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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who the fuck are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that was before.

Before she was damned and corrupted by evil.

Before she had died.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Miles away

That had been close.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My mother taught me.” She answered truthfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Vladdimir.” The name was whispered in fear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And if I fail?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where is he?” she cut in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t budge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who are you?” he repeated.

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

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

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

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

Her voice cracked. “Please, Logan…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ororo.” He sounded absolutely certain.

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

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

She denied it still with a shake of her head.

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

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

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

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

“Liar. You were at the mansion tonight.”

She didn’t bother to deny it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am fine.”

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

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

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

She shook her head. “No!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know.”

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

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

“You don’t understand…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She blinked. “For me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She must be taught a lesson.





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