She woke with the knowledge that she was a monster.

A hunter.

A killer.

It wasn’t always that way. She could remember a time when she at least had that fraction of a second, that split moment between death and undeath, when she could lie to herself and attempt to deny what she had become. But eventually even that momentary falsehood faded as the years passed and she was left with only the cold, harsh truth of what she was--and of what she would never be again.

With a resigned sigh she opened her eyes and lifted herself from her bed. The temperature in her chamber was bitterly cold, matching her mood; ice crystals floated in the air around her like a shimmering halo. Her mouth twisted in a sardonic smile at that thought. Halos were for angels and she was as far from angelic as one could get.

Very slowly she drew a pair of black leather pants up over her long legs and secured them at her hips with a slide of her custom belt. The material molded to her body like a second skin, but it was not vanity that drove her to wear the expensive leather, but protection. Leather helped prevent injury during fights and she was more than likely to find herself in one or two tonight. She tightened her soft leather camisole over her white cotton tee shirt, taking in the array of weaponry she had laid out on her desk.

She grabbed a handful razor sharp throwing stars, sliding them into the custom loops along her sides. Satisfied, she secured several different knives, all in strategic locations: one at her thigh, one at her ankle, and two curved blades at her side for easy access. The belt she adorned provided the extra room for more weapons, including the clips to her trustee sidearm. A few more sharp blades and some rope were inserted into her loops and pockets before she pulled her hair back, twisting it into a knot and securing its long length with two silver picks.

With a swirl of black she secured her cloak around her throat and opened the doors to her third floor balcony. Her home, if one could call it that, was a very old asylum, abandoned in the early nineteenth century when the patients rioted and killed nearly all the staff and each other. Most people steered well clear of the property due to the rampant ghost stories surrounding the building, and that suited her needs for seclusion just fine.

Resting her hands on the balcony rail, she leaned forward to inhale the night air. Cool, crisp, clean and smelling of woodland there was something about the scent that made her heart clench in her breast and her false breath halt in her throat. She closed her eyes against the ache the smell caused her. Fragments of memories best left buried filtered to the surface of her mind. A campfire, a plaid shirt, work boots, worn cowboy hat, dark eyes and deep laughter.

She shook her head to shake the memories free but they clung resiliently. Blue sky, a sprawling manor, voices of those she loved. Laughter. Love. Her family.

Sable fingers tightened on the rail, causing the wood to groan in protest. It had been over ten years since she had last laid eyes on her eclectic family, and yet she recalled each of them with exquisite detail. Unwilling to let the sorrow of her losses overwhelm her, she ruthlessly quashed the intruding thoughts back into the dark recess of her memories. It served no purpose to allow emotions to cloud her mind or effect her judgment. There was nothing she could do to change what had happened or what now was. With that in mind she leapt onto the rail and flung herself into the night.

Another night. Another endless night. There had been so many…and all she wanted was rest. To cease the endless nights, to find her creator and destroy him so that she could finally, finally be at peace.



Elsewhere

“What exactly are we doing here?” Kurt Wagner asked the stoically silent man beside him. He peered out the window, glancing furtively at the faded bricks of the two buildings on either side of the dark alley. A flare of orange and the familiar scent of Cuban cigar was the only response he received to his question. Kurt sighed, Logan was in one of his moods again.

Unaffected by his friend’s sullenness, Kurt settled himself back against the well cared for leather seat of Logan’s Hemi Cuda and began to hum the theme from Star Wars.

“Elf.” Logan’s deep voice held a faint trace of humor. “Cut it out.”

“Oh, so you can talk?” Kurt raised one brow. “You haven’t said two words since the call.”

Logan frowned, deep grooves etching into the side of his mouth. “Don’t feel much like talkin‘.”

Kurt remained passively silent, his golden eyes watchful.

After a few more minutes of silence Logan answered his question. “We’re here to meet Blade.”

Kurt blinked twice. “The vampire hunter?”

“Yup.”

Dawning realization came over Kurt. “Ach.” He shook his head, dark locks of soft hair falling into his eyes. “Vengeance is a fruitless harvest,” he murmured.

Logan exhaled a cloud of hazy gray. “Didn’t ask ya to come.”

Kurt’s mouth curved, revealing stark white teeth. “And let you prowl the streets un-chaperoned? I think not. Katzen would have my hide.”

Logan shrugged. “Doubt it. She and Pete are so wrapped up in plannin’ their wedding I doubt they’d notice if a meteor dropped through the roof of the mansion.”

“Zutreffend.” Kurt agreed. Then after a moment, “How long have you been searching?”

Another long puff on the cigar. “Ten years.”

Kurt nodded solemnly. “Since that night.”

Logan became very quiet again.

“It was not your fault, Logan.” Kurt said softly.

A grunt.

“No one blamed you.”

Logan gave Kurt a dark look. He rolled the window down, tossing the remainder of his cigar onto the pavement. “I left her alone, Elf. We all knew something was after her…but I left her alone and he got to her.”

“You could not have known--”

“Would you have left her?”

Kurt looked away before answering. “I am not you, nor you I, Logan. I can not say what I would have done.”

Logan chuffed, knowing the answer his friend refused to voice. Kurt would not have left.

Twenty minutes passed in silence.

“Where the fuck is he?” Logan demanded harshly, feeling more agitated now than he had. Feelings of guilt never set well with him and thinking about that night made him sick with it.

Headlights flooded the interior of the Hemi from behind.

Kurt shielded his eyes against the glare. “Is that him?”

Logan tensed. Something definitely wasn’t right.

The car behind them gunned it’s engine, barreling towards them, tires squealing.

“Shit!”
Kurt gripped the car door and Logan‘s arm. *BAMF*

“Nice.” Logan said as the car materialized on the street in a cloud of sulfuric smoke. “Now let’s go see who our friends are.” -SNIKT-

In the alley two men dressed in black were standing beside a rumbling Corvette, looking completely baffled at the empty space in front of them.

“Neat trick, huh?” Kurt asked, before bamfing into the alleyway, knocking one of the would-be car wreckers into a wall with his feet. The man hissed at him, baring long fangs. “Vampyre!!” Kurt called out.

“No shit.” Logan grunted, fending off an attack. He grimaced as spittle from the vampire struck his cheek. Shadows swirled and collected in the dark corners of the alley, taking on solid shapes. Figures wherever they were to meet Blade would be swarming with bloodsuckers, Logan thought. “Got more company, ‘Crawler!”

Overhead Logan caught the near silent rustling of leather and thud of footfalls. “’Bout damn time,” he muttered, severing head from shoulders of the man hissing in his face.

Silver stakes rained from the rooftop, striking the numerous vampires appearing from the shadows with deadly precision. The burst of orange and ashes was preceded by shrieks of rage and pain.

“What is that? Twice I’ve saved your ass?” A deep baritone called down from above.

“Yeah.” Logan agreed, retracting his claws and dropping the undead he had just decapitated. “Sixteen more times and we’re even.”

A dark shadow of a figure dropped from the roof, landing with catlike grace and rising with a fluidity that defied description.

“Nice shades.” Logan commented dryly.

Blade inclined his head, spinning his sword and decapitating three vampires in one strike. His ease in the motion did not go unnoticed by Logan.

“Who’s the devil?” Blade asked, gesturing towards Kurt, who was flipping along the walls.

“Kurt Wagner.” Kurt answered with a bow. “Mutant, not devil.”

Blade gave Logan a hard look. “I said come alone.”

“He’s my sitter.”

Blade whipped out two more silver stakes, taking out the last of the alley vampires. “Uh-huh.” He gave the swirling embers of their former foes a contemptuous look. “They’re out in force tonight.”

“What do ya got for me?” Logan asked, forgoing any small talk. He couldn’t care less if Blade had Vampires falling out his ass, all he cared about was one of them.

With an indifference that matched Logan‘s Blade stated flatly, “There’s a rumor circling the underground that the vampire you’re looking for is nearby.”

Logan’s shoulders tightened imperceptibly beneath his jacket. “Where?”

“If I knew that I would have brought you its severed head as a gift.” Blade replied with a savage looking grin. “What I hear is that he has risen only recently and is searching for something. And that there is someone searching for him--other than you, Wolverine.”

“Hnh.”

“Whoever it is, the vamps fear them almost as much as they fear me.”

Kurt gave the vampire hunter a once over, taking in the dark trench coat and menacing scowl the other man wore. “I find that hard to believe.”

Blade flashed white fangs and Kurt wasn‘t certain if it was a smile or a warning.

Turning back to Logan Blade offered, “You could always leave the vamp slaying up to the professionals.”

“Not this one.” Logan’s dark eyes held a feral glow. “This one is personal.”

“So I figured.” Blade acknowledged. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a manila envelope. “It’s a list of vampire clubs up in your area, some known bloodsuckers and familiars. They’re your best bet for finding your vamp. If I get anything else I’ll let you know.”

Logan tucked the envelope into his inside pocket. “Appreciate it.”

“Out of curiosity, who’d this fuck kill that‘s worth a decade of vengeance?”

“A friend.” Was all Logan provided. With a curt nod he made his way back towards his still rumbling car.

Kurt sighed, watching his friend’s retreating back.

“Lemme guess,” Blade said. “A woman.”

Kurt nodded. “A teammate.”

“Wolverine’s taking it a mite personal for a teammate.”

Kurt closed his eyes briefly. “She died in his arms.”

Blade knew from experience how rough that was on a person. He nodded once. “This dead teammate got a name?”

Over his should Kurt whispered it like a prayer, “Ororo. Ororo Munroe.”

***

Two AM found Logan in his room, laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, in the exact same position he had been in for the past three hours. Unable to sleep, his restless thinking had begun dredging up memories he wished he could forget. Ironic, that he, the man who spent most of his existence trying to find his past wanted to forget, but he did. He would give anything to take that night back--to change what was--but he couldn‘t and it seemed tonight his punishment was to relive that night over and over within the confines of his mind.

Ororo had died ten years ago, he had watched her die. He had held her in his arms as her heart had stopped its rhythmic beating and her shallow breathing had ceased. He had watched helplessly as her lapis lazuli eyes had dimmed and their unique glow had blinked out. It was him that had cradled her limp body close to his as he carried her up the mansion stairs to her friends, her family. There were nights he awoke and he swore he could still hear sixteen year old Kitty’s heartbreaking scream echoing in the darkness.

He closed his eyes, exhaling a pent up breath. “I’m sorry, ’Ro.”




St. Margaret’s Cemetery, London

Someone needed her.

Distracted by that unexpected and sudden thought, she turned towards the crypt door, taking a near involuntary step forward. The soft glow from early morning light framed the hastily shut door and stopped her in her tracks. She had let her battle wage too long and now she was trapped in this underground crypt with a vampire. She shook her head, berating herself for her carelessness. She could ill afford to be diverted by foolish thoughts like the one she just had.

The air seemed to grow eerily still around her and she sensed danger nearby. She had spent precious seconds pondering her wayward thought and that mistake could very well cost her life. She dropped low, moving with swiftness away from the shadows of the crypt, nearing the streams of light flickering through the cracks. She was still, balanced on the toes of her boots, her eyes flicking across the shadows in search of her adversary.

A flash of gray in the shadows gave away her enemy’s position. She rushed at him, whipping her dagger from its sheath on her thigh, going straight for his heart. He parried, his fingernails extending to talons, raking her arm.

She winced, but barely spared the wound a glance, knowing she had to act quickly. She was nowhere near as old as the vampire she faced and her energy significantly waned during the day. Using her momentum she braced one leg against the stone wall and flipped back towards her assailant.

He had clearly not expected that of her and fell back to avoid her attack, but she had anticipated his cowardice and landed atop him, the gleaming blade at his throat. “Where is Vladdimir?” she demanded.

The vampire grinned, his breath putrid with rot. “Stupid bitch.”

“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you.” She pressed the blade into his skin. “Where!”

“He is everywhere. Can you not feel him? He crawls in us all, under our skin, in our blood. He is the creator--the maker--the gck“

Blood, black and slow moving flowed over the knife edge. “My patience is just about exhausted. Where is he?”

“He knows you hunt him. He hunts you as well. But first you must suffer for betraying him.”

“Stop talking in riddles, and tell me where he is!”

“Where he can hurt you the most.”

“He can not hurt me,” she swore. “Any more than you can, you pathetic lap-dog.”

“Go to Hell.”

“You first,” she hissed, twirling the dagger in her hand and driving it into the vampire’s chest with preternatural speed. She leapt back as the creature burst into flames, watching with dispassionate eyes as the vampire ceased to thrash. She was used to the kill. It had been her way of life for a decade.

She turned away, wiping her knife on her pants, cleaning it of the putrid blood staining the polished silver. She swore quietly, frustrated by the lack of progress she had made this evening. She had hopes of obtaining information on the whereabouts of Vladdamir, but had instead run into dead end after dead end. The only thing that was certain was that he was no longer in Europe.

She sank down to the cold floor, resting her head on her crossed arms. ~Where are you?~ She sent out the call, knowing he wouldn’t answer. ~Coward!~ she raged. Lethargic from her battles and the dawn she closed her eyes and slept.


***“You can feel it. I’m in your blood. You and I are joined.”

“Never.” She was alone in the darkness with this monster of a man, her heart hammering in her chest, blood soaking the collar of her nightdress. She backed away from him, shaking her head. “You are not welcome here. I did not invite you in!”

His laughter was cruel. “You think that matters? You have watched too many movies.” One tapered finger traced her jaw. “Nothing could keep me from you.”

She closed her eyes, fighting the lure of his voice and glowing eyes. “No. Please, stop.”

He tsked gently, his voice a seductive whisper in her ear. “Shhh, dearest. Soon the pain will be gone and you will beg me for the pleasure and paradise I will bestow upon you. You are my queen.”

“No, vampire, I am not.” She pushed at his chest futilely.

“Let me taste you.”

She trembled. “Please…no…” Her head tilted to the side, allowing him access to her throat despite her internal screams not to obey. “Don’t…” Her knees buckled as fang pierced flesh.

~Soon you will be mine~

Her fingers flexed helplessly, and try as she might she could not pull away from the Vampire’s deadly embrace. She could feel herself growing weaker, her life ebbing. Hopelessly she called out to the one person she believed could save her. “L-Logan…help…” But he never came.

“I give unto you the gift of immortality, Ororo. You are now mine for all eternity.”

She thought she might have screamed when she felt the first drops of acidic blood in her mouth, the taste rancid with evil. Her body convulsed, quaking with the throes of death.

She felt weightlessness.

Cool air caressed her thrashing form.

The balcony.

Black sky.

Millions of stars.

Beautiful night.

Clouds rolling in.

Thunder.

A flash.

Falling… falling…

The ground.

Hurt. Everything hurt.

Where…?

Someone was screeching.

The vampire.

Vladdimir.

She had struck him with lightning.

She smiled.

She was born free and free she would remain.

Better dead than slave.

She fumbled along the ground, knowing time was short. She found a fallen tree branch, lifted the thick wood, satisfied with the weight.
The Vampire laughed cruelly. “You think to stake me? You are far too weak.”

She shook her head. “Not you.”

Realizing her intent, but too far away to stop her the Vampire King roared into the night, his howl echoed by one from the courtyard.

With unerring accuracy she raised the pointed branch above her chest and drove it home, crying out and spewing blood as the splintered wood pierced her heart. Shivers continued to wrack her wounded frame, but inside she was serene, knowing she would never be a slave to this monstrosity.

With a mournful cry the Vampire withdrew into the sky, dissolving into mist. ~You are a fool if you think this is the end.~

She had no response for him, for the demon that had plagued her dreams for weeks, tormenting her. For a long time she had believed his visits to be those of nightmares. His touch both revolting and intoxicating.

She would awake in the mornings lethargic, weak, aching. Strange bruises on her breasts and neck. She would recall only fragments of memories. A touch. A kiss. Ragged pants in her ear. Her body screaming in pain and ecstasy.

He had used her in every way.

She choked on a sob.

But no more.

She was free.

Booted feet came into view, followed by a familiar whiskered chin bent over her. “Aw, hell.” Dark eyes assessed her injuries. She tried to talk, but he shook his head. “Easy, darlin’.” One big hand caressed her muddy hair.

She felt moisture slide from the corner of her eye. Logan took her hand, holding her bloodied one between his. He gave the makeshift stake protruding from her chest a hateful glare.

She opened her mouth, her ruby essence pouring from the sides of her pale lips as she tried to speak. “Take..it out…”

“Can’t, ‘Roro. You’ll bleed out.”

“Please…we both know…I’m…done…”

“Don’t talk like that. You ain’t a quitter, darlin’, so don’t you back out on me now.”

She wished more than anything that she could wipe the look of anxiety off his face, but found herself far too weak to move any longer. “Please…”

She heard him swear. She closed here eyes when she felt his hand on the branch.

“This is gonna hurt,” he warned. With a jerk Logan ripped the splintered wood from his friend, blood spouting like a geyser. He clamped his hand over her heart, watching helplessly as the pool around her body grew and grew. “Hang on, ‘Roro. Please…”

The Blackbird hovered over the mansion, the doors opening to reveal a worried looking Jean. “Logan, what happened? The mansion alarms went crazy…Storm!”

Logan ignored them, instead talking to the woman in his arms. “Hang on. You’ve got to hang on.”

Despite his earnest pleas, Ororo had died in his arms. ***



Logan jerked awake, his heart thumping loudly in his ears. He took several ragged breaths, running his hands over his sweat dampened hair. “Jesus Christ.” He threw back his coverlet, making his way to the bathroom hurriedly.

With quick jerks he turned the tap, splashing cold water onto his face. Gripping the sides of the sink he glowered at his own reflection. “You left her, Bub.” he reminded himself hatefully. And for what? A bar fight and a meaningless lay.

He doubted he would ever forgive himself for wallowing in his own self pity over Mariko’s wedding day bombshell. He had been removed from active duty due to his constant violent outbursts and frequent drunkenness.

Ororo on the other hand had been removed due to a sleep disorder and potential psychic attack. The running theory at the time had been Emma Frost, who had a grudge against Storm a mile wide, had been screwing with her head.

No one could have guessed what they had really been up against.

And by the time they knew, it was too late. The monster had killed her.

Glass tinkled to the ceramic tiles.

Surprised Logan looked up to see his fist planted in the mirror, blood oozing from between his knuckles. He stared at his broken, bloodied image for a long time. After a time he shook his hand out, dislodging more reflective shards to the floor. Back in his room he picked up the envelope Blade had given him.

“Looks like I’m going clubbing,” he muttered to himself.




St. Margaret’s Cemetery, London

“No!” Her shrill scream rebounded off the ancient sarcophagi in the burial room. Fear clogged her throat, an emotion she had not felt in many years. Shakily she rose to her feet, her eyes seeking out the doorway, relieved to see no traces of light.

She had to move and move quickly.

With an accuracy that she knew was far from incidental Vladdimir’s location was known to her.

He was in Westchester.

And he had just declared war.

It had been ages since she had been in Westchester and she had nearly forgotten how beautiful it was. She stared at the night sky, momentarily entranced by it’s untarnished appearance. Bright stars winked knowingly from their all seeing perch in the heavens. It was the kind of night she used to enjoy when she had lived here; the kind that had often found her skinny dipping in the crystal lake behind Xavier’s mansion.

Although, in truth, only a span of years had passed since she had actually been at Xavier‘s, it felt like a lifetime since she had been near the place she had called home for so long. Her heart ached like a heavy ball in her chest as she stared across the expansive courtyard of the great estate. The large marble columns of the school stood out in stark relief, illuminated by the glow of the full moon. She remembered helping to erect those columns with the fellow recruits that Xavier had pulled together.

She shook her head, stoically staunching the flow of memories. She had not come here to reminisce about her long dead past, she had a job to do. Upon rising she had immediately set out across the Atlantic, creating her own jet stream and flying at super sonic speeds, taking the risk that she would not make it before sunrise. She knew she was most likely heading straight into a well baited trap, but she could not, would not, risk those that she had once called family in her fight with Vladdimir.

Crouching low on the branch of an aged oak tree, her body was welcomed by the shadows. She sat there in silence, unmoving as she watched the play of activity through the large double paned windows of the foyer. Shapes caused amber light to flicker and if she concentrated she could faintly hear the voices inside, feel the warmth emanating from the people housed within the institute’s walls.

A slender silhouette beside a massive one in the largest foyer window caught her attention. Kitten. She recognized the girl--now a woman--immediately. Kitty Pryde had been Xavier’s youngest recruit many years ago and despite her tender age, she had become a valuable teammate and fighter almost instantly, and she had won over everyone that she encountered. Including one gruff Canadian who had professed to care nothing for anyone, but in the end had taken Kitty under his wing, and a stoic former Goddess that saw the young girl as a daughter, despite their relative closeness in age.

As if conjured into being by her hard to control drifting thoughts, a lone figure sauntered across the paved driveway, the faint glow from a snub of a cigar giving away his position. He was headed towards the garage, the jangle of keys in his hand indicating that he was heading out for the evening. She smiled a bit. Logan had always been a restless soul.

She watched him walk with a mixture of old fondness and new awareness. Her sharp eyesight made out his rugged features as if it were bright as day. She caught his male scent on the wind, just as she remembered. Wild, untamed, natural--just like him.

She crouched lower, her fingers tightening on the branch as he bent to open the garage door. Had he always moved with that predator’s gait? That animal prowl? She leaned forward a bit more, her eyes following his movements closely. He paused in his actions, his head lifting. He turned abruptly, looking directly in her direction as if he sensed her. One predator to another. His lip curled revealing his sharp canines.

She slid back against the tree trunk, her breathing heavy. Ravenous hunger clawed at her insides, a living thing, eating at her, but nothing like she had ever felt before. It was not a simple quenching she craved this time, but something…different. Something dangerous.

Several calming breaths later she moved forward, startled to see that Logan was no longer beside the garage. She inclined her head, searching the grounds. Where had he gone?

“Who the fuck are you?”

Alarmed she jerked back with a small gasp. He was directly below her on the ground.

“Answer me.” His voice brooked no argument. The growl in it an unmistakable warning.

Her initial instinct was to react to the threat with a threatening hiss of her own, but she quelled it. Instead she edged farther back into the shadows provided by the canopy of the tree’s leaves.

Logan narrowed his eyes, staring up at the crouched figure above him. Even with his feral eyesight the figure was too dark to make out. He got the impression that whoever they were, they were manipulating the shadows around themselves to obscure his view.

“Come down now.” It was a command, nothing less.

She couldn’t help the small spark of annoyance she felt at that. It had been one of the sore spots in their friendship. He was not the type to take orders well, used to obeying his own, and she had been the type comfortable in giving them. On more than one occasion they had been toe to toe on opposite sides of an issue. It went without saying that their friendship had a very rocky start, but in the end, of all her teammates, she would have to have acknowledged it was Logan that she felt the closest kinship with.

But that was before.

Before she was damned and corrupted by evil.

Before she had died.

The tree vibrated subtly with the insertion of three metal claws into its trunk; Logan was on his way up. She hedged along the branch, moving carefully away. She could not risk him seeing her. She had no explanation to offer him and no reason for her appearance other than that she feared a dangerous killer may wish to harm those at Xavier’s to get at her. Not the best circumstances for a reunion.

With a last look at the mansion she allowed herself to shimmer into the shadows. Gone as if she had never been.

Logan grunted, pulling himself onto the thick branch that they voyeur had been seated on. Probably a teenage mutant kid looking for a home. More and more strays were walking into the school and Logan felt only a minor twinge of guilt that he may have run off a wayward youth.

He bent his head, sniffing the air. The scent he caught was faint, almost non-existent and…familiar. He sat down on the branch, feeling a bit disoriented. Summer rain, jasmine and earth. Scents that had belonged to only one woman that he knew of. Fresh, clean, pure. It was how ‘Ro used to smell.

Hurriedly he glanced heavenward, looking for a flash of white. Only the stars greeted him.

He shook his head. He was a damn fool. Ororo was dead and buried in the cemetery behind the school. She had been one of the first laid to rest there, and sadly not the last. He wondered briefly if she and Jeannie were looking down on them all from their sofa perch in heaven. His mouth curved up at the corner, picturing the two of them, coffee in hand, gossiping over the events in the X-Men’s lives.

He was sure Jeannie had a few things to say about Slim’s current love interest, but he knew she probably didn’t fault him. She and Scott were eternal. When the time came, they’d be together again.

He envied Scott that. The eternal kind of love. He doubted he would ever find it. Mariko had been his shot and she had left him at the altar, telling him he was unworthy--and though he knew it to be true, it hadn’t hurt any less to hear her say the words.

With a muted curse Logan dropped to the ground. He couldn’t waste anymore time doing foolish reminiscing and self pitying. There was some bloodletting to be done this night and he was suddenly very much in the mood to do it.


Miles away

That had been close.

She raked her fingers through her hair so that it fell in a shimmering, snowy cloud around her face. Hunger was eating at her, burning through her insides. She tried to ignore it, but couldn’t. It was persistent, seeping into her thoughts, making her edgy. Logan had triggered it, but she knew she would have needed to feed soon regardless.

There was a time when she only needed to feed every couple of weeks, but as the years passed, her hunger grew, as did her power. The knowledge that she needed to hunt more frequently was only slightly less troublesome than the fact that feeding repulsed her less and less--especially when she had thought of drinking from Logan. It had been far from repulsive, instead the idea had been intoxicating.

“I am a monster.” She said to the sky. With a heavy heart she turned towards the city, a steel forest teeming with life. There was a herbal shop she needed to stop by for supplies. If she was to properly protect the mansion she needed the right equipment.

She launched herself into the air, riding the air currents as she had done before her transformation. The world was a thing of beauty when one was soaring in the sky. She spun in the wispy clouds, momentarily giving in to the urge to once again play. A sharp pang in her gut made her grimace. Hunger. So severe. Never ending. She fought it off angrily.

The mystic shop she was looking for was near a vampire club, but the vampire’s steered clear of the shop and its keeper. An African mystic shaman with more power than one man ought to wield kept the small store running.

She dropped to the roof of the tavern across from the shop. The sounds of people talking and music provided by the house band filtered through the walls to her sensitive ears. Vampires were getting smarter about how to trap their prey. No more clandestine underground clubs, instead small places were set up for the social gathering of humans into a den of monsters. The thing that frightened her most about these tavern-esque gathering spots was more and more the humans were not swayed to be there, but wanted to be part of the seductive nightlife. Taste, however fleetingly, the sweet tang of immortality.

If they only knew the true consequences, she thought bitterly. With no more sound than a soft sigh she dropped to the damp ground four stories below, her long black cloak billowing around her, almost a living thing in it’s own right. She crossed the alleyway and pulled the door open to the herbal shop and stepped inside, gagging as the smells of anti-vampire potions filled her nostrils and her lungs began to burn.

She waved her hand, drawing an intricate symbol in the air with her index finger. Immediately she could breathe easy.

“I see you know the ancient arts,” a low voice said, the sound somewhere between here and there.

“My mother taught me.” She answered truthfully.

There was a lengthy pause. “And who exactly was your mother, vampire?”

“N’Dare.” She didn’t bother attaching the Munroe. She would not need to. N’Dare and the women of her family had all been respected and powerful priestesses in Kenya. Dark artists, spiritual mages and all forms of mystics had traveled to their tribe seeking potions, spells, advice and healing.

“I can not tell if you speak the truth.”

“Then allow me to prove it.” She stepped towards the counter where a small gold dish sat. With deliberate slowness so as not to alarm the shopkeeper she held out her hand, and pressed her thumbnail into her palm, drawing blood. She squeezed her fist shut, dropping three droplets into the dish. She took several steps back, waiting.

A moment later a puff of smoke appeared and from it stepped a thin man with owlish eyes and deep wrinkles. He remained motionless for several heartbeats, studying her. She tried not to flinch away from his appraisal. It had been years since she had seen herself in a mirror, not because she couldn’t, but because it sickened her to see the monster she had become.

“You are N’Dare’s blood,” he said quietly.

She cocked her head. “You did not look in the dish.”

A faint smile graced his weathered lips. “I did not need to. How may I help you?”

She moved easily around the shop, touching odds and ends as she spoke. “I need several vampire repellent potions, and a dozen pure quartz crystals as well as hematite and amethyst--the purest forms you have. Also an ash wood stake. Preferably from a tree harvested on consecrated ground.”

The aged man nodded, his brows drawn low. “You hunt someone of great power.”

She paused, lifting a carved cat figurehead. “I hunt the blood devil.”

“Vladdimir.” The name was whispered in fear.

“Yes.” She gently returned the cat figurehead. “Will you help me?”

The shopkeeper hesitated. “You are a young immortal,” he hedged. “Vladdimir is thousands of years old. His powers know no limits.”

“Neither does my vengeance.” She leaned close to the man, her eyes glowing faintly. “Will you help me?”

Small bags were set atop the glass countertop. “I fear you are in over your head, child of N’Dare.”

“I appreciate that, but you don’t need to fear for me.” She pocketed the bags. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing. If you are successful then that will be payment enough.”

“And if I fail?”

“Then the cost was far too high. Godspeed, child.”

“Be well, Shaman.” At the door she removed her binding spell, releasing the potions.

The alleyway was no longer empty when she emerged. Propped on its kickstand sat a custom designed motorcycle of silver and black. She hedged closer to it, unreasonable fear making her breathe faster. She stopped short of touching the machine, her eyes fastened onto the clearly identifiable symbol on the gas cap. The Xavier ’X’ gleamed under the lamplight. No, it couldn’t be. Had he followed her? Her head snapped up, her eyes scanning the darkness for any movement. Nothing.

Clouds spun overhead casting shadows in the alley. She stepped into them, allowing them to embrace her. Where was he? She wondered. She lifted her head, scenting the night air, disgusted by many of the pungent odors she caught.

The doors to the tavern swung open and two men emerged, both seemingly drunk yet neither reeking of any type of alcohol. Faint bite marks marred the skin on one man’s upper arms and neck. She assumed the other was bitten as well, but his long sleeves prevented her from seeing. Vampire junkies, she thought angrily. Drunk from too much sex and blood loss.

As the door was swinging shut a slight breeze picked up the smells from inside and there it was. Pine and wilderness. Male and raw. Logan. Shit. He had gone inside the tavern. Damn it. Damn it to hell.

She didn’t know what Logan was doing at a vampire club, and it really wasn’t any of her business but she intended to make it her business.

The smell of sex and blood hit her as another patron stumbled into the alley and she swore again, slipping through the door opening and drawing the hood of her cloak over her head. The main floor of the tavern looked much like any other pub would. Barstools, round tables, dim lighting, a bar and a pool area. She knew it was a façade. She did a quick perusal and was not all that surprised to see that Logan was not in the main area.

Determinedly she made her way towards the back staircase, trying to ignore the waves of hunger she felt with so many humans and blood in close proximity. It had been far too long since she had fed. It was almost torture to be in this place, yet she couldn’t leave. Not without Logan.


Instead of heading for the upstairs she searched the banister or rail for a lever that would open the lower recess of the tavern.

“Hey! You can’t go back there!” A large hand grabbed her arm. “Private.”

Turning quickly she gave a displeased hiss and bared her fangs. “The hell I can’t,” she snapped, shoving the man away from her.

He didn’t seem overly impressed with her display. There were dozens of vampires in the club, and she was an unknown face to him. He narrowed his eyes, his own fangs lengthening. “I said private,” he reiterated.

Hating what she was about to do she pulled her hood back and turned, lifting her hair and revealing the mark at her nape. The brand she had been given by her sire on one of the first nights he had taken her blazed against her smooth skin. The insignia was legendary in the vampire community and it was a powerful motivator.

Immediately the vampiric bouncer backed up and bowed to her. “My apologies, my lady. I did not know. My name is Lucien and if I can be of any service to you please let me know.”

She gave him a disdainful look and replaced her hood. “I’d prefer my identity and my presence be kept private.”

“Of course.”

She paused, giving the man a once over. “Perhaps you could assist me, Lucien.”

He looked eager to do anything she asked of him and her stomach rolled. Using Vladdimir’s possessive marking as a tool to get her way made her feel unclean. “I am looking for a particular prey this evening.” She internally winced at the term prey. “I believe he may have arrived before me.”

“I see everyone who comes and goes. If he is here I can tell you.”

“Wonderful.” She pasted a false smile on her face. “He is rather gruff looking. Not too tall. Stocky. Untamed black hair.”

“I know the prey you’re looking for. Arrived not too long ago. He seemed interested in what the club had to offer. He was carrying a silver key card.”

That brought her up short. Silver key cards allowed the bearer nearly unrestricted access to vampire clubs and havens. She pondered that, letting her breath out slowly, hoping not to give herself away. She could not let on that anything about Logan or his comings and goings surprised her. She lifted her eyes to that of the bouncer. “I must warn you, that man was promised to me and if anything has happened to him I will be most displeased.” Her eyes flashed white.

Lucien shook his head hastily. “We did not know. I assure you had we known--”

“Where is he?” she cut in.

“He is as you thought, downstairs in the chamber. I will bring you to him.”

She refused his offer. “I’ll find him myself.” She bit her lip. What to do with him after she found him was another story. “I ask that you see to it that he and I are not disturbed,” she added.

“Of course.” He handed her a black card with a gold emblem. “Show this to anyone who attempts to get in your way. It is the swipe card for the master suite.” He bowed again, pulling the lever hidden in the banister, opening a sliding panel on the far wall. “Good feasting. Di mach bonita hemolig.”

She nodded, forcing a sickly sweet smile, a show of elegant charm. “Of course. Bonita hemolig di alto. ”

The stairwell was dark but she needed no light to see. She took each step slowly, pondering how she would get Logan out of the tavern without him knowing it was her. The more she thought about it, the more futile any plan she came up with seemed to be. Logan’s senses were as enhanced, if not more so than hers. She wasn’t certain she could confuse them up close like she had in the tree.

Moans and sighs of pleasure drifted up from the chamber below. The coppery scent of blood mixed with the musky scent of sex grew stronger and stronger as she descended, it’s odor nearly making her recoil. It reminded her too much of Vladdimir and her nightmares and for a brief second she seriously considered running out the door.

“How do you like that?” a sultry female voice purred.

“That’s just fine, darlin’.” came a slightly slurred reply.

She leapt the remaining distance to the floor below. The chamber was a writhing mass of bodies. Silk and satin pillows were scattered throughout the red lit room and on them men and women were engaged in every type of carnal act a person could think of, and then some. Grunts and pants were drowned out by groans and whimpers. Women lay spread eagle across tables, female and male vampires dining on the arteries at their inner thighs, making the humans writhe in painful ecstasy.

She closed her eyes, hating the memories the sight conjured up.

Images of Vladdimir between her thighs, licking his lips, covered in her juices and her blood filtered past the backs of her eyelids. She hated the dreamlike stupor she had been in when he had started stalking her and the helpless state he had reduced her to. She had believed his visits to be dreams. Erotic nightmares if nothing else. But she had learned that his possession of her was all too real when he had converted her. In that instant her trance had shattered, leaving her screaming in terror at what she had become--and at what he had done to her.

She tried to force the memories down, knowing that if she didn’t than in another minute she would become hysterical. Control was everything to her and she refused to give that up. Her eyes snapped open and she scoured the room for Logan.

He was near the darkest corner, leaning back in a chair as two female vampires hovered beside him, their hands busy stroking his thighs. His white shirt was several buttons undone revealing a healthy amount of chest. Her heart skipped, wondering if she was too late. She couldn’t see any marks on his skin yet and she feverishly hoped she had not delayed too long.

She pulled her cloak tighter around her and ducked her head, manipulating the shadows of the room around her as she crossed the chamber. Several vampires heads jerked up, their glowing gazes on her. She knew she was pushing her luck by maneuvering the shadows, as none of their kind had that particular skill, but she couldn’t risk Logan seeing her and blowing everything.

When she was within ten feet of the two naked vampires touching Logan she hissed, “Move away from him. Now.”

Both women looked at her with sneers. “He’s ours.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. This one is mine.” She kept her voice pitched low, hoping he wouldn’t recognize it.

The pair looked amused at her order. “Who exactly do you think you are?” The bolder of the two asked, not bothering to stop stroking along Logan’s thigh. He leaned back in his chair, his charcoal eyes seemed slightly glazed as he regarded her. She wished she could tell if he was influenced by the women or not. Had he exchanged blood before? Was he bound to them? Would he refuse her? She didn’t know. And not knowing was dangerous.

She’d have to risk it. “Move along.” She lifted the card Lucien had given her.

The two women exchanged glances, rising and backing away from Logan.

She waited until they were across the room before stepping towards him. “Come with me,” she hissed.

He didn’t budge.

She sighed. “Come with me now, Logan.” She hoped using his name would be enough to get him curious enough to follow her.

It worked. He got to his feet slowly, his eyes sharpening and she knew at once his glazed look had been an act on his part. “Who are you?” he asked her.

“No time for that. Come on.” She motioned for him to follow. He stepped beside her. “No. Behind me. Two paces. Do it.” she whispered.

Logan growled, not liking that at all. “Who the hell are you, lady?”

“Let’s just say a friend.” She moved towards the black door near the staircase.

With reflexes of a true hunter he reached out, grabbing her wrist and yanking her into his arms. “Who are you?” he growled.

His firm grip and warm scent enticed her. She inhaled, closing her eyes momentarily before realizing what she was doing. “Let me go.”

“Who are you?” he repeated.

“I am a vampire.” Blue eyes took on an eerie glow as she tried to keep her hood over her face. “Now let go of my arm before I tear your throat out and drain you dry.”

To her dismay he pulled her closer, leaning into her and inhaling.

“I could kill you,” she hissed, frantically trying to get out of his arms without drawing undue attention towards them.

“Probably.” He searched her face, as if trying to see through the shadows into her soul. Her heart lurched knowing he would see none. She had no soul. It had been raped and taken from her by the cruel, demonic villain that had done the same to her body.

Her voice cracked. “Please, Logan…”

His steel gaze wavered and he drew back startled. “’Ro?”

She hadn’t thought of herself like that in over ten years. Ororo Munroe had died. For a decade she had no name, and refused to think of herself with one. She was not a person, she was a monster. She shook her head. “Not anymore.”

Logan felt like he had been punched in the gut. Could the woman in front of him really be Ororo? He lifted a hand towards her hood.

She flinched away, catching his wrist. “Not here.” She gestured towards the door. This time he followed. Once the door shut behind them he pulled her close, yanking her hood back.

“Ororo?” He looked thunderstruck. The woman before him seemed to glow. Her eyes were no longer simply blue, but opalescent, a swirling mixture of vibrant hues as turbulent and raw as the emotions he was feeling. Energy crackled around her and he noticed briefly that the room was slowly becoming shrouded in fog.

She was as beautiful as he remembered, maybe more so. She was exotic to him, beautiful and regal. She shifted her weight, not quite meeting his eyes. He tried to say something but found his throat suddenly raw with emotion. “’Ro.” He pulled her to him and nuzzled her hair, inhaling deeply.

She shivered. His closeness was stirring the same feelings she had felt earlier when watching him walk at Xavier’s. She didn’t know how to react to that or how to control it.

Logan lowered his head to the hollow of her throat and sniffed. “You smell different.”

“I--” she swallowed. “I am not who you think I am.”

“Ororo.” He sounded absolutely certain.

She jerked away. “No!” She turned away from him. Her hands clenched at her sides. “You are mistaken.” She tried to pull the shadows to her again. Maybe she could push into his mind just enough to influence his perception. She doubted it. Logan was near immune to telepathic anything.

Logan didn‘t know exactly why he knew with utter certainty that the woman in front of him was Ororo, but he did and it pissed him off to hear her deny it. “You are Ororo Munroe. Say it.”

She denied it still with a shake of her head.

He grabbed her by her shoulders, turning her to face him. “Look me in the eye and tell me that. Tell me you ain’t the woman I grieved for. Tell me to my face.”

He had grieved for her? That thought touched in her in ways she dared not explore. Reluctantly she met his eyes. And found that she couldn‘t lie. “Maybe I was once. All right? But not any more. And never again.”

“Why did you come to me then?” he demanded angrily, his voice deepening. “Why are you here?”

She broke eye contact, walking a few steps away from him. “I had not planned on it. It‘s coincidence.”

“Liar. You were at the mansion tonight.”

She didn’t bother to deny it.

“What aren’t you telling me?” he growled.

“The vampire that turned me is here.” She stated flatly. “In the city. He knows where the school is, he’s been there before.” Her tone was laced with bitterness. “If he can use the people there to hurt me, he will. I needed to ensure that wasn’t a possibility.”

Logan raked a hand through his hair, still a bit numb from accepting that the woman in front of him was his long dead teammate. “And have you?”

“Yes.“ She removed the small bags she carried in her cloak’s lining. “ There are potions in here as well as gemstones. They have protective properties and can ward off evil spirits, in particular vampires.”

Logan strode towards her, his every instinct telling him to touch her. “And what about you? Who’s protecting you?” He caressed her cheek with his knuckles.

She gave him a slanted look. “I have not needed anyone’s protection in over a decade, Logan.” She turned, too quickly in her famished state, and her knees buckled.

“’Ro.” Strong hands caught her. “You’re starving.” Logan’s voice was oddly gentle.

“I am fine.”

“I can feel it, ‘Ro. It‘s radiating off of you like a fuckin’ beacon.” He moved them towards the black satin bed in the center of the room. He released her, setting her on the edge of the bed. He straightened, pushing apart the already opened seam of his shirt.

“What are you doing?” She asked, her mouth suddenly too dry.

“You need to feed.” He stated point blank.

She shook her head. “No!”

“Yes.” He bent over her and jerked her head forward, her face resting against the curve of his throat.

Instinctively her tongue darted out, tasting skin, swirling over his pulse. She felt him shudder. Her mouth moved languidly over his warm skin, tasting, nipping, thrilling in his texture and scent. Worn leather, cigar, Molson, wilderness and male. Logan. She lifted her face away, her breathing ragged. “I can’t.” Her breath was raspy, fighting the hunger. Her teeth lengthened, scraping her lips and her eyes, she knew, were glowing demonic red.

Logan’s grip on her tightened, pulling her to him. “You can, darlin‘. I am givin’ you consent, ‘Roro.”

How could she explain to him that she was a disease, unworthy of his generous offering? She was unclean. She would always be unclean. An abomination. An unnatural creature that walked the night.

Logan waited, watching her averted face. She was rigid against him, her features impassive, yet he knew there was much going on beneath the surface. The more he watched her the more he wanted her to feed. To take from him. For an unnamed reason that idea was more than thrilling, it was almost obsessive.

He inhaled her hair again. Instead of earth and sandalwood, she smelled faintly of Jasmine and night. An unusual combination, but an exotically, and enticingly pleasant one. Her skin still carried with it the sweet scent of rain, and in her eyes he could still see her inner light. The light that was Ororo. No one else had that. It was as though she was connected to everything around her. She may not recognize herself anymore, but he did.

“No. I won‘t.” She tried to pull away from him, but her strength was waning with her hunger.

He ran his hands along her sides, cradling her hips and drawing her closer still. “Feed,” he encouraged.

She wanted to taste him more than she wanted anything in her life, more than she ever dreamed possible. Tears burned her eyes and clogged her throat. She clenched her fist in his shirt. She felt completely out of control. She needed to be in control.

“Let me help you.” He lifted her hair, sifting his fingers through the silken strands. He seemed momentarily distracted by that action. “I always like your hair.”

Longing coursed through her. “I should never have allowed you to see me.”

Logan gave her a long look. “Why did you?”

“I don’t know.”

He nuzzled her hair again. “I think you do.”
“Please…” Bloodlust was settling on her. She heard each thud of his heart, could hear the blood coursing through his veins and it called to her. The sweet Siryn song of the damned.

He tilted her head towards his exposed chest. “Take what you need.” His voice was low, soothing.

“You don’t understand…”

She looked so vulnerable. So lost. So fragile. Logan caught her face in his hands, forcing her eyes to his. He bent his head towards her, taking swift, sure possession of her mouth.

She was set ablaze. Her senses reeled and collided, her entire world tilted dangerously off it’s axis. She succumbed to the sensation of having him take her mouth. His tongue dueling with hers in a wild foray made her womb clench in desire. Of it’s own accord her body went pliant, molding to his, her corseted breasts pressed tight to his thick chest. The kiss went on and on. She wanted to crawl inside of him, her hands roamed his chest, wanting to tear the cotton from his body. Every nerve ending in her body leapt to life. Her body suddenly went into overdrive, hot with want, feeling like a coil winding tighter and tighter. She clawed at him, trying to get closer, arching into him instinctively.

Logan felt her lust like it was a physical blow. It swept over him, soaking into him, making him rock hard. His inner beast rose up fast and ferocious, roaring for her. She tasted like nothing he had ever tasted before, spicy and sweet, dark and sinful yet innocent and pure. He shifted them until she lay beneath him on the bed. He lifted his head only long enough for her to see the apology in his eyes as he unsheathed one claw and sliced across his chest. He urged her close to the wound despite her slight defiance, but the hunger was winning, and she finally succumbed, her mouth moving over his chest in a slow, sensual assault. Her teeth sank in to the thick tissue of his chest and he groaned. God, it felt good.

His hands wandered, creeping into the folds of her cloak, sliding their way under the leather camisole and cotton shirt beneath. Her breasts were soft and full, her nipples hardening against his palms. “’Ro,” he rasped, grinding his hips into hers.

That name snapped her to reality. She drew back, her eyes wide with self disgust. Oh, God, what had she done? What was she thinking? She was feeding on Logan? She shoved at him, tears forming in her eyes. “Stop.” Her expression was a mixture of fear and anger. “Get away from me, Logan. I’m afraid of what I’ll do to you if you stay.”

“Come home with me, Ororo.” His voice was a rough timbre and she knew she wasn’t the only one fighting some strong emotions.

She touched his whiskered jaw with an aching tenderness. “I have no home.” Using the strength his blood gave her she shimmered into shadow, sliding across the floor so that she stood by the door. “Don’t interfere with this, Logan. Valddimir is my fight. I don’t know why you’re playing with vampires, but stop now.”

He shifted on the bed, getting to his feet, his eyes dark and unreadable. A tick started in the base of his jaw. “Occur to you that maybe I’m playing with vampires for you?”

She blinked. “For me?”

He strode towards her. “I watched you die, darlin’. That sticks with a man.” Unable to not touch her, he reached out, fingering her hair. “I left you.”

Ororo, and hearing him say her name so much had given it back to her, gasped. “You blamed yourself?”

HE shrugged, but his tension was evident. “How could I not? I went out to get shit faced and that fuck came in and kil--attacked you.”

“You had it right.” She placed her hand over his. “I died, Logan. I am dead. Please, accept that.”

“But you ain’t,” he argued. “You’re here. I can see you. Touch you. Smell you.” He pressed closer. “Taste you.”

She closed her eyes, a shudder coursing through her. “Logan…”

“Come home with me.” He brushed his mouth against hers. “Please.”

She could not remember ever hearing Logan say please before. Knowing she would well regret it, she nodded.

Together they made their way out of the club and into the alley. He handed her the helmet he kept in the rear as she swung herself onto the bike and she raised one brow.

He chuckled a bit, replacing the unneeded protection. “Right.”

Ororo leaned into the warmth of his back as they rode, and for the first time in a long, long time, she didn’t feel unclean. She felt whole.

Overhead two dark owls circled, their unnatural silver eyes watching the duo speed off into the night. They shrieked displeasure.

In his underground lair Vladdimir dropped the woman he had drained to the floor, wiping her blood from his lips. Shewas near again, and he felt her pulling at him. He growled, catching fleeting images from his birds’ eyes. She was with another and that was unacceptable. He turned towards the mirror, watching as flames flashed in his eyes. If she thought he would let her go, she was mistaken. He knew she hunted him, and until now had led her on a merry chase, enjoying the taunting game. A decade to him was a blink of an eye, but he refused to let the game continue now. Now that she had made her first foolish mistake.

She must be taught a lesson.

The moment she set foot on the mansion stairs she began having second thoughts. She and Logan had spent the first half hour of their arrival placing the gemstones she had brought from the Shaman around the mansion. Logan had seemed more than a bit skeptical at her “cockamamie idea” but he had relented, helping her lay out a design. She had felt relief in having the barrier set up, but now that relief was apprehension. This wasn’t her home anymore--and more than that, she was not the same woman that had once lived here. She didn’t belong here. Maybe she never really had. She should go.

As if sensing her desire to flee, Logan turned, his blunt fingers shackled her wrist. Incredibly strong, yet somehow amazingly gentle. She looked up at him at felt her stomach turn over. He did something to her that she could not explain. Dared not explain.

Their connection had been strong before, when they had been teammates, and neither had been shy about acknowledging the fledgling attraction between them, but life always seemed to have other plans for them. He’d had his crush on Jean, as well as his deep love for Mariko and she had also been busy trying to find her niche as co-leader of the X-Men as well as adjusting to life in a new culture.

“What is it?” he asked her, his voice a rough whisper.

She gazed up at the sky, sighing. “I don’t belong here, Logan.”

His lips touched hers. Firm and velvet smooth, soft and sensuous they plied hers apart. Her heart jumped in her chest and her eyes fluttered shut as he stroked against her teeth. When he pulled back his eyes were dark and unreadable. He unlocked the front door. Tossing her a faint inquisitive look over his shoulder, he asked, “Do I have to invite you in?”

She couldn’t help it, she laughed. He had managed the near impossible feat of making her laugh after a decade of sorrow. “No.” She shook her head, still smiling. “Some things are simply rumors.”

He tugged her through the threshold and she instinctively raised her hood.

“You belong here as much as I do. As much as any of us did. You’re an X-Man.”

Her frown slowly reappeared. “No, I’m not. I am a vampire, Logan. You would do well to remember that little detail.” There was a warning in her voice.

“I haven’t forgotten, darlin’.” He stood nearly touching her. “That don’t scare me much.”

“It should,” she hissed. She placed her palms flat against his chest. “I can hear your heart beating. Hear the blood in your veins. Smell it in you.” She opened her mouth slightly, her eyes swirling to that opalescent glow he had seen earlier. “I have to fight the hunger off all the time. It crawls in me. Poisoning me and everything I touch. Don’t make a mistake and assume I am not dangerous, Logan.”

More dangerous than she knew, he thought, his groin tightening. Did she have any idea how alluring she was with her head tilted at him, her mouth parted and eyes glowing. Long silver strands of hair clung to her shoulders and her skin, always soft before was now flawless, porcelain smooth and creamy caramel.

He bent his head so that his mouth brushed hers as he spoke. “Duly noted.”

She sighed with exasperation. He never did have any common sense. She told him as much.

He grinned unrepentant. “One of my better qualities. Now, come on.” He ushered her through the foyer and towards the staircase.

She glanced at the photos on the wall as they strolled the hall, seeing her former teammates age and change in each one. All of them held places in her heart and she felt the ice she’d forged around it melting with each passing picture. She smiled at Jean and Scott’s wedding photo, but that smile quickly vanished a few pictures down when a team photo had a red head curiously missing. Her steps halted. “Logan.”

He stopped walking, staring at the photo she was staring at. He knew the question coming and he wondered how she would take the news.

Her fingertips hovered above the photo, outlining the form that should have been beside Scott. “Where’s Jean?”

He let out a slow breath, running his hand through his wild hair. “Jeannie died, ‘Ro. Few years back.”

He wasn’t certain what he expected from her but her quiet was disconcerting. He hedged a glance at her. “’Ro?”

She faced him, her eyes shimmering. “I always thought it was a dream.”

“What was a dream?”

“Jean. She came to me.” She cleared her throat, straightening and pulling her cloak tighter about her shoulders. She turned away from the photographs and Logan could almost physically see the wall she was erecting around herself.

Knowing that some things were better left alone he didn’t press her, but grasped her arm, and led her to their destination.

Outside the door Ororo paused, her head tilted a bit. His scent was everywhere. It made her insides clench, realizing where they were. “Your room?” she asked.

“Well, yeah.” He shrugged, opening the door. “You didn’t think I’d give a scary, blood sucking vampire a room of her own, didjya?”

She flinched like he’d struck her.

He cursed himself, the comment was in jest, but the look on her face made him wish he could eat the words. “’Ro, I didn’t mean that.” He stepped toward her.

She held up one hand, warding him off. “It’s no more than the truth,” she said flatly.

He refused to let her retreat into her shell. Grabbing her outstretched hand he pulled her into his chest. “I’m sorry if my words hurt you.”

She tried to maneuver away but he was resilient. She could have easily broken his hold if she truly wanted to, he knew, and the fact that she didn’t told him she wasn’t as indifferent as she wanted him to believe.

Ororo’s heart shifted uneasily. She tried for cool disdain. “I don’t remember you being such a touchy-feely guy, Logan,” she commented.

His lips curved sardonically, unperturbed by her attempt to distance herself. “Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone.” He traced his finger along her jaw line. “Or it could just be you that does it.”

She shivered. What was this man doing to her? She edged out of his arms. “I really shouldn’t be here.”

He let out a grumble. “Look, it’s almost sunrise. Last I knew, vampires and the sun weren’t exactly on the best of terms. So why don’t you just rest here and shut up about it.” He shook out the dark navy quilt from his bed, hanging it over his single window. He stepped back, looking for any gaps. Satisfied there was none he turned toward her, his look smug.

Ororo narrowed her eyes, disliking the neat little package of logic he had just tossed at her. She knew sunrise was near, she could feel it in her waning strength and the tingle of her flesh. Resigned, she unclasped her cloak, draping it over his bed.

Logan swallowed. Underneath the cloak the tight leather molded to her curves and she looked damn sexy. He felt his pants getting tighter.

Ororo felt it too. The sexual tension, the subtle hunger that hung n the air. She cleared her throat, settling against the far wall in a lean, crossing her arms over her chest. “How come your helping me?” she asked softly.

Logan rolled his shoulders and cricked his neck, not sure just how to answer her. Part of it he knew was because he felt responsible for her initial death, but there was more to it. The idea of her leaving again tore at him, made him want to howl. So instead of answering, he asked a question of his own. “How is it you survived staking yourself? I thought that was the, y’know, be all end all of vampires.”

“Oh, it is,” she answered. “But I was foolish.” She sighed, leaning her head back to stare at the ceiling. “I staked myself before I converted. To become a vampire the victim needs to die and rise again.” She snorted. “I actually made myself a vampire.”

Logan thought that over. She sounded so casual about the whole thing, but he could feel, and smell, her rising tension. He sat on the edge of his bed regarding her upturned face. “The way I understand it, you need to drink a vampire’s blood before converting.”

Something like pain flickered across her face. “One doesn’t need to do so willingly for the conversion to be effective,” was all she said.

“That monster really did a number on you didn’t he?” Violence tainted his words.

She kept her clear gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Only what I was too weak to prevent.” She straightened, her eyes finding his. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked the relevant question.”

“And that is?”

She smiled without humor. “Why I didn’t stake myself again after I rose.”

That question had crossed his mind, but he didn’t want to voice it. He didn’t say anything in response, but sat quietly, watching her.

Ororo slipped her hand along her thigh, gripping the hilt of the knife she kept there. She held Logan’s eyes, hers flat and cold. With a swift twist of her wrist, she turned the blade and plunged it into her chest.

“Jesus Christ!” Logan leapt from the bed, catching Ororo as she crumbled to the floor. “’Ro! Damn it, don’t do this to me again!” His voice was hoarse, cracked, as flashes of memory filtered in, mixing past and present. He held her, feeling the old helplessness rushing over him. “Not again,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her hair.

Ororo for her part, coughed blood, but sat up, yanking the knife from her heart.

Logan watched in a sick sort of fascination as the blood seeped back into her chest and the wound sealed. “What the fuck…?”

She gave a bitter laugh, wiping her hand across her lips. “I’ve tried every kind of wood, every kind of metal.” She sat forward, wrapping her hands around her knees. “Nothing does it.”

“God, ‘Ro.” Logan took a deep breath. “Fucking tryin‘ to kill me here, woman?”

She gave him an apologetic look. “He bound me to him.” Sadness crept into her flat tone. “So long as he walks this earth, so too will I.”

Logan didn’t know what to say to ease her. He had the absurd desire to fight away all her demons and keep her safe. For someone so powerful, she looked so very fragile. He decided that talking wasn’t really his thing anyway. His palm cupped the back of her head, bringing her to him. Her mouth opened beneath his, every bit as hungry and aching as he was. He felt a near desperate need to soothe her, to comfort her. He couldn’t explain it. They were both too raw from the emotions they’d relived in the past, and with this newness between them. He dragged her closer.

“This is crazy,” she said into his mouth, her fingers curling against his shirt.

“You make me crazy,” he told her, nipping her lips. And she did. All logic--what little he usually possessed--flew out the window the moment he touched her.

She breathed his name against his lips. Her arms circled his neck, her lips merging with his. She had felt so ashamed and alone for so long and in his arms she felt safe, welcomed, clean--it posed a terrifying addiction to her. She leaned closer still, her breasts pressed to his chest through the leather barrier of her camisole.

“I’m not gonna be able to stop,” he rasped when she tugged his shirt open.

“Don’t stop, then,” she murmured hungrily. “I don’t want you to stop.”

His hand rose up to cradle her face. “Good, cuz I damn well don’t think I could even if I wanted to.”

She wasn’t sure exactly how they got onto the bed, but there he was, hovering over her, his features shadowed and harsh and unbearably appealing. She lifted her leg, running it along his back, pulling him closer. Her clothing and his still separated them, and her oversensitive skin suddenly found the barrier near painful. With a hurried gasp she waved her hand and their clothing fell away, melting to the floor like shadows.

Logan blinked. “Neat trick.”

She arched into him, her movements pure feminine seduction. “I have my uses.”

He bent towards her, his lips finding bare flesh, laving her with his tongue. She heard herself gasp as he teased her breasts with his fingertips and his lips played homage to the valley between them.

Ororo reached down between their bodies, her hand finding hot, hard flesh. Logan sucked in his breath, swearing softly against her skin. He was thick and long, throbbing in her hand. She sighed into his hair, her heart thundering louder. Her fingertips played over the length of him, taking pleasure in his groans.

His hands moved over her hips, smoothing along her thighs, exploring her skin. Need between them was building to a terrible urgency. She felt helpless and powerful under his hands. It was an unfamiliar, alien sensation for her to enjoy erotic sensuality, to let herself be touched, caressed, taken.

The moment his hands touched the curls nestled between her legs she stiffened, old fear swallowing her new passion.

“I won’t hurt you,” he vowed on a low whisper.

She tried to repress her fear, but images of another time and place swarmed her mind: being held down, a heavier body pounding into her ruthlessly, black blood flowing down her throat, her screams of terror.

“No,” she whispered. She refused to let memories of Vladdimir tarnish this moment for her. She closed her eyes, falling back into Logan’s sensual touches, focusing only on the pleasure he was giving her. Her hips lifted and pushed against him instinctively.

Logan groaned, pushing the head of his erection into her. She was hot, soft and wet. She shifted, allowing him better access, drawing her knees up and locking her ankles behind his back. Each time he pushed deeper into her he felt stabs of unimaginable pleasure. He bent over her, gripping her bottom in his hands. “You with me, darlin’?”

She nodded, too far gone to speak. She shook with the ecstasy he was giving her but underneath that lay a darker hunger. One that was getting harder to control. His chest was looming over her, tempting her. Her earlier marks had already faded, healed by his mutant genes. She lifted her head from his pillow, her tongue flicking his copper nipple.

Logan groaned, his fingers flexing in her flesh. “Do it,” he urged.

Ororo resisted, but it was futile. She knew how he would taste, how intoxicating he was. Like nothing she had ever experienced his blood was sweet on her lips not vile or revolting. She sank her teeth deep.

At once his hips bucked double time, his growl one of unrestrained rapture. “Come with me,” he commanded, moving in a circular thrust.

Ororo stared up into his eyes, licking the wound she had made, her lips dotted with his crimson essence. He was magnificent to look at, she thought, sexy and alluring, but more than that, she trusted him. Unconditionally. Always had.

She caught his face between her hands and gave herself up to him. They exploded together, her cry blending with his rumble. “Logan…”

Still locked deep inside of her he lowered his sweat dampened head towards hers. “Damn. That was…holy fuck.”

“Yes.” she agreed.

He lifted his head and winked at her before kissing her breathless once more.

She gave him a bleary smile. “Sun up,” she yawned.

He nodded, glancing at the blanket draped over his window. He turned back to her speculatively.

She caught his train of thought immediately. “Doesn’t work either,” she murmured, snuggling into his chest. “But it hurts like hell. Look like a charcoal briquette when it’s done too.”

Logan’s throat tightened. How many times had she tried to die? He pulled her tight. “Get some sleep, ‘Ro.”

She was already drifting when she whispered, “I missed you…”

Logan closed his eyes, inhaling her seductive aroma. He had never really taken the time to miss her after her death, he had been so busy planning retribution that he had blocked that emotion out, but now… now he knew he was never letting her go again. He kissed her hair gently. Mine.

Eventually he knew they would have to face the others and he would have to talk to her about her vendetta on the fucktard that had turned her, but for now, for this moment, he felt as if they were both exactly where they belonged.

As the first rays of dawn crept over the horizon Logan turned to his side, cradling Ororo in his arms. His heart thudded dully when he realized she was not breathing, but his initial alarm quieted as he reminded himself that she was a vampire. She looked exactly as she had a decade ago--yet indescribably different.

She had changed over the years, as had he, and along with them, the balance between them had shifted. Where once a passing attraction simmered, a raging inferno of desire raged. Where a comfortable friendship resided, now was something more. Something worth keeping, he thought as he drifted. Something worth fighting for.

She looked like an angel.

Somehow, he knew she would loathe that comparison, but it didn’t change the fact that Ororo held an ethereal beauty that had nothing to do with her immortal state and everything to do with the light of her soul. She was simply breathtaking--always had been.

Logan edged farther up on his arm, propping himself on his elbow so that he could study her serene face. Snow white hair spilled across his pillows in a silken cascade and he couldn’t help but touch it, trailing his blunt fingers through the soft strands. Long lashes rested against impossibly smooth skin, not even a twitch betraying any sign of life from the woman laying next to him; which, to be truthful, was disconcerting as all hell, but he’d learn to deal with it. He couldn’t say when he had determined that he wasn’t willing to let Ororo go, but somewhere between first kiss and dawn the decision had been made, and it felt right. Not much in his life had ever felt right, so he wasn’t about to knock anything that did. He was certain Ororo would have some choice words about the matter, but he’d deal with that when he had to.

Tossing a glance over his shoulder he noted that the blanket draped over the window cast a faint glow, telling him that the sun was probably about midday. With a grimace he rolled to the side, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He needed to get up. Not that anyone would come knocking on his door looking for him, as it wasn’t all that uncommon for him to sleep until well past noon, but he needed to prepare the others for Ororo’s miraculous resurrection from the dead.

With one last fingertip caress of her hair, Logan padded across his bedroom to his bathroom. He left the door open, as was his custom, but this time he felt an odd sense of comfort, knowing that Ororo was lying in the next room. He shook his head, stifling a chuckle, and sliding the frosted door shut. Damn, he had it bad.

A quick jerk of the taps unleashed hot spray onto his head, the steaming water washing away the recent scent of lovemaking that clung to him. His mouth curved up at the edges as he shampooed his hair. He’d had more than his fair share of fantasies about Ororo when they had joined the X-Men together, as did most of the males, he was certain, but last night had taken even his most graphic masturbatory fantasy and squashed it.

Although, he acknowledged internally, in none of his fantasies had Ororo been a vampire. Briefly his hand rested just above his heart where Ororo’s teeth had punctured. For a moment he regretted having his healing factor and losing that souvenir. He knew from her scent and expressions that she hated that side of herself, the hunger and need, but to be honest, he found it alluring. Never would he have thought he could find a vampire sexy, but he sure as shit did.

He opened his mouth, swishing the hot water and spitting before shutting off the flow and snapping his towel off the rack. Opening the sliding door he heard a yelp and a loud crash.

“’Ro!” Rushing from the bathroom, he slipped on the tile, towel hanging haphazardly around his waist, water dripping from his hair. He came to a halt in the door jamb, one hand gripping the frame for balance.

Ororo was across the room, gloriously naked, her full lips curled back, revealing long fangs bared. Nightcrawler hung in her grasp, feet dangling well off the ground. She had the blue furred mutant in a death grip, one hand at his throat, hissing.

“’Ro!” Logan barked.

Startled Ororo blinked, seeming to come out of a daze. With a distressed cry she dropped Kurt, who crumpled to the floor, gasping fro breath, his yellow eyes the size of saucers.

Quickly Ororo summoned the shadows around her, molding them to her skin, creating a cloak to cover herself with. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, her eyes still red and luminous. She looked at Logan as if to say ‘See. This is why I’m dangerous.’

Logan moved into the room, his steps slow and even. It was a predator’s instinct to defend. Reaction came first, then logic. He knew that all too well. Ororo was simply following that instinct. Chances were the fuzzy elf had bamfed into the room to wake him and caught ‘Ro off guard.

Staggering to his feet Kurt looked over at Ororo, then back at Logan, then once more at Ororo. “Mein Gott.” His mouth opened and closed several times and he crossed himself before asking, “Ororo, is that really you?” Kurt’s awe was palpable. “How is this possible?”

Ororo, still shaken from nearly tearing Kurt’s throat out, merely shook her head. “I am not the woman you once knew.”

Kurt looked at Logan for confirmation. “Logan?”

“You may wanna sit down, Elf.” Logan said, dropping his towel and grabbing a pair of clean boxers from his bureau.

Kurt nodded slowly, sinking to the floor. “Ok.”

Ororo watched her old friend with a passive face, but Logan could feel the emotions radiating from her. Fear, uncertainty, longing. They ate at him. He closed the distance between them, drawing her into his arms despite her brief resistance and Kurt’s startled expression.

“Don’t.” She shook her head. “I should never have come.”

Logan squeezed her arms gently, but firmly. “You ain’t afraid of the elf are ya? He’s harmless,” Logan teased, but underneath was tenderness. “You shouldn’t run from us, ‘Ro. We’re your family.”

Ororo sighed. They used to be family. Now-- now she was an undead, unclean, a carrier of death and a vile creature that was unfit to be amidst humans. When Kurt had startled her, her first reaction had been to attack and kill. She knew she was not safe to be around the others. She had to make Logan see that it was best if she left. “Wolv--”

“’Ro.” His hand cupped her face, drawing her liquid blue gaze to his, both seemingly oblivious to the other mutant in the room. “You ain’t getting away from me.” His mouth touched hers, taking her breath and her fight away in a slow assault.

A small shiver ran down Ororo’s spine. She pulled away, turning her head, her lashes veiling her eyes. “Logan, I can’t…”

The ache in her voice tore at his heart, but her remained firm. “Just talk to Scooter, darlin’.”

She didn’t answer him, the choking lump in her throat catching her by surprise. No matter how he assured her, one thing was an inescapable truth…she was a vampire. He couldn’t erase the taint left by Vladdimir no matter how much she wanted him to. “No, I don’t. I am not the person I once was, and I can never be that person again.”

“Ororo…” Kurt spoke softly drawing their eyes. “Whatever you have become, you are still my friend.”

She turned toward him. “You don’t know what I’ve become. Or the evil I am capable of.”

Kurt scoffed. “Ororo, you are not evil, of that I am certain.”

“I am a vampire.”

“Yes.” Kurt nodded. “And I am a blue furred demon.” He shrugged. “What is your point?”

Logan smirked. Ororo may be able to counter his arguments, but there was no counter to Kurt’s. Kurt was possibly the most gentle of souls, whose mother was a certifiably evil blue bitch and whose father just happened to be a genuine demon from hell. If anyone could argue that what you were did not determine who you were, it was Elf.

For the first time in a decade Ororo felt accepted by both Logan and Kurt and it made her eyes well with tears. “Kurt…”

“Ach, come here.” He opened his arms.

Ororo embraced her old friend tightly, her face in the softness of his fur. She felt him tremble and she fought back her tears.

“It is good to have you home, Ororo,” Kurt whispered, trails of darker blue marking the path of his emotion down his face. He leaned back, keeping his hands on her shoulders. “So, tell me…where have you been?”

“Hunting.” she replied vaguely, a wave of dizziness taking hold. She was hungry and the sun was up. Like most nocturnal creatures, she could move around during the day, but the bright light hurt her eyes and she felt lethargic.

“Ah.” Kurt said no more on the matter.

“If ya don’t mind, Elf, ‘Ro still needs her rest.” Logan said, sensing the strength ebbing from Ororo despite her best attempt to appear focused.

“Of course. I wasn‘t thinking, so sorry. Sun and vampires…and I am an idiot, so sorry,” Kurt said in a rush.

Ororo smiled, the first real smile Logan had seen her give. “It’s fine, Kurt.”

He hugged her quickly once more. “I won’t say anything,” he informed Logan.

“Appreciate it,” Logan nodded. Kurt was gone an instant later.

As soon as they were alone again Ororo turned to Logan. She was at a loss, he could see. She had expected to be shunned, but instead Kurt had welcomed her. Her carefully erected walls were crumbling and she was afraid.

Immediately Logan was there, reaching for her hand, interlacing their fingers.

“Thank you,” she whispered to him.

“For what?”

“For not letting me run.”

Logan nodded, lowering his mouth to hers. “You don’t have to run anymore, ‘Ro.”

Ororo sighed as his mouth took hers. His tongue slid along the seam of her lips, teasing, licking, tasting. Each stroke of his tongue sent a fiery throb straight through her body to pool in her abdomen. She opened her mouth, allowing him entry and the kiss became less seductive and more ravenous.

Her mouth was like silk beneath his, Logan thought, his gut clenching as desire tightened every muscle in his body. While her tongue dueled with his, her hands ran over the hard planes of his chest, over his neck, pausing at the pulse, before sinking into the thick richness of his hair.

Logan groaned, his mouth leaving hers so that he could nibble on the stubburn tilt of her jaw. “You should be restin’,” he rasped, nipping.

“Yes,” she agreed, letting the shadows fall from her body. “I should be…” Her head fell back, allowing him unfettered access. She trembled when he licked her pulse. “But not yet,” she whispered, “not yet.”

“No,” he said, palms cupping her full breasts, thumbs teasing her erect nipples. “Not yet.”

“You feel so good,” she said, her voice husky with lust.

“Funny, I was thinking’ the same thing about you.” He bent his head, flicking his tongue over her breast, suckling one taut peak into his moist mouth. “Taste good too.”

“Ohhhh, Logan…” his name was a breathless sigh. Her hands wandered his hard frame, searing a path of heat across his skin, making him feel flushed and hard and wanting. She caressed his shoulders, moved down his back, over each defined muscle, exploring the firm roundness of his buttocks, kneading them, pulling him closer. She moved her mouth over his shoulder, down across the flat of his nipple, flicking quickly, making him jerk and groan.

Fingers bunched in silver hair as her mouth found the waistband of his boxers, tongue sliding along the crease of his hip. Logan wanted nothing more than to fist his hands in her hair and thrust himself into her mouth, but he didn’t, instead he grit his teeth and took a deep breath, allowing her the freedom of exploration without pressure from him.

Ororo tugged his boxers down, marveling over the rock hardness of his thighs as well as the thick erection brushing her nose. Her breath teased the head of his cock and Logan damn near lost his mind.

“’Ro…” he didn’t know how he managed to get her name past his tight throat.

“Shhh,” she chided, her mouth curved in a faint teasing line. Her tongue lapped at the salty beads of moisture forming at the tip.

Logan jumped, his entire body locked. “Fuckin’ hell,” he swore, trying not to buck.

Ororo glanced up at his face. His eyes were closed, jaw clenched tight and his face was contorted somewhere between ecstasy and pain. Smiling to herself she slowly took him deep into her mouth, sucking gently.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Logan’s hands tightened in her hair, his hips moving of their own accord. He was losing control, thrusting helplessly into the silken cavern of heat and moisture that was her mouth. Her lips tightened, tongue swirled, pulling him deeper under her sensual spell.

One hand worked his cock with her mouth while the other cupped and tugged at his balls. She squeezed and sucked in unison. Shit, he was going to come. “Ororo…” He stiffened, trying to get away, but she held fast, teeth scraping in reprimand. She teased him with her mouth, sucking harder. “Fuck, oh God, ‘Ro. Yeah, baby…” He gave up trying to fight it, his hands in clenching tightly in her hair for stability as he thrust over and over, her soft murmurs and hums driving him on. He spasmed, muscles tightening. “Can’t hold on…gonna come…gonna…yearrrrrrrrgh…” He shook with the intensity of it, spurting deep.

Ororo lifted her head, smiled up at him as she licked her lips, taking every drop of him. Her lips teased his navel, strands of her hair sliding along his over-sensitized skin, making him groan. Although he had just reached orgasm his erection hadn’t ebbed in the least, a first, even for him. Her hands circled his neck and she arched into him with feline grace.

“You feel so fuckin’ right,” he groaned, tugging her leg up over his hip. His hand moved between their bodies, cupping her damp center, two fingers slipping past her slick folds.

Ororo moaned, her hips rocking against his wrist. “Logan.” She rode his hand, her lips parted and his name spilling from her lips every time his thumb circled her clit with expert skill.

“Come for me, baby,” he urged, curving his digits to hit her just right, causing her to saturate his hand.

“No,” she rasped, her hips grinding his arm. “I want you inside. Now.”

Logan didn’t wait another second, shifting her against him, wedging himself more firmly against her. He pressed her back a bit so that the wall supported her. He pushed into her, the head of his erection throbbing as her slick heat welcomed him home. “Tight,” he growled. “So fuckin’ tight.”

Ororo shifted, spreading her legs and drawing her knees up for Logan to cradle. She watched the animal beauty of his face as he impaled her, his intensity amplifying her pleasure. He pushed deeper and she bit her lip, a scream building.

He was so primal. So beautiful, she thought her eyes misting over. The way he touched her, like she was something worthy of his attention. Someone worthy of his…No, don’t go there. Stay here, where it’s simple. Where the only thing that mattered was the friction between their bodies, the tension mounting and that coil of pleasure tightening in her stomach.

He was driving harder, his hands on her hips, her legs locked around his waist as he pulled her down to meet each demanding thrust. Ororo gasped, clinging to his sweat slicked shoulders, her cries of ecstasy shadowed by his growls.

“Oh, God, Logan…” she sobbed her body wrenched so tight she felt ready to explode. “So good.”

Logan grunted, his movements frenzied, his balls tightening. “Good doesn’t do it…uhn… justice, darlin’,” he growled. His mouth latched onto one jiggling breast, teeth tugging. “This is perfect.” He lifted his head, capturing her face between his hands, slowing the chaotic slamming of their bodies to a slow rocking. “You’re perfect,” he said with sincerity.

Circling his head in her arms Ororo hid her tears in his hair. I love you she thought, unwilling to say it aloud, surprised by the thought as much as the emotions that came with it.

Logan sensed her sadness and he wished he could take it away from her. He increased his pace once again, not letting her retreat too deeply into her shell. He gripped her ass in his hands, surging in and out. “Feel that, baby? Feels so right.”

Ororo couldn’t speak, her body tingling in response. She writhed against the wall, her head thrown back as he took her. He seared her mouth with his, swallowing her scream of pleasure as she shattered in his arms, her orgasm milking another from him. Too soon, he thought as he bucked, pumping furiously, but unable to stop. “Love you,” he groaned as he spent himself.

A moment later Logan slowly settled her on his bed, still buried deep. He rocked his hips in a slow rhythm, his eyes dark and unreadable. She didn’t ask if she’d heard him right and he didn’t repeat it, because both knew it to be true. Twenty minutes later Logan was sound asleep, but Ororo was not. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, blood red tears coursing over her sable cheeks. Softly she whispered a binding spell that would keep him asleep until well past sunset and slipped from his grasp.

“Forgive me,” she said whisper soft. “I can not allow you to fight my battles for me.” She dressed in the clothes she had arrived in. She bent and kissed his lips gently, a tear drop falling onto his whiskered jaw. “I love you too.”

Decades devoid of emotion, all ruined by a chance encounter inside a vampire club and a night of passionate sex. Ororo pressed her fingers to her eyes, trying to quiet the niggling voice in the back of her head; the one calling her a coward and a fool for leaving Logan. She sighed, trying to calm the strangled tattoo of her heart, the beat going erratic at the mere thought of the man.

It was better this way, she told herself stoically. Logan had his life and he was better off without her ruining it, and she would, she knew. She was tainted and eventually she would taint him and the love they shared. It was as inevitable as the dawn, it was best she accept that and move on.

She stepped to the edge of the building ledge to watch the pedestrians below. A young couple, in their early twenties strolled below her, holding hands. They were smiling and laughing. She felt a twinge of regret and a pang of bitterness. She didn’t fault them their happiness, but hated the fact that she would never have that type of normalcy in her life. Ororo closed her eyes, listening. She cocked her head, wondering of they knew they were pregnant. The life inside the woman was faint, barely discernable, but Ororo felt it, sensed it, smelled it.

Hunger pangs gnawed at her gut. Her stomach knotted and twisted with the mad desire to swoop down and drain the couple dry. She cried out in protest and staggered away from the ledge, gagging. She clutched her chest, fighting the bloodlust.

~Don’t fight it, my pet.~

Ororo’s head snapped up. ~Vladdimir!~

~I can feel your hunger. It entices me. Feed, beloved. Indulge…you know you want to…~

Ororo recoiled, feeling the subtle nudge the ancient vampire was trying to push on her. “I’ll not fall prey to your compulsions,” she said aloud, keeping her thoughts carefully guarded. Her eyes scanned the skies, searching for any sign of vampire activity.

Taunting laughter filled her head. Fear sang through her veins as she felt the faint, but undeniable pressure of invisible fingers at the nape of her neck, tracing the mark there. A psychic trick on Vladdimir’s part, but the message was clear. It was a warning. ~You belong to me.~

“If that is the case, then come claim me,” she challenged, her hand resting on the dagger at her hip.

~An interesting proposition, my pet, but I’m not done having my fun yet.~

Something in the smugness of his tone sent a fresh wave of trepidation coursing through her. “Are you that much of a coward? Too afraid to face me?”

~Careful, beloved. You overstep yourself.~

“Why won’t you face me?” she demanded.

~All in due time. All in due time.~ Wind rustled her hair. ~But for now, I have to remove an unwanted pest from our lives.~

Ororo gasped, images of the mansion and swirling black fog filtered through her mind. Logan! Her immediate reaction was to scream with rage, but she held it in. She let her breath out slowly, forcing herself to remain calm. She had set up safe guards. The mansion was protected.

~Your puny crystals cannot stop me.~ More laughter, smug and arrogant. ~See for yourself…~

Her mind was assaulted by screams and visions of fire. Vladdimir’s minions were attacking the mansion, the crystals removed by human familiars. Blood stained the cobblestone walkway and cries of ululation echoed in her mind. “Call them off!” she screamed. “It’s me you want!”

~Oh, that is very true. However, it is not me you want, and that is not something I can abide.~ The psychic fingers on her neck tightened, choking her.

She clutched her throat, trying to dislodge the vile touch. When that failed, she shifted, becoming mist and drifting up into the sky. She had to get to Logan!

~Fly fast, fledgling.~

Ororo sent a wave of heat and anger across the psychic connection, severing it. Damn him! Damn her for allowing herself to let emotion in, for following Logan back to Xavier’s. She had brought Hell right to their front door.

She swirled, materializing, closing shadows around herself and forming a jet stream. Using the winds she soared towards Westchester, all the while commanding over and over, “Wake up, Logan. Wake up!”

***



~Wake up, Logan. Wake up!~

Logan fought the swirling tentacles of sleep that groped at him, trying to drag him back into the abyss of slumber. He was so tired… But Ororo was calling to him, he had to wake up…

The first thing he heard were the screams. Terrified screams that echoed in the night. Bloodcurdling cries cut off mid shriek with brutal efficiency.

Night? Why was it night? “’Ro…?” He rolled, falling from the bed onto the floor. His eyes wouldn’t stay open, it was like he was drugged.

~Not drugged, under a spell.~

Ororo. He blinked heavy eyes, anger filtering in as he noticed he was alone in the room. “You did this,” he growled, fighting to get to his feet.

~You can hate me later, but for now you need to get moving! The Mansion is under attack!~

“No shit,” he snarled, weaving to his bedroom door. He grabbed a pair of jeans from the floor, hopping into them. He opened the door a crack, peering into the darkened hallway. No lights, not even the emergency generators were kicking in. “What am I up against here, ‘Ro?” he whispered.

~Vampires. Lots of them. Maybe fifty.~

Well fuck. Logan shook his head, trying to shake the last cobwebs free. “Where are you?”

~On my way.

He wanted to protest, but knew it would do no good. “How long?”

~Three minutes at most.~

“Be careful, darlin’.”

~You as well.

-SNIKT- “Don’tchya remember, baby? I’m the best there is at what I do.” Logan edged his way into the hallway, his eyes taking in more than most peoples did in the bright light of day.

The smell of blood filled his nose, some known to him, others not. The mansion was eerily silent considering the amount of screaming he had heard only moments ago.

“Hallo.”

Logan whirled, his hand drawn back. A woman, tall and slender, stood a few feet away. Her skin was porcelain white and flawlessly smooth, her ebony hair falling in thick ringlets down her back. Her eyes held an otherworldly quality, glowing faintly in the dark. She smiled at Logan, her fangs showing.

“You don’t want to hurt me,” she crooned.

“Like hell I don’t,” Logan growled.

She stepped towards him, her eyes brightening. “No, you don’t.”

Much to Logan’s disbelief his claws sheathed. “What the fu--”

Behind him another vampire female dropped from the ceiling, fangs burying deep in his neck.

“Bitch!” He threw the offending creature into the wall, covering his neck with his hand. Fifty of these things crawling all over the estate? Fuck. He had to find the others, assess the damage, regroup, take these things out.

The one that attacked him stood slowly, tossing her ash blonde hair over her shoulder, licking her lips. “You taste delicious,” she hissed.

“I’m a real treat,” he snarled.

“You are,” she agreed, sashaying towards him, her face contorting so that her jaw seemed unhinged, dropping impossibly wide. “I could just eat you up,” she hissed, lunging for him.

Logan fell back, popping his claws. The vampire atop him shrieked, her skin flaking away. Logan didn’t wait, he jumped to his feet, poised to strike again, but the ebony haired vampiress was gone. Slowly Logan made his way down the hall and towards the dorms.

Blood was sprayed across the walls, and there was no sound, no movement. Logan could only hope that Kitty and the others had made it to the Danger Room. He paused outside her door. “Kitty?” he peered in the room. The bed was rumpled, but otherwise the room showed no signs of struggle.

A bit further down the hall Logan found two of the younger students laying crumpled on the floor, their throats torn out. “Damn,” he muttered, crouching beside them. New comers to Xavier’s, twins, new to their mutation. With a quick slice, Logan severed their heads from their bodies, leaving nothing to chance.

Sultry laughter sounded just behind him. “Clever, clever, Logan.”

Logan turned, taking in the person strolling towards him, crimson lips dripping from a fresh feed. Two others flanked her white clad form. Standing slowly Logan said the first thing that popped into his head. “Shit.”


***


The moment Ororo placed her foot on the steps of the Mansion, she felt the sickness of evil coupled with the lingering vibrations of violence. She stared at the large doors, not wanting to go inside, knowing that what she saw would only break her heart. She had come back to this place, her past anchor, seeking something she was no longer entitled to, and the cost of her whimsical folly was too much.

Something evil had followed her and her former friends had paid the price. She closed her eyes, placing her hand on the door and pushing open. She moved into the foyer cautiously, her footfalls completely silent. At once she scented blood. It was heavy in the air, the smell nearly overpowering. Her hunger rose up anew, but she fought it down resiliently.

Moving along the hall, her hand fell to the blade at her side. She scanned the first rooms, finding nothing, but the lingering echo of violence was strong. Trepidation threatened to swallow her whole. “Logan?” She called out his name softly. Then again with her mind. ~Logan?~

Nothing.

She spotted a crumpled figure in the hall, her eyes catching hints of blue in the dark. “Oh, Kurt…not you,” she whispered, rushing forward. She knelt at his side, checking his vitals, searching for any signs of a bite. Finding none she urged him to open his eyes. “Kurt, open your eyes. Look at me.”

Her furry friend remained motionless for several seconds. Ororo could hear his ragged breathing and faint heartbeat. He was alive, but barely. “Storm…?” His eyes fluttered open, their amber glow dimmed by pain.

She inched back automatically, seeking the comfort of the shadows. “It’s me.”

He groaned, trying to sit up.

“Careful.” She wrapped her arm around his shoulders, helping him.

Kurt gripped her hand, his bleary eyes blinking several times. “Are you hut?” he asked her.

Leave it to Kurt to be worried about her while he was weak and wounded. “I am unharmed.”

Kurt slumped in relief, his voice weakening. “Good…think they were…here for you…”

Ororo closed her eyes. “That’s a safe bet,” she acknowledged. She searched him for wounds. “Where are you hurt?”

Three fingers touched his chest. “Took a hit here.”

Ororo placed her hand over his chest, her eyes closed. “Broken rib. Heart punctured.” His internal bleeding was killing him. She left that unsaid.

Kurt nodded weakly. “Thought as much.” He coughed, blood mixing with spittle over his lips. “I’m glad I got…to see you again… The others…so many…dead.” His voice broke, a sob catching.

“Hush.” Ororo concentrated, flowing heat through her hand. “Don’t think about that now.”

Kurt gasped, arching against her palm, his body tensing.

Ororo focused, using tricks she’d learned from different mages and priests and shamans, for once thankful for her accursed gift as she took the pain from her fallen friend. Kurt let out a cry, then slumped fully against her unconscious, but sleeping. She ruffled his hair gently. “Be well, my friend. We shall not meet again.” She bit the tip of her finger, scribing on the floor a symbol of peace.

She rose to her feet, her eyes glowing blood red. Ororo was furious. She stalked down the hall, her face resolute, her hands curling into fists. “Coward!” Her voice echoed throughout the mansion.

Movement to her left caught her eye and she turned. Three vampires stood just inside the sliding glass door that led to the patio. Tall, gaunt looking men with jagged blood stained teeth. Ororo let her breath out in a hiss, eagerness coursing through her body. She wanted them dead. She held herself ready, waiting for them to attack.

The wind outside howled, kicking up leaves, battering the glass doors. She carefully gauged distances, maneuverability and her odds. Vladdimir may want her alive, but other vampires did not share his desire. She was a threat, and even under the blood demon’s influence they would be hard pressed to tame their instinctive nature when the fight began.

“Hello, little puppets,” she said, her voice sickeningly sweet. “What brings you by?”

“We have come to bring you home,” one of them said, his voice a garble of sound, grating on her nerves.

“Ah.” She nodded, strolling across the hall towards the kitchen, her motions deceptively casual, her hunter eyes never leaving her adversaries. “And if I refuse?”

“Not an option,” another growled.

Ororo paused, her eyes glowing. “Oh, I beg to differ.” The glass behind the vampires shattered with the force of the wind buffeting it. Shards sparkled in the moonlight as they tinkled to the floor. She used her distance to gain speed, rushing the three startle vampires. In quick succession she disposed of them, her blades landing true.

She continued through the shattered glass, out into the yard. Shrieks caught her attention and her eyes darted to the roof of the Mansion. The Institute rooftop was crawling with the undead. “Logan!” She searched the shadows with her eyes. Where was he?

“He isn’t here.”

Ororo whirled, her eyes widening. “Emma.” The White Queen of the Hellfire club stood a few feet away.

“Former White Queen,” she smiled, reminding Ororo that she was a grade A telepath. “An X-Man now.”

“You?”

“Yes. I’m with Scott now.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes.”

Trivial things that Ororo had no time for. “Where is Logan?”

“Why do you care?”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Emma--” Ororo paused, watching the woman carefully. Something in the way she moved sent Ororo’s hackles up. “Shit.”

“Funny. That’s exactly what Logan said.” She smiled, fangs protruding over her lower lip. “Perhaps I should thank you for this delightful new gift.”

“No need to thank me. You always were a bloodsucking bitch.” Overhead clouds began to swirl, roiling and spinning. Whips of lightning flashed, lighting up the gruesome scene on the ground. Bodies lay scattered across the grounds, throats torn out. Faces of people she knew, more that she didn’t. All dead. All because of her.

The momentary distraction her grief caused her proved to be the opening the vampires were looking for. Talons clawed her flesh as several undead leapt at her. Teeth sank into her throat and she screamed in rage. She drove her fist through flesh and bone, ripping blackened hearts from bone. Between one flash of lightening and the next ten vampires lay at her feet, bodies twitching. The others screamed, taking off into the night.

Emma looked at her bloodstained hands and took a step back.

“Where is he?” Ororo demanded, dropping the last heart onto the ground, stomping it with the heel of her boot. Blood coated her from finger to forearm.

“Go to hell!”

“Been there.” Ororo sent a whip of lightning from her hand into the white queen’s heart.

“EMMA!!”

Ororo turned, surprised to see Scott rushing towards them, his hand poised to fire…on her. She barely dodged his optic blast. “Scott…” Ororo landed a few feet away in a crouch. “That wasn’t Emma.”

He looked at her. “Somehow I knew it was you.” He lifted the lifeless form of Emma from the ground into his arms. “Baby, wake up.”

“She’s dead.” Ororo stated the obvious.

“What the hell are you?” he demanded. “You’re one of them!”

“I--yes.”

“Give me one reason not to take your head off.” Tears slipped past ruby red goggles.

“That wasn’t Emma.”

“She was Emma just as much as you’re Storm.”

“I’m not.” She said flatly.

Scott slowly rose, his hand on his visor. “Leave.”

“Let me help--”

“I think you’ve done enough.” Bitterness tainted his words.

Ororo felt a stab of guilt. “It was never my intention to bring evil here.”

“Leave.”

Ororo turned, this time it was Kitty that spoke. The child she had loved like her own. “Kitten…”

The younger woman shook her head, tears coursing along her face. Blood covered her body. “They got to Peter…” she sobbed, dropping to her knees. “I took his heart out…”

Ororo closed her eyes, fighting tears. “Oh, Kitty, I’m--”

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry.” Kitty snapped, her shoulders shaking. “They came here for you! You should have just gone with them.” Kitty raised tear filled eyes. “I hate you.”

Ororo nodded. “I know.” She hated herself too. “Let me see your neck, Kitty.”

“What?”

“Your neck.”

The brunette lowered her head, her sobs turning to maniacal laughter. “Such a smart, pet.”

Vladdimir’s voice from Kitty’s mouth.

“Come home, beloved. There is nothing left for you anywhere else.”

“Bastard,” Ororo hissed, tears streaming from her eyes.

“You should have joined me when you had the chance!” Scott was behind her, his breath fetid on her neck a scant second before his teeth tore at her skin. Ororo threw him off of her, falling to the ground as she did. Kitty leapt at her and Ororo rolled, wincing as long fingernails raked the skin on her back.

Staggering to her feet Ororo watched her former family lurch towards her like deranged marionettes, their movements controlled by another. “I will find you, and I will tear your heart out,” Ororo promised. She opened her cloak, pulling out several vials. “I loved you both,” she told Kitty and Scott throwing the contents onto the ground, taking flight. Scott lunged at her, his hand snagging her boot, but she shook him free. Several feet in the air Ororo called on her lightning and sent it scorching the contents of the vials, the resulting explosion decimating the Xavier Estate.

Screams of those that remained tore at her, their flesh burnt away by the white hot flames of her holy fire. Had Logan been one of them? Was he screaming as he burnt? Ororo hovered there for a long time, watching the Mansion burn, long after the screaming stopped she hovered, her face contorted in agony. “I am sorry.”

~Poor, poor, pet.~

Ororo ignored his taunting voice.

~Come to me. Find me. I so enjoy the game.~

~Fuck off.~ She was done playing. Her quest for vengeance was over. He killed everything that she had ever loved and as much as she wanted him destroyed, she no longer had the ambition to do it. Grief sapped her fight.

~Oh, no, my pet. I didn’t kill everything you love…~ Images of Logan, bloody and beaten, strapped to a wall, flashed in her mind.

Logan! Ororo nearly tumbled from the sky, the emotion assaulting her so great.

Come and get me. Vladdimir taunted.

Ororo straightened, her eyes flashing white. She glanced at the smoldering remains of Xavier’s and her heart hardened. ~I’m coming.~ She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of goading her. ~For Logan.