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.
