Carol Danvers Howlett was laid to rest on a Sunday.
Steve heard their sympathy in their voices and saw it in their eyes as he leaned numbly into one brisk hug after another all afternoon. None of the potluck offerings cluttering the dining room table appealed to him. He’d grown thin and worn, a shadow of his robust, cheerful self.
He hadn’t sorted through Carol’s things, loathing the thought of giving away any of it. Her scent still lingered in the folds of sheets and towels, even though it was fading.
The spare room remained closed since the night the detectives searched his home. It still smelled faintly of the light blue paint he’d applied so carefully, wanting it to be just right. The crib was still packed in the box. He couldn’t think of that right now. It would never make sense. Ever.
A professional cleaning crew took care of the bloodstains on the garage floor and walls. Life on his street slowly returned to normal, but he felt stares whenever he went out to collect his paper or leave for work. Everyone watched his house. Everyone watched him.
At night, Steve ran through his memories of those last few days before he found her. He wracked his brain, sifting through each detail, trying to see if he’d missed something. Janet was inconsolable, begging him with the same questions he had: What could they have done to prevent it?
He found her in the living room, perched on the arm of the couch and letting the ice cubes in her glass of Sprite melt. She gave only polite, quiet responses whenever anyone offered her consolation. Her flamboyant, colorful outfits were nowhere in sight; she wore black, which seemed to swallow her petite frame. Her large brown eyes looked haunted when he approached.
“Hi,” she murmured.
“Hey,” he croaked hollowly. He didn’t object when she stood and embraced him, even though her perfume tickled his nose.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“I know.”
“I’m here if you need me.”
“I know.”
She leaned back, and he was grateful that her eyes were dry. His own were slightly bloodshot.
“Have the police made any progress?”
“No.” His mouth tightened. “Nothing helpful.”
He didn’t mention their previous questions about Logan. He’d been too absorbed in his own grief. But now, the idea nagged at him, and it stung.
“They contacted me. They want to talk about my day out with Carol, to see if I remember anything.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow. I have to go in to the station.”
*
Logan was stoic as the detective laid out a handful of photos, side by side, tiling the table in the conference room with gruesome images.
“When was the last time you spoke to your ex-wife, Carol?”
“A couple of months ago.”
“Was it amicable?”
“Amicable?” He made a noise of frustration. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”
“Please answer the question.” Detective Jessica Drew watched him warily as she took a sip of coffee. She pointed to a photo showing a familiar item wrapped in a Ziploc bag. “Carol’s fiancé, Steven, said this once belonged to you.” Logan frowned at the sight of the scrimshaw knife, streaked in dried blood.
“My old knife.”
“So it is yours.”
“I didn’t even know it was gone. We bought it while we were traveling a long time ago, when we were still married. Last time I saw Carol, it was so she could come and get some of her things from our old house.”
“Like what? Any personal items with emotional value?”
“No. She took everything she considered important the day we split. It was just kitchen stuff, missing socks, bathroom soap. Nothing important, but she wanted it all back. I packed it up into a box and brought it out.”
“Did you have words?”
“Yes,” he admitted, “but I never laid a finger on her. She was only there about five minutes.”
“What did you fight about?”
Logan’s fists tightened in his lap. “Carol had been seeing someone else before we broke up. She told me she was pregnant, and that it wasn’t mine.” Logan tried to keep the emotion out of his voice. Officer Drew raised one black brow.
“Did you blow up about it?”
“I yelled at her, but I told her I was done. She took her things and drove off. I never spoke to her again; she never called me, either. There wasn’t any reason for us to.”
“So there were hurt feelings, but you’ve moved on?”
“Yes. I have.”
“She never voiced any objection? There was nothing else between you?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Mr. Howlett, I need to be blunt.” She dug into a manila folder and extracted a copy of a newspaper article. “You’re a person of interest in the death of Raymond Darkholme.”
“Excuse me?”
“The circumstances surrounding his death have opened some eyes.”
“The bastard shot himself.”
“That’s what we show in our forensics report. We also know you were injured that night.”
“Bullet,” he confirmed.
“What we don’t know is how he got those odd scars that we found.” She pointed to another photo, and this one made Logan grimace.
Officer Drew pointed to the mutilated flesh where Logan had bitten him that night. He could almost taste his foul blood all over again and smell the gunpowder, hear ‘Ro’s screams…
He wouldn’t allow himself to get lost in that night again, relive the horror.
“The teeth marks suggest an attack by an animal.”
“I told the officers at the hospital the night I was taken in that I don’t own a dog.”
“It still looks like Mr. Darkholme was mauled.”
“Then I don’t know what to tell you.”
“The only thing you need to tell us is a few more answers, then I’ll let you go.” She leaned in and templed her fingers. “You were aware that your girlfriend, Ororo Munroe, was being stalked?”
“She told me. I started staying with her once she got a nasty letter in the mail from that asshole.”
“So she wouldn’t be afraid?”
“No. To protect her.”
“You felt she needed protecting?”
“Of course I did. That letter was sick. Anyone who could send something like that to her front doorstep like that’s just bold and sick.”
“Bold, huh?” She scribbled some notes on her steno pad. “Had anyone else made any romantic overtures toward her that you knew of?”
“Whaddya mean?”
“Any other male visitors?” Logan frowned.
“She’d had a couple of dates with this one guy before we met.”
“What was his name?”
“Pietro. Maximoff.” She made a thoughtful noise, then nodded.
“Okay. What was he like? Did you ever meet him?”
“He showed up at the house one day. He hadn’t been to her place in a while. He wasn’t expecting me.”
“Then what happened?”
“Ororo told him he didn’t need to stay.”
“You two were already involved, then? It was serious?”
“Yes. Very.”
“Mr. Howlett…are you a jealous person, by nature?”
Logan’s nostrils flared.
“Please answer the question.”
“I…yes.” He wouldn’t lie. She’d sense it.
“So when you say you’re protective of Ms. Munroe, does that mean you feel you have to protect her from other men?”
“That’s not it!”
“Then what? Please explain this to me.”
“She was in danger. That Darkholme guy had been to her home, knew where she lived. She told me about it. Odd things like her mail and newspaper not bein’ where she expected them to be. Tire tracks she didn’t recognize outside her house. Weird hang-ups on her voice mail.” She made some more notes. Her face didn’t judge him, but he felt too exposed.
“Any further contact with this Mr. Maximoff? Did he make any further overtures toward Ms. Munroe?”
Logan stiffened. “Yeah. Well, not directly.”
“What does that mean?”
“He approached me. One day outta the blue. Waited for me after work one night. Said some things I didn’t like about ‘Ro.”
“What kinds of things?”
“Like ‘How does she fuck?’” Her brows drew together at the profanity, but she nodded.
“I see. So he upset you. Provoked you.”
“You could say that.”
“Was there anything else? Any more taunts?”
“He…” Logan paused.
“He what?”
“He said…that Ororo was gonna get tired of me soon. That I was too old. Dried up.”
“There’s an age difference between you two?”
“Of about twenty years.”
“All right. But she’s never said age was an issue?”
“No.”
“She loves you.”
“Yes. She does. She made that pretty clear.”
“She tells you that?”
“She did on my way out the door this morning.” Officer Drew nodded, satisfied.
“Mr. Howlett, did you threaten Pietro?” The hint of calm Logan felt at the memory of Ororo’s goodbye kiss that morning fled him. He exhaled deeply through his nose.
“No. I told him Ororo didn’t want him.”
“You told him that.”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“I told him that I didn’t want him near her.”
“So you did threaten him. Mr. Howlett, did the two of you have an altercation?”
“We argued.”
She caught the change in him, albeit subtle.
Logan was restless. His pulse throbbed in his temples and the look the detective gave him made his hackles rise.
“You’ve been very helpful, Mr. Howlett.”
“Is that all?”
“For now. We’ll be in touch.”
“Be in touch? I’ve told ya everything ya asked.”
“Your ex-wife’s murder is under criminal investigation. Until we have more concrete evidence, sir, I suggest you retain a lawyer.”
*
Ororo stirred the large pot of bean and sausage soup, enjoying the fragrance of the spicy meat. Her morning sickness was finally subsiding and her appetite slowly made its way back. Forge’s tea helped with some of the symptoms, but unfortunately her sleep was still irregular. Logan was so agitated, lately.
Her dining room table was set with a red cloth and matching paper napkins. Ali would be appalled at how minimal her attempts were at acknowledging the holiday, but at least she was bringing the wine.
Logan hadn’t called; her attempts at reaching him were forwarded automatically to his voice mail. That wasn’t good.
Ororo wasn’t even feeling particularly festive, but she craved the distraction. Ororo planned to share her good news with Ali and Remy, provided she didn’t figure it out for herself. As Ororo retrieved the loaf of French bread, she patted her stomach, deciding that yes, it did feel slightly rounder.
She almost dropped the knife when the phone rang. Ororo licked a dab of garlic butter from her thumb and answered it.
“H’lo?”
“Hey, Ororo.”
“Forge. What’s going on?”
“Don’t sound so disappointed.”
“Hey, just be glad it was me who answered instead of my big guy.”
“He the jealous type?”
“Do Sigfried and Roy have a thing for cats?”
“Whoa.”
“Again, what’s going on?”
“I just wanted to follow up with you and see if anything else had come up.”
“Like what?”
“How you’ve felt.”
“Good. Really good, except for some stuff I’ve got going on.”
“Stuff?”
“Just some guy who doesn’t know that no means no.”
“Another stalker?”
“No.” Ororo didn’t want to stir the pot with Forge and bring him into her drama, but she had to talk to someone. “An ex. Someone who isn’t who I thought he was, after all.”
“He giving you a hard time?”
“He hasn’t shown up in a while. It helps that Logan’s here.”
“He lives with you?”
“Just about.”
“And he helps you to feel safe.”
“I always feel safe with Logan.”
“Has he continued to change? At night?”
“It’s like a cycle,” she explained absently as she stirred more pepper into the soup. “It finally occurred to me after a few weeks. The full moon’s always the worst.”
“Indeed, it would be.”
“But he always wanders at night. I worry about him. Sometimes it’s contagious.”
“What do you mean?”
“I feel antsy. Restless. I thought it was just the pregnancy, but nighttime does something to me. And I feel disconnected when he’s not here. More than just lonely. Like my lifeline’s missing. I feel…exposed. Vulnerable.”
“Did you know wolves mate for life? They’re not like other animals in that regard.”
“I didn’t know.” But the words warmed her down to her toes. For life.
“But for the most part, you feel good? No odd changes in mood? No strange urges?”
“No more than anyone else three months along.”
“I ask because I talked with Naze the other day.”
“How is your uncle?”
“Still an ornery old goat.”
“That’s part of his charm.”
“Don’t tell him that. He always asks about you, though.”
“What’s he up to?”
“He mentioned a few things about skinwalkers. Showed me a few things in his journals and a few books he had in his library that I’d forgotten about. I’ve been a bad nephew. I need to bring him some dinner one of these nights.”
“You should.”
“Anyway, he mentioned something about the way the curse affects those who carry it. It’s not always a curse, either. Sometimes, it’s a gift.”
“Wanna run that by me again?”
“It has a lot to do with how the skinwalker and their target exchange blood.”
“Ew…”
“Pay attention. Don’t wuss out on me, kiddo. You said Logan was attacked by a wolf.”
“He said it was going through his trash.”
“So Logan was protecting himself. There was no animosity between them above and beyond both of them staking out their territory. Logan fought the wolf out of instinct, instead of just running for it.”
“I guess.”
“What I’m getting at is this. There was no negative energy surrounding them. No bad spirits.”
“Yeahbutwhat?”
“The wolf didn’t channel negative energy or foul spirits into him when he bit him. It was a clean transfer of his totem. The exchange was sacred.”
“What does that even mean?”
“That it was in a sense a gift. That wolf could have chosen anyone.”
“He didn’t choose him, he was just looking for a bite to eat.”
“No. He chose him. Otherwise, he might have killed him.”
“He came close.”
“There’s no stopping a wolf if he’s determined enough.”
“But you say he didn’t give Logan any bad mojo.”
“Give the lady a gold star.”
“Ooo. Give the lady an antacid…”
“Queasy?”
“I just wish this part was over.”
“You’re going to be a wonderful mother.”
“I know you and I never-“
“It wasn’t in the cards. But I’m happy for you.”
“Me, too.”
“Anyway, back to Logan. For the most part, he owns the strengths and virtues of his totem. He’ll be very protective and loyal. His main instinct won’t be to kill, just to defend. That’s a good thing. The main thing is for him to have a little self control. Don’t let him walk into situations that’ll make him flare.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No. If it becomes a problem, then we need another game plan.” He sighed. “Still have the tinctures I gave you?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Keep them somewhere safe.”
“Forge…about this whole ‘negative’ spirit thing. You said it depends on how the transfer’s made? What if…what if a werewolf attacked someone when they were provoked?”
“What kind of provocation are we talking about?”
“Like…an argument. A really heated one.”
“That’s where we have a problem.”
*
The urges were stronger. Pietro sat on the edge of his bed, rocking and shuddering. His hands cradled his forehead, fingernails digging into his scalp, as though he could claw out the dark thoughts.
“I don’t want to feel like this,” he muttered. “Please, Lord, make it go away.” Pietro didn’t think he’d heard him.
The sounds were still too sharp, closing in on him. The kitchen clock’s ticks sounded like they were right next to him.
His cell phone beeped at him, but he couldn’t compose himself long enough to answer it. He wore his dress pants and a white undershirt, but his belt still hung unbuckled from the loops when the chills settled over him. His date would just have to wait until he was ready to call her back. Pietro didn’t give a damn about Valentine’s Day, above and beyond not wanting to admit that he didn’t have a date for it. Appearances mattered more than anything else.
Outside, Pietro heard feet thundering up the stairs. He despised his neighbor Wanda’s children and their constant noise. Thankfully they kept their distance, but he watched them warily if they ventured too close to his car.
Hunger clawed at him. He had another half an hour until his dinner reservation. Pietro headed for the fridge and jerked open the door.
All of the healthy selections held no appeal for him, except for a half-finished package of lunch meat. Pietro snatched it up and dug his fingers into the cellophane, gathering up a handful of turkey slices. He crammed them into his mouth, barely taking the time to chew. He barely registered a change in his hunger; there was something missing. The protein helped, but he hardly tasted it. The turkey was gone moments later; he tossed the wrapping aside in disgust.
What else did he have? He searched through the crisper and shelves, then in the freezer. He spied a pound of hamburger, but it was frozen solid. It would take too long to thaw…
Meat. He craved it. Warm. Fleshy.
Blood.
That was the element that was missing from the lunch meat. There was no blood.
He went back to his room, frustrated.
His phone beeped again.
“Fuck off,” he muttered as he searched for his silk shirt. He ignored the glowing display screen that said he had five new voice mails.
He ironed it, accidentally giving himself a steam burn. Pietro went through the motions of getting ready, but the hunger still gripped him.
He heard Mrs. Bova in the hallway as she chatted with Wanda. Her little heathens were still running up and down the hall as she futilely told them to stop.
“YarkyarkYARK!” That damned dog again. Pietro growled in his throat. Its high-pitched yips grated on his nerves.
He heard Wanda finally pull her kids inside. Pietro felt some of his headache subside; those had become more frequent lately, too. An ache, to be sure, but there was also a strange buzzing that seemed to drown out his thoughts. Sometimes Pietro thought he could make out words within the sound, but he pushed it away.
The dog had other ideas.
“YarkYARKarkarkYARKYAPYAPYAP!”
“Valentine, it’s time to go potty. Let’s go potty,” Mrs. Bova sang. Pietro tried to ignore the sound of his two least favorite nuisances as he finished working on his hair.
Pietro retrieved his wallet and tucked it into the pocket of his peacoat. He still heard Mrs. Bova in the hallway as he undid his dead bolts.
“Oh…Pietro, I am so sorry. Valentine was a bad girl. She just couldn’t wait.”
The sour odor of dog piss hit his nostrils at once. “Shit!” he hissed, before he could help himself.
“There’s no need for that,” she tsked. Her dog continued to yap, but had the sense to run behind her owner when she met Pietro’s scowl.
“She’s just a puppy, she didn’t mean it-“
Yes she did.
“I need to get going. I hope you can take care of this at some point?”
“Would you have something to clean it up with?” she suggested helpfully. Pietro grumbled under his breath and ducked back into his apartment. He came back with several paper towels and a bottle of Lysol.
“Knock yourself out.”
“You’re looking mighty fancy. Who’s the lucky lady?”
“It’s just a date.” It didn’t matter who. Pietro sidestepped her neatly and headed for the stairs.
“Have a good time!” she called after him. Valentine growled after him. “Bad girl!” she hissed.
When he pulled up to the house, all of her lights were on, and she saved him a spot in her driveway to park instead of the street. That earned her a point in Pietro’s book. He sauntered up the front walk and knocked briskly. While he waited, Pietro look up into the sky. It was a cold night, but the night was clear, and there were hundreds of stars visible. Something about the sight of them soothed him. Even being outside helped, making him long for a walk in the dark.
She tugged open the door before he could turn back and head for his car. She wore a hot pink dress with long sleeves and a ridiculous silk rose in her hair.
“I called you.”
“I was on my way. You look nice.” Her pout disappeared, replaced by a seductive smile. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“I like anything. We’ll get whatever you want.”
No shit, we will. Pietro rolled his eyes at her back as she locked her front door.
Dinner was bearable. Barely.
Pietro ordered the rarest steak they had, a thick sirloin that was still too well done, even though it dripped pink juices when he cut into it. He was content to listen to her as he methodically ate his food, occasionally nodding and giving the impression that he wanted to hear what she had to say.
He itched with impatience and restlessness. The restaurant was too crowded. The waiter gave them a table in the back, away from the chilly draft of the lobby. Pietro was too warm in his silk shirt, flushed and uncomfortable as the sounds began to assault him again. The clink of utensils against ceramic was excruciating.
“Hm. Weird. This place is kind of high end, but the silverware’s as cheap as the stuff I have at home,” she said, amused. “Definitely no silver here.”
“How dare they?” he agreed with a grin that said What can you do? Pietro fiddled with his fork, digging the tine into the tablecloth and spinning it by the handle.
She politely offered to leave the tip. He stopped her out of habit, unimpressed, but smiled just the same.
“Want to see a movie?”
The mere thought of Dolby surround sound and too many people breathing and murmuring around him made him cringe. “Maybe…not, tonight.”
“Maybe we can just walk off some of that good food?” she suggested. That pleased him.
“Lead the way.”
The night ended with a single red rose from a street vendor and an empty promise to call. His first instinct was to let her invite him for coffee, which she did, but he opted instead for a kiss that was too brazen for a first date. She looked dazed and coy when she gently closed the door. “Finally,” he muttered on the way back to his car.
He was still restless. Still hungry. The night beckoned to him. A perfect slice of pearly moon glowed above him, a waxing crescent that gave him a sense of anticipation.
*
“I’m so glad you brought chocolate,” Ororo said as she dug into the rich slice of gateau with enthusiasm.
“I was thinking about you,” Ali assured her. “Who loves ya?”
“You do,” Ororo cooed, giving her a little pat. Remy shook his head.
“To a guy, chocolate’s just candy,” he mused.
“Blasphemy,” Ali said.
“Philistine,” Ororo agreed. She still didn’t have the sweet tooth she had prior to the night Logan bit her, but chocolate was still a precious indulgence, and was better when it was shared.
Logan was a million miles away. His cake was untouched, and he just stared into his glass of wine.
“You’re being too loud over there, I can hardly hear myself think,” Ali snapped, giving his forearm a light slap. He jerked.
“Geez…sorry.”
“He had a long day,” Ororo explained. “Busy at work.”
“Well, that makes two of you. How’s that revision coming along?”
“It’s moving along,” Ororo offered. “Just another couple of chapters left, but it’s harder lately. I’m so distracted.” Excitement bubbled in her belly as she waited for Ali to ask why.
“Well, just tune it out. We’ve got a book to send to the presses, missy!”
“It’s hard to tune out morning sickness, Al.” Ali had just pushed another bite of cake into her mouth as Ororo’s words hit her. Her blue eyes went wide, and she dropped her fork in surprise. Remy was out of his seat, whacking her on the back as she choked.
“What…*cough* do you mean *cough* morning sickness?”
“I’m going to have a baby. We’re having a baby, Ali!” Ororo reached for Logan’s hand, squeezing it. She was radiant and enjoying the moment, and Logan enjoyed it with her, feeling a tug on his emotions. He loved this woman so much.
“Congratulations, petit,” Remy said, patting Ororo’s hand. Logan forced himself to relax and put aside the urge to strike him. He had no problems with Remy, but Logan seldom tolerated any man touching Ororo. It brought Pietro’s visit to her house back with clarity, how his scent mingled with hers from his brief peck revulsed him. Remy then came around to shake Logan’s hand briskly, taking away Logan’s misgivings.
The rest of the night found the women in the kitchen putting away the food and chatting a mile a minute about names and nurseries. Logan and Remy watched a game with little comment between them, digesting the wine and rich food.
“I’ve been watching the news. They still haven’t found who killed that poor woman yet.” Ororo tried to sound nonchalant as she dried the dish Ali handed her.
“It sounds like they’re working on it.”
“I know. But Ororo, she was our age! That could have been us! She was engaged, and her fiancé was in the house when it happened! That’s scary. It makes you feel like you’re not even safe in your own home.” Ororo knew that feeling too well. “And she was expecting a baby.”
“Can we not talk about that?” Ali realized her mistake and gave her a squeeze.
“I’m being an ass. Sorry, sweetie. Sorry, snookums,” Ali added, making pucker lips at Ororo’s stomach and rubbing it. “Auntie Ali didn’t mean to talk about bad things.”
“Things have just been so weird lately, anyway. Must be spring fever and people getting sick of all this cold and dark.”
“I know I am. I’m waiting for flip-flops and capris.”
“More wine?”
“No. Remy and I are heading back soon, before there’s too much traffic from all those people who went out to eat.”
“No kidding. It feels good to stay in. Logan and I might take a walk down the beach later, though.”
“It’s freezing!”
“I’ll manage.” Lately the cold hadn’t been affecting her as strongly, either. She wondered if the baby had raised her internal body temperature… or if she could thank her other condition. There were still so many answers that she just didn’t have.
Once Ali and Remy were bundled back into their car, Logan disappeared back into the house. Ororo waved after them on the porch, then went back inside for her coat and boots.
“Come out with me. Let’s talk.”
“This wasn’t a good day, ‘Ro.”
“Then talk to me.”
The night air seemed to help. It was only nine, still early enough that he didn’t feel his change looming yet. He let himself feel his feet sink into the sand and hear the waves rolling in as they walked. Ororo’s fingers were laced through his.
“What did they say?”
“They think I might have killed Carol.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Who else are they gonna point at?”
“They didn’t find your DNA.”
“They found my knife.”
“They know it’s yours?”
“It was. I saw it. Remember when I bought it. I wasn’t gonna lie.”
They stopped for a moment. Logan picked up a handful of rocks and began to toss them into the water.
“Ororo…sometimes I black out.”
“What do you mean?”
“Bits and snatches of what happens when I change are sometimes all I have left. It depends on how deep inside it I go. How far it pulls me in, some nights.”
“Sometimes you leave signs. I could have done without those dead squirrels you left me yesterday.” Her attempt at humor fell flat.
“What if…what if it was me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” she snapped. “Why? How? You said it yourself. You haven’t talked to her for a long time. You were over her, and she was over you. And you’ve never been to her house.”
“I have.” Ororo felt sick.
“What?”
“I came to her place once, back when we first split. Had to give her my signature on the divorce papers. She was already with Steve. That was the only time I ever met him. He wasn’t even that bad, at least he wouldn’t have been if he hadn’t stolen my wife.”
“So you know where she lives.”
“Yeah.”
Ororo reeled, hugging herself.
“So you know how this makes me feel. And ya probably don’t feel so sure anymore, either. Do ya.”
“I am sure. I have no reason not to be. I’ve been there when you’ve changed. I’ve been there when you’ve come back. I’m starting to know this side of you, Logan. It scares me, but it’s a part of you.” Ororo took a deep breath. “And it’s a part of me, now, too.”
“It shouldn’t be. This shouldn’t have ever touched ya, darlin’.”
“Don’t worry about what should have been.” She took his hand; he tossed the rest of the pebbles onto the ground, no longer interested in skipping them.
“I don’t know what to do, ‘Ro. I don’t know where to turn. When I change, I turn into someone else.”
“You’re still ‘you.’ I can talk to you, and you understand me. And I think it helps you, maybe I’m just flattering myself, but sometimes, you calm down when you hear me.”
“Ya don’t know how hard it is sometimes, darlin’.”
“What?”
“Feelin’ like I could lose you.”
“You’ll never lose me!” she cried, reaching for him. Her gloved hands were fisted in his jacket collar. Her lips quivered and her eyes shone with the beginnings of tears. He heard her heart pounding, matching his own.
“Baby, I don’t know if this is gonna get worse. I don’t know how ta deal with it, so it ain’t fair that you have ta deal with it, either.”
“You were fine until today. Why are you saying this now?”
“I have a hard time…watchin’ anyone touch you.”
“Why?”
“Because…because ya belong ta me.” He hated those words, but they clawed their way out. “I can’t share ya with anyone, ‘Ro.”
“Ali hugs me hello all the time.”
“Not Ali. Any man, even if it’s just Remy, makes me go a little crazy.”
“But I only love you.”
“I know that. But I can’t help feelin’ how I feel.”
“Don’t feel threatened by Remy talking with me. How can I explain this to Ali if we suddenly stop spending time with the two of them?”
“Maybe you don’t hafta stop.” He emphasized “you.”
“What are you saying?”
“Maybe I-“
“Maybe nothing,” she flared, dashing away a tear before it could run down her cheek. “Logan, you’ve been through a lot. You had baggage before we ever met. Carol left you for another man. So you bottled it up and it just sat inside you, because you didn’t want to make a big fuss. It’s the same thing you did when Pietro took your job. You just left quietly. That’s what you told me. And I believe it, because that is just like you. I will never go out of my way to give you a reason to feel jealous or like I care about anyone more than I do about you. You know this, too. I know you do. I know you love me.”
“You know I do!” he grated out.
“So you blame feeling like this on what’s inside you, this thing you turn into when the wolf takes over.”
“The wolf?”
“That’s how I think of it. It’s not all that creature’s fault, Logan. Some of it has to do with Carol and how she hurt you. I’m not her. She wasn’t happy. You make me happy. Maybe the creature inside you is there to protect you, because you were hurt so badly before. I’m not leaving you.” She took his hands and drew them inside the open flap of her coat, laying them over her stomach. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Something hot and sharp pricked at his eyes. Logan was overcome.
“Damn it, darlin’.” He gathered her into his embrace. They stood like that for a long time, letting the waves crash against the sand behind them.
“The wolf picked you, so you could fight for yourself. No one else fought for you before. You’re not alone anymore. I love you, James Howlett.” Logan closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her hair. He never wanted to let go.
Logan told her about the rest of the interview as they made their way back inside, leaving Ororo troubled but hopeful.
“If it’s not your blood on the knife, they can’t point the finger at you.”
“Doesn’t mean they won’t try.”
“Maybe someone else will come forward with more clues. I mean, what would someone’s motive even be? She was minding her own business. Happily engaged. Pregnant. She seemed like she was living a pretty decent life.”
“I don’t know, ‘Ro. I don’t have a clue.”
“What kind of people was she hanging out with? Did she ever seem like she was leading a double life?”
“Fuck, no.” Even when she was cheating on him, Logan hadn’t had a clue. “Carol was pretty vanilla, straight across the board.”
“How about Steve?”
“They were a perfect match.”
“He didn’t have anyone on the side?”
“How the hell should I know?” Then he mulled it over. “Nah. It’s just not him. Carol woulda had him wrapped around her finger.”
“How did the person who killed her get that knife? That’s what’s weird.” Ororo sighed as she climbed under the covers with him. “Why that knife?”
“Must’ve been the only one handy.”
“It wasn’t a switchblade. It wasn’t something big and threatening.”
“I don’t know what yer gettin’ at, ‘Ro.”
“It was one of those scrimshaw knives. The ones tourists love when they come out here.”
“I ain’t exactly a tourist.”
“No. Of course not. But still…it was a big garage. There would have been all kinds of other things in there, if the killer wanted to really go at it.” Logan felt slightly sick.
“Stop it, ‘Ro. Don’t talk about it like that.”
“I’m sorry.” She snuggled against his chest. “It just doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense.”
Memories of too many consultations with police investigators and forensics specialists swamped Ororo, making her almost regret all the source material she’d gathered over the years for her books. There was a piece missing from the puzzle.
Why Carol?
*
Pietro woke to his alarm at six AM, feeling more refreshed than he had in a long time. He whistled on his way into the shower and looked forward to his first cup of coffee.
He dunked his head under the spray while he squeezed some shampoo into his palm.
A shrill scream destroyed the calm. Pietro automatically shut off the water.
He heard Mrs. Bova shrieking and sobbing. He was surprised he didn’t hear Valentine yipping along with her. He turned the water back on and hastily finished washing up.
Minutes later, he was drying his hair and stepping into the hallway in his work slacks and stocking feet. He found Wanda soothing the elderly woman, clucking over her.
“What’s going on?”
“Valentine,” Mrs. Bova sobbed. Her face was blotchy and red. “My poor baby…”
“Something got a hold of her puppy,” Wanda explained. “She had a horrible fright this morning.”
“It’s all my fault. I let her out last night on my balcony, she refused to come in. I put her doggie bed out there, just in case. That’s why I live on the ground floor, to keep her safe!”
“I already called the landlord about it. The Humane Society’s coming to pick up Valentine’s remains.” Pietro’s stomach lurched.
“Remains?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Who could have let their dog or, or whatever it was get out and do this to my baby?”
Pietro retreated inside and finished getting ready. His mind swam.
A flash of memory hit him, chilling him. Tiny, gnashing white teeth. A high-pitched bark that suddenly grew panicked.
He drank his coffee, pouring the remainder into a commuter cup. He headed out to his car and saw Wanda’s boys huddled around something just off the parking lot, behind the fence.
“What are you boys doing? What do you have over there?” he demanded.
“It’s Valentine,” Thomas explained.
“Gross,” Finn added, looking a little green. Pietro skirted around them impatiently.
Valentine stared sightlessly back up at him. There was barely enough left of her to call her a dog anymore.
Hot coffee splashed over his shoes as he dropped the cup from nerveless fingers.
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