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Ororo cursed under her breath as she peered back over her shoulder through her rear window. She hated parallel parking. Soooooo much.

She had a difficult time spinning the steering wheel while wearing her mittens, but her hands were freezing. By the time she’d left, Logan was long gone, off to his first day back at work. Bless his heart. Despite the leisurely two weeks he’d spent with her recuperating, he was about to gnaw his own foot off to escape the house.

Ororo, on the other hand, woke up exhausted and tangled up in empty sheets. Logan’s nocturnal routine was…taxing.

She hated Main Street during rush hour, but she promised to meet Jon at a time that was good for him, and that was the only time he had open. She narrowly missed stepping into a thick drift of snow on the crowded street as she hurried down the block.

Jonathan Silvercloud, Spiritual Healer He still had the same shingle. The office was nondescript from the street. She stamped her feet on the coarse brown welcome mat and hustled inside. The bell on the door jangled cheerfully and the warm air kissed her cheeks. His shop still smelled the same, rich with herbs and incense. Despite their history, Ororo still felt comfortable in his space.

He didn’t leave her waiting. “Hey.”

“Thank goodness you could see me,” she breathed in lieu of a hello. He came out from the back, carrying a small tray of essential oils, which he promptly set down as she rushed forward. His hug was warm; she nearly threw herself into his arms, causing him to grunt in surprise.

“When have I ever denied you anything?” he reminded her. She drew back, and the laughter in his black eyes faded to concern as he studied her. “You look beat.”

“I need your help.”

“Name it.”

“With a curse,” she blurted before he could offer to take her coat.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Wanna be more specific?”

“Forge,” she stammered, “I’m in love with a werewolf!”


~0~

Logan’s suit seemed to strangle him, and he fidgeted uncomfortably behind his desk while Clem chattered at him a mile a minute.

“Don’t forget, you have to fill out your benefits paperwork with HR after the meeting. All the forms are new, it’s not like when you enrolled the last time. All of the policy’s changed, and there’s new funding options for your 401K. You picked a great time to come back!” she enthused. Her cheeks were rosy with excitement, and Logan chuckled. “Welcome back, chief!”

“Yer a peach, Clem.”

“It hasn’t been the same without you,” she marveled, shaking her head. “You’ve been in this business a long time, Logan, and the company made a mistake letting someone go who knows it in and out. These young kids fresh out of college may bring in new ideas, but it’s not like having someone seasoned around to run things and tie up loose ends.”

“Yer scarin’ me, Clem,” he laughed.

“Speaking of loose ends, Jim,” she mentioned, “you have a meeting today with Mr. Lensherr.”

“The Dane account,” he sighed. Clem nodded with sympathy.

“They’re gonna work this to death,” she admitted. “Expect them to bend over and kiss your fanny before dumping the whole project back onto your desk.”

“Nice.”

“I’ll order in for lunch.” Neither of them was going anywhere, any time soon.

Clem hadn’t exaggerated. One meeting shifted into another, and he spent an hour returning emails and voice mails, greeting clients and letting Clem arrange his Outlook calendar until it was full of spaces with little bell icons, blinking back at him from the screen.

Nothing escaped him as he strode through the halls. He caught every whisper, jibe and aside since his arrival, and he knew it was inevitable, but he didn’t care.

“…wow.”

“…he looks good.”

“…lost weight, I think.”

“Hair plugs?”

“Was he working anywhere else?”

“…wonder if he drove a midlife crisis car in to work today?”

“…wonder whose ass he’s gonna kick for letting him go?”

The last gave him pause. He didn’t know yet, either.


~0~

Pietro munched on his BLT, carefully holding his small plate beneath it to catch the crumbs while he navigated the Web. Being at home, newly separated from his job, made him restless and irritable. He licked a dab of Dijon mustard from his thumb as he jumped to AlphLight’s corporate site to check his stock’s progress. Assholes, he thought bitterly.

Pietro scanned the index and the scrolling marquee listing the gains and losses of the day before he clicked the News link. The page gradually appeared, showing a photograph of Erik Lensherr, looking cocky and overstuffed. Pietro snorted as he read the headline.

“CEO Re-Appoints Director of Liabilities Division”

That caught his attention. He quickly scanned the article, interested in the fact that they rehired the one he replaced when he took the job with the company.

“AlphLight proudly welcomes James Howlett back to the fold after he accepted his retirement earlier this year, luring him back to a long, noteworthy career…” he read incredulously. “James, or ‘Logan’ to his friends, graduated with honors from…” His credentials became a blur as Pietro’s eyes flitted over the tiny photograph of Ororo’s new lover.

“Oh, no way. No fucking way,” he railed. His fist banged down on his desk.

The old sonofabitch took his job and his girl. Pietro stewed. He lost interest in his lunch while resentment chewed at him.


~0~

“What are these?”

“Tincture of wolfsbane. And these are silver-tipped,” Forge explained, nodding to the tiny objects in her hand that resembled darts.

“I don’t understand. Will these cure him?”

“No, sweetie. They’ll save your life.” His expression was grave, and her eyes grew wide.

“You don’t mean…Forge, tell me this won’t kill him!”

“Ororo, there’s not much else I can do. There’s not much in my references about lycanthropy that mentions cures ““

“Forge! Forget the damned books. Yours aren’t any more helpful than mine. You heal based on faith. You’re a shaman. I don’t want scientific explanations or doctor’s speak about why Logan gets up in the middle of the night and sleeps all morning the next day. I don’t want a logical reason why I walked into his kitchen and stared into these piercing, hungry yellow eyes that nearly made me pee my pants. And I don’t want you to sit here and tell me that I found the man that I love beyond reason “ this world’s reason or the next one’s “ only to be cursed to lose him! I need to help him!”

“Maybe you don’t,” he murmured candidly. She blinked.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Maybe this is how he’s meant to be. What’s Logan like, Ororo?”

“What’s he like? Shit,” she replied, shaking her head at him in confusion. “He’s…he’s just…Logan. He’s been through a lot,” she recanted. “He’s recently divorced, and his wife hurt him really, really badly. Shafted him, cheated on him.”

“Go on,” he encouraged, nodding.

“He just went back to work for his old job after they forced him into retirement.”

“Wow,” Forge replied sympathetically. “Poor bastard.”

“Forge!”

“I’m not throwing stones. I wouldn’t have been so nice about going back to them, so he’s a bigger man than me. Had it been me, I would’ve pissed over every square inch of my old office before they escorted me out the door.”

“Ew,” she huffed, wrinkling her nose, but it helped to break the dark and heavy mood. Forge gestured to her to drink her tea. She took a shallow sip, savoring the under notes of lemon grass and rose hips.

“What’s his personality like?”

“He’s…funny. Mellow and easygoing. Most of the time he’s patient, but there’s this…restrained restlessness about him. I can’t describe it, but it’s been there ever since we met.”

“Have you ever seen him angry?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“What about?”

“Pietro. Sorry, this guy I went out with a couple of times.”

“Ah,” he considered. “And?”

“Logan all but gave him the bum’s rush out the door.”

“He was at your house?” Forge carped. His arched, heavy brows drew together and he scratched himself behind his ear. “Why was he at your house, if you were already seeing Logan?”

“Bad timing. I didn’t want him there, he just showed up unannounced. Logan was pretty pissed.”

“So were you,” Forge reminded her.

“It’s not the same. You were cheating.”

“Logan thought you were, too, is my guess,” he shrugged, but there was a current of hurt in his voice. Ororo sighed.

“I didn’t cheat on him. That’s not how I’m built. If I felt like I needed to be with someone else, I wouldn’t stay with the person I already had. And if the person I was already with was the one, I wouldn’t even look at anyone else.” They shared a loaded stare over their teacups.

“I told you I was sorry.”

“I know.”

“I still am.”

“So am I. But I’ve moved on. And I’m happy…but scared stiff.”

“So he’s jealous. Has some anger issues with his ex. Had a lot going on at a job where they canned him. He’s had to swallow a lot of crow. Maybe he’s had enough. The wolf might be rearing its head out of his own anger, fighting for him when he can’t.”

“That’s…wow.”

“It’s just a thought. Also, just for shits and giggles, babe, has he ever mentioned being bitten?”

“Oh. No. Not really. He just has this weird…” Her voice drifted off as she visualized her lover, how he looked the night before when they retired to bed. She’d lain with him, leaning over him and staring into his face, savoring the details that endeared her so much. His chin, proud and sporting that wicked little cleft, bore a strange, ragged scar that stretched down toward his throat. The skin was clean, pink scar tissue that looked like it healed well from an old injury. “His chin and neck. He has a deep scar.”

“What does it look like?”

“In hindsight, Forge…now that I think about it, it looks like he was bitten.” A chill settled over her like a cloak.

~0~

13th Precinct Police Department, Gifford Street:

“I thought this was a closed case. Should’ve been when we finished searching Darkholme’s place. He was the killer.”

“I know that.”

“So what are we doing opening it back up?”

“Thought how he died was an accidental killing.”

“Shot his own head off with his own gun.”

“That doesn’t explain the marks around his neck that we found during the autopsy.”

“You mean on what was left of his neck.”

“They looked like teeth marks.”

“So maybe had a run-in with a watchdog on the property.”

“Already interviewed the owner of the property. He didn’t own a dog, back when we responded to the call.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It could. The bites happened the same night that the perp was shot.”

“Again, why are we looking into who wounded the killer, when he was a killer?”

“Because before that someone tried to kill him. And,” this was punctuated by a shuffling of papers as documents were removed from a manila folder. “That someone may have also done this guy.”

The photograph showed a morgue shot of the man who tried to mug Ororo. Time of death was listed after arrival to the emergency room. Patient died of blood loss from wounds in the neck. Coroners ruled it an animal attack, likely by a large dog.


~0~

Logan was already home when Ororo opened the door. The scent of steak and potatoes greeted her as she laid the day’s mail on the kitchen table and took off her gloves.

“Logan? Baby?” she called out. Giblet came running to greet her. The cat was slightly thicker around the middle; she “oophed” under her breath as she scooped her up and nuzzled her. Either she was adding to her winter coat to stay warm, or Logan was spoiling her. She could swear the cat had bacon on her breath…

“Where’s Daddy, baby?” she cooed. Giblet closed her eyes in contentment, stealing Ororo’s breath as she bumped her nose against hers. She mewed plaintively when Ororo dropped her on the couch to search for her man.

It was early. Logan was already tucked beneath the covers. She stifled disappointment.

“C’mon, baby, I wanted to hear about your day,” she urged softly. Ororo sat on the edge of the bed and eased herself against him, tucking her chin into the nook between his shoulder and neck. She kissed his cheek hopefully, but he was knocked out.

“Thanks for dinner,” she whispered. She stroked his jaw, and he leaned into her touch. He still wouldn’t wake up. She sighed and rose, deciding Giblet would keep her company.

She tucked into the potatoes immediately but threw one of the steaks back into the skillet for a few minutes, both to warm it and to bring it a couple of shades closer to medium well. Logan liked his steak to still moo.

While Ororo consoled herself with the evening news, Logan moaned in his sleep.

The snow chafed the pads of his paws, grown leathery from rough terrain as he tested the wind. There. Downwind. A sweet pheasant. Able-bodied, young enough to be tender. He licked his chops and trotted where his nose led him. He hunched in the bushes, watching. Waiting.

He had to be silent. He slowed his movements, still addicted to that heady scent.

Snow dripped off the branches, freeing their black twigs from its oppressive weight. He listened to the its smooth slaps hitting the ground. The earth was warming herself, slowly awakening from her gloomy sleep.

The pheasant finally reared her head, emerging from the sodden brush. She bobbed her elegant crest to glean tidbits. He continued to lick his muzzle in anticipation. He, too, would feast soon.

That was when he caught the stench of another. Predator. Capable and able-bodied. A male. He smothered the snarl that rose up in his throat, knowing he had to remain silent, yet quick. It was his prey. The pheasant chirruped and cooed, a low sound that beckoned to him, and, he knew, summoned his rival.

Eyes. Silver eyes and a gleaming, bristling white coat. He caught sight of him and slowly pulled his black-rimmed lips back from sharp, white teeth, flaring his nostrils. The pale beast glared back at him, laying back his ears and letting his heavy tail jerk back and forth in a rhythm meant to intimidate and proclaim dominance.

Mine. Are you strong enough? Quick enough?

Hunger drove him, flavored by rage.

Ororo finished her solitary meal and cleared her plate. Logan continued to fidget in the bed, fighting his way out of the covers as though they were choking him. She heard his faint thrash and crept toward the noise, deciding that booting up her hard drive to fiddle with another chapter could wait.

His brows were drawn together, and his breathing grew slightly uneven. “Baby?” Should she wake him?

He grew tired of waiting, and he pounced on light feet. The pheasant was pinned by his gaze and the low, hunkering sound of his throaty greeting. The bird ruffled its feathers and hopped, beginning the chase. His silver rival ended its slouch and leapt into the clearing after the pheasant, unphased by his earlier challenge. They weren’t members of the same pack. Their goal was common, but they didn’t share it any more than the prey: Hunt. Eat. Savor.

He tore after her, exhilarated by the flush of cold air into his lungs and the wind strengthening around him, stoking his hunger. The silver wolf quickened his pace behind him, hot on his heels; he could nearly feel his hot breath steaming his tail, but he didn’t care. The bird was his; she hopped and rustled her wings. Her feathers were sleek, sable brown mottled with white, thick with her winter coat. She gathered herself and initiated flight, fighting to warm and prime her limbs and wings. She dodged his maw narrowly and hopped, tripped, leapt up from the slushy snow.

Her flight was frantic and uneven, never reaching much of an altitude. The wolves watched her, fascinated even as they still ran. The trees were woven tightly together, seeming to close in on the woods’ inhabitants. She searched for her nest but found none. She ventured too far.

He seized his opportunity and sprang, defying the ground beneath him, and clamped his jaws around his prize.

A staccato bark behind him, rough as sandpaper, signaled that his struggle wasn’t over. She squirmed in his maw and squawked, almost resembling a shriek of outrage. How dare he. How DARE he. Her talons clipped his muzzle, but not deeply enough to draw blood. He broadened himself, attempting by instinct to block the other wolf’s access to the pheasant, fiercely hoarding her for himself.

His rival wasn’t to be outdone, yipping and huffing until he found his real voice. He snarled and barked, sending smaller birds twittering from the trees.

She was succulent already as he sampled her, worrying her in his teeth. Her feathers teased his tongues, and he felt her pulse. He couldn’t wait to taste her blood. The need sang through him keenly. He longed to drown out the silver wolf and focus on nothing but her sweetness.

The wolf pounced on him, thrusting his weight at his back. His torso seemed to snap beneath the impact, winding him. He fought to clamp the twittering, keening bird in his jaws, but she popped free, hopping toward safety in the brush.

Behind her the dynamic changed. The hunt became a standoff.

They rolled and scuffled, claws flicking out and teasing of the blood and scars to come.

Teeth flashed and bit. Their barking rose in a clamor, punctuated by guttural growls and snarls. They exchanged hot breath and spittle, eyes dilated and glaring. They circled one another and came together again and again.

The pheasant struggled to compose herself in the snow. Her throat was pierced and burning from her brush with death, and with dinner.

He reared up onto his hind legs and lashed out with his teeth, clipping his rival’s face before finally closing them over his muzzle. He shook it with a hard snap, nearly breaking the silver wolf’s neck. The wolf howled and whined in pain but continued to claw at him. He felt the scrape against his chest, and it burned abominably, but not enough to let go. He was past pain. He would fight for what was his, and he would take down the interloper who dared to size her up and covet her for himself.

Behind him the pheasant emitted coos of distress. Her voice grew weaker from depleted strength and her attempt at departing their hunting grounds. She hopped with less energy, flapping her wings.

The silver fox was longer, rangier and built for speed, but he was stronger, with a denser, heavier build. He thrust back at him, knocking him back into the snow. The silver wolf still snarled up at him defiantly, not finished.

Oh, yes, you are.

His bark of triumph was an ugly thing as he snapped his teeth around his throat and dug in, harder. Harder. Harder. Bitter, metallic blood greeted his tongue, staining his muzzle and fur in gruesome spatters. He didn’t let go until the pulse beneath his lips stilled. He let him go before his body could absorb the cold of the snow. Lifeless gray eyes stared up into the sky, rivaling its cloudy bleakness.

He licked his chops again, huffing over the taste of blood, and he turned his attention back to the pheasant.

She gave up her flight, and she hobbled more deeply into the brush. He paced and stalked her. It was only a matter of time. She turned back to him, incredibly, giving him a forlorn stare. He would honor her with a quick kill.

She squawked and several of her feathers were torn off as he finally had his way with her, tearing at her tender flesh…he felt her heart explode and cease its hectic beat.

He reeled, suddenly dizzy, and she once again fell from his maw.

He lay groaning on the ground, limbs splayed in supplication to the sky.

He hurt. He shouldn’t; the hunger was gone.

He opened yellow eyes and blinked several times. He groaned aloud.

He sensed someone nearby. He rose up on two shaking legs and rubbed his eyes to clear them, feeling the rasp of fur against his brow. He smelled cooling blood on the ground.

She lay on the ground, blood leaking in runnels down her throat and breast, staining her white hair. Her cerulean blue eyes lost their light and stared up at him as he ran horrified to her side. Nausea and panic seized him, he staggered back at the sight of her broken form. Her arms fell open, hands outstretched the way she would greet a lover. He shook his head, denying what he had done.

He howled loud and long as he fell to his knees by her side. He tenderly collected her into his arms, pleading with her. He suddenly felt the cold. The sky darkened above him from gray to obsidian. Starless, but the moon mocked him, large, full and pearly white.

She slipped from his embrace. The snow around him turned blood-red.

He was falling.

Ororo jumped back with a fright as Logan screamed. His voice was harsh and desperate. He didn’t see her. He cried out until his throat burned. She reached for him in his agony and struggled to pull away his hands; they fisted in his hair, attempting to tear it out in clumps. She then dodged his flailing limbs.

He was nearly frothing at the mouth.

“NOOO! NO! Don’t! Don’t! I won’t, goddamit, I WON’T!” he cried. “No, God, I WON’T! HELP ME!”

“LOGAN!” She was petrified. His eyes were staring sightlessly around the room as he tried to process where he was. His breathing was choppy; she heard him heaving for air. His broad shoulders were rounded and he shook, hands seeming to reach around him.

“Don’t take her away from me,” he wept. Tears rolled from his eyes and dripped down the bridge of his nose while he bowed his head into shaking hands.

“Oh, baby! C’mere! I’m here!” she begged. He finally heard her through his fugue. Haunted and disbelieving eyes held her there, tugging at her heart. Euphoria that he was all right, for the moment, made her eyes prick and chills run down her back. She once again reached for him, and he collapsed into her arms. He clawed at her back as he immersed himself in her scent and warmth, clinging as closely as he could to her heartbeat.

Soft shushing sounds and soothing words crept from her lips when they weren’t brushing his hair and brow. She rocked him and offered him solace, afraid for him. He continued to shake in her arms, and his skin was ice-cold.

“You’re scaring me,” she whispered. “Please, Logan, come back to me.”

Come back to me.

“I won’t…hurt you,” he insisted raggedly. “I would die…before I hurt you.”

“You’ve never hurt me.”

“My God,” he rasped. “Oh, my God. I can’t hurt you. So hard…can’t control my fucking self when it hits me. Hunger. Pain. I fall away, and it just swallows me up, darlin’. Never remember what happens the next friggin’ day. Except for this time. Whatever it is, it ain’t gonna quit until it comes ta get me.” More tears streaked down his cheeks, turning his skin blotchy and red. Her palm was smooth and gentle as she wiped them away. “We can’t do this. It ain’t safe for ya ta be with me.” She froze and tightened her embrace.

“Logan, please don’t say that.”

“It’s true. Ya gotta listen ta me, darlin’.” He slowly eased himself from her arms and caught her hands, holding them tightly. “I can’t predict when this is gonna happen. The moon makes it worse. I ain’t the same man when it happens. I ain’t a man.” His emphasis on the last word made her tremble.

“Yes, you are. Listen to me. No, listen to me!” she cried. Her jaw was set and her blue eyes pierced him. “You’ve been fighting it. You’re a good man, and a strong man, and this…animal, or wolf that you become…it’s part of you. It doesn’t control you. Even when you changed, I knew you were there. You recognized me, and you didn’t hurt me.”

“Ya were afraid of me,” he argued.

“Logan, I was afraid FOR you.”





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