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The sun sank deep in the horizon, raining fire and pouring gold across the sand. Trees stood like black paper cutouts against the spectacular sky. Several forms of wildlife were stirring to life, able to move without the scorching heat of the desert sun baking them dry. Eerily beautiful bird calls filled the air.

“Goddess,” Ororo breathed, basking in the moment. “Nowhere in the world can you find such magnificent scenery.”

“I’m inclined to agree.” T’Challa’s silky murmur reached her ears. He was resting against a long lounge chair, silk pillows beneath his feet and a cool drink at hand. Only the best for the Wakandian King. But he wasn’t spoiled, Ororo reflected. Immediately upon their arrival from France he had gone to his state of the art children’s hospital to personally check on the patients. Two in particular; burn victims of abusive parents. When asked what happened to the parents, T’Challa’s normally playful smile had vanished and a cold look had entered his eyes. “Dealt with.” Was his only response.

From there he had gone to deal with several political matters, instructing his servants to see that Ororo was settled. He was polite, considerate and friendly with the staff, she had made mental note of. They appeared at ease in his presence, not for a moment lax in their duties, but instead seemingly honored to be performing them.

After hours of work on top of what was completed in France, T’Challa had joined Ororo in her room for a private dinner, much to his mother‘s grumbled annoyance. She had wanted a lavish celebratory fare to announce the upcoming nuptials. She had relented, appeased when Ororo suggested that perhaps she would like to help plan the wedding.

Ororo cast a veiled look over her shoulder, smiling indulgently when she noticed that T’Challa’s smoldering gaze rested on her and not the sunset. “Ever the suave playboy.”

“Soon to be married, reformed playboy,” he corrected with a grin.

“Mmm.” She returned her gaze to horizon, watching the last remnants of the sun flicker behind golden grass, feeling a weighty stirring in her chest.

“Are you certain about your decision, Ororo? It isn‘t too late to change your mind. Mother is fast and determined, but I doubt even she has made the announcements yet.”

“Excuse me?” She was surprised.

“You heard me.”

“Am I no longer wanted?” She asked softly, caressing one of the several hanging vines cloying to the balcony railings.

T’Challa rose from his reclined position. “That is a ridiculous question. Not only do I want you, Ororo, but I need you. Like the earth needs the rain. I fear that may not be the same for you.”

Ororo’s hand hovered in the air and her breath hitched. “T’Challa. You said you’d give me time.”

“And I shall. All the time you need.” He was beside her, his hands reaching around her defensive shoulders to cradle her face. “But I want you to want this. To want us.”

Storm lowered her eyes momentarily, then lifted them to his, her gaze steadfast and sure. “I do.”

“More than you want the Troll?”

Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “Why must you constantly bring Wolverine into our conversations?”

“I said it before, Ororo. I could smell the man’s passion for you.”

“Then you were mistaken.”

“Doubtful.” His thumb brushed her lip. “I know I could not work beside you day in and day out and not go mad with wanting.”

Of their own accord her lips parted. “It matters not.”

“I know you have feelings for him. Why not let Wolverine be the one to decide whether or not it matters?”

“Because, Logan…”

T’Challa raised an eyebrow waiting for her to continue. Ororo grumbled under her breath, but he caught most of what she was saying and his lips twitched. Who knew Ororo had such a colorful vocabulary. “Well,” he prodded.

“Fine, you obstinate man.” She snapped. “The reason I can not and will not tell Wolverine my feelings for him are simple. He does not love me. He will never love me. He has loved Jean for so many years I don’t think he would know how not to. He is my friend. I can not risk that friendship for unrequited love. I would rather…I just can not be without…”

“Him.” T’Challa finished for her. He sighed heavily. “You love him so much then? That you would settle for me so that he can love a dead bird?”

Ororo gave him a startled glance. “Who is to say it is love?” she asked. “Perhaps it was just loneliness. Maybe any man would have done,” she argued.

T’Challa gave a short laugh. “That strokes the old ego.”

“I’m…sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say in light of her impromptu rant.

“Don’t be.” T’Challa said softly. “I need to know how much wooing is in order to keep you a happy wife.”

She blinked several times. “You…you still want to marry me?”

Without warning T’Challa caught her against him and kissed her, his mouth demanding and gentle at once. Ororo tensed momentarily, but then allowed herself to be thoroughly kissed by him. And boy, the man could kiss, she thought with a smile. She felt her self growing pliant as warm clay in his hands. Strong arms circled around her back, pulling her closer and she went willingly, feeling the stirrings of genuine desire for the man holding her.

T’Challa pulled back, smiling. “Well?”

“Umm…I do not know what you want me to say.” Ororo was mildly confused.

He caressed her cheek with his knuckles, his gaze warm and full. “Will you give us a chance? Will you be my wife?”

Ororo blushed. “T‘Challa, I already said yes--”

“Any man won’t do, Ororo. You love Wolverine. I am asking you, knowing that fact full well, to see if there is any chance you could grow to love me as well, perhaps even as I love you.”

Ororo was moved beyond measure. He wasn’t asking her to deny her feelings, or forcing her to say there were none, instead he was humbling himself and asking her for a simple chance.

“You are a wonderful man. I can think of no other as proud as you, and I would be honored, honored, to be your wife.”

His smile was brilliant.

“Yes?”

“Most definitely yes.”

With a whoop, T’Challa swung her up in his arms, twirling them about the balcony. “I love you,” he whispered into her hair.

Ororo felt her throat tighten. Not with sadness, but with a small flare of hope. Maybe she would grow to love T’Challa. She certainly found him attractive enough, and he surprised her constantly with the depth of his character. Maybe there was hope for them after all.





Kenya
six weeks later


Logan removed his hat, fanning his face. It was far too flamin’ hot for his taste, he thought, downing a portion of his canteened water. He kicked the toe of his boot against the wall of the building he stood alongside, trying to jostle some of the sand infesting his socks towards the tip of his boot.

Things were not progressing as smoothly as he would have liked, he mulled over. He’d been in Africa for over a week, trudging all over Ororo’s old stomping grounds, trying to locate the suddenly unreachable weather witch. He’d given her several weeks to come home or contact him before he set about tracking her ass down.
The longest damn weeks of his life.

Kitty had stopped him from storming out of the mansion more than once, reminding him that it really wasn’t his place to tell Storm what she could and couldn’t do and that Storm never tried to monitor his movements. Well, fuck that. Someone needed to settle that woman back down. She couldn’t just traipse off all haphazardly whenever the urge struck.

He still couldn’t quite believe that she had just up and left in the middle of the night. What the hell was she thinking? She’s lucky one of the damn sentry sentinels hadn’t swatted her down. Then again the men inside probably had a healthy sense of self preservation. Nothing like the threat of a few million volts of electricity to make one cautious.

Logan began walking through the crowds of people, lifting his head every so often when he thought he caught a familiar scent. He walked through the market square for over and hour before stopping at a small vendor stand. Logan pulled the picture of Ororo that he carried in his wallet out, his thumb absently caressing the worn folds.

“Necklace?”

Logan turned at the crackled voice behind him. A wizened, elderly man gazed at him with smoky eyes. “No thanks, Bub. Hey, you seen this woman?” He held the picture out for the vendor.

The vendor peered at the photo, rubbing his chin. “Goddess.”

A spark of hope lit within Logan. “Yes. Where is she?”

The vendor spread his arms. “All around us.”

Logan growled. “Thanks anyway, mac.”

He moved to return the photo to his wallet when a female hand caught his wrist. Logan turned.

A dark haired young woman smiled at him. “Wait. You must forgive my father. He is unfamiliar with mutants. May I see?”

He held out the picture again.

“She is very beautiful.”

“Yeah, she is.”

The young woman nodded, smiling. “She is a friend?”

Friend. She was so much more than that, and yet not. “Yup.”

“I believe you will have more luck in Wakanda.” The young woman smiled, returning the photo to Wolverine.

Logan grunted, feeling like an idiot. Why wouldn’t she be in Wakanda? Maybe because she told that pretty boy Panther that she wouldn’t stay with him?

“Maybe she would like a necklace?”

Logan nodded, perusing the contents of the cart. He lifted a gold chain with a deep sapphire center. “This one.”

The girl smiled, but hesitated. “It is very expensive.”

“She’s very worth it.” He held out a wad of cash.

Another, more radiant smile was bestowed upon him. “It will make a wondrous wedding present.”

Suddenly the world stopped spinning and Logan nearly grunted with the force that his breath left him. “Say what?”

Busy hands were boxing the jeweled necklace. “For your friend. Ororo Munroe, right?” She handed him the ribbon topped box.

“How do you know her?” He hadn’t meant to growl, but he had.

The girl took a hasty step back, pointing at the small television behind her. “It was on the news…earlier. I just figured it was the same woman. How m-many white haired women can there be?”

Logan handed the girl an extra twenty. “Thank you.”

As he progressed through the crowd back towards his hotel Logan felt himself growing angrier and angrier as questions tumbled through the red haze of his mind. What the fuck was she doing? What in the hell was she thinking? She couldn’t be serious? Storm? Married? He broke into a run.




Wakanda



Ororo fidgeted as the last seamstress tucked and snipped the white and gold material draping her form. “Well?” She turned to N’Yami. “What is the verdict?”

The Queen Mother rose from her settee, her eyes flickering up and down over Ororo. She circled, then circled again, her finger to her chin, appraising.

Ororo waited anxiously, surprised by the butterflies in her stomach.

“My son…chose exceedingly well.” N’Yami’s eyes glittered with warmth and approval. “You make a beautiful bride Ororo.”

Ororo felt a pleased flush color her cheeks. “Thank you.”

N’Yami stepped forward, tracing the elaborate henna design along Ororo’s bare back. A rising Phoenix. The unspoken question hung in the air.

“There is a friend, a sister,” Ororo murmured, “that I wanted to stand beside me on my wedding day.”

N’Yami’s strong fingers squeezed Ororo’s bare shoulder in an affectionate gesture. “It is a exquisite symbol, and a wonderful gesture. Your friend would be honored, I am certain.”

Ororo smiled. “I certainly hope so.”

“Come.” N’Yami clapped her hands. “Let us go see what trouble T’Challa has found himself in.”

Ororo chuckled. “Is he still sparring?”

N’Yami waved a hand dramatically. “If that is what you wish to call him beating those poor lads.”

“He trains them well.”

“That he does. Wakanda has an unbeatable fighting force.”

Ororo lifted her arms so the seamstresses could remove her robes. “I pray to the Bright Lady that their skill never has need to be put to the test.” She slipped a long flowered dress on.

“You and me both, child. But there is always someone, somewhere plotting. Never forget that, Ororo. As safe as we are in Wakanda, and in the palace, the world is a dangerous place.” The doors to the dressing room parted and two sentries flanked the women as they walked.

“Unfortunately, I know this fact to be all too true,” Ororo nodded at her guards.

“Yes, I imagine you do. Poor dear. Orphaned then forced to fight for years and years.”

“No one forced me, Majesty. I still believe in Xavier’s dream of peaceful mutant, human coexistence. It is a cause well worth fighting for.”

“Tell me, Ororo. Do you see marriage to my son as a victory in that area?” N’Yami’s tone was mild as the summer rain, yet Ororo sensed the edge beneath it, the thunder in the distance so to speak.

Ororo hesitated. “I hadn’t thought about that,” she answered honestly. “I suppose it could be viewed as such. But no, I do not wish to marry T’Challa for any such socio-political reasons.”

N‘Yami clucked softly, whether in approval or not Ororo could not tell. “Then why do you wish to marry my son?”

Ororo smiled slightly thinking of T‘Challa‘s romantic midnight intrusion to her room, inviting her on an aerial rain dance. “I think we will do very well together.”

“Mm.” N’Yami nodded. “And what of love? I have yet to hear you speak of love where T’Challa is concerned.”

“Love.” Ororo repeated.

“Yes, child. Love. Do you love my son?”

“I…” She reflected on each stolen kiss they’d had over the past several weeks, each gentle caress of his hand on her skin, each time he bared his soul for her to see. “I will.”

The older woman reached for Ororo’s hand. “It will not be easy to love him.”

Ororo sighed good naturedly. “Trust me, this I know. The man is infuriatingly arrogant and so smugly self satisfied.”

“So like his father,” N’Yami said wistfully.

It was Ororo’s turn to make a gesture of affection, squeezing the Queen Mother’s hand. “You loved him very much, I see.”

“Oh yes. T’Chaka was everything a woman could want. Strong, bold, regal, powerful, loyal, and dynamite in the bedroom.”

Ororo choked.

N’Yami patted her back. “There, there.”

At that moment two doors slid open and T’Challa emerged from behind them, bare-chested and still dripping from his shower, toweling his head. He grinned when he saw his mother and Ororo.

“Ladies.”

“For mercy’s sake, T’Challa. Where are your manners. You do not parade about half naked in front of your betrothed.” N’Yami scolded.

“Why not?” His grin was unabashed. “Tomorrow is our wedding. Tomorrow night all secrets will be revealed.”

Ororo cleared her throat, feeling a small swell of anticipation flutter in her stomach at his intense look.

“See,” N’Yami nudged Ororo. “Just like his father.” She kissed T’Challa on the cheek. “I’ll leave you two alone. Behave.” He chastising tone was gentle.

T’Challa waited until his mother was out of sight before tugging Ororo into his arms. “Hey, beautiful.”

She smiled into his eyes. “Hello, scoundrel.”

“One more day,” he said huskily. “Then no more separate bedrooms.”

Ororo laughed. “Your mother is very strict about propriety.”

T’Challa’s grin tilted further up. “The wait is killing me.” His lips traced her forehead, down the bridge of her nose until they teased hers.

“One more day is not so very long.”

“It feels like forever.”

Ororo laughed softly. “Then you had best make it worth the wait.”

T’Challa pulled her closer. “Tease.”

“Only for another day.” She kissed him gently. “Then I will be yours.”

T’Challa stared at her for a long minute. “Are you happy?”

She captured his face between her hands. “I am.”

“I love you, Ororo.”

She kissed him again. Slower, deeper, tasting him. “I know you do.” She only hoped she was worthy of that love. Somehow she doubted it.

“Let’s get dinner. The sooner we sleep, the sooner the dawn.” Dawn was the selected time of the ceremony. The starting of a new life in sync with the rising of a new day. Symbolic for both parties.

“Very well, my King.”

Lacing their fingers together the couple headed for their familiar knoll in the outdoor gardens.

As T’Challa playfully fed her ripe fruits and teased her toes with his fingers Ororo mentally vowed to be the best wife that she could be, and forget all about her feelings for a certain growly Canadian. Her life was with T’Challa now. No longer did she belong with the X-Men, and no longer would she pine for a man who clearly wanted something different than what she offered. If only it were that easy to shut it all off, she thought with a inner sigh.

She took a deep breath. Just one more day and she would be married, vows spoken, lives pledged. Nothing was going to change before the dawn.




Later



Darkness had descended like a thick blanket over the lush plains of Wakanda, immersing the occupants in velvet blackness and soothing sounds.

Tables had been rolled out, seats set, flowers arranged, gifts organized and news coverage brought in to spend the night in the grand palace of the Wakandian Royal Family.

With far less fanfare than N’Yami would have liked, the final arrangements and preparations had been completed just past midnight. At which point the older woman had shooed Ororo off to bed, complaining of raccoon eyes and bags.

In her room Ororo had sat at her vanity brushing her hair in slow, methodical strokes, trying in vain to calm the rampaging fluttering of her heart and stomach. She was doing the right thing. T’Challa was a fine man, and would make a fine husband. He was strong, noble, brave, kind, generous, smart, handsome…everything a woman could want. She was lucky to be in the position she was in. Most women would kill for a shot at T’Challa.

Deciding that sleep was what she needed to calm her nerves, she had taken the herbal drink N’Yami had given her and crawled into her luxurious bed and promptly fell asleep, despite the whirring of her troubled mind.

“So yer getting married.”

Ororo bolted upright, startled by the rough timbre voice directly across from her. She saw a flare of orange in the darkness as her bedroom intruder took a drag from his cigar.

“Logan?”

“Who else, ’Ro?” His voice was cold.

“How long have you been there?“ Ororo fought for coherence, yawning. She didn’t bother asking how he got past security. There was nowhere Logan couldn’t get into if he wanted to. “What on earth are you doing here? What time is it?”

“Late. Or early. Depends on yer point of view I guess.”

There was something in his tone that sent chills racing along her spine. He seemed almost hostile. She furrowed her brow, clicking on the bedside lamp, then immediately wished she hadn’t. He was leaning against her closed door, legs crossed in front of him, his lips twisted in a sardonic smile. His dark long sleeved shirt clung to his thick chest and broad shoulders, his brown pants fit snugly to his muscled thighs. His dark ebony hair was in disarray with several locks falling across his forehead while others stood out in familiar tufts, giving him an untamed air that made her heartbeat accelerate. Up until this moment she had been relatively certain that her months away from him had at the very least dulled her feelings for him, but she had been wrong. So very wrong.

She took a deep steadying breath. She had been over this with herself a hundred times. Logan was her friend and her team mate, nothing more. Could never be more. Her heart jerked. Ignore that, she told herself. Think about T’Challa.

Logan straightened from the door, his feral eyes raking over her in an abrasive manner that he had never done before, making Ororo acutely aware of the thin, see through nightdress she wore. Reflexively she pulled the blankets to her chest, causing one of his dark eyebrows to raise, his gaze mocking. Lifting her chin, Ororo let the blankets drop, pushing her mane of snow colored hair over her shoulder, glaring at him defiantly.

Wolverine smiled at that. Storm was many things, but meek was not one of them. He strode towards her, moving with his natural grace, and Ororo was riveted. He was beautiful to behold and she turned away, pretending to fluff her pillows.

“To what do I owe the visit, Logan?”

“Heard ya was getting’ hitched. Thought I’d come sniff it out. Got worried when ya dropped off the face of the fuckin’ planet.”

“Only a few months, Logan. We have been apart for far longer periods.”

He scowled. “Never by choice, ‘Roro.” He crushed his cigar in his fist as he made his way towards her. “You just up and fuckin’ left.”

Storm shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I had some things to deal with. I wanted to take some time for myself. It‘s not unheard of among the X-men. Besides, I was well taken care of.”

“Panther.” Logan ground out.

Ororo raised one eyebrow, if she didn’t know better she would have sworn that was jealousy tinting his rough drawl. “Yes. He has been a wonderful companion.”

“I just bet.”

Ororo thought of the man she was pledged to and smiled.

Logan had stopped walking towards her when they started speaking of T’Challa but he moved towards her again. “Why’d you really leave, Storm?”

“I just told you--”

“Stop lying to me.” His voice was whisper soft and lethal.

Ororo swung her legs from the bed, standing her full five feet eleven inches, and glowered at him. “Do not take that tone with me, Wolverine.”

His eyes were hooded as he stepped close. “What tone would ya like me ta take, Your Highness.” His voice was like uneven silk, his knuckles skimming her cheek.

Ororo shoved past him, her breathing labored. “What is it I can help you with Wolverine? Trouble with Emma? To speak of Jean? What?” She yanked a red silk robe from the foot of her bed, tying it about her slender waist with a fierce tug. She threw the name between them, more for herself than for him. She needed to remember that he was emotionally already taken.

Logan opened his mouth to respond but faltered as he took in the exotic robe she was wearing. The deep red complimented her creamy skin and it moved against her like it was made specifically for her. “Nice robe, darlin‘.”

Ororo blinked. “Thank you. It was a gift.”

His eyes narrowed. “T’Challa again?”

Storm nodded. “Yes.”

Logan slammed his fist into her wall, startling her.

“So the team means nothing to you then? Yer just gonna walk away, wipe yer hands of the X-Men?” Of me, went unsaid. “And marry yerself a genuine King.”

His tone was contemptuous and Ororo winced. Who was he to question her choice of husband, anyway? Oh, that‘s right, her friend. Storm gave him a disgruntled look, not bothering to respond to his overbearing questions. “Who are you to speak so ill of marriage. If life had not been so cruel, you would be married today,” she reminded him.

Logan ran a hand through his hair in agitation. “M’iko was different.”

She stifled a unladylike curse. “I fail to see how.”

“Do you love him?” Logan demanded angrily. “Because I loved M’iko. So tell me, Ororo. Do you love him? Because I don‘t think ya do. If ya loved him so fuckin‘ much, why not invite yer family to yer wedding?”

“I tried to come home to tell everyone, Bishop told me not to. He said that the sentinels made it impossible for safe coming and goings. And, not that it is any of your business, Logan but yes, I do love T‘Challa.”

He whirled on her, his movements fluid and swift, hands grabbing her arms as he slammed her against the wall with jarring force. “I. told you. To stop. Lyin’!” He ground out between clenched teeth, his fingers pressing into the muscles on her arms through red silk.

Though she tried to repress it, Logan saw a look of pain pass fleetingly across her beautiful face, whether from the force he was exerting on her or his harsh words he didn’t know.

“I am not lying,” she said, voice raw.

Logan swore violently, then less vehemently, “I didn’t think nothing could change the feelings we share.”

To say she was surprised was a gross understatement. “What?” Her cerulean blue eyes searched his black ones intensely.

He removed his hands from her arms only to slam them against the wall on either side of her head, slapping against the wood. “You just don’t get it do you?” He hissed, leaning in so their faces were scant inches apart, his hot breath fanning her lips. Her blue eyes widened and her breath quickened, but Storm made no response. She really did not know how to handle this side of him. She licked her suddenly dry lips and Logan groaned. He pressed closer, his mouth claiming hers heatedly, his tongue coaxing her lips apart, teasing the dark cinnamon recesses of her mouth. He could feel her surprise and it angered him that this should surprise her. How could she not see what was right in front of her?

He pulled back and growled “I can’t be any clearer.” He ground his hips against hers, rubbing his heavy arousal on her, letting her feel the effect she had on him, had always had on him.

“…Logan?” her gaze was questioning.

“’Ro.” He groaned, kissing her again, pulling her away from the wall and into his embrace, holding her like he was a dying man and she was his salvation. Which of course, she was.

At first she was stiff, uncertain, but after a moment Logan felt her body relax, her arms slide up his chest, circling his neck, her tongue tentatively responding to his. She moaned, pressing closer.

Sweet Jesus, he shook with the force of the emotions racing through him. All of the blood raced from his brain and made a swift decent to his groin.

“I do not understand,” Ororo said breathlessly as he trailed kisses along her chin and neck, his moist mouth leaving her shaken.

“I want you, what’s ta understand?” He said gruffly, nipping her ear, his hot breath making her tingle.

“We can’t.” She whispered.

Logan took a step away from her, but kept her in the circle of his arms. “Don’t you wanna know, ‘Roro?”

Ororo turned her face from his intense gaze. More than anything she wanted this, but why did he? She couldn’t be one night to him, she wouldn’t risk their friendship or her growing love with T’Challa for a fleeting night of passion. No matter how hot it blazed.

“What about Jean?”

Logan paused mid-nuzzle of her throat. “What about her?”

“You still love her,” Ororo said softly.

He pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat. “Jeannie ain’t here.”

And there it was.

“Logan. Logan, stop. I can not…” she moaned as his tongue swirled against her skin.

“Yes, ’Ro. You can.”

“No.” Storm shoved against him. “I will not be a temporary replacement or a one night stand or… or…or whatever else this may be!”

He took a step away from her. “This,” he stroked her face, cradling her jaw, kissing her softly. “Is you and me. Nothin’ else.”

“No.” Ororo shook her head.

Logan chuckled, dark and sinful. He placed her open palm to his thundering heart. “Feel how much I want you.” He kissed her again, slower this time. “It‘ll be good,” he whispered against her mouth. “Promise.”

Ororo drew in a rough breath, closing her eyes, but she didn’t push him away. “This is just a way for you to keep from losing something you considered stable,” she said knowingly. She knew him better than anyone. She knew that he secretly feared one day waking up and finding everything that he had believed in being a lie. He had told her once that she was his constant; the one thing he could always count on no matter what. “I will always be your friend, Wolverine. Nothing will ever change that.” Her eyes misted.

“Always, hnh?” Before she could answer he brought his mouth to hers once again.

God, she tasted good, as rich and mysterious as the finest liquor. Need slammed through him, blotting out reality. With sheer will he kept the kiss slow and cajoling. He whispered into her hair. “I’ll give you pleasure ya never even dreamed of.”

“Stop.” Ororo moved forcibly away from him. “I can not, will not, do this.”

“Why?”

Ororo was shaking, fighting tears. “Look me in the eye, Logan, and tell me that if Jean were here this would still happen?”

He huffed a long breath. “What’s Jeannie got to do with any of this?”

“Just tell me.” Ororo pleaded. “Just look me in the eye and tell me that if Jean were alive that you would still be here.”

He couldn’t. “’Ro--”

“I will not betray T’Challa.” she replied, eyes watering. “He loves me.”

Logan took a ragged breath, reaching for her again. “How could he not?”

Ororo’s lips trembled. “Please go, Logan.” She turned away from him, her head bent. “We shall pretend this never happened.”

“It’s happening, ‘Ro. I won’t let ya pretend it ain’t. You want me.”

She didn’t deny it. “Logan, I am getting married in the morning.”

“That’s it then? Yer really marrying that guy? You‘re leaving the X-Men?”

“Yes.”

His features hardened until they looked carved in granite. “Then tonight, yer mine.” He hauled her back into his arms, his mouth crushing hers. The kiss was hard and savage, filled with all the bitter longing and things left unsaid between them.

She should fight it, she rationalized, but instead she kissed him back the same way he was kissing her, with all the pain she was feeling and the regret.

She loved him. She always would. She loved him, but he was not hers. He never would be.

She felt his hands on the sash of her robe, jerking angrily at the ties, tearing it open. His mouth found her breast through the diaphanous material of her nightdress and he suckled her there, dampening the material with laves of his tongue. He took the tip and bit the end, making her moan. The robe slid away as he shoved it down her shoulders, slipping to form a scarlet pool at her feet. Then he was lifting her, cupping her ass in his hands, growling her name.

Ororo trembled as he lay her onto her bed and turned to divest himself of his clothes in hurried jerky movements. He returned to the bed before the warmth from his initial contact had time to dissipate. He explored every inch of her flesh with his mouth an tongue, making her burn.

“I want ya ta remember this, ‘Roro,” he growled. “Never forget this night.” He parted her thighs and found her center with his mouth, making her wetter. Then he was over her, entering her in one deep, rough plunge. He thrust again, and again, each time harder and deeper than the last, filling her completely. “Remember,” he rasped against her neck.

Ororo swallowed back a mournful sob. She’d never forget, she knew. With each thrust and grunt Logan was imprinting himself on her. She knew he felt it too, a shared pleasure and pain that went beyond words.

He shifted position, his sculpted body rippling as he surged ever deeper, ever faster. He lifted her in his arms, holding her so tight she couldn’t move, as if he could somehow change their fate by consuming her.

Her climax hit her hard and she cried out his name brokenly. He followed suit, his own release leaving him shaken and more confused than ever. He leaned above her, his muscles taut. “Say you’ll come back.” There was a longing in his tone that he couldn’t suppress.

Ororo bit her lip, turning her face away.

Logan stared down at her for a long drawn out moment, then as if nothing had happened, all the emotion left his face. With carefully controlled movement he redressed himself, walked from the room to her terrace and disappeared into the night without so much as a backwards glance.




Dawn



Gentle wind stirred the flowing tendrils of Ororo’s hair as she stood beside T’Challa. The ceremony was a blend of faiths, and of Wakandian custom. They were to make pledges to one another, vowing loyalty, devotion and their life for the other. and commemorating that pledge with a blood exchange from their wrists and the donning of rings.

The first rays of morning stretched upwards, kissing the fading night sky and bringing the dawn. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

“Ororo?” T’Challa was staring at her strangely.

Ororo blinked. “Oh.” She flushed.

“Nervous?” he asked with a gentle smile.

“A bit.” She gazed into his dark molasses eyes and reached for his hands. “I’ll be a good wife to you, T’Challa.”

He gave her hands a surprised, comforting squeeze. “I have no doubts.”

N’Yami stepped forward, mounting the small pedestal between Ororo and T’Challa. “Friends, citizens, all of our extended Wakandian family. Today is a joyous day. A day of celebration, and of renewal. Today we add a Queen to our ranks. And not just any Queen, but a Goddess amongst mortals. A woman of strong character, impeccable virtue and unwavering loyalty.”

Tight. Her dress was too tight. Ororo took a calming breath. Relax. No one knows.
“A woman that my son, T’Challa, your King, has chosen for his wife. To share his life with. To bear his children. My grandbabies.” A gentle smile. “I say we rejoice as they unite under the earth’s morning canopy and begin their new life together.”

T’Challa placed Ororo’s hand to his heart and for a moment time skittered backwards and Ororo felt the thundering beat of another man entirely. She closed her eyes, exhaling a shaky breath.

“Ororo. I make this vow to you now and forever. I will be loyal, steadfast, honorable and work every day to be worthy of your love. I will give you all that I am. My breath will be your breath. Each beat of my heart will be for you and only you. I pledge my life to you.”

Tears slipped through dark lashes and her voice shook when she spoke. “There is a pace to nature, elemental and pure. In time the earth cultivates and destroys a thousand times over, sands wear away at rivers and streams, creating and destroying without feeling or remorse in a beautiful symphony of life. I vow this to you, T’Challa. I will weather each and every change life can throw at us, by your side. I belong to you and no other from this moment forth. You are in my heart, which I now pledge to you for eternity.”

N’Yami grasped their joined hands, nicking a small cut at the base of each wrist. She then clasped her hands over theirs, pressing the wounds together. “The deed is done.” She kissed Ororo on the forehead. “Welcome to the family,” she whispered, then in a loud boisterous voice she raised their unified hands. “The King and Queen of Wakanda!”

The crowd’s cheers echoed loudly, the deafening sound carrying on the wind to where a lone figure stood in the shadows, watching with dark eyes as the newly joined King and Queen embraced as husband and wife.

Without a sound Logan set his ribbon covered box on top of the other wedding gifts, silently melting into the shadows as stealthily as he had arrived. As he trudged across the still cool desert he tried to convince himself it was sand in his eyes making them overflow.





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