired girl. The nights were long and the bed was cold. It was time to see if Loup's logic was correct. As he began to walk through the door into his office, the light caught something. A closer examination revealed that she had left a snarl of hair dangling from the hinge. Sloppy. Someone like her should know better than to leave bits of themselves around. Carefully, he unwound the long hairs, certain that he could get a lot of amusement out of them the next morning. He rolled the hairs into a loop and tucked them into a coat pocket. He hoped that Siegfried had not taken both girls into his rooms or, at the very least, would answer the door when he knocked.