“Lady Mariko?” Soft footsteps brushed against the hardwood floors as the fragrance of green tea filled the elegantly appointed suite. “Where you would like me to leave this for you?”
“On the side table is fine,” she indicated, nodding to it. “Thank you, Keiko.” Her smile was gentle and serene, one of very few that she’d allowed herself over the past few days. Mariko’s serving attendant bowed low and backed out of the room, closing the door softly behind her. Mariko poured herself a cup of tea and gazed out through the wide patio doors, watching the clouds darken and swell. It was late spring, too late for thunderclouds to be rolling across the sky. Mariko shivered inside her indigo silk blazer as she sipped her drink, wondering why it felt like someone just walked over her grave.
The winds picked up, making the trees surrounding her estate sway and toss and bringing a kiss of dampness to the air. Mariko’s reverie was interrupted by strident male tones at the front gates. She furrowed her brow and strained her ears to distinguish the voices, counting them. She set her cup back on the ornate silver serving tray with a clatter when she recognized the loudest one, the foreign accent and thunderous growl a dead giveaway.
“Logan-sama?” she whispered. The past week had finally been quiet. Almost too peaceful. Mariko had silently held her breath, waiting for another heated outburst. Another argument that left her bleeding and stinging inside, the memory of Logan’s eyes, wounded and furious over her rebuke, burned into her dreams at night. The weight on her heart was matched by the empty space on his pillow. Even though the bedding in her chamber was washed daily, the pillow, even out of its case, still held his lingering scent.
She fell asleep each night clutching it to her cheeks.
Relief that he hadn’t abandoned her, even though he would have been justified, battled with trepidation and gathered her stomach into a fist-sized knot. The need to look into his face again spurred her footsteps into the foyer. Her houseman hurried alongside her, racing to bar her from answering the door. “Lady Mariko, please, let me handle this. I don’t want you to suffer any distress from his intrusion…”
“I know that. Truly, I do; and I know you are just doing your best to protect me, and I appreciate it. But if things had been different, you would have served him as you do me.” Her voice was firm. “I will let you know when it is time to show him the way out. In the meantime, you will accord him the respect of the most honored guest. Step aside, Masao.” His lips tightened briefly before he bowed to her.
“At least allow me to show him in for you.” Mariko nodded and stepped back, letting him unbolt the locks and turn the brass handle. The chaos and clamor that greeted her left Mariko stunned.
“You have no place here, gaijin!”
“Ya picked the wrong day fer this shit, bub! I ain’t got time ta mess with ya right now, can’t ya see this lady’s on her last friggin’ leg?”
“That isn’t Lady Mariko’s concern.”
“Anything that concerns Logan, concerns me.” Mariko’s light, clear voice rang out across the courtyard. Her gut twisted at the sight that Logan made, covered in deep scratches and bruised from head to foot, his dark sweats torn and soaked in even darker patches of something suspicious. What froze Mariko in the doorway, however, as Logan made his way up the front walk, was the sight of Ororo Munroe, pale, dazed and limp, sprawled unconscious in his arms. Blood flowed unchecked from a wound below her collarbone. “Logan-sama…Ororo?? Blessed ancestors! Who did this to her?”
“Time enough ta explain it once we get inside,” he huffed, staggering beneath Ororo’s weight, more due to her dangling limbs and the precarious way she was balanced. His own wounds were healing, but they didn’t tickle. “With ‘Roro in this kinda bad shape, the weather ain’t gonna be fit for man nor beast pretty soon. She needs help.” Logan swallowed, eyeing Mariko with cautious eyes, pleading silently with her. “I need yer help. Please.”
“Of course. You have but to ask.” She said nothing of his visits and the harsh words exchanged between them; this wasn’t the time. “It’s not safe for you both to stay out in the open; someone could see. Many eyes are upon the comings and goings of Clan Yashida, Logan-sama. That much hasn’t changed.” She stood back and flung the door open wide. “Bring her inside, quickly.” Mariko clucked over them like a mother hen, beckoning to Masao, “Call the physician immediately. Prepare the guest suite upstairs, and fetch Logan some towels and a change of clothing.”
“Forget about ‘em. I ain’t leavin’ her.” Logan wobbled slightly but held fast to his precious burden, his eyes glazed with exhaustion and worry.
“You’re barely standing, you’ve been hurt!”
“I don’t give a shit!” Of course he didn’t. Mariko sighed heavily. She swept her hand in a graceful gesture.
“Then come sit down. Before you fall down and reopen her wounds. Keiko, bring us some blankets, please,” she called. “And you come with me.” Mariko lead the way, wishing again for who knew what time out of how many that week that things were different, that she could just fight her way through the thick and heavy bitterness between them and hold him. Love him, kiss him, and never let him go. But she held herself steady, calm and aloof, motioning to a high-backed mahogany chair. Logan grunted his assent and sat down, cradling Ororo on his lap. She groaned in complaint at the shift of position, and her fingers clutched at the tatters of Logan’s blood-soaked shirt.
“Uuurrrggh…huuuurrtsssss.”
“I know, darlin’, yer gonna be okay, just stay with me.”
“Logan…don’ worry…about me, jus’ save…Yuki’, she needs you. Vi-per, she wants to…to hurt ““ Ororo’s chest spasmed painfully as she coughed and choked.
“Easy. EASY. Don’t talk, darlin’, ya ain’t gotta tell me twice. I know. M’iko, where’s the damn doctor? I can’t drag her into a hospital like this, it’ll draw too much attention…”
“I know, Logan-sama. This isn’t the first time someone’s crossed my doorstep nearly at death’s door. This house has seen its share of blood. Masao, take her upstairs. Logan, you can follow him up.” Logan’s ears twitched at the sound of an engine outside cutting off abruptly. He snarled as Mariko’s houseman reached to take Ororo from his grip.
“Logan.” Mariko’s voice held a hard edge. “Let him take her. She’ll be in good hands. Rest now.” Her dark, fathomless eyes brooked no room for dispute. The damp, sweet weight of Ororo’s body was lifted from his lap, and his hands itched to hold onto her as Masao made his way upstairs with her. Logan stared after them, watching Ororo’s sneakered feet dangling and swinging around the corner of the hall before he heard footfalls on the stairs. The scent of her blood lingered with him, mingling with his.
“Who did this?” Mariko’s voice softened now, and her soft, delicate hand found his shoulder, stroking it to calm him. She didn’t shy away from the bloody streaks on his skin, nor the bits of debris decorating his unruly black hair. She flicked away a bit of something that looked like rubble. The pebble clattered against the hardwood floor. “Viper?”
Logan nodded, then looked down at his shoes in shame. “She had help.”
“Who?” Mariko feared the answer as tingles of unease ran up her arms.
“Yer brother.”
Mariko was literally saved by the doorbell as Keiko let in the physician and his two assistants, beckoning for two more of her staff to help them bring in their equipment. They looked stunned when Mariko told them that the one that needed their help was upstairs, not the miserable-looking, haggard foreigner dripping blood in dining room.
**
The warm summer winds buoyed Ororo as she raced a large golden eagle to a towering ash tree. “Catch me if you can, slow coach!” she taunted, her gauzy cotton skirts fluttering as she swooped at it, chuckling at its startled screech. Ororo and her playmate dipped and dove through the air, the bird making sharp turns on its wingtip and doing its level best to impress Ororo with its stunts.
Ororo hovered above the tree’s branches, content for the moment to catch her breath and admire the countryside. Everything was more beautiful from up here, from the emerald green of the new spring grass, to the pristine hills and placid creeks. Ororo looked up just as she began her descent, surprised to see that eagle return, flying full-speed to join her.
“I’m done playing, my friend. I must go home now.” Ororo sent a strong draft to buffet him and discourage him from following her. Suddenly, the gap between them narrowed and slammed shut as the eagle bore down upon her, seeming to grow larger the closer he came. Ororo’s eyes weren’t playing tricks on her; the majestic bird, whose wingspan rivaled the length of her own slender arms, had somehow grown and swelled, his shadow darkening the sky. His wings beat savagely at the air, whipping the air into choppy, careless currents and knocking Ororo out of her flight path.
“Bright Lady! Get away from me!” The enormous bird opened its talons and reached for her, diving for its prize.
“AAAAGGGGH!” Razor-sharp claws grazed her skin and shredded her flimsy garments, showing no regard for her tender flesh as the eagle gripped her, bearing her away. She struggled and swore, writhing in pain and outrage. The air was stolen from her lungs as the creature flew faster and higher than she would have taken herself. His wings beat the air as he wheeled them away from familiar territory. “Stop!”
Ororo felt his hunger vibrating through his downy feathers and sinew. The eagle’s eyes were cruel and dark as they raked over her, watching her struggle without an ounce of pity. The predator never sympathized with its next meal.
The sun was too hot. Ororo concentrated on cooling the winds and gathering the clouds over the blazing orb to shut out the unrelenting glare, but the drafts and gusts blew gusty and hot, whipping her cheeks and hair, chafing her. Her skin prickled and stung as the eagles claws shifted her in their grip, scratching her again. She could smell the faint tang of her blood and knew it was enthralling him, whetting his appetite. She felt the air being squeezed from her as his claws tightened around her ribcage. “Let me go! Please!”
His squawks and shrieks seemed to mock her.
Ororo’s eyes clouded white, flashing in warning as she stared deeply into those of her tormentor, and she shakily summoned a burst of lightning, aiming for the beast’s mighty legs.
“SSSQQQWWARRRRKK! AWWWWKK!” The eagle’s muscles spasmed and clenched, and his talons loosened their grip, reflexively wrenching and tossing Ororo free. Her neck nearly snapped with the momentum, but she sped away without grace or hesitation. Her control of the winds began to wane, however, and to her horror, she began to plummet. The ground rushed up at her, and the unfeeling winds whistled in her ears. Her skin still burned; the hot gusts created friction in her seeping wounds.
“NOOOOOO!”
“What are you crying about now?” a voice trilled in her ear. Ororo’s eyes darted to the source of the sound, unable to believe what “ and who “ she was seeing.
“YUKIO?!?” The ronin’s laugh was infectious and carefree as she fell alongside Ororo, arms splayed in abandon. Ororo scrabbled for Yukio’s wrist, attempting to stall their descent, adjusting the winds. It scarcely made any difference; Yukio’s laugh continued to bubble from her lips. Her eyes were shiny with tears caused by the tearing winds.
“Ya’ve gotta learn to let go, Wind-Rider. You can’t keep on living like this.”
“How?” Ororo could barely speak, and she strained to hear her next words.
“Being too damned afraid to die.” Something snapped inside Ororo, and for one insane, unbelievable moment, her laughter mingled with Yukio’s, and she held onto her, literally, for dear life…
…until Yukio’s wrist was wrenched from her grasp. “YUKIOOOOO!” Ororo floundered for purchase, clutching at branches that slapped her hands, clawing at empty air, falling…falling…falling…
Landing in cushiony, black nothingness. Engulfed in it.
Drowning in it.
Ororo fought to scream, but no one could hear.
Fought to move, but felt nothing but oppressive cold and emptiness.
Fought to think…and came up with only one name.
Logan?
“Type and match everyone in the house. She needs blood.”
“That everyone better include me, doc.”
“You’ve lost too much blood yourself, already. Surely you’re joking.”
“Does it look like I’m jokin’, bub? Don’t worry ‘bout me not havin’ enough blood. Keiko, darlin’, could ya grab me a beer? All I need ta do is fortify myself.”
“Come away, Logan. Let them work.”
“I’m stayin’ right here.” His voice was brittle with exhaustion and stubborn as a mule’s.
“Start a line of saline.”
“Damn it, whoever did this barely missed her artery. She’s lucky to be alive.”
“Naw. She’s just damned stubborn. That’s why she’s the boss.” No one questioned this.
“Fifteen blade. Her pressure’s better than I expected.”
BIP…BIP…BIP…BIP…Logan’s eyes were glued to the tiny red, flashing chevron shape of the heart monitor, watching it wink in and out rhythmically, doing precious little to reassure him that she was still alive. A steady, pounding rain pelted the windows, rousing Keiko to adjust the thermostat; before she could draw the blinds, Logan gruff rasp stilled her hand. “No. Leave ‘em open.”
If Ororo woke up…when she woke up, she’d want to see daylight. Or the stars, if it took that long.
Logan’s gaze swept the interior of the suite, stunned at how short a time it took to turn the sumptuous master bedroom into an impromptu surgery suite. The smell unnerved him the most. His enhanced sense of scent was awash in the metallic, yet strangely sweet tang of Ororo’s blood, first and foremost, and his hackles were still standing on end. It had been an ugly fight. Yukio was wounded and taken hostage, at best; or at worst, considering Viper’s penchant for torture. And Ororo was fighting for her life after defending his. Damn her. Friggin’ stubborn frail…why’d she have ta step in where she wasn’t needed? Where she could get her sweet little tail killed? It was his fight. His axe to grind.
What rankled the most was that he’d stayed in this blasted country to protect the woman he loved, regardless of the fact that she wanted no part of him anymore. And his best friend “ it gnawed at him, that she’d come to mean that much to him, even if he’d never admit it out loud “ was being carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey by following his own shitty example. She did it to protect him. Logan laughed harshly to himself. The physician’s assistant peered at him over the edge of the surgical mask with no small amount of rancor at his inappropriate humor until he saw the set of Logan’s brows, his tense white knuckles as he clawed at the ripped remains of his sweats.
The faint hiss of the oxygen tank, coupled with the heart monitor and the physician’s low instructions created a mood of concentration and blanket of white noise as the backdrop to Logan’s black thoughts. “If only’s” reared their ugly heads and mocked his pain. If only he hadn’t picked that club to drown his sorrows. If only he hadn’t broken up their little tiff on the sticky dance floor. If only he’d tucked tail and slunk home to Westchester. Home. Westchester was his sorry excuse for a home…with all of the other misfits. No wife, no dog, no picket fence made with his blood, sweat and tears. All that was left was blood, tears that he wouldn’t cry, and scrambled memories of things he’d do better to forget.
Logan’s hearing picked up bits and pieces of the conversation from Mariko’s housekeeping staff as it drifted up the stairs.
“What kind of fool’s errand was he on, to show up here in such shape?”
“How does he think he can protect the head of the Yashida clan, if he cannot even keep his companion safe?”
“Did you see her HAIR? How did he carry her so far, she towered over him by nearly a FOOT!”
“He just sits there; I cannot bear to go up unless I’m told to, all that blood…it’s horrible. And still he stays, by her side.” This was couched in a cluck of pity.
“This must be killing him.” Finally, someone hit the nail right on the head.
“Haven’t you better things to do than waste time gossiping in the kitchen? Keiko, please bring fresh linens into the blue suite and also prepare a dinner tray. Our guests will be staying the night.”
“My lady…is that wise?” Masao sounded like she’d just asked him to swallow cyanide. “What if the same people who did this to them track them here? They could come after you ““
“You forget who he is.” Logan winced. He. Not “You forget who my husband is.” Never that. He took what consolation from her next words that he could. “To threaten that which Logan holds dear is to take one’s life in their hands.” It wasn’t just that she had more faith in him than he had in himself. She acknowledged that she was something that he held dear. So he told himself…
Logan longed for a cigar and more of Yukio’s precious supply of Jack Daniels.
BIP…BIP…BIP…BIP…BI-WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE…
Logan’s entire body jerked out of his chair as though someone stabbed him with a cattle prod. “Oh, no. No. Nonononono…what’re ya doin’ ta her? Save her, goddamn it, SAVE HER!”
SNIKT!
“Charge the paddles, we’re losing her!”
“SUCTION! She’s bleeding out!”
“Ororo…hang in there, darlin’, yer scarin’ me, d’ya hear me?” Logan’s vantage point at the foot of the bed yielded a horrific site of Ororo’s still limbs studded with IV tubes and needles.
Ororo was wrapped in a cocoon of pain and panic beneath the rubble. Sparks from ruptured electric lines popped and hissed amidst the crumbled dry wall and concrete. Bleeding. That warm, sticky sensation that hurt a bit more with every labored breath.
“Don’t do this ta me, ‘Roro! Ya can’t do this! Kurt, Kitty an’ Petey’ll never forgive me fer lettin’ ya die on me! This wasn’t yer fight, darlin’! I’ll never be able ta live with this!” The rubble shifted beneath her; there was a deep rumbling from the ground, and Ororo mutely wondered if more bombs were dropping from the sky…
BANG! Logan’s fists slammed into the nearby wall, startling the attendants as the positioned the paddles.
CRAAACCK! Volts of electricity were discharged into her inert form. Her eyelids flickered a moment, but there was no change in the painfully shrill flatline.
SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEe…
CRAACK! Another jolt was administered. The sound of the hose interrupted the siren as it sucked away another pooling of her life’s blood.
“CLAMPS!” The physician’s assistant adjusted the magnifying lens as he fought against time to bind the wound at its source. Ororo’s lips were dry and blue beneath the oxygen mask.
“ORORO MUNROE! Ya told me that ya used ta be a goddess, darlin’! This is it, it’s go time, babe, strut yer stuff! Prove it ta me that yer bigger than this!” Logan’s hands clutched at the protective tarp beneath Ororo near her feet. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t dare.
“Get him out of here!”
“YOU try to get him out of here!”
“BACK OFF, BUB!”
Mommy? Please…don’t leave me. Hurts. Can’t see you…make this go away. Make the dark go away, Mommy… Ororo’s pleading was interrupted by more rumbling, the aftershocks jarring her beneath the rubble, making it shift. Then, impossibly, the enormous mass of wreckage began to lighten; only incrementally at first. Then Ororo could move her arm…
…SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE…BIP-BIP-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE…
“Don’t leave us, ‘Ro! Yukio needs you!”
BOOOOMMMMMM…Logan’s eyes darted to the window. A flesh of lightning illuminated the swaying trees outside. Enormous raindrops slapped the windowpane, threatening to crack the glass. Downstairs, Mariko hugged herself as she stared out through the patio doors, praying for the life of the woman upstairs who’d shown her nothing but graciousness and friendship during their short acquaintance, hoping that future chances to further it weren’t ripped away from her. Mariko pondered for only a moment how Logan would be affected if worse came to worst, and shivered.
That ride was one in a million, Wind-Rider…
You’ve changed, ‘Roro. Ya seem different…
“RORO! Are ya happy now! I NEED YOU! I need yer friggin’ help, so quit just layin’ there and come back!!! I can’t do this alone! I CAN’T DO THIS WITHOUT YOU!”
“Set up another charge…” The attendant dropped the paddles as the thunder rolled across the sky, shaking the house to its foundation, and the lights went out, plunging the suite into darkness.
“NOBODY MOVE!”
“Holy…’RORO!”
’RORO!” The rubble shifted again, and Ororo watched the faint crack of soothing light sift through the hunks of wreckage. Relief poured through her, past the pain, past the choking grip that fear had on her heart. The voice was insistent, and so full of rage, but it was still the most beautiful, blessed sound she had ever heard.
Logan…LOGAN? Is that you, my friend? Help me, Bright Lady…let him hear me! LOGAN! Gathering the last of her strength, Ororo pushed against the edge of the rubble.
”I CAN’T DO THIS WITHOUT YOU!” Ororo’s breathing quickened, her heart leaping up into her throat. More light poured, liquid and golden, between the cracks of the debris as more of it was moved aside. Hands…his hands. She could see strong fingers tearing aside the heaps of brick and plaster, unburying her.
Freeing her.
Saving her.
Ororo’s eyes met Logan’s for a tenth of a second before her eyes glowed an ethereal, eerie white. Light was all she could see, bathing Logan in it until all she could make out was the dim outline of his features, twisted in relief, and the pointed, bellicose silhouette of his horned hair.
KRRAAAAKKOOOOWWWWWWWW-CRACK!
CRASSSSSHHHH!
“Get DOWN!” Fragments of glass sprayed from the window frame, almost in slow motion as it imploded, shattering into myriad shards, littering the suite. The lightning poured inside, reaching its limp target on the blood-spattered bed. The bluish-white light reflected off of the shards, turning them into diamonds as the electricity hit Ororo’s chest. Logan fell to his knees, writhing on the floor with his hands clamped around his ears. The thunder boomed in his ear drums relentlessly, battering his senses, but he clawed his way back to the bed. He wouldn’t leave her, wouldn’t let her do this alone…
“ORORO…HOLEEEEY…what’re ya doin’, darlin’?”
“This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening…” The physician stepped back from the bed, clutching his chest as though he would need the paddles next. Downstairs, Logan heard one of Mariko’s security guards bellowing something about the facility’s backup generators, but he ignored it, pulling himself up enough to peer back at Ororo.
ZZZZZZZZZAAKKTT! A second bolt hit her again, in the same location as the first, but to the awe of those assembled, there was no visible burn wound or scent of scorched flesh.
The entire house hummed back to life as the power came back on. Logan listened to the wind howl and the skipping, stertorous beat of his own heart as one set of track lights flickered back on, then the other. The heart monitor clicked back to life…
…and brought its patient back with it.
BIP…BIP…BIP…BIPBIPBIPBIP…
“What just happened?!” Masao ignored his earlier misgivings about entering the suite before he was summoned and crashed through the door, with Keiko hot on his heels.
“She’s back,” one of the assistants murmured, in total disbelief.
“We’re…we’re not finished. We need to close. Clear the debris from the wound. Start a drip of morphine.” The physician eyed Logan’s stark, bloodless face as he clutched the tarp and leaned over Ororo from the foot of the bed again. He drank her in, noting a faint twitch of her fingers. Her chest rose and fell shallowly, but evenly as the medical staff continued their work.
“And will someone please get this man downstairs!”
“In a minute. Don’t rush me,” Logan growled. He moved up to the head of the bed, glaring at the attending nurse until she stepped aside. “Just give me a minute.” He approached Ororo and reached for her, smoothing her hair from her face before he lightly caressed her cheek. He swallowed around an enormous lump in his throat and croaked out, “Glad ya decided ta stay with us, babe.” Her eyelashes fluttered and her lids cracked open.
“Nnnnnnngggh.” She frowned up at him quizzically before raising her arm limply, poking at the mask with her fingers. Logan looked at the physician, mutely asking for approval, and grunted at his answering nod. Logan gently lifted the oxygen mask from her mouth and watched her lips.
“Some-someone…has to watch out…for you, you blasted man.” The corners of her mouth quirked up into something resembling a smile. Incredulously Logan nodded, too overwhelmed to do anything else. He replaced the mask and stepped back.
“I know, darlin’, I know.” Logan let Masao lead him out of the suite toward the shower and fresh of change of clothes that were waiting for him.
A short while later Logan joined Mariko in the dining room. Keiko served him a piping hot bowl of fish soup thick with hearty noodles and a cold bottle of imported beer that Mariko still thoughtfully stocked for him, even though she really didn’t have to anymore. Some habits died hard. Logan’s hair was shining and textured with slick grooves from the wide-toothed comb that he raked through it while it was wet from the shower. Logan was dressed in an off-white linen shirt with a low mandarin collar and well-cut black gabardine pants with a knife-sharp crease. His soggy sneakers had been taken down to the laundry for a thorough wash and tumble; Keiko wore household gloves and carried them a foot out in front of her, cringing at the blood stains and odor of “wet feet” emanating from them. Both Ororo and Logan’s soiled and torn sweats had been disposed of, once they were outfitted accordingly.
Mariko allowed Logan to work his way halfway through his dinner before letting him know what was on her mind. “What you did was very dangerous and foolish, Logan-sama. I could have arranged to have Storm taken elsewhere; two mutants bleeding half to death on my doorstep will attract the wrong kind of attention.”
“Ya already managed ta do that, darlin’, without any help from me this time. Yer brother’s up ta no good. Viper came after me and Storm, I won’t deny that. But my gut feelin’s that she did it ta get us outta the way. She wants a clear shot at you.” Logan uncapped his beer and took a long, fortifying pull, wiping his mouth with the proffered napkin that Mariko dangled from her slender fingers. “That, an’ a little revenge fer trippin’ her up and messin’ things up when they came after ya before.”
“I’m not without security, Logan. I have my own people watching out for me. And my esteemed cousin, Shiro. He is aware that my brother and I have a bit of a…strained relationship right now.”
“Shiro made a big to-do about heading back to his home country to handle matters of ‘national importance.’ Said he was too good for Charley, our team, and Charley’s dream of ‘peaceful coexistence between humans and mutants.’ If he couldn’t waste his time with us, no skin off my nose. But what if he decides he’s too good ta help you, M’iko?”
“Shiro believes in family honor, Logan.”
“So do I. Even if things got in the way of us bein’ family, M’iko.” Logan set the beer down and leveled a grim gaze across the table, his dark eyes boring into hers. They weren’t cold eyes; beneath the fatigue making his lids droop and sag, Mariko still saw the regard and trust in their depths, and so much more. Even though it hurt to see it there. “I still love you, M’iko. More than my life. That hasn’t stopped. You told me…that I wasn’t worthy.” Logan’s eyes drifted down to his hands as he clenched and unclenched them on the table and toyed with his mother-of-pearl inlaid chopsticks. “Whaddya want me ta do for ya ta deem me worthy, Mariko?” He swallowed harshly, swallowing against the savory heat of the chili pepper and strong ginger that flavored the soup and lingered in the back of his throat. “How can I prove myself?”
“It isn’t up to you to prove yourself, Logan-sama. I have obligations to fulfill on behalf of Clan Yashida, including an alliance that we have been consigned to with the Yakuza.”
“They want yer blood, M’iko.”
“If they wish to honor our bond, they will not harm me and mine.”
“M’iko, they’re workin’ with yer sonofabitch brother!” BAM! Logan’s fist against the table rattled the beer bottle and soup bowl, making droplets of broth slop over the edge. His bushy black brows slammed over his eyes, and they were glittering at her with undisguised frustration. “They’re all over this. Those blades that doc of yers pulled outta Ororo belong to the Yakuza. They’re engraved with their marks. The thugs that attacked us at the gym were covered in their tattoos.”
“Kenuichio swore to me to honor my father’s name and agreed to a truce. He is a samurai. For him to act without honor…”
“I know samurai codes of honor. Don’t throw ‘giri’ in my face again, darlin’, I don’t wanna hear it.” Logan’s voice cracked. “What’s honor done fer me, except keep you from me?”
“If you have to ask, Logan-sama…then we shouldn’t be having this conversation. I cannot be your wife. I have obligations to fulfill. And you have made your promises already, in your new home, among your friends and family at that odd little school.”
“M’iko…I can’t just leave ya unprotected.”
“It’s not up to you, Logan-sama. But if you continue this conflict with my brother…”
“Conflict!” Logan spat.
“…if it continues, you will draw unwanted attention, Logan, and the men who came after you will be followed by many more. You cannot rain a trail of destruction and blood on our heads, Logan. Don’t bring that to my front door. Not if you love me as you profess.” Mariko attempted to take some of the sting out of her words, lowering her voice and laying her soft hand over his large one. She stroked his heated flesh, tracing the familiar, crescent-shaped scars over his knuckles with much tenderness. Logan drank in her scent; he detected a faint hint of jasmine and wintergreen, the crisp scent of starch used in her clothing, and the powdery sweet scent of her flesh.
“When this is over…”
“It will never truly be over, Logan-sama. You know that, better than anyone else.”
“M’iko…do you still feel any kind of…?”
“You know I do, my heart.” Mariko clasped his hand and didn’t let go as she rose from her seat, joining him. She bent down and cupped his strong jaw in her palms and kissed him sweetly and with great yearning. Logan shuddered with it, wanting to howl at what was being denied him, a fresh batch of “if only’s” flooding his consciousness. He was loathe to let her go as she tugged herself free.
“Within the next twenty-four hours you will need to decide where to go, Logan. Storm will need to go with you. I can offer you shelter and assistance if you need it…”
“But not a home.” Logan pushed his soup bowl away from him and retrieved his beer. “I hear ya loud and clear. I’m gonna check up on Storm. An’ then I’m goin’ out.”
Mariko bristled at his brusque tone and stiffness in his gait. She followed him as he stalked out of the kitchen. “Where are you going?”
“Out hunting.”
Elsewhere:
The waves of the harbor could be heard lapping at the docks, making the neat little rows of skiffs and fishing boats bob in the evening light. The noticeable, unmistakable scent of low tide wasn’t well received by the occupants of the large, locked boathouse.
“Smells like piss and dead fish out there.”
“Part of the ambience.”
“Fuck off.”
“Show me how.” His companion flicked his switchblade and grinned menacingly, showing off the gaps where he was missing teeth.
“We’re making enough on this job that you can pay some of the best girls in town to show you just that. If they’d touch your ugly carcass…”
“Shut up. Boss lady’s on her way in, don’t cross her, and whatever you do, don’t stare at her face!”
“How’s Sleeping Beauty?”
“Still making that weird little noise and twitching like a gasping guppy. They messed her up good.”
“There was hardly a mark on her; she had to be good to hold her own that long. Word on the street is she was that thief that did that job on the warehouse a few weeks ago.”
“The one that got torched?”
“Yep. Her and a tall broad with white hair, if you can believe that. An American in a barely-there black suit. Some of the boys said she’s one of those ‘X-Men.’”
“X-Woman. She’d be an X-Woman.”
“Who cares?”
“You’d care if she fried your butt with a lightning bolt. She almost took out the Samurai.”
“The silver bastard?”
“SSSSHHH, sssshhhh, shut up, SHUT UP; here they come! Look busy.”
The outer door was kicked open with no ceremony as two sets of footsteps thumped their way inside.
“Ya’d think a chick who used to work for HYDRA wouldn’t walk like an elephant.”
“Or a fully trained samurai.”
“Whaddya expect? Guy’s huge.”
“He’s a no-good mutie, too.”
“SHUT UP!” The interior door to the grimy sitting room was flung open, and Viper marched inside, dripping scorn and discontent. She wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“Pigs,” she huffed.
“Motherless dogs,” Kenuichio corrected her, leering at the Yakuza thugs as he kicked aside a discarded fast food carton littering the floor. “What’s the status on our guest?”
“Just gave her another dose of the venom. She’s not going anywhere any time soon.” The gap-toothed thug sneered back, paring the dirt from his fingernails with his switchblade.
“What’s the word from your network?”
“Some of our men saw the wind-witch and the hairy gaijin floating over the city, looking pretty jacked up.”
“She’s alive.” Viper gave Kenuichio a measuring look beneath her curtain of green hair.
“They haven’t turned up at any of the local hospitals.” And it had been fun wrangling that information out of the desk nurse. She’d screamed real nice. Another visit might be in order once she got off her shift.
“They wouldn’t. They would be too easy to trace. Logan can heal himself easily enough. Storm’s too memorable; he’d never keep her in a public facility. They have too much to lose.”
“They’ve already lost. I do believe, Viper, that it’s time to visit our houseguest and make her feel at home.”
“Especially since she’ll never leave.” Viper strolled through the filthy room to the back door and reached into her flak jacket pocket for a heavy chain of keys. She selected a large, copper-colored one and fit it into the lock, turning it with a sharp click.
The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a low-wattage bare bulb in the overhead fixture. It flickered as a result of not being screwed in very tightly, casting an eerie glow on Yukio’s wan face.
The room was a hall of horrors.
Yukio’s eyes were closed, but her ears pricked up at the sound of familiar, dreaded footsteps thudding over the concrete floor. Her bare back was pressed up against the icy cold brick wall, her arms stretched taut and straight over her head, held in place by steel manacles. She allowed her head to hang limp against her chest, since it was all she could do. She’d given up on gathering the breath to scream hours ago. Even the nerves in her vocal cords were numbed by the venom.
The sickeningly sweet scent of Viper’s perfume held overwhelming notes of gardenia and something metallic, perhaps her own personal aroma of malice that she wore like a cloak. That was it, Yukio thought. She smelled evil.
Yukio’s eyes were half-lidded as her chin was jerked upright. Viper’s smile was full of vinegar and triumph.
“Wakey, wakey, little ronin. We’ve heard you aren’t afraid to die. You don’t know how happy that makes me. I plan on killing you slowly. And your former lover boy and little girlfriend will get here just in time to see you breathe your last. Isn’t that nice?”
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