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When Logan looked back on that day, he’d always remember it as the last time he skipped his outer perimeter check of the mansion grounds.

Sunrise found Logan up for an hour already, giving his favorite Sentinel workout program in the Danger Room hell. After Jean’s little “episode” a fortnight back, everyone was keeping themselves on a short tether and thinking twice about using their powers unless a class or training simulation required it. Jean was surprisingly serene during classes, restoring what semblance of ease and trust that she could with her trademark, slow-spreading smile and level, confident voice. Her first two days back in the saddle as teacher of her literature and history classes were initially uneasy; Logan found the classroom eerily quiet, without any of the expected buzz of whispers, fidgeting, shifting of chairs, or dropping of writing utensils. The hairs on his arms stood up every time he strode down the hall and passed the door whenever it was ajar, and his neck tingled with tension.

Her eyes mocked him. He was sure of it. Something brittle replaced the faintly teasing, warm gleam that he’d come to take for granted. Her greetings and exchanges were cordial enough, on the surface. Logan would rip out his own small intestine and jump rope with it before admitting that she spooked him now. Whenever his guard was down, he was haunted by those frantic, senseless moments with Jean in the infirmary before she fled, feeling the crush of her lips, stealing his breath, claiming a furtive, generous taste of his essence. He’d abandoned all semblance of sanity when he gave into it, ignoring the alarms that went off in his head: What the hell did she do to One-Eye?

Sparks hissed and flew, their sizzle rising above the ear-bending scrape of his claws against steel as he tore through the Sentinel’s kneecaps, toppling it. Sweat, blood and spittle sprayed from him as he roared triumphantly, gutting the behemoth’s hull and eviscerating it, overcome with misplaced bloodlust. His muscles rippled with lupine grace as he grasped handfuls of wires and cables and yanked, jerking them from their moorings, hearing the automaton groan and squawk in protest. The Beast chanted to him as he labored over its destruction: There ain’t any blood, Patch. Ain’t too much different from takin’ a shower with a raincoat on. Where was the fun in that?

Didn’t help that the dreams started again.

This time, though, it wasn’t Jean staring him down, eyes and hair blazing, bringing the world “ and him “ to his knees. This time Ororo invaded his subconscious, beautiful and mighty, challenging him to come closer if he dared. That look, those slender fingers beckoning to him, her sweet scent tickling his nostrils just as he reached for her. She didn’t garb herself in celestial fire; instead she radiated golden light and electricity, letting the air currents dance around her, making her hair flutter in a flowing banner. She didn’t ask him if he’d die for anyone. Instead she asked the impossible:

“Will you stay?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, hating the words as they came out of his mouth. He reached for her. She flinched away, eyes hardening as she shook her head, denying him. “Don’t know if I can, ‘Ro.”

“That means no.” She backed away from him as he gave chase, stumbling after her as she drifted farther away. “Will you live, Logan? Or will you follow the same path of trying to kill yourself everyday, as though you have nothing to lose?” She offered a smile of pity. “Or no one to love?” She looked at him pityingly, her decision that it was a bleak future for him plain on her beautiful face.

“Love hurts too damned much.”

“Not when it’s done right. Not when it’s shared. Powerful. Steadfast.” He knew she was calling him on his one-sided obsession with the telepath, holding it up for minute inspection and finding it laughable, and he was beginning to feel disgusted with himself, too. Logan watched with his heart up in his throat as her hands skimmed up her body, drawing the white satin of her nightgown taut over her toned abdomen, narrow, arched ribcage, smoothing over her breasts before her fingers fanned over and framed her throat, and Logan was enthralled by the sensations that teased him, lied to him that it was his own hands that followed that forbidden, heady path. She was temptation personified, everything he craved tumbling from her lips, glowing before him, brighter than Christmas Day.

“Everyone I love dies. I’m too damned dangerous fer anyone ta care about.” He was already falling for her, despite all of his efforts to the contrary.

“So no one’s strong enough to trust with your heart?”

“No one’s been fool enough ta take on that burden, darlin’.”

“Try me,” she challenged.

“Ya don’t know what yer askin’ me, darlin’. Ya don’t wanna be that fool.”

“You don’t think I can be that strong. And you’re wrong. What else is new?” she shrugged. “I know damned well what I’m asking you. If you’re going to be with us…I’ve already had my say about that. But if you’re going to be with me… then yank Jean off the pedestal you’ve placed her on and make room for me. It’s getting too crowded up there. And I don’t share.”

“Ororo…” His heart was hammering away, drowning out everything else but the sound of her words, pulling at him like a magnet. “There hasn’t been room fer Jeannie on that pedestal fer a long time, sweetness.” Problem is, yer so high up on it that yer outta my reach. Not like that stops me from wanting ya. Not for a second.

“Then work for it,” she taunted. “Reach out and take me, Logan,” she drawled, “if you think you can.” His hands itched with the need to touch her, but he hesitated as dizzying hunger for her spiraled in his veins, coupled with something savage and primal that wanted to chase that haughty look from her face by burying himself within her. “I’ve always been here. Waiting. Watching. Wanting you so much that it hurts.” Pain flitted in her eyes as she backed further away, but he wouldn’t let her get away so easily. Her winds whipped up, this time buffeting against him and driving him back, but giving up wasn’t an option.

“I do want you,” he bellowed over the din of the maelstrom that rose up from nowhere, stirring the shadows surrounding them. He couldn’t feel the ground beneath his feet anymore, and there was nothing to cling to. He focused only on reaching Ororo, craving her as his anchor. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest as he struggled forward, but he wouldn’t be denied her touch, drinking his fill of her, breathing in the scent of her skin and hair. He wanted to cry out to her to stop driving her away, until he realized that the storm brewing up between them was as much his doing as it was hers. “I only want you. Don’t do this.”

“Don’t make me, Logan.” His throat rasped and tightened as she pushed the air from his lungs with her wind. His eyes watered from the force of the gale, but they were filled with the sight of her fierceness and light.

He craved them. He craved her.

It was like walking forward on a conveyor belt that kept rolling him back, two steps forward, five steps backward until something snapped. He stumbled, then lunged for her, and suddenly she stopped moving away. She emitted a satisfied “OOOMPH!” that he echoed from deep in his chest as he fell upon her.

“Don’t run away from me,” he growled. “Can’t stand it anymore. I need you, damn it.”

“Always about your needs,” she groaned, eyes still sparking with dimming fire until he felt he begin to squirm beneath him. They slowly reverted to their customary chocolate brown, luminous and holding him in thrall as she spoke. “I need someone who won’t leave me hanging, wondering how he feels about me. Who won’t run at the first sign of trouble or boredom. I want a man who will love me without holding himself back. Who won’t hurt me.” Her words had a finality about them that made him grit his teeth. Her mouth looked so luscious, slightly parted like that, and he craved a taste of her.

“I don’t wanna hurt ya.” That was why he couldn’t stay. Pain flitted across her features, and he felt her jerk beneath him as she suddenly gasped for air. It was different from her panic attacks that he’d witnessed; he saw her pupils dilate and lip quiver as her lips dropped open, and he froze in undiluted terror as a trickle of blood flowed scarlet from the corner of her mouth.

“Logan…?” Her honey-rich voice gurgled in a strange rattle. “You…already have.” His arm tensed, strangely tight, every muscle knotted as though he had thrust it forward…

His roar resonated through the night as he pulled back, seeing his fist pressed up against her ribs, her blood flowing freely over his knuckles, bathing his wrist in sticky, sickening warmth.

“If this is…how you treat the..” her body was wracked by coughs, “ones you love, Logan…” Her eyes suddenly stared up at him, empty and wistful, her features twisted into a look of resignation before she breathed her last, taking away her warmth. She lay cold and lifeless in his arms.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” His scream followed him out his nightmare, straight into his room. His body bounced up from the mattress, and he held onto his forehead as though trying to keep it from splitting apart from the pounding he found there. Cold sweat broke out across his flesh. His room was empty, his covers were flung onto the floor into a messy tangle, and Logan impulsively reached for his cigars, cursing when he realized he left them in his jacket pocket downstairs. He raked his fingernails through his hair, clutching it as he mastered the urge to slash through something. He continued to fail miserably, and the pillows suffered the worst of it as his hand whipped out, shredding them and sending stuffing flying out like dandelion fluff on a spring breeze.

That brought him into the Danger Room, barefooted, restless and so frustrated his skin even felt like it wanted to crawl off his bones.

“Not again,” he snarled under his breath as he stood in the observation blister of the Danger Room, programming his favorite routine and releasing the safety locks, just for the hell of it.

The Sentinels only whet his appetite. One routine flowed into another. Sabertooth grinned at him like a hyena staking a claim in the pack before rushing at him, and Logan gladly showed him his innards, taking a cue from his previous handiwork on the robots, and this time he had the satisfaction of seeing the leonine, vulgar meat sack bleed in relentless gouts.

It still didn’t drive away the flashes of Ororo lying in his lap, bleeding. Pleading with him to know why he’d extinguished her light.

Upstairs in the kitchen, Jean poured herself a cup of Peter’s strong coffee, dropping in a large Danish sugar cube and smiling gently to herself.

Scott approached from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist and inhaling her fragrant hair, nuzzling the side of her neck for a furtive taste.

“Mmmmm. What’re you smiling about?”

“Nothing, baby,: she assured him. The image of Ororo bleeding chilled her, yet filled her with a strange thrill of unbridled excitement. Sinners, she sniffed, before filling Scott’s cup with the fresh brew. Logan’s anguish made her stomach coil and twist as they chatted over the morning paper.

It’s only a matter of time…


Elsewhere:

“It’s only a matter of time.” Stryker found that he preferred his own company to anyone else’s since Cornelius was removed from his employ under such…disappointing circumstances. He found that he missed the haunting, lilting symphonies drifting from the doctor’s lab, and the near-silence in his office was oppressive now without the ongoing chatter of their progress on their little project.

Thankfully he never grew tired of the sound of his own voice.

“What is this you have done, Eve?” Stryker inquired aloud, adjusting the small microphone attached to the laptop sitting on the old desk. Stryker maintained the room himself, relying on his Army habits of cleanliness now that he was without a regular crew of staff retained by Oyama Heavy Industries. The old Stryker Crusade headquarters had seen better, brighter days, but his office was neat as a pin. “The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil,” he intoned, drawing on one of simplest tenets of the Old Testament and bending it to his purpose. “He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat and live forever. Mutants are like man, Jean. Mutants are sinful, reaching out to take from mortal men, Homo sapiens, what God made, assuming a right they don’t have to God’s tree of life. Your friend Wolverine, with that charming healing factor, thinks he will live forever, Jean. Righteous man doesn’t live forever on this earth, do you understand?”

Mutely, with a nearly imperceptible nod of her head behind her newspaper, Jean agreed. Her eyes glowed, the rings around her irises darkening slightly. She rubbed the nape of her neck absently.

“It’s time for the humans, God’s true children, to chase the serpents and monsters out of Eden, Jean. It’s up to you to lead the way.” She felt slightly faint, even giddy for a second. “You were given a gift. A special gift. God has made you an instrument of his justice. Don’t you want to please him?” Again, she beamed a beatific smile. Of course she did.

The strange frisson of awareness was back, bringing with it a sense of foreboding and grim purpose. Stryker’s chip transmitted his voice into the receptor Cornelius implanted within her brain mere hours after she was removed from the stasis tank before the last of the nutrient fluid had even dried from her hair. The narcotics had kept her tractable, trainable, and more receptive to suggestion. They also helped to keep the chip from being detected by Jean herself, or “Eve,” as William was fond of calling her. He expected that had she known of its presence, she’d have excised it immediately, rendering it inactive and tracing it back to its source. He wasn’t worried about that. She was close enough to the edge that all she needed was one last push.

Aside from the constant transmission of Stryker’ mission, Jean’s telepathy was returning, augmenting his words and the effect they had on her. She was in tune with his thoughts, emotions and moods, and his intentions overwrote her mind’s routines; she absorbed his presence like a sponge within her subconscious. She was Jean Grey to the world at large. Beneath the surface, she was “Eve,” willing disciple and replacement for “Hope,” the ridiculously named cure for her and her ilk.

Per his contacts on the outside, the school was teeming with children who still had their accursed powers in the wake of the Cure being destroyed at the Worthington clinics. The time was right to strike. Charles Xavier, their resident one-man alarm system, was dead and buried, leaving them open and vulnerable. Stryker had a covenant to keep. His vision was filled with rushing water, of clinging to the wheels of the chopper for dear life as he uttered one final prayer. He rubbed again at the scar over his eye, probing the ruined tissue with meticulous fingers.

William was just closing his laptop and winding up the cord to the microphone, tucking it into his pocket when his office door slammed open, nearly wrenched off the hinges.

“What on earth…HOLY FATHER ABOVE!? What happened to you?”

“Get away, Reverend! While you can…get away,” rasped his assistant Ralph, clutching feebly at a gaping wound in his side, progressively turning a more sickly shade of gray from blood loss. The evidence of his injury decorated the corridor behind him and dripped its gruesome trail all over William’s office carpet. “Get clear. Now.”

“She’s back,” he murmured, incredulous. Ralph nodded, right before he collapsed. His hand flopped free like a rag doll’s, leaving William an unwelcome glimpse of his kidneys swimming in a growing puddle of gore spreading across the once-pristine white of his lab coat. William sent up a brief, silent prayer over Ralph’s soul, right before stepping over his twitching form. He had no time to observe the proprieties, but his slack face still haunted him. William broke out into a skipping jog as he scanned the corridor, peering around every corner as he made his way to the service elevator.

Yuriko preferred the more direct route. She merely came inside through the front lobby, slashing through the security keypad and kicking open the reinforced glass doors with a cheerful punt. She was dressed to kill in violet-black leather that hugged her lithe body and left nothing to the imagination. Her glossy black hair was skinned back in an elegant, efficient chignon that left her face’s sharp planes and ruthless eyes defiantly emphasized. Her eyes were the last thing anyone in her path saw as she cleaved through the rapidly fleeing businessmen and technicians on the first floor. She considered the service elevator briefly, but decided that Stryker was too confident for his own good, and as vain as a peacock. He wouldn’t hide. Cowering in the basement was beneath him.

She hadn’t considered how much he had changed, she mused in hindsight, tsking at Ralph’s corpse, his arm almost pointing the way down the hall from where Stryker had fled. She simply followed his blood trail to the office and hit paydirt.

“Oh where, oh where, has my little lamb gone? Oh where, oh where could he be?” she sang under her breath in a surprisingly clear, sweet soprano as she turned herself down the corridor in the opposite direction of where she had come from, deciding he wasn’t stupid enough to double back to get himself killed.

You’re beginning to enjoy this too much, Jason pointed out.

“Guilty,” she admitted out loud. “Can you blame me?”

No. Yuriko?

“Yes, sweetie?”

Make him cry before you finish him off.

“No love lost there.” She grinned openly and let him feel her amusement in the in the mind touch. “My pleasure, sweetie.”


Stryker ran through the parking garage, his hard-soled shoes making the resonant sound of a basketball bouncing on concrete in the echoing chamber. He found his car in an inkling, fumbling in his pocket for his keys. He clicked open the doors in haste, his pulse pounding in his neck as he jammed the keys into the ignition. He didn’t bother with his seat belt, wanting to get out before he was followed. He jerked the gears into reverse and backed out, craning his neck around the sedan’s weather-beaten seats to look out the rear window. He accelerated without regard to the surrounding cars, then turned down the descending ramp to the main level. He was nearly clear. He yanked open the glove compartment and grabbed a handful of bills for the validation booth…

He never made it quite that far.

He heard a hollow, resounding thump on the roof of his car that startled him into nearly swerving out of control. He recovered himself just long enough to slam his foot on the gas again, only to be met with Yuriko’s upside-down gaze, cornering him as she smiled viciously.

“Did you miss me?” Her tone was saccharine, right before she left go of the panels of the car long enough with one hand, extending her fingers into gleaming, foot-long silver talons and plunging them through the windshield. She clung to the car like a barnacle as William ducked and dodged the skewers. Yuriko ignored the bite of glass slivers embedding themselves in the slice of bare wrist exposed by the leather. Shards of glass continued to spray across the upholstery and William’s body, adding new nicks to his flesh to keep the scar over his eye from being lonely.

“Are you insane? Yuriko, don’t do this!” They were nearing the gate, the small red light disk on top of the gate’s orange and white striped rail winking at him as he continued to drive, trying to wiggle her off the roof. He lunged and ducked, cursing when she nicked him in the ear, nearly slicing it off.

CRAASSSSSSSH!

William fishtailed out of the garage into the harsh light of the New York City afternoon, hating the crunch of cars rear-ending each other as he sped away. The traffic began to part as though an ambulance siren had blown through the street. Onlookers cried out and pointed at the nondescript car with a shattered windshield as the striking woman struggled to take his head off through the remnants of the windshield. They eventually turned back to their coffee once an NYPD patrol car made its way around corner in hot pursuit. The civilians returned to their coffees and hot dog stands, shrugging it off. In a city that had seen the Statue of Liberty’s torch blown apart by mutants, nothing like what they had just seen was really out of the ordinary, after all.

Stryker had maneuvered the car in the undulating S-shaped pattern of a cobra wending along the sand, trying to shake Yuriko from the roof. She managed to gouge him in the shoulder while aiming for his throat.

“Jason sends his regards, William,” she hissed.

“Send him my regrets,” he grated back, did something she never thought he was capable of. She found herself hanging haphazardly as her whole world was upended; William turned the car on its driver-side wheels, putting Bo and Luke Duke to shame. He just about gave himself a heart attack, but was rewarded with the nasty sounding thud of Yuriko’s leather-clad body hitting the pavement with a thud. He corrected himself before he rolled the car and blew through the next two intersections.

The tiny tracer on the hood of the car chirped as it was armed and activated from roughly a mile and a half away. Yuriko stood and dusted herself off, heedless of the oncoming semi bearing down on her and honking the horn futilely, loudly enough to wake the dead…

KRRRRRNNUUNK! Nearly a ton of steel folded up like a discarded shirt as it hit Yuriko head on. Yuriko grunted in pain…then glared up into the dazed, bleeding face of the driver behind the wheel. He jerked once more as his tail end was battered by the car who’d unwisely tailgated him after the green light flashed. He watched in a mixture of awe and horror as her cuts and scrapes healed before his eyes, the fibers of her skin knitting back together over her bones.

“It’s like fuckin’ T-1000!” he muttered. Yuriko retracted her blades before blowing him a kiss that was absolutely coquettish before she strode down the sidewalk. She reached into her chignon and extracted a tiny cord and mouthpiece that was wired directly into a communication pack installed in the base of her neck. She was enjoying her new upgrades more than a six-year-old with a first Barbie.

“I’m on Fifth Avenue. Bring the van around. And load up the bike.”

“Tracer’s working like a charm,” her technician informed her. She heard the gunning of the van’s engine in the background and smiled.

“That’s what I pay you for,” she agreed. There weren’t many places for William to run, she reasoned.

William also never did anything at random, even making an escape. She would bring the fight to his doorstep.

And William Stryker would bring it to Xavier’s. As Yuriko rendezvoused with the van, he turned his car in the direction of Westchester County, not giving a damn if he cut anyone off when he turned onto the expressway. The laptop was still upside down on the floor of the passenger side, covered in shards of glass, but it was still intact. There was still a chance.

He would gladly die a martyr if he left behind a world free of mutants.

“Work through me, Lord,” he prayed.


~*~

Ororo pushed her fingers into the slightly damp soil, positioning the large, hearty bulb and turning it until it’s pointed tip faced up toward the sky from the long, even trench that she dug in the dirt. The midday sun caressed her arms, exposed to the elbow by her rolled-up sleeves. Laboring outside in the fresh air helped to chase away the specters of her nightmares for a little while, but she knew they would return.

Dreams that Logan starred in should have brought a mischievous, furtive little smile to her lips, but her eyes held shadows that were thrown into stark relief from her lack of sleep.

Dreamscape:

She was back on Alcatraz. Her hair and cape were whipping madly around her as she dove to protect whomever she could from Jean’s onslaught of telekinetic fury as she did her level best to tear them all apart. All on a whim. She recognized nothing of her sister and confidant in this awesome, terrifying creature with coal-black doll’s eyes, as indifferent and cold to friends as foes. She’d asked Logan if he could do what needed to be done when the time came…and he was making good on his word.

Will you die for them? Ororo’s blood froze in her veins at the callously spoken words, as though she were negotiating with the man who loved her above all else for everyone else’s lives. Selfishly, and just for a second, Ororo wanted to scream out, You don’t deserve him.

Not for them. For YOU! The words resounded in her head every time she thought back to that night, and they stabbed into her as she watched Logan plow forward, determined, fierce. Beautiful and intense. Strong.

Doomed. She gathered Bobby and Warren close, battling with the elements, trying to stem the tide of Jean’s hold on the atmosphere. She wanted to pull Logan back. It should have been her fight. She knew the scope of Jean’s powers from years of Danger Room battles and having Jean in her thoughts through what was an open, two-way channel. The ragged cry somewhere deep in her soul of “Only blood should take blood” came to her at that instant. She was Jean’s sister, if you didn’t delve into specifics. Ororo should have been the one to take her down.

Logan’s eyes were torn from Jean’s fiery spectacle for a crucial second, and his met Ororo’s expectantly. “Just doin’ what ya told me to, darlin’,” he confirmed. He lunged, extending his claws.

With a gesture, Jean wiped Logan out of existence, his features wreathed in agony as he discorporated before her eyes. Ororo screamed herself hoarse, rooted to the spot helplessly as she watched Jean take him away from her again, this time permanently. Darkness swallowed her up, she couldn’t breathe, and she felt the weight of the world crushing the life out of her as it had so many years ago amidst the rubble.

All day she craved Logan’s touch and the feel of his arms wrapped around her, but she couldn’t face him without being reminded of her failure to remove him from Jean’s attack. Her feet begged to tread their customary path to the garage or the Danger Room to seek him out, but she beat back the urge and locked it away. The words “You failed him” chanted themselves in her ears. She clung to his reassurances murmured into her hair as he stroked her outside on the balcony as her storm thundered around them:

“They left me all alone, Logan. I was all alone in the dark.”

“Yer not alone now, darlin’, okay? Yer gonna be all right. Yer not alone.” His arms had tightened around her as though she were very precious to him, and his gruff voice was full of feeling and shared need. In the light of day, digging in the dirt and sorting through her feelings, it hit her: I love Logan. Not the storybook, romantic meeting of eyes and fluttering of hearts. It was never that bloody simple, she mused, stabbing her trowel into the trench to loosen more earth. Loving Logan was a soul-deep, agonizing, and undeniable hunger that left her breathless.

So what in the Goddess’ was she supposed to do about it now?

The answer to her question strolled up behind her, bringing the scent of Cuban cigar smoke to her nostrils. “Always did appreciate seein’ a woman gettin’ down an’ dirty.” She met his gaze, expecting the usual snarky look on his face. She tented her forehead with her hand as she peered up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun’s glare, and she bit back a moan at the fire she found blazing back at her. His eyes smoldered with heat, need and desire. She attempted to play it off.

“You know what they say. Idle hands.”

“Busy hands’ll make ya go blind,” he leered, throwing his usual shield back up. It didn’t help. She was sweating from her toil and smudged with dirt. Her long-sleeved Lycra blend top clung to her and kept nothing secret from him. Her deliciously rounded ass was snugly wrapped in faded denim and thrust up in the air as she knelt on all fours over the trench, positioning the bulbs in perfectly spaced alignment. She rested back on her haunches now, staring him down and looking good enough to eat. She radiated tension and defiance, and he could feel her frustration rolling off of her in waves even as he caught a whiff of her arousal. Her voice was cool, but she was hot, bothered and close to boiling over.

“Don’t you have enhanced vision, too?” She lifted an eyebrow in challenge, taunting him. “I guess it could compensate for that little affliction.”

“Hell no, it can’t. There’s only one thing that can take care of that problem.” He chucked aside the stub of his cigar and ground it under the toe of his boot. “The only surefire way I can think of ta nip this in the bud.” He knelt beside her, lunging for her, and she clenched her eyes shut at the feel of his hands gripping her upper arms and dragging her close. She felt his chest pressed up against hers, and her breasts tingled at the contact, betraying her as her nipples hardened into stubborn peaks. He wrenched the trowel from her soil-streaked fingers.

“I can’t help you with that problem. I can’t even help myself,” she admitted, struggling not to meet his eyes. His fingers captured her chin and raised it toward him, leaving her no choice. She drank her fill of the planes of his face and saw his vulnerability that mirrored hers. “Logan…I can’t help myself when I’m with you.”

“Then quit tryin’ so hard.” Her hands drifted up to stroke him. She turned deaf ears to common sense when it screamed at her to push him away. “I’m so damned sick of fightin’ how I feel about you. I can’t sleep, think, work or go about any friggin’ piece of my life without thinkin’ about ya. How ya taste. How ya sound when ya say my name. How ya feel.” Her breathing quickened as she continued the futile battle to compose herself, but he was holding her immobile, his own hot breath stirring the hair at her temple and warming her cheekbones. “How ya make me feel when I’m with ya. And how empty I feel when yer not there.” She shook her head mutely, but without conviction. He nodded back. “I’m empty, ‘Ro. I need ya so much it hurts.” I don’t wanna hurt ya.

“What if it’s not enough? What if I can’t give you what you need?” What if I fail you again?

“Darlin’, I didn’t have a fuckin’ clue of what I needed til ya showed me. Bein’ knocked flat on my ass in the woods by a gorgeous woman puts things inta perspective.” Her eyes were bright and shining with emotion and flitted over his features, looking for any clue of artifice. His face was open and sincere and so beautiful she could drown in his eyes.

“I’m not supposed to feel this way about you.” She could feel him stirring against her, even trembling.

“Ditto.”

“I’m sick of playing it safe.” Her fingers were already stroking his jaw. She spoke the words against his chin as she nibbled him, savoring the gentle scratch of his stubble against her flesh. The irony of her words struck her now. She felt safe from the world’s ills and her demons that haunted her sleep as he held her now.

“I’ve never played it safe, and I ain’t gonna start now.” He sought shelter in her kiss as he ravished her mouth. Their breath mingled, and Ororo was rewarded for her frantic caresses by his low groan and the tightening of his arms around her waist. He tilted her head back to drink deeply from her mouth, stroking her tongue with his as she plunged her fingers into his luxuriously thick waves of hair. She took everything that he gave while her heart and body cried out for more.

“I would never play with you,” she promised on a harsh whisper.

“I know,” he agreed. He rained kisses over her face that were both hot and tender, trailing fire over her satiny skin. He smelled the light, teasing hint of flowers and rain in her hair. It intoxicated him and spurred him on, making him all the more determined to have her beneath him, moaning against him. The sun shifted in the sky, and he felt the shadows dance over them, dappling the grass as the trees swayed over head with the gathering wind. She heard something akin to a growl as his teeth grazed her throat before fastening against her pulse, and he sucked a bruise to the surface in his haste. She just tasted too good, felt too right to do this slow. Heat pooled in her core, creating dampness in between her thighs.

Taking her outside on the lawn might raise a few eyebrows, too, he reasoned. Wordlessly, he rose and tugged her flush against him, and she staggered against him, dizzy with spiraling passion for him. Heaving chests, taut bellies and long thighs met and eased together as they struggled to keep any semblance of control. Logan mastered it long enough to grate “That way.” Her eyes followed his as they darted to the greenhouse. She nodded before she pulled away long to yank him along after her by the hand.

They stumbled and half-sprinted the rest of the way down the gravel path. The greenhouse was enormous and lovingly maintained. It was Ororo’s sanctuary and home away from home, and she guarded it jealously from careless visitors, forbidding the students from shortcutting through it on their way back from the lake. She clasped the handle of the door and gave it a stubborn squeeze, jerking it open, and they practically fell inside as Logan spun her back around for another kiss that made her knees buckle. She wrapped her arms around his neck and didn’t resist when he bent down to scoop her up and loop her legs around his hips, carrying her into the structure. The scents of various flowers and herbs assailed his senses, mingling with Ororo’s natural fragrance and sweetness and arousing him beyond reason. Sunlight streamed in through the glass panes, kissing her skin and hair and making her eyes glow with warm lights. She was primal and fit perfectly here, and he couldn’t think of a better place to claim her for the first time.

He lowered her to the ground, strewn with hay and mulch chips and covered her body with his as he laid her back, kissing her hungrily. Her hips bucked against him as he settled himself between her thighs, clutching her behind the knee to pull it up, stroking it’s length and scraping it gently with his fingernails. She arched into him, moaning and whimpering for him not to stop as he devoured her neck again, this time so leisurely that she wanted to weep. He savored the taste of her and every sound she made as her hands discovered him, traveling over his cords of muscle and sinew, exploring his heated skin. She groped his hips possessively, clutching his ass in her hands as she ground up against him. He was rock-hard and nudging himself insistently against her softness, wanting to bury himself in her.

“I want you,” she gasped.

“How do ya want me?”

“Any way I can have you.” He caught her earlobe in his teeth and suckled it, the breath from his nostrils whooshing into the canal. She was on fire.

He was determined to let it blaze even higher before he would quench it. His hands swept over her stomach, easing the hem of her shirt up over her ribcage so he could stroke her. She moaned at his touch against her bare skin, and she struggled impatiently, helping him shuck it over her head. He bit back a laugh, eyes dancing until he pulled back long enough to take a good look at what he revealed.

“Damn, darlin’, ya don’t know what ya do ta me.”

“I can feel what I do to you,” she teased, but her eyes were dark with passion. “Touch me. I’m begging you.”

“Ain’t gotta beg, beautiful.” Reverently his hands traced the curve of her neck and shoulders as he eased down the straps of her black satin bra, peeling down the cups. “Perfect,” he rumbled. He molded them in his palms, stroking her nipples with his thumbs as his lips nibbled the valley between them, making her shiver. He turned his face into the pleasingly smooth, full mound and nuzzled it, laving her flesh, surrounding it with nipping kisses as he closed in on it’s coffee brown peak. He captured it between his teeth and suckled it, drawing moans and ragged cries from her lips.

“Don’t stop, Logan!”

“Couldn’t if I tried,” he confessed around his captive morsel. Her hands cupped his head as she gave into the building thrill that she felt all the way into her womb. He released it long enough to turn his attention to her breast’s sister, worshipping it with equal devotion. Before one nipple could even fully cool down from being removed from the heat of his mouth, he would engulf the other, making her skin feel too tight for her body.

She didn’t stop him as his mouth eased its way down her ribcage, nipping it before the tip of his tongue darted into her navel, swiveling around its rim with mischief and making her squirm. He kissed and caressed every inch of her body that he uncovered, yanking open the snap of her jeans and licking the edge of trim on the waistline of her bikini briefs. She nearly came out of her skin, and she felt herself lifting her hips as threaded his fingers through the belt loops of her pants and tugging them down. Her panties nearly came off with them, but he decided to leave them on a little while longer. Her boot-cut jeans came off with another insistent yank, along with her small black ballet flats. Logan lowered his face between her thighs and took a long, loving taste, letting his tongue rasp against the satin of her panties.

“Oh,” she breathed, struck unintelligible by the sensations coursing through her nerve endings, pooling in her sex. He spread her thighs further apart and lifted her hips at a better angle to slide the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips through the satin. He laved and teased it, mingling her wetness with his. She felt herself coming undone.

“Logan, please! Please let me…I want to…I want you to…”

“I ain’t done.” He drank from her as though he were dying of thirst, gripping her hips tightly so she couldn’t wriggle away from her. Mewling cries were torn from her throat, and she flung her hands over her head helplessly as she tumbled into an earth-shaking climax.

Or maybe that was just the thunder that was rolling overhead. She jerked and spasmed against his mouth, and he latched onto her pearl as she rode it out, taking him with her. Her thighs were damp and shivering, and his hands were gentle as he slid her panties off, kissing her knee as he did.

“Yer shakin’,” he pointed out as he eased himself back up, settling against her and laying his palm against her cheek.

“I can’t help it.”

“Ya don’t have to. I like feeling ya go wild like that.”

“You haven’t seen wild yet,” she offered.

“Likewise, darlin’.” She clutched the collar of his shirt and tugged him down for a scorching kiss. He undid the clasp of her bra and let it fall free before she wrestled him out of his clothes. His pants only made it as far down as his calves, trapped in place by his Ropers, but that didn’t deter him from kneeling before her and lifting her legs over his shoulders. He flicked his fingers over her, dipping them within her folds. She was wet, ready and burning for him, and he couldn’t wait another second.

“I want you, Logan. Now.” Her hand crept between them, searching for him, and she found his velvety thickness, closing the ring of her finger and thumb around it and pumping him slowly. She wanted to please him as much as he did her, wanting to make him never forget what they had at this moment, in the lushness of these surroundings. He jumped under her touch as her thumb slicked away a drop of moisture leaking from its tip. He nodded, stealing himself as he pried her hand away and butted up against her entrance, then surged forward, entering her in one fluid thrust. He nearly collapsed as her slick walls squeezed him tightly, embracing him in sultry heat.

“God, baby, ya feel so damned good!” he hissed. Her toes curled as she stretched to accommodate him. They fitted together perfectly, and his eyes drifted shut in awe of how it felt to be surrounded by her. It only got better when she moved beneath him, encouraging him to claim her. Her nails dug into his thighs as he obliged, pumping in long, smooth strokes. His flesh throbbed and pulsed as he buried himself in her depths, watching her mouth drop open on throaty sighs of fulfillment. Her voice became urgent and rasped out as he picked up the pace, rising to meet him as he leaned forward and took her, unable to get enough. Her scent, and her passion wrapped around him like a blanket as they made love. Logan’s face was twisted in ecstasy and outlined by sunlight and her climbing plants.

“I want you so much!”

“I’m yers! Whatever ya want from me, go on and take it, ‘Ro!” He reached down to stroke her plump bottom lip. She nipped his finger, then engulfed it, sucking it inside her mouth, mimicking the plunge of his member into her depths. “Yer drivin’ me crazy!”

“Good. I was feeling lonely.” Her speech was cut off by the relentless pistoning of his hips. She tightened around him, clenching her muscles in an irresistible grip.

“Oh, God! ‘Ro! Feel so damned good! C’mon, darlin’, don’t make me come alone!” He rescued his finger from her mouth, wanting to smirk at her bereft look until he stroked her clit with it, still damp with juices gleaned from her mouth.

“LOGAN!” She wanted to cry out that she’d never leave him alone. She did the next best thing and simply tumbled over the edge with him, falling head first into a climax that milked him, leaving him wide open and vulnerable. He jerked, chanting a litany of curses and what sounded like her name as he emptied himself into her. He lowered her legs from his shoulders and collapsed, spent, into her waiting arms. Her body twitched beneath his as she caught her breath. His back rose and fell in heavy gusts, and he felt her shift him more comfortably until his head rested in the crook of her neck. His fingers feathered over the smooth curves of her shoulders as she held him, staring up at the sky through the clear glass panes of the roof. Rain spattered and smacked against it in a steady rhythm that was hypnotic and peaceful.

“You’ve ruined me for anyone else. If you leave me again, I’ll never forgive you,” she informed him.

“Leave?” he chuckled harshly. “I can’t move right now. I ain’t goin’ anywhere right now. Tomorrow doesn’t look so good, either.” His lips found the sensitive little spot where her neck connected to her shoulder and took it hostage. She felt herself shifted more snugly into his arms as he levered himself up to look her in the eye. “As a matter of fact, tomorrow’s not lookin’ good fer anything but waking up to do this all over again. Preferably without grass burn. Not that this wasn’t fuckin’ spectacular.” He felt her smile into his hair.

“I was thinking ‘mind-numbing.’ And humor me a little, leave out the ‘fucking’ part. Might bruise my fragile ego,” she chided him. “I don’t ‘fuck,’ Logan.”

“No. Ya don’t.” Kisses landed like butterflies on her face as he gazed at her, locked on those velvety brown eyes. “Ya can’t put a name ta what just happened between us, ‘Ro. I’m not gonna try.” He skimmed the backs of his fingers along her jaw, and she leaned into his touch. “All I’m gonna say was that it was special. And that you’re special.” He kissed her lips with a sweetness that made her ache. “And this wasn’t just sex.” His voice held an unspoken question. She was touched that he needed the reassurance as much as she did.

“This wasn’t just sex. Logan, I-“

The rain outside had subsided to a dwindling sprinkle, so they heard the screeching of tires outside the front gates loud and clear. Logan’s hackles went up. They weren’t expecting company. He whipped his head toward the sound, and Ororo felt him withdraw from her, feeling chilled as he left her embrace and hopped to his feet. He struggled with his jeans, jerking them up over an erection that had already risen again to half-mast. He fastened himself uncomfortably back into them and nodded his thanks as Ororo tossed him his white tank.

“I’m outta here, darlin’.”

“I’m right behind you,” she replied, bra already rehooked as she scrambled for her discarded clothes. Logan burned with the urge for one more look at her luscious brown skin before he booked out of the greenhouse, sprinting toward the mansion. When he reached the kitchen, Hank was already bellowing at Peter to round up the children and lead them into the Danger Room.

“What’s goin’ on, Blue?”

“There was a rash of murders at the old headquarters of the Stryker Crusade in the city,” Hank explained. “It was on the news. Gutted corpses. A man was seen fleeing from the garage of the building, with a woman riding the roof of the car.”

“Shit.” Raven’s tip back in the dressing room of Skintights lingered like sour milk. Execution-style murders. Organs flopping out of the bodies, their skin peeled back like curling ribbon. Claws. Deathstrike.

“There’s more. NYPD lost sight of the car and the woman when they reached the freeway. The last time they sighted the car, it was heading south.” He paused, and Logan’s stomach twisted into a knot. “He took the exit for Westchester two hours ago.”

“Stryker,” Logan snarled. SNIKT. His claws extended themselves involuntarily, driven by the need to finish what he started at Alkali so many months ago. Not again. Not on his watch.

“I already told Kitty and Peter to suit up.”

“Ya haven’t been up against this guy, Hank. Ya don’t know what he’s done.”

“He’s done enough. Do what you have to, my friend. I won’t hold you back.” Hank leveled a sober look at him that told no lies. Logan took cold comfort in it.

“Yer smart not ta try.”





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