The swab stung as the young nurse daubed it over his wounds. Her face was sympathetic and she clucked her tongue, appalled at the depth of the punctures.
They’d leave scars. Such a shame to ruin a pretty face like that…
He winced beneath her touch, closing his eyes to avoid staring into her face. She was plain and forgettable, really. Not the type to merit a second look.
She was joined shortly by his doctor, a graying man in his fifties in blue scrubs.
“The X-rays look great. No fractures, just the punctures. We’re giving you a rabies shot just as a precaution.”
“They don’t tickle,” his nurse warned. Pietro shrugged.
“Can’t be any worse than this.” But he stewed in his own angry thoughts.
*
Three quarter gibbous moon, waxing…
Ororo contemplated the dark clouds framing it in the sky, remembering what she learned in high school earth science. It always puzzled her that a new moon described when there was none. Her cup of cocoa was stone cold; she lost interest in it and dumped it in the sink.
He’d made a habit of slipping out after she fell asleep. His warm, sturdy body beneath her cheek had a sedative effect on her limbs every night. Attempts at lying awake talking were short-lived; the last thing she usually felt was his soft kiss on her brow before he turned them, spooning her.
Each time she awoke in the wee hours, his side of the bed was cold and empty, and everything in her bedroom looked too large and imposing in the dark.
So every night, she would fix herself a hot drink. Read by lamplight, or write by firelight. The clock mocked her. She prayed. Giblet kept her vigil beside her, crawling up from Ororo’s lap to drape herself around her neck like a shawl. Her purr was hypnotic and seemed to speak to her.
Trust him. We love him. He’ll be back. Giblet’s tongue felt raspy and warm at Ororo’s cheek.
“Can I help it if I’m scared?” she said aloud.
Sleep threatened, but the clock only read three-thirty. She had to stay awake. Something was compelling her, nagging her.
She had to see.
She loved him, but this part of his life was hidden from her, buried down deep. Logan was working shorter days, traveling less and driving his assistant, Clementine, into fits with this constant need to reschedule his morning meetings. Trying to plan outings with him was becoming more of a challenge for Ororo; it was like May marrying December. How could they meet in the middle?
She didn’t remember when she dozed off. The fire dwindled down to its last embers. Something made her stir; Giblet flinched before struggling loose and padding to the doorway of Ororo’s living room.
Ororo’s blue eyes slowly drifted open, then widened in shock.
Giblet’s back was arched, hairs standing on end, and her tail was stiff as a board. Her hiss of warning was staccato and throaty, warping into a low growl.
“Kitty, what…?” Ororo’s voice died as an answering growl, lower and more menacing, sent the cat streaking away.
He was home.
He was…different.
“Logan?” she whispered.
He swam into her line of vision and merely watched her from the doorway. His eyes glowed a molten topaz, and his pupils were enlarged in the dark.
He bristled at the sight of the fire in the grate, but he focused again on the woman reclining on the couch. Her movements were hesitant and brief, eyes never leaving his as she closed her book and untangled herself from the throw blanket.
“You’re back,” she continued, keeping her voice low.
His gaze was disconcerting. He knew her, but he seemed wary.
It didn’t startle her that he was naked; his last change revealed that he was nearly immune to the cold.
He stalked the living room like some great beast, graceful and predatory, but he didn’t have that hungry look.
The hair coating his body was less dense than before, less like fur, but his brows were still heavy and beetled as he scowled at her.
“Rough night?” she whispered. He huffed, then yawned, revealing the snags of teeth that, again, weren’t as pronounced this time.
He wasn’t in the mood to talk. She sat up as he approached the couch and tried not to let him see her tremble. She gasped as he clamped her arm in his large fist and jerked her to her feet. She stumbled against his rangy, hard body and her heart pounded in her ears.
She was wrong; he was hungry.
His growls were low and thoughtful as he examined her by feel, by scent. His breath whistled out through his nose and tickled her, but she was too unnerved to laugh. She tried to stroke him and somehow calm him. Her fingers combed through the mat of hair on his chest, and she felt his heartbeat, resonant and quick.
He gripped her hand before she could explore him further and dragged it up to his mouth. He nipped it as if to chide her for taking liberties, then darted out his tongue, tracing the webbing between her fingers.
Her nipples hardened and ripened beneath her jersey knit nightgown. He wasn’t through tasting her, allowing her fingertips to graze him as he nuzzled the pulse in her wrist. The texture of his flesh was foreign; his skin was dense and taut. Stiff whiskers grew along the contours of his jaw and cheeks, throwing his features and chin into stark relief where they were exposed.
He stunned her, coiling her fall of hair around his fist and jerking her head back. “Oh!” Her throat was exposed; he smelled the pulse of her warm blood beneath her smooth flesh and it called to him.
His tongue rasped hot and wet against her as he traced each vein and curve. Only then did he allow her hands to roam over him, to caress him.
She knew it defied reason. She should be angry. She should tear him a new one for worrying her so much, so often, but relief overrode reason. He was there, real, tangible, needy, and hot, hungry for her. For her.
His guttural tone mingled with her sighs as he drew her back, nearly tripping her.
He was dragging her from the room. His steps were urgent, his manner no-nonsense as he eventually scooped her into her arms and carried her to her bedroom.
There was no fire. There was no moon. Ororo could barely see her hand in front of her face, but his eyes…oh, his eyes. She felt those hands thrusting her back onto the bed. He lunged against her, hot breath steaming her face as he covered her. She bucked and arched beneath him, wanting to get closer. She wanted to drown in him.
Logan wanted to sink into her like a tranquil pool, to let her swallow him up. She was his mate. She was his love. The Beast in him couldn’t quantify or define such a thing beyond physical needs, but there was no driving it out.
She fed something restless inside him and calmed him. Her voice and touch completed him.
But she was wearing that bothersome garment. It obscured her and tangled around her, making it difficult to savor her.
He thrust against her, snuffling and growling. She tried to meet him and strike up a rhythm, but he wouldn’t have it. He snarled.
“Easy!” she yelped. He bared his teeth. “Okay…it’s okay, sweetie, it’s…oh…okay,” and her voice died.
RIIIIIIPPPP…
“Right. I didn’t need that old thing, anyway…” she insisted. Never mind that she’d bought it with Ali only a week ago. Then his body pinned her against the mattress with no barriers between her soft, smooth curves and his knotted muscle. The hair tickled her skin and left her oversensitized and aroused as he moved against her. She tried to caress him and hold him close.
“No,” he huffed. She frowned.
“You can talk.”
“No,” he rumbled. She didn’t understand him until he bared his teeth again. His growl was low and continuous, wavering in pitch. Her heart hammered as his clawed finger pressed against her lips, silencing her. “Don’t. Talk.”
“Mmmrrmph?”
What he meant was “Don’t move.”
He wrested one of her hands back, then up, followed by the other, pressing them into the pillow beneath her head. He inhaled her heady, ripe scent. His eyes hypnotized her, wooed her. Devoured her. Like prey.
He steamed her throat, tasting her pulse again, but he took his time and wandered. His tongue flicked out and lapped up her flavors and textures. Ororo’s body demanded more of it. Her womb contracted with need. Slick heat gathered in her sex with each stroke of his tongue and nip of his jagged teeth. Logan latched onto her earlobe and suckled it.
“Ahh-ah-haaaaa!” she cried. He grunted a warning for her not to distract him, but it was futile.
The Beast was satisfied. She was a strong, healthy female and ripe for a thorough mating. She smelled right. She tasted succulent. She was ready for him…
Please. I love her.
Can’t hurt her.
The Beast sighed.
I won’t. He watched her features contort in the dark with the sensations she was feeling and felt triumphant. I never could. The Beast felt his host’s relief and shook his head. His fears were beginning to annoy him.
But back to matters at hand.
Tasting her. Slowly.
She shivered, then writhed under him, couching the throbbing flesh between his legs. Was he licking her? Was he kissing her? Did it matter? That voice in the back of her head gave up all sense and shrugged, Who the hell cares? His breath misted over her features. Despite his earlier overtures, he was tender now, cradling her face when he nuzzled the corner of her slack mouth. He moved against her, wanting to share his need with her.
When he eyes drifted shut in pleasure, he descended and let her hands slip free. She moaned in complaint as he exposed her and took away his decadently hairy body.
“Oh, God, Logan!” she husked as he bowed his head to her breast. He suckled her, and Logan’s lupine voice vibrated through her flesh.
“’Ro,” he seemed to whisper. His voice was muffled.
“Mmmmm…”
He was toying with her. Each protest she made was met with an impatient growl, and each time her voice died, then rose, as he dominated more of her body. Words were useless to Ororo, for perhaps the only time in her life.
Every one of Ororo’s nerve endings burned for him. Logan nipped a path down her narrow ribs, making her flinch and whimper until he lapped the shallow recess of her navel.
“Please…”
His eyes mocked her impatience and reminded her she wasn’t in control. He drew in her scent slowly, deeply as he urged her thighs apart. Ororo felt Logan’s palm rasp over her belly, down, over her sex.
Surely, he…?
“Oh. Oh. My. Goodness…”
Logan was very, very greedy. Her flavors were musky, heady and addictive. He lapped at her as though he’d never get enough while she arched and cried out. He saturated himself in her pheromones and arousal, in her wetness. He marked her. She branded him with her passion.
Ororo’s thighs stiffened and spasmed around his shoulders. Pleasure coursed through her belly, straight into her core, and she felt the beginnings of an orgasm pushing her over the edge. She watched the bob and dip of his shaggy head, rapt.
He hadn’t meant to scare her. He displayed for her.
“Yes,” she breathed. He paused, eyeing her over the crest of her pubis, between the hills of her breasts.
Submit, the Beast rumbled inside him.
It wasn’t a command to Logan. It was a command to Ororo, silent but easily understood as Logan gave her clitoris one final lick and drew back.
“Wait…no, Logan, don’t go, don’t…oh!” Casually he grabbed her ankle and neatly flipped her onto her stomach.
“Now,” he promised as he dragged her down toward the foot of the bed, making her belly and knees feel rug-burned. He jerked her hips up, forcing her to support herself on her elbows.
The sight of her sex raised up to him, still slick and ripe from his efforts enticed him. His member was turgid and thick, and Logan wasted no more time. He breached her in one hard, quick thrust. Her heart stopped; Ororo could have sworn it.
Then her eyes rolled back in pleasure as he stretched her, filling her. He began to rut in long, hard strokes, making the tips of her breasts bounce and tingle. Ororo moaned loudly for him, and it excited him even more. She felt him. She needed him.
Logan was her mate, indelibly and soul-deep. It was heady, exulting him and giving him a powerful rush. He huffed and grunted his fulfillment, gripping her hips more tightly as he moved within her faster, harder.
“Fuck,” she whimpered into the pillow. “S’good. So good…” She didn’t try to speak again.
His climax throbbed closer and closer, creeping up the base of his spine. Logan grimaced as her warm, snug tissues squeezed around him.
“Nnnnggh…” Logan’s voice was tortured and desperate. “Love…you.”
Her own voice was an untelligible sob.
“Love you, ‘Ro!” Her eyes snapped open; his thrusts were jerky and short, less regular, and she felt his cock throb and bunch inside her. He looped one brawny arm around her waist and hauled her up, covering her back with his chest.
“I love you!” she cried.
“Don’t leave me! Swear you won’t leave me!” The man inside him awoke with her name on his lips. The Beast was caught up in the grip of his climax, and of feeling so complete.
“Never!”
“Ro…I’m sorry…” She wanted to tell him not to be silly; he couldn’t help how he felt, how caught up he was in what they shared.
“Don’t be…aaaahhhh!”
She heard the low crunch of her flesh as his teeth punctured her neck and his groan full of regret. Her body was already defying her commands, completely driven by his will, and she climaxed as he found his own peak.
Logan withdrew his mouth and roared in denial. “No! NOOOOO!” His body continued to spasm as he filled her with his essence, and hers stained his lips. His embrace was crushing; Ororo flung her head back, letting her spill of white hair tumble down over his shoulder. She was bewildered and breathless.
He disengaged himself and caught her before she could tumble back to the mattress.
“Ro!” he pleaded, “oh, no. No.”
“Baby?” she murmured. “Why…did’jou jus’ bite…me?” Her limbs went slack and limp, and she crumpled like a rag doll. “Ow…” she muttered.
“I didn’t mean it,” he insisted as he turned her and laid her on her back as gently as he could. He hovered over her. Dawn began to break through, casting eerie light over the objects in the room and over her supine form. “God, baby, I didn’t mean it.”
“Know…you didn’t,” she winced, probing the wound in her neck with shaking fingers.
“Don’t be scared, darlin’, okay? Please, baby? I’ll take care of it, I’ll take care of ya!”
“Know you will,” she slurred. Much like any other time they’d made love, Ororo’s orgasms were better than sleeping pills. She was caught up in a drowsy stupor. The bite broke the skin but missed the artery, barely bleeding, but the skin looked angry and raw. Her calm voice did nothing to soothe him.
She drifted off for a few moments despite the clatter in the bathroom. Logan yanked open the medicine cabinet and drawer and fished out bandages and antiseptic. He dashed a washcloth in cold water and hurried back.
“Ororo! Baby, let me look at that for a sec!” Logan was back in control and running on adrenaline. She blinked at the sudden glare from the bedside lamp.
“Mmmph…turn that out, sweetie. Come to bed.”
“Uh-uh.” He got to work, propping her on a little nest of pillows to get a better look. Logan tucked the covers around her in the meantime as he felt the chill returning to the room; he needed to bank the fire once he was finished in the bedroom, but he was loathe to leave.
She flinched beneath his touch as he probed and cleaned the wound, then relaxed as he laid the cool cloth over it. “I’ll be fine,” she assured him.
“Well, I sure as fuck won’t.” She opened sleepy blue eyes and laid her hand on his cheek.
She felt his regular hint of five o’clock shadow, but that was all. As the morning light started to filter through, he grew less feral and lost his nocturnal mask. Logan’s eyes were bloodshot but had reverted to their deep coffee brown.
“What’ve I done?” He caught her hand and held it to his lips, pressing kisses against her knuckles. She squeezed his fingers.
“Something you just couldn’t help. Something happened to you,” she wondered aloud. “You changed again.”
“What!”
“Not like before. Don’t worry. You were different. You, but…not you.”
“Shit.” He was sitting on the edge of the bed, barely leaning against her knee. She tugged his hand until he lowered himself to her. Ororo’s palms cupped his face and she stared lovingly into his eyes.
“You heard me talking to you.”
“Yeah. No. Kind of.”
“You were here with me. I could feel this weird struggle within you. It was like you were sleepwalking or in this weird trance. But…you were wild, Logan.”
“Pffft. That ain’t a comfort right now, baby.”
“Hush up, boy, I’m trying to explain something to you,” she muttered, tapping the tip of his nose. His eyes lowered themselves to the blankets over her chest. “No. Look at me.” His lips were pressed in a thin line.
“I’m an animal.”
“No. But there is something…maybe even someone inside you who is. Have you ever heard of totems? Or spirit animals?”
“What?”
“My ex always used to tell me about them. He said his was an eagle. Saw it flying in a vision he had one night. He says it watches over him and protects him. The animal inside you might be doing that.”
“How?” he insisted. “Getting me up in the middle of the freakin’ night, makin’ me run around in the dark, and howl at the moon? ‘Ro, I’m cursed, fer fuck’s sake?”
“Maybe you’re blessed,” she suggested. He shook his head and bowed his face into her hands. A hot tear slipped free and dripped over her thumb, and she wiped it away. “Can we talk about this when civilized people usually wake up? Sweetie, I’m beat.”
“I hurt you. What if it gets infected, or…”
“I’ll keep a compress on it. You had the right idea. But I’m really tired. Come to bed.”
“Aw, ‘Ro, c’mon!”
“No, you c’mon. In. Bed. Now.” Impatiently she opened the blankets and fluffed them at him, exposing her body. He looked conflicted, but he craved her softness. He shook his head.
“James Howlett,” she sighed wearily, “you’ve made your point. I love you, you love me, you didn’t mean it, I’m fine now, and it’s cold out there. You’re naked. I’m exhausted after waiting up all night for you, and I want some cuddle time with my man. Get. In. This. Bed.”
The Beast’s Mate had her say.
The Beast crawled humbly beneath the covers. He drew her to him and cradled her as though she were fragile.
*
They both woke a little before noon, tangled in the blankets. Outside, the snow and icicles began to crack and melt, plopping down from the eaves of Ororo’s roof. Part of her couldn’t wait for spring, but winter made her want to take shelter indoors. It helped that she had such ideal company.
She felt Logan’s eyes on her as she opened her own. “Hi.”
“Hey.” His fingers stroked back a lock of hair from her eyes and traced the curve of her cheek. “Baby, I just wanna tell ya again that I’m sorry.”
“Don’t ever worry, sweetie.”
“Ya know there ain’t much point in tellin’ me not to. Too damned late.” He yawned, and she kissed him before he could recover. “Mmmph! Mmmmm…” he murmured as she rolled him onto his back.
“I mean don’t ever worry about me leaving you.”
“Ororo.”
“I mean it. I love you.” He nodded.
“Good. I love you.”
“Good. Now feed me.” She gave him one last kiss and eased off of him, taking the comforter with her.
“Hey!” He sat up and scowled in protest. “Where ya goin’, darlin’?”
“Shower. I like my eggs scrambled dry.”
“Grrrrrrr,” he muttered before falling back into the pillows. His arms sprawled open and he sighed up to the ceiling.
*
“Nice.” He plucked the long, smooth cloth from the wastebasket while his companions dusted the scene in the parking garage.
“That was some sorry shit,” the guard informed him, still piqued as he gulped his coffee. “Plowed straight through the gate like he owed me rent. Sorry motherfucker. He had a nice ride, too.”
“I’d like to see the feed from the cameras in a sec, if ya don’t mind.”
“Hey, no problem, man. Be my guest.”
“I’ve got blood here. Pattern’s odd, though…not much of it. No one tracked their feet through it. It pooled up here,” the officer said as he pointed, “and here. Like it just ran off the victim onto the ground. Not the kinda splash ya get when someone’s stabbed or mauled. Or shot,” he added.
“Hmmmmm.” The sergeant tucked the necktie into a plastic specimen bag. “Test this at the lab.”
“It’s in good shape. And expensive.” He nodded at it. “Hermes. My wife loves that brand label shit. Wanted me to get her a scarf like it for Christmas.”
“Tell her to ask Santa.”
“We’ve got a broken gate, broken glass, signs of a scuffle, but no one’s filed a report of an attack.”
“Maybe the victim was taken away in the car.”
“Maybe there wasn’t a victim?” the sergeant suggested wryly. He unwrapped a cherry Lifesaver from the battered foil and popped it into his mouth. “Maybe they threw down. Someone was waiting for the guy in the car? Or vice versa?”
“Someone should’ve heard a scuffle.” They looked pointedly at the guard.
“Hey, don’t even go there, McGruff,” he balked, holding up his hands. “They’re all the say across the garage from the booth.”
“Cameras,” the sergeant reminded him smoothly.
“It’s a big garage,” he huffed.
“Yeah. Huge. We’ll watch that feed now. Then we’ll be in touch.”
*
Pietro watched the morning news with a half an ear as he got ready for his interview. He held half a bagel between his teeth as he stepped into his black leather loafers. The television droned over the hum of the microwave.
“…the parking garage downtown was reportedly the scene of an attack; the perpetrator is thought to have fled through the security gate and caused considerable damage. The parking garage adjoins the AlphLight Securities building. No bystanders were reported as having been injured or attacked, but local authorities are investigating this incident.”
He froze; the bite of bread in his mouth felt dry, and he washed it down with a swallow of orange juice.
Pietro collapsed back into the couch and let his head fall back against the cushion, closing his eyes.
That dried up fucker had gotten the drop on him. It was still a blur…
All he’d thought about was getting out of there.
Pietro broke out in a cold sweat and his stomach twisted in tension. He hyperventilated and bent forward, trying to breathe slowly into his cupped palms.
“Get it together,” he muttered aloud. He sprang up and gathered his things.
It was time for a fresh start. His headhunter had a lead for him with a small savings and loan; it wasn’t much, but it would tide him over.
Once outside, things felt…overwhelming. Almost too sharp. Too intense.
His neighbor, Mrs. Bova, paused to greet him at the mailboxes on his way down the stairs.
“Long time, no see, young man,” she cooed as she scratched her tiny Yorkie under the chin. She carried it around like a baby on any occasion where he’d seen her.
“I’ve been taking care of business,” he assured her cheerfully.
It was odd. Her Yorkie became agitated and her ears perked up. She yipped plaintively.
“Valentine, stop that!” she scolded. The dog wouldn’t be silenced. She yapped and whined, fighting to get free.
“She seems out of sorts,” Pietro mused under his breath. Truthfully, he despised the dog anyway, but he was trying to be polite.
The dog’s barks seemed to swell and magnify. His ears rung; he felt as though he were hearing the sounds through a tunnel. Pietro’s head throbbed.
He didn’t realize how stiffly he gripped his briefcase until he skipped aside when the dog worked her way free.
“She normally never has such bad manners! Oh, I’m so embarrassed!”
“It’s all right-“
“YAP! YAP! ARFARFYARK!” The scrap of a dog had the nerve to growl at him, and Pietro actually stepped back. She wasn’t satisfied with how close he stood to her owner, either, if the way she launched himself at his pants leg was any clue.
“Hey! HEY!”
“YARK!”
“Bad girl!” Mrs. Bova clapped her hands sharply. “Come! Now!”
“OFF!” Pietro snarled, shaking his leg with a snap. The dog’s tiny teeth released the cuff of his Hugo Boss slacks. Pietro’s silver eyes dilated, boring into the dog’s. His upper lip curled and peeled back before he could help himself.
The dog backed up on stubby legs and skittered back to her mama, nearly jumping into her arms.
“Oh, my! Her little heart’s just pounding!”
“I need to go, ma’am.”
“Well, sure you do! Look how nice you look!”
“Interview. New job, possibly.” He tried to sound humble, but he puffed up.
“You’re a shoe-in. Valentine, be polite and tell him goodbye.” She chuckled. “My old Bichon Frisse, FiFi, used to actually wave goodbye. It’s a trait of that breed.”
“She must’ve been a genius.” Not like this little bitch.
“Good luck!”
“Have a nice afternoon, ma’am.”
He could’ve sworn he smelled fear in his wake.
He’d gotten it. No surprise. The receptionist out front had fawned over him, offering him water and a crossword book while he waited in the lobby. He’d initially been wary when she stared at him and wondered if it was because of his scars.
Instead, she seemed transfixed. Her eyes followed his slightest movements as he signed the guest list and gulped down the tiny paper cone of water, chucking it neatly into the trash.
Awe. If he had to choose a word to sum up her expression, that was it.
It unnerved him.
The meeting went well. Pietro glossed over his account of how he left his last position, using all of the correct corporate terms and phrases. “Pursuing other opportunities for growth” was a catch-all, reliable vehicle.
On his way out of the lobby, the receptionist turned away from greeting another applicant at the desk to stare and wave after him.
“Don’t be a stranger,” she called. Her smile was hungry.
So was Pietro’s. His nose twitched as he caught a faint, provocative scent in the air. He breathed it deeply into his lungs and strode out into the blinding sunshine.
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