“Giblet, get down,” Ali scolded, chasing Ororo’s pride and joy off the coffee table. The cat seemed to huff at her as she instead leapt up onto the couch, tucked her forepaws under her chest, and purred like a motor. “Gads, you’re a spoiled brat.”
“Don’t let ‘Roro hear ya say that, petit,” Remy muttered. He cruised by the couch and chucked the cat under the chin, giving her a hearty scratch. Giblet purred even louder, going so far as to lean her whole head into the caress, giving Remy the cat equivalent of a sleepy bedroom smile. Then she rolled and showed him her fluffy, plush belly.
“Oh, now I’ve seen it all! Remy, you’ve seduced Ororo’s cat!”
“What?” he inquired innocently. As soon as he straightened up from the couch, the cat immediately lunged back on her haunches and leapt up to the head of the cushion, rising up on her hind legs. She pawed at him, craving more attention. Just to annoy Ali even more, he bent down and nuzzled the cat’s nose. Giblet swiped the corner of her mouth against his. Her purr was choppy, almost a throaty meow.
“Kisses, now. That’s just sick. Pervert,” Ali accused.
“Green-eyed monster, chere.”
“Cat won’t even wanna go home when Ororo gets back…”
“Don’t start frettin’ again, chere. She’s fine.”
“I know.” He was already running in full “reassure Alison” mode, so he almost didn’t catch her reply.
“She told us where she was gonna…huh?” Surely, Remy mused, she didn’t just agree with him that Ororo was fine. Had she?
“I know that.”
“Kept Remy up all night worryin’ ‘bout her new friend.”
“That was then.” Ali beckoned to the kitty. “C’mere, girl.” The cat narrowed her eyes and looked bored, preferring Remy’s stroking instead. She flicked her tail briefly before settling back down on the cushion, savoring it as Remy gave her back one more scratch in just the right spot. “Giblet, you’re such a little shit.”
“So why’d y’change ya mind ‘bout Logan?”
“She’s my best friend. If she cares about him, which is still kind of a stretch, then I can’t just storm in and kidnap her from him. But I just…I don’t know. I got this weird vibe from him. Not bad weird. Just…I can’t explain it.”
“Put it in writin’, den, petit. Yer good at written words,” he reminded her slyly. Ali rolled her eyes again.
“There’s something about him that just puts you at ease. Just like…you know he’s capable. Reliable. Someone you’d want in your corner.”
What Ali really wanted to tell him, even if she couldn’t find the words, was that Ororo changed in Logan’s presence. Glowed. She glowed. They were connected. Something in the way both of them moved, gestured and spoke when they were together was just…they completed each other.
“I just know she’s safe with him,” Ali declared. Remy grinned and shook his head.
~0~
His hand shook as he gently peeled Ororo’s hand from his body, shouldering his way out from beneath her sweet-smelling softness. She never felt the swift change in his heartbeat, from placid to thundering as he rolled out of bed. The springs bounced as he bolted from the bedroom.
Logan staggered on shaking legs into the kitchen. Every detail in his dark house was razor sharp, but everything around him seemed to shift and roll. The walls of the spacious room seemed to close in on him. Mock him.
He was trapped. Caged. Panic set in and made his pulse throb, in his neck, in his temple. Logan’s flesh was on fire, itching, crawling…changing.
“No!” he whispered. “Please, God, no! Beggin’ you…” His prayers were raspy and weak. Then the pain came, again. Logan fought the need to cry out, biting his lip so hard that he drew blood. It was tangy and coppery; reflexively he licked that wound. His eyes shone with amber fire, and his pupils dilated, black, fathomless and soulless.
Logan tripped over the small kitchen mat in front of the refrigerator as he searched for something to drink. He burned with thirst. His fingers scrabbled for the door handle, but they trembled. His fingernails clicked and scraped against the cool chrome.
“Don’t,” he pleaded helplessly, holding out his hand in the dim light as he finally opened the door. Long, ebon claws extended from his fingertips. He watched in horror as dark bristles of coarse hair erupted through his skin faster than he could blink. He grew dizzy, and the walls continued to close in on him. He lurched for the orange juice. The glass bottle felt slippery in his hand. He pried off the metal cap and tipped back his head, chugging down long gulps. The cool liquid gave him momentary relief…
His stomach churned in revolt. The substance was foreign and unwelcome in his body. He fought the violent urge to spew it back up.
“Ah, God!” he moaned. He shook his head to clear it, then sneezed. It was a huffy, robust sound. His nose felt cold and damp. Logan’s lips seemed to shrink back from his teeth, but they finally stopped chattering. The chills that wracked him as soon as he entered the kitchen subsided, but he fought the sensory overload of the sounds around him. The ticking of the clock. His drippy faucet that he still hadn’t fixed; all it needed was a new washer, and then it was good as new. A squirrel skittering into his oak tree. An icicle breaking off from his roof.
He felt himself reel and spin.
Mmmmnnnghhhh… Ororo stirred awake and ran her hand over the cooling stretch of bed sheet, searching for Logan’s solid warmth.
She heard a series of thuds and bumps, seeming to come from the kitchen. “Logan? Sweetie?” She rubbed the crusty sleep from her eyes and sat up, running her fingers through her tangled hair. She gave her limbs a hearty scratch and stood, shoving her feet into her fleece slippers.
“What’s the matter, Logan? Are you all right? I heard you get up.” Her voice was hoarse and soft, filled with concern.
NO! The orange juice jug slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a deafening crash.
“Oh, SHIT!” Ororo yelped, stunned by the sudden clatter, and she backed herself against the wall for a moment. It scared the crap out of her, and she headed toward the kitchen with more concern than before. “Honey, are you all right? What happened, did you hurt yourself?”
“No,” he grimaced. His voice was a thick slur issuing from his lips. “Nnooooo,” he began again, “can’t…no! ‘Ro! ‘RO!”
“Do you need me to…” Her words evaporated on her lips as she caught sight of him, illuminated by the moonlight. Her hands flew up to her mouth, and she shook her head in denial.
“Ro,” he huffed. The Beast bristled defiantly and stood its ground.
He was the Beast.
“Oh, no, please, NO!” she blurted. The creature before her lurched forward a step, nostrils flaring from its twitching muzzle.
“Ro,” it seemed to bark. Her cry was startled, and he heard her heart race, pounding its way out of her chest.
The creature stood nearly as tall as she did. Its body was broad as a tree trunk and covered in a coarse, thick coat of hair. Icy gooseflesh broke out over her body, and she felt slightly sick.
The beast sensed her revulsion and growled at her weakness. She backed up when her legs finally decided to obey her demands. She slipped and slid on the shards of broken glass. Time seemed to stand still as he crouched toward her, lowering his body and pawing the tile floor. He bared his teeth at her and looked ready to pounce!
She squeezed her eyes shut as he growled again. A scream tore itself from her lips. This couldn’t he happening. She was just asleep in Logan’s arms. She wasn’t here, out in the middle of nowhere, held in thrall by a beast she could never dream up, even from her writer’s fertile imagination. She lingered just inches from the gaping maw of a wolf. Bony ridges of teeth were revealed as it continued to slaver and glare at her, growling a low, rhythmic hum.
Its breath painted her cheek, steamy and damp. She trembled and drew in short bursts of breath, then stopped breathing altogether, wondering if her last ditch effort should be to play dead, or to run like hell…
“Don’t,” she whimpered, “please, don’t! Don’t hurt me!”
That’s when he felt it. Helplessness. Her scent was saturated in it. Fear. Revulsion. Disbelief. Anguish. Caused by…him.
She felt him snuffling at her. That cold, flaring nose seemed to move over her, drifting and exploring her skin, her hair. He poked his nose against the crest of her shoulder and she screamed again, startling him. He lunged back and growled a low warning, then barked.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, hot and useless. Her bladder was about to release any moment, and a tiny voice inside her shrieked that she wouldn’t go out with wet pants.
Logan. Where was he? Had the creature attacked him? She ventured a glance, still avoiding the creature’s gaze, and let her eyes flit around the kitchen.
Blood. Not much, but droplets spattered the floor, mingling with the glass shards and staining them so they resembled rubies. She wasn’t bleeding, so what “
She noticed blood dripping from the beast’s legs. Hind legs. He had the inverted knee joints of a dog, even though his calves were still sturdy and thickly muscled. Leaping legs that could chase her for miles and take her down. Hunter’s legs. As though he resented her gaze as too forward, he growled again. She closed her eyes once more.
No. ‘Ro. I’m sorry. She was cowering and sobbing to him, and he heard his name whispered from her lips.
“Please. Logan! Please…tell me you didn’t h-hurt Logan. Oh, Logan!” she cried. Her back still hugged the wall, and her unsheltered rump was chilled by the cold tile.
“Rrrrrr-oooooooo,” he growled, hunkering closer. The tip of his claw ran itself down the length of her slender calf. She sat stock still, but she still sobbed. He didn’t draw blood.
“Ro,” he huffed, still testing her name. One large, pawlike hand reached out and wrapped around her wrist, jerking her up to him for closer inspection. She screamed again, unable to appreciate that he wasn’t hurting her.
More of that unsettling sniffing. She grew more confused as the beast lowered her hand to its chest. Slowly, gently, he uncurled her fingers and flattened her palm against its furry chest.
“What, w-what are you doing?” she stammered, finally opening her eyes. His heart thudded beneath her hand. The pulse resonated through her, forcing hers to adopt the same pace. Her fingers twitched, and she didn’t stop them from gently curling in the sleek layers of hair.
Its face was fearsome, certainly, but not hideous. Its bone structure was an unearthly hybrid of man and beast. Man, and beast. Broad cheekbones, not the thick chops of a wolf. A short muzzle. Thick ridges above its eyes, not the sloped forehead of a lupine beast; they resembled eyebrows.
Her fingers twitched within his again, and she felt something small and hard against her hand that dug into her flesh. Moonlight picked out a small gold band that constricted around his thick finger. A ring.
The hell?”
“Rrrrrrrrr…” he rumbled slowly. He seemed to be struggling and shaking his head back and forth on its thick, bowed neck. There was something desperate gleaming in his feral yellow eyes. “Rrrrllllllllll-lllll-ooooooo…”
“Please,” she whispered, encouraging it. Him.
“Loooooooooooo…” he continued, fighting with the sound and glaring at her to help him, to hear him.
She cocked her head to the side, drawing his attention to her submissive stance, and her other hand crept up ever so slowly, allowing him to see the movement. When he drifted up to within inches of his face, his muzzled twitched, and he stiffened his grip on her wrist. “It’s okay,” she assured him, even though from where she sat, it was no such thing.
I won’t hurt you. He felt the sentiment from her as though she had spoken the words. “It’s okay,” she repeated. She watched disbelieving as he bowed his head and nudged her waiting hand with his nose.
Touch me, his eyes implored. She grazed his cheek with her fingertips. The hair there was finer and less dense, allowing surprisingly fair flesh to peek through.
A droplet of awareness struck the surface of her mind, creating broad ripples the longer she studied him. She swallowed roughly and saw him, really saw him.
“Looooohg…nnnnnnn,” he confirmed.
“Logan!” she cried, and another tear slipped free from her eye, joining the drying tracks on her cheek.
“Ro,” he grunted as he leaned his cheek into her palm. His tongue made a faint lapping noise as it darted out to taste her wrist. His breath was hot, but it didn’t make her cringe like it had when he backed her into the corner before. She couldn’t ignore the change in his body. His bulk was still massive and warped into this beast’s, but there were signs of the man inside shining in its eyes. Relief washed over her that this beast hadn’t harmed or devoured Logan.
Except…he was Logan.
“Holy shit,” she murmured. He whined in his throat in agreement.
~0~
Pietro sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. His head felt murky with fatigue and the spotty sleep that never deepened enough for him to dream.
The other side of the bed was empty. Lorna’s scent was nearly gone from the pillows. She hadn’t lain with him since the night they both were escorted out of AlphLight’s front door. Pietro had marched woodenly outside, clad in his peacoat as the winter winds battered him and ruffled his silver waves. His belongings were tucked into a cardboard box. He cared nothing for the small, tender potted fern that once graced his desk, unconcerned that the weather might harm it.
~0~
Lorna tried to follow him, barely dodging an ice slick as she tottered on her spindly high heels.
“’Tro!” she called. “Please! Stop! Listen to me, ‘Tro!” He was deaf to her pleas.
She was weak. Weak and helpless, and it burned him. Nauseated him, that he once found her desirable, and that she’d taken her down with him.
“I’m not in the mood, Lorna, and I think you know why.” His voice was dry and crisp.
“Pietro, wait,” she panted, finally catching up to him as they entered the parking garage. She was breathless from trying to keep up with his long strides. Pietro marched along, tight-lipped and sober. His silver eyes were miles away, and he white-knuckled the box.
“I’m going home,” he announced simply. “Good night, Lorna.”
“PIETRO, will you just wait?? Talk to me! You can’t believe what they said in there!”
“The part where they gave us the bum’s rush and threw us out into the street? Oh, I believe that pretty easily.”
“You know what I’m talking about. I never stole intellectual property ““
“It’s over, Lorna. Don’t make excuses to me, I don’t want to hear it.”
“Are you kidding?” She stopped trying to catch up to him and settled for raising her voice. “I helped you get where you are! I didn’t even take the referral credit bonus for letting you know about that opening!”
“It wasn’t even an opening until I came along. You forget yourself. Don’t twist this around to absolve yourself in what happened,” he tossed over his shoulder without looking back. Accepting accountability wasn’t in Pietro’s lexicon.
“I can’t fucking BELIEVE you!” she shrieked. Pietro ducked when he felt as well as heard a whistling sound behind him, just shy of his shoulder.
A small geranium in a terra cotta pot crashed just shy of hitting his Stacy Adams shoes. He spun on her; his face was dark and stony.
“How dare you,” he grated through his teeth, then roared, “you dare, after what happened today, you FUCKING BITCH!” The rest of his belongings were abandoned, tossed to the ground with a thump. Myriad papers, pens and knick-knacks scattered across the concrete. “This is YOUR FAULT! You were too damned sloppy and careless! No one had to KNOW! Nobody had to fucking know! We could have had it all,” Pietro accused. A fleck of spittle flew off his lower lip. Lorna quavered and winced with each shouted word, and she edged away from him when she saw the bulging whites of his eyes.
His hands were clamped around her upper arms, and she sobbed “Don’t do this! I-I’m warning you, Pietro…” The parking garage was nearly empty, and the booth’s attendant was over a hundred yards away on the other side of the gate.
“Warning me about what, Lorna? Huh?” he shrugged. His face was a parody of calm as he shook her with a harsh jolt. Her slender hands were ineffective as a barrier when he was right up in her face. He released her arm only long enough to practically jab his finger into her teeth. “You’ve already fucked up my life! Call the guard! There’s nothing else you can do to me to make this day any worse!”
“Send my things over when you get home,” she hissed, still struggling to get free until he relieved her of the chore. He shoved her, nearly tripping her as she stumbled on her heels. The flap of her plum-colored trench coat flapped in the breeze. Unshed tears lingered in her blue eyes, and her jaw was set.
“Fuck yourself. Come and get them,” he muttered. He turned his back on her against better judgment. He didn’t know if she had any other potted plants or something sturdier in her arsenal to hit him with. Not that he cared. He could put the fear of God “ and him “ into her before the guard could even arrive.
Rage throttled him as he climbed into his battleship-gray Benz and smoothly steered it through the lot. His features were eerily calm. To the casual observer, he was a young, well-to-do bachelor retiring from a hard day’s work to have a leisurely dinner at The Dome.
When he finally returned home with a bottle of red wine, Lorna was waiting at his front door.
“It’s about time,” she sneered. “I waited for you to get here so I can get my things. Nice of you to finally show up.” Her mouth was mulish, and she never looked more unattractive to him, despite the effort she took with her appearance. She wore snug jeans and a forest green cable-knit sweater beneath her heavy, black leather coat that was belted at the waist. Her tear-tracked cheeks were gone; she wore the kind of simple, tasteful makeup he admired on her, and her hair was gently pulled back with a clip.
He shrugged for the second time that night, infuriating her. He tossed his keys up in the air and caught them several times on his way to the front door, never breaking his rhythm.
“You want to come inside, then hurry up and come inside,” he sniffed. He took up as much physical space as he could, nudging her out of the way on purpose as he shouldered his way toward the front door. She tsked in disgust.
“Don’t touch me,” she snapped.
“Then get out of the way, unless it’s too hard?”
“You’re a bastard. I just want my stuff.”
“Don’t take any of mine, bitch!” he sneered.
“I don’t want anything from you anymore, Pietro.” No more pet names. Her voice was thoroughly irritated. She peered around his apartment as she usually did, staring at its Spartan neatness. Everything had a brand name or expensive label. She knew nothing of hers was in the living room, so she headed straight to the bedroom without unfastening her coat.
He watched the proud, stiff line of her back as she retreated from him. Pietro set down the bottle of wine and took off his own coat, uncharacteristically tossing it on the couch.
He lingered in the doorframe, watching her with great interest. She didn’t turn at the sound of his shoes clacking against the hardwood floor.
“You shouldn’t be acting like an asshole to me, you know it, and I won’t stand for it anymore.” She yanked open the top drawer and extracted the two lace-trimmed bras she kept there “just in case.” She sifted through an ornate silver accessory tray on his bureau and found a fine gold chain with a heart-shaped pendant he gave her. He shoved himself out of the doorway and approached quickly.
“Don’t. You’re not keeping that.”
“Why? Plan to give you’re next girlfriend used jewelry?”
“There’s no such thing as used jewelry, only used women,” he countered.
“Ohhhhhh, there you go!” she barked, throwing up her hands. She didn’t let go of the pendant. “It’s mine. You gave it to me as a gift.”
“You aren’t taking anything from me unless I say so,” he purred. Lorna was medium height and had a slender, delicate build.
“I’m taking back what’s mine,” she informed him, but her voice lost some of its confidence as he closed in on her.
“Don’t be so sure, baby.” His tone was mocking, and the use of his usual pet name made her shiver uncomfortably, despite the warmth of the room.
“Fine!” She threw the necklace across the floor. “Take it! Get away from me!” She lost interest in her belongings except for her underwear, which she folded and tucked into her jacket pocket.
“Pick. That. Up.”
“Go to hell.”
“You didn’t hear me.”
Before she could skirt around him, he shoved her squarely back against the bureau, so hard her teeth rattled and she bit her tongue.
“Aaagh! ASSHOLE!” she shrieked.
“You came over here, into MY place and you’ll do as I SAY, Lorna!”
“Why are you doing this to me? Don’t you think this affects me, too? I almost threw up in that board room when they canned me! Don’t you think I’m petrified? Do you think I like them investigating my life? How will it look to a company when they hear how I lost my job?” Her lip quivered. This time, she allowed the tears to fall, to sway him.
He studied her too intently, for one long, tense moment. The gleam in his eye returned and made her uneasy.
He shoved himself forward, leaning forward on the balls of his feet and pinning her with his torso. “TRO! LET ME GO!”
“You don’t want me to,” he argued. “That’s not why you came, Lorna, admit it.”
“I MEAN IT!”
“You never mean it. You want it, because you’re my little whore, Lorna. You sleep your way to the top!”
“FUCK YOU!” she spat. “Look who’s talking,” she crowed humorlessly as she smacked him in the chest. “Get your hands off of me.”
“When I’m good and ready.” His hands handled her roughly, clawing at her belt.
“NO!” she cried. Rage colored her face crimson.
In a flash, she was attractive to him again. Enraged. Helpless. Defiant. He was flushed and tingling with a sense of power.
“I know what you really want, Lorna! Don’t lie to me, I know why you came here!” His handsome features were twisted into a hideous leer. His hot breath burned her and made her skin crawl. “One for the road?”
“You can’t,” she insisted weakly as they continued to struggle.
He was less amused now. “Shut up!” Whap! Her head reeled as pain exploded across her jaw. Cold fear rose up in her chest as he dragged and shoved her toward the immaculate bed dressed in rich, sage green linens. The color of money.
She screamed as he yanked off her boot while she tried to kick him. Her hamstrings stung as he nearly pulled the leg from its socket in his zeal, determined to dominate her.
“No,” she cried, chanting it as he shucked her coat, flipping her onto her stomach. Cool air bathed her legs as her jeans were peeled from her body and thrown in a heap.
This can’t be happening! His face was hard and driven; everything about him was stiff and unrelenting. He loomed over her like Goliath.
“Let me out of here,” she intoned. Rage and terror mingled in her eyes.
“Not until I throw you out. And not til I’m finished,” he mused. He roughly cupped her face, squeezing it til her cheeks swelled below her eyes. “You liked it when I made you beg. ‘Oh, God, ‘Tro, please, please!’” he mimicked in a falsetto.
He shoved her by the face back against the mattress. She made one last ditch attempt to rise, to fight and was struck again for her efforts.
“Whose fault is it now?” he muttered as he flipped her back onto her belly, pried her thighs apart and breached her. His fist was tangled in her green waves of hair as he rutted and slammed into her.
There. There. There. Take it. Just shut up and take it… Her sobs, muffled by the comforter, only made him pound into her harder, faster.
“Whose fault is it now?” he repeated hollowly.
~0~
“Logan,” Ororo repeated. “Come back to me.” His eyes watched her in wonder. She wasn’t thoroughly calm, her heartbeat told him what he needed to know.
How long would he stay like this?
The crouching position was beginning to cramp her legs. She rose.
Logan growled in protest. She’s leaving!
“Shhhh,” she murmured. “Hush, it’s all right, Logan, don’t worry.” He shook off the thrall they shared and leapt to his feet. He was nimble despite his bulk. Then she noticed how gingerly he moved.
“You’re bleeding. Oh, sweetie, you’re bleeding!” Rivulets of crimson trickled through his fur, matting it in sticky patches. He made the lupine equivalent of a grunt. She shook her head in defeat. “Just like a man. Stay,” she commanded as she backed her way to the door.
“Rrrrrrrrr! Rrrro! No,” he rumbled petulantly.
“I’ll be a moment,” she promised, but she froze as his whole body went on alert.
Someone’s outside.
Logan’s awareness of his home broadened to the perimeter heaving out roughly one hundred yards. His snout creased and he bared his teeth. A growl of warning escaped him, low and guttural, making her hair stand on end.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Ororo cringed as she leaned against the wall.
Human. Male. His eyes narrowed. Rival.
The Beast licked its chops, and Logan once more fell under its spell.
Enemy!
Logan tipped back his head and emitted a bloodcurdling howl, nearly deafening her.
“Logan! LOGAN!” Fury wracked him and he snarled at her, making it impossible to guess intent. She thought he trusted her.
He continued to growl, weaving and circling her. “What’s wrong with you?”
Protect what’s yours.
He detected footsteps cracking through the leaves and crusty snow. He smelled nicotine, stale coffee and metal. Gunpowder.
Motherfucker…
Logan seized Ororo and pinned her against him, clutching her head to his throat. She felt his heart hammering in triplicate. She was dizzy with fear and the waves of tension pouring from him.
“Logan “ OW!” He barreled her over roughly to the floor, flattening her.
Ugly yellow light shone inside his kitchen window. All Ororo heard was Logan’s panting breath and the ticking of the clock.
Mine.
Logan let her go and crouched, sniffing the air and pricking up his ears. He saw her watching him and flattened his ears.
“Okay, that’s bad,” she whimpered, and Ororo bowed her face to the floor, edging further beneath the table.
That’s where he wanted her. Out of sight.
Logan disregarded the glass embedding itself in his thickly padded soles and hunkered outside.
He crept through the shadows. Darkness loved him, revealing nothing but his eyes. There. He saw a rustling in the trees.
He moved like quicksilver. No one threatened his mate. And this prey smelled familiar.
The wind ruffled his fur and took his musky scent downwind. He felt the shift in the man’s stance and saw the rangy silhouette of his body as he stalked the cabin.
He heard him humming an older song that used to annoy him whenever Carol played her old cassettes:
“I used ta love her
But I had ta kill her
Had to put her
Six feet under
Now I won’t hear her complaaaainnn…”
His voice was uneven but lusty as he tramped through the brush. He was confident in the outcome of his trespass in the Beast’s den. He didn’t cover his scent of his tracks.
Now.
Logan crouched and sprang through the air in a fluid arc of sinew and rippling limbs. His stalker watched transfixed as the courier of his doom bade him goodnight.
“Holy shit!” His voice was choked as he scrambled back, gripping his rifle. His hands shook as he tried to set his site on it and get a clear shot.
He hunted from time to time. Wolves weren’t common to this part of the state. And it was too big to be a wolf…
The beast snarled and pounced on him as through trapping small game.
His claws sliced through the air and ripped through the downy layers of his shabby winter jacket. He dropped the flashlight, only after he saw demonic yellow eyes staring back at him. Never look into the animal’s eyes. Don’t provoke him.
His light rolled, letting yellow radiance bounce off the trees and brush. He gripped the stock of his rifle in trembling hands.
It roared. The thing roared and towered over him, triumphant in its advantage as it swiped at him again. His cap flew off as he edged back on his haunches. Cold snow seeped through his pants. He might as well have pissed himself…
~0~
God help me. Logan. He’s gone… Ororo attempted to collect herself and crawled toward the phone. She had to call anyone. The police…wait. Wait.
What would she do about Logan?
“Dear Lord, what’ll I even tell them?” She remembered the night on the beach. Eyes and teeth gleaming in the moonlight. Bolting through the sand as her feet sank into the cool, rough grains, slowing her.
They’d never believe her if she called “wolf” twice. But he was hurt.
At the end of the day, he was Logan. She had to help him, and he ran off.
She dialed the phone with shaking fingers.
~0~
Logan growled and barked, toying with the intruder and feeding his own anger. He smelled…tasted his blood. It called to him. His slavering muzzle quavered with anticipation and need.
“Logan?”
No!
He turned toward the low, plaintive cry.
He smelled her, then saw her in the doorway. The moonlight fell upon her hair as she clutched her sweater around her body. “Come back. You’re scaring me, baby…Logan!”
She called that thing baby.
The stalker took that chance and cocked his gun, aiming for the porch. “If I can’t have you,” he hissed…
BAM!
The gunshot echoed through the wilderness. Ororo screamed and fell, stumbling on the porch steps.
Time froze.
“NOOOOOOOOOOO…oowOOOOOOOO!” The Beast’s rage filled the gloom of the surrounding woods.
The thing spoke.
“Sonofabitch!” the stalker muttered incredulously. He didn’t care. It was an abomination, and it had to be dealt with.
Orange bursts exploded from the barrel as he fired another round. Agony lanced through Logan as it breached his flesh, slicing through muscle and bone.
He collapsed into the snow, staining it red. All he could think about through his haze of pain was Ororo, and his wretched failure to protect her. Protect his mate.
The man staggered to the porch, victorious and bursting with power.
“You didn’t understand,” he reasoned aloud. “You ran. Why? You didn’t have to be afraid. I’m here. I’ve always been with you. My Zoe,” he crooned. He never let go of the rifle. Behind him, the creature struggled in the snow.
She lay petrified, yet unmarked. He bent, kneeling beside her. His rough, burly hand scraped back her hair from her face. She had a wicked scratch across her cheek that wept blood.
He loved the sight, watching hat beautiful face bleed. She trembled from the cold and his scrutiny, and he grew rock hard.
“I came for you. I’ll always come for you.”
“What have you done? Oh, God!” she sobbed brokenly. “Oh, God! Logan, Logan,” she chanted. She stretched out her hand toward the creature writhing on the ground.
The placid look of joy on the stranger’s face fell, then dissolved into rage. “Bitch,” he announced. “I came all this way?” WHAM He struck her with the stock of his rifle.
That was all it took. Unholy strength flooded Logan’s limbs as he sprang to his feet. The stranger was so intent on striking Ororo again, watching blood stain her teeth vermillion and marveling at the sight that he never heard rushing feet.
The wind was knocked from his lungs as Logan pounced on his back. He growled and pinned him, face to the porch boards. Splinters cut his cheek, bringing that addictive scent of his blood to Logan’s nostrils. Logan’s jaws opened and he clamped his teeth around the back of his neck, worrying it with all his strength!
“DON’T! PLEASE!” All Ororo saw was her lover losing control. He was killing him.
Her voice penetrated the bloodlust. Ororo. He sank his claws into his back, feeling the coat rend and tear.
“I know you’re in there,” she sobbed. “You can’t kill him. You can’t live with yourself, Logan. I know you can’t… I’m all right. See? I’m all right.”
He reeled in confusion. The Beast warned him to get on with it. She couldn’t believe that he’d show mercy? Let the bastard go free after trying to take her away from him?
“Please, Logan. Oh, please. I can’t watch you do this to yourself.” Her tears froze on her cheeks. He heard her gulping for breath.
The man lay still. Time stood still.
Logan backed off.
“Ro,” he murmured, in his own voice. He turned to her, heeding her. She transfixed him. He descended the short steps to meet her. Gently he touched the scratch on her cheek.
The man rose up behind him and bellowed, “This is how I deal with ungrateful, cheating whores, Zoe!” He raised his gun and charged toward them.
“LOGAANNN!”
BAM!
Birds chattered and screeched as they took wing from the trees.
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