The moment she set foot on the mansion stairs she began having second thoughts. She and Logan had spent the first half hour of their arrival placing the gemstones she had brought from the Shaman around the mansion. Logan had seemed more than a bit skeptical at her “cockamamie idea” but he had relented, helping her lay out a design. She had felt relief in having the barrier set up, but now that relief was apprehension. This wasn’t her home anymore--and more than that, she was not the same woman that had once lived here. She didn’t belong here. Maybe she never really had. She should go.
As if sensing her desire to flee, Logan turned, his blunt fingers shackled her wrist. Incredibly strong, yet somehow amazingly gentle. She looked up at him at felt her stomach turn over. He did something to her that she could not explain. Dared not explain.
Their connection had been strong before, when they had been teammates, and neither had been shy about acknowledging the fledgling attraction between them, but life always seemed to have other plans for them. He’d had his crush on Jean, as well as his deep love for Mariko and she had also been busy trying to find her niche as co-leader of the X-Men as well as adjusting to life in a new culture.
“What is it?” he asked her, his voice a rough whisper.
She gazed up at the sky, sighing. “I don’t belong here, Logan.”
His lips touched hers. Firm and velvet smooth, soft and sensuous they plied hers apart. Her heart jumped in her chest and her eyes fluttered shut as he stroked against her teeth. When he pulled back his eyes were dark and unreadable. He unlocked the front door. Tossing her a faint inquisitive look over his shoulder, he asked, “Do I have to invite you in?”
She couldn’t help it, she laughed. He had managed the near impossible feat of making her laugh after a decade of sorrow. “No.” She shook her head, still smiling. “Some things are simply rumors.”
He tugged her through the threshold and she instinctively raised her hood.
“You belong here as much as I do. As much as any of us did. You’re an X-Man.”
Her frown slowly reappeared. “No, I’m not. I am a vampire, Logan. You would do well to remember that little detail.” There was a warning in her voice.
“I haven’t forgotten, darlin’.” He stood nearly touching her. “That don’t scare me much.”
“It should,” she hissed. She placed her palms flat against his chest. “I can hear your heart beating. Hear the blood in your veins. Smell it in you.” She opened her mouth slightly, her eyes swirling to that opalescent glow he had seen earlier. “I have to fight the hunger off all the time. It crawls in me. Poisoning me and everything I touch. Don’t make a mistake and assume I am not dangerous, Logan.”
More dangerous than she knew, he thought, his groin tightening. Did she have any idea how alluring she was with her head tilted at him, her mouth parted and eyes glowing. Long silver strands of hair clung to her shoulders and her skin, always soft before was now flawless, porcelain smooth and creamy caramel.
He bent his head so that his mouth brushed hers as he spoke. “Duly noted.”
She sighed with exasperation. He never did have any common sense. She told him as much.
He grinned unrepentant. “One of my better qualities. Now, come on.” He ushered her through the foyer and towards the staircase.
She glanced at the photos on the wall as they strolled the hall, seeing her former teammates age and change in each one. All of them held places in her heart and she felt the ice she’d forged around it melting with each passing picture. She smiled at Jean and Scott’s wedding photo, but that smile quickly vanished a few pictures down when a team photo had a red head curiously missing. Her steps halted. “Logan.”
He stopped walking, staring at the photo she was staring at. He knew the question coming and he wondered how she would take the news.
Her fingertips hovered above the photo, outlining the form that should have been beside Scott. “Where’s Jean?”
He let out a slow breath, running his hand through his wild hair. “Jeannie died, ‘Ro. Few years back.”
He wasn’t certain what he expected from her but her quiet was disconcerting. He hedged a glance at her. “’Ro?”
She faced him, her eyes shimmering. “I always thought it was a dream.”
“What was a dream?”
“Jean. She came to me.” She cleared her throat, straightening and pulling her cloak tighter about her shoulders. She turned away from the photographs and Logan could almost physically see the wall she was erecting around herself.
Knowing that some things were better left alone he didn’t press her, but grasped her arm, and led her to their destination.
Outside the door Ororo paused, her head tilted a bit. His scent was everywhere. It made her insides clench, realizing where they were. “Your room?” she asked.
“Well, yeah.” He shrugged, opening the door. “You didn’t think I’d give a scary, blood sucking vampire a room of her own, didjya?”
She flinched like he’d struck her.
He cursed himself, the comment was in jest, but the look on her face made him wish he could eat the words. “’Ro, I didn’t mean that.” He stepped toward her.
She held up one hand, warding him off. “It’s no more than the truth,” she said flatly.
He refused to let her retreat into her shell. Grabbing her outstretched hand he pulled her into his chest. “I’m sorry if my words hurt you.”
She tried to maneuver away but he was resilient. She could have easily broken his hold if she truly wanted to, he knew, and the fact that she didn’t told him she wasn’t as indifferent as she wanted him to believe.
Ororo’s heart shifted uneasily. She tried for cool disdain. “I don’t remember you being such a touchy-feely guy, Logan,” she commented.
His lips curved sardonically, unperturbed by her attempt to distance herself. “Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone.” He traced his finger along her jaw line. “Or it could just be you that does it.”
She shivered. What was this man doing to her? She edged out of his arms. “I really shouldn’t be here.”
He let out a grumble. “Look, it’s almost sunrise. Last I knew, vampires and the sun weren’t exactly on the best of terms. So why don’t you just rest here and shut up about it.” He shook out the dark navy quilt from his bed, hanging it over his single window. He stepped back, looking for any gaps. Satisfied there was none he turned toward her, his look smug.
Ororo narrowed her eyes, disliking the neat little package of logic he had just tossed at her. She knew sunrise was near, she could feel it in her waning strength and the tingle of her flesh. Resigned, she unclasped her cloak, draping it over his bed.
Logan swallowed. Underneath the cloak the tight leather molded to her curves and she looked damn sexy. He felt his pants getting tighter.
Ororo felt it too. The sexual tension, the subtle hunger that hung n the air. She cleared her throat, settling against the far wall in a lean, crossing her arms over her chest. “How come your helping me?” she asked softly.
Logan rolled his shoulders and cricked his neck, not sure just how to answer her. Part of it he knew was because he felt responsible for her initial death, but there was more to it. The idea of her leaving again tore at him, made him want to howl. So instead of answering, he asked a question of his own. “How is it you survived staking yourself? I thought that was the, y’know, be all end all of vampires.”
“Oh, it is,” she answered. “But I was foolish.” She sighed, leaning her head back to stare at the ceiling. “I staked myself before I converted. To become a vampire the victim needs to die and rise again.” She snorted. “I actually made myself a vampire.”
Logan thought that over. She sounded so casual about the whole thing, but he could feel, and smell, her rising tension. He sat on the edge of his bed regarding her upturned face. “The way I understand it, you need to drink a vampire’s blood before converting.”
Something like pain flickered across her face. “One doesn’t need to do so willingly for the conversion to be effective,” was all she said.
“That monster really did a number on you didn’t he?” Violence tainted his words.
She kept her clear gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Only what I was too weak to prevent.” She straightened, her eyes finding his. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked the relevant question.”
“And that is?”
She smiled without humor. “Why I didn’t stake myself again after I rose.”
That question had crossed his mind, but he didn’t want to voice it. He didn’t say anything in response, but sat quietly, watching her.
Ororo slipped her hand along her thigh, gripping the hilt of the knife she kept there. She held Logan’s eyes, hers flat and cold. With a swift twist of her wrist, she turned the blade and plunged it into her chest.
“Jesus Christ!” Logan leapt from the bed, catching Ororo as she crumbled to the floor. “’Ro! Damn it, don’t do this to me again!” His voice was hoarse, cracked, as flashes of memory filtered in, mixing past and present. He held her, feeling the old helplessness rushing over him. “Not again,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her hair.
Ororo for her part, coughed blood, but sat up, yanking the knife from her heart.
Logan watched in a sick sort of fascination as the blood seeped back into her chest and the wound sealed. “What the fuck…?”
She gave a bitter laugh, wiping her hand across her lips. “I’ve tried every kind of wood, every kind of metal.” She sat forward, wrapping her hands around her knees. “Nothing does it.”
“God, ‘Ro.” Logan took a deep breath. “Fucking tryin‘ to kill me here, woman?”
She gave him an apologetic look. “He bound me to him.” Sadness crept into her flat tone. “So long as he walks this earth, so too will I.”
Logan didn’t know what to say to ease her. He had the absurd desire to fight away all her demons and keep her safe. For someone so powerful, she looked so very fragile. He decided that talking wasn’t really his thing anyway. His palm cupped the back of her head, bringing her to him. Her mouth opened beneath his, every bit as hungry and aching as he was. He felt a near desperate need to soothe her, to comfort her. He couldn’t explain it. They were both too raw from the emotions they’d relived in the past, and with this newness between them. He dragged her closer.
“This is crazy,” she said into his mouth, her fingers curling against his shirt.
“You make me crazy,” he told her, nipping her lips. And she did. All logic--what little he usually possessed--flew out the window the moment he touched her.
She breathed his name against his lips. Her arms circled his neck, her lips merging with his. She had felt so ashamed and alone for so long and in his arms she felt safe, welcomed, clean--it posed a terrifying addiction to her. She leaned closer still, her breasts pressed to his chest through the leather barrier of her camisole.
“I’m not gonna be able to stop,” he rasped when she tugged his shirt open.
“Don’t stop, then,” she murmured hungrily. “I don’t want you to stop.”
His hand rose up to cradle her face. “Good, cuz I damn well don’t think I could even if I wanted to.”
She wasn’t sure exactly how they got onto the bed, but there he was, hovering over her, his features shadowed and harsh and unbearably appealing. She lifted her leg, running it along his back, pulling him closer. Her clothing and his still separated them, and her oversensitive skin suddenly found the barrier near painful. With a hurried gasp she waved her hand and their clothing fell away, melting to the floor like shadows.
Logan blinked. “Neat trick.”
She arched into him, her movements pure feminine seduction. “I have my uses.”
He bent towards her, his lips finding bare flesh, laving her with his tongue. She heard herself gasp as he teased her breasts with his fingertips and his lips played homage to the valley between them.
Ororo reached down between their bodies, her hand finding hot, hard flesh. Logan sucked in his breath, swearing softly against her skin. He was thick and long, throbbing in her hand. She sighed into his hair, her heart thundering louder. Her fingertips played over the length of him, taking pleasure in his groans.
His hands moved over her hips, smoothing along her thighs, exploring her skin. Need between them was building to a terrible urgency. She felt helpless and powerful under his hands. It was an unfamiliar, alien sensation for her to enjoy erotic sensuality, to let herself be touched, caressed, taken.
The moment his hands touched the curls nestled between her legs she stiffened, old fear swallowing her new passion.
“I won’t hurt you,” he vowed on a low whisper.
She tried to repress her fear, but images of another time and place swarmed her mind: being held down, a heavier body pounding into her ruthlessly, black blood flowing down her throat, her screams of terror.
“No,” she whispered. She refused to let memories of Vladdimir tarnish this moment for her. She closed her eyes, falling back into Logan’s sensual touches, focusing only on the pleasure he was giving her. Her hips lifted and pushed against him instinctively.
Logan groaned, pushing the head of his erection into her. She was hot, soft and wet. She shifted, allowing him better access, drawing her knees up and locking her ankles behind his back. Each time he pushed deeper into her he felt stabs of unimaginable pleasure. He bent over her, gripping her bottom in his hands. “You with me, darlin’?”
She nodded, too far gone to speak. She shook with the ecstasy he was giving her but underneath that lay a darker hunger. One that was getting harder to control. His chest was looming over her, tempting her. Her earlier marks had already faded, healed by his mutant genes. She lifted her head from his pillow, her tongue flicking his copper nipple.
Logan groaned, his fingers flexing in her flesh. “Do it,” he urged.
Ororo resisted, but it was futile. She knew how he would taste, how intoxicating he was. Like nothing she had ever experienced his blood was sweet on her lips not vile or revolting. She sank her teeth deep.
At once his hips bucked double time, his growl one of unrestrained rapture. “Come with me,” he commanded, moving in a circular thrust.
Ororo stared up into his eyes, licking the wound she had made, her lips dotted with his crimson essence. He was magnificent to look at, she thought, sexy and alluring, but more than that, she trusted him. Unconditionally. Always had.
She caught his face between her hands and gave herself up to him. They exploded together, her cry blending with his rumble. “Logan…”
Still locked deep inside of her he lowered his sweat dampened head towards hers. “Damn. That was…holy fuck.”
“Yes.” she agreed.
He lifted his head and winked at her before kissing her breathless once more.
She gave him a bleary smile. “Sun up,” she yawned.
He nodded, glancing at the blanket draped over his window. He turned back to her speculatively.
She caught his train of thought immediately. “Doesn’t work either,” she murmured, snuggling into his chest. “But it hurts like hell. Look like a charcoal briquette when it’s done too.”
Logan’s throat tightened. How many times had she tried to die? He pulled her tight. “Get some sleep, ‘Ro.”
She was already drifting when she whispered, “I missed you…”
Logan closed his eyes, inhaling her seductive aroma. He had never really taken the time to miss her after her death, he had been so busy planning retribution that he had blocked that emotion out, but now… now he knew he was never letting her go again. He kissed her hair gently. Mine.
Eventually he knew they would have to face the others and he would have to talk to her about her vendetta on the fucktard that had turned her, but for now, for this moment, he felt as if they were both exactly where they belonged.
As the first rays of dawn crept over the horizon Logan turned to his side, cradling Ororo in his arms. His heart thudded dully when he realized she was not breathing, but his initial alarm quieted as he reminded himself that she was a vampire. She looked exactly as she had a decade ago--yet indescribably different.
She had changed over the years, as had he, and along with them, the balance between them had shifted. Where once a passing attraction simmered, a raging inferno of desire raged. Where a comfortable friendship resided, now was something more. Something worth keeping, he thought as he drifted. Something worth fighting for.
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