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Thank-you to NemesisBecoming, Penpal, Storm_the_Windrider, Jezabel, JamesGirl0512, Missi, Anon, Saki and Tough Spirit and all of my other readers. Didn’t mean to leave it this long but hope it was worth it, M’iko, xx



Chapter.5.



He walked out onto the muddy, uneven ground, the two buckets of scraps firmly in hand. The night was blissfully quiet and so still that the hungry agitated snorting of the pigs could be heard from inside the farmhouse. It was Morag that finally got tired of it and kicked Jude of the sofa and from his gormless gawping at the ‘idiot box’. Not that he’d been paying any attention to it in all truth. It had been a mindless distraction, and not much of one at that. No matter how much he conspired to prevent it, his thoughts wondered back, back, back...


His khaki coloured Wellingtons made odd suction noises in the soft dirt, making him sink down past his ankles with each step he took. Coming around the corner tall of the hay barn, he plodded as quickly as he could to the pig sty that nestled by its side; a small white-stoned building with an open front and ramshackle slate roof in great need of repair. But money was scarce these days, vital restoration work often went unfinished, not by choice or laziness but by necessity.


“Hey up girls,” he said with an unusual fondness; the type farmer’s often have for their animals, above the people in their lives in most cases. The pigs honked and scrambled; all amassing as close as they could to the wooden fencing at the front of the sty.


Jude bent over the fence, randomly patting the bristly pig and black blotched swine with a large red weathered hand. Picking up one of the black plastic buckets he’d set down he tipped it up, spreading its contents liberally over the crowd that had gathered for the scraps of vegetables and near rancid meat. The sound of snuffling and munching soon filled the air as the pigs rooted down into their feast, only looking up briefly as more ‘manner-from-heaven’ rained down on them courtesy of the second big bucket.


He lent jovially against the fence as he watched his animals tucking in by the light of the moon. Relishing in such simple pleasures. But the peace was not to last for long. He knew that long before he asked, without looking away from the sty, “What are yae doin’ here lass?”


Shirley stood sheepishly a few foot away from him, having come up to the farm along the woodland bridleway. It was fairly open and so she hadn’t felt nervous using it. But now, she was nervous. More than nervous in fact. “Yae now why I’m here Jude.”


“It’s none of our business Shirley,” he told her, still gazing down at his heard, reaching down again to pat one.


“I’m sorry but that’s bollocks, an’ yae know it!” she countered, her heart going ten to the dozen at speaking so boldly to her boss’ husband, but at this point she quite frankly didn’t care. This was important, too important to worry about such trivia.


“Alright,” he sighed, exasperated, as he stepped down off the bottom plank of the fence and turned to the young girl, “say what yae’ve come tae say---an’ then go.”


* * *


The night had taken hold over the steep valleys and a deep but motionless cold settled in the inky dark. All was deathly quiet save for the cries and yelps of foxes, at first hearing a call of agony, and the odd coo of a night owl. The ambient reverberation that shackled Ororo’s mind as she continued to walk had not given her a moment of peace since leaving the cottage. It wasn’t a pain as such, more a...presence. One she could not account for nor place. The sensation had her in a trance, but one in which she was aware of everything around her and conscious to what she was doing. But it rendered her powerless to do anything about it. Her body felt compelled to go forwards in the darkness, drawn by a sound, a voice hidden beneath layers of foreground noise...


There was a slight cant in the ground and carefully she edged down it, unable to distinguish the ground by eye, simply allowing herself to be led forwards to a destination that was unknown to her. Yet she yearned for it...The latent bay of the gushing force guided Storm, body and soul to its sable place. He awaited her there...


The moist brush of leaves parted like the caress of long dead fingers trailed over her as she pushed through foliage and the roar rushed in to consume her. The waterfall crashed.


“Yae’re finally here.”


The voice brought her back from the brink, her senses finally regained. But at the same time she couldn’t be sure whether or not she’d heard it; it was as faint as a whisper on the winds. The trance had been broken none-the-less.


“Whose there?” she called out into the dark space; the only light present emanating from the torrent of water in its never ending journey into the pool below.


“Should yae have t’ ask?” The cold, pale figure emerged from the dark, shining against it; so pale as to be almost luminous.


“What have you done to me?” she asked immediately without thinking on it first, not sure why; feeling a little silly in fact, for having asked.


“‘Done t’ yae?’” Branloch sounded insulted, but soon dropped the act. “Why, I’ve done nothin’, hen.” He started to advance towards her in nothing more than a casual dawdle; hands deep in the pockets of his dapper long coat as it danced sweepingly about his ankles. “As far as I can see, yae’re here of yer own free will.”


He seemed so sincere, for a moment Ororo felt foolish, the entire notion that he had somehow enticed her to this spot utterly ridiculous. Now that she was thinking more clearly than she had all day, a kind of awkward embarrassment overcame her. “I’m---I’m sorry,” she shook her head apologetically, “I haven’t been feeling like myself for hours. I just...” She trailed off as if at a loss to justify her insane accusation, giving instead a perplexed shrug.


“There’s no need,” he smiled at her reassuringly, “Really.”


As he spoke, the tall morose figure had started, gradually towards her again. But she only noticed this when the heel of her boot hit a rock and she almost lost her balance as a result of her backing away from him. For what reason, she could not fathom. “What’s wrong Ororo, you seem...,” he paused, mulling over his next choice, “...frightened.”


For a moment she could have sworn he had taken some pleasure in uttering that final word; his pondering over its choice a little too gratuitous. It managed to steel her, baluster her mind frame. Thinking on it rationally for the first time she wondered if he were perhaps a mutant; some kind of mind manipulator similar to the Professor or Jean even. That was the one thing she hadn’t thought on so far, but seemed the most obvious explanation for what was transpiring. Suddenly the subtle pique of disquiet that had overcome her settled down and she felt intrigued rather than concerned.


“I’m not frightened,” she replied truthfully and wondered whether or not she should speak of what she wanted to. Then again, what was the worst that could happen? “But I am interested,” she continued.


The ineffectual air faltered a little as he gazed at her, his green eyes almost sinking to an angry darkness. But it was so fleeting she thought perhaps she imaged it in the muted light of the waterfall. “Interested in what, my dear?” He still sounded charming enough, perhaps a tad false, but no more than the usual charmer.


“You’ll probably laugh when I say,” she started as a relaxed precursor, “but I’m sure you can’t have failed to have heard the term---mutant.”


He nodded, “I’m familiar with it---why?” He took another step closer, just one shy of officially invading Ororo’s personal space; it was enough to make her a little uncomfortable again.


“Look, I won’t beat about the bush,” she stated matter-of-factly, “I’ve had experience with telepaths before, and I can tell when someone is exerting an external influence.” When she was met with what she perceived to be a blank response, perhaps out of a sense of apprehension that was understandable to her, she pressed a little further. Subconsciously adopting the tone that she often used to address her students when they were struggling with accepting their gifts, she continued, “Branwell, I understand what you’re going through,” she smiled sympathetically, “believe me.”


“Do you?” he replied somewhat stiffly.


He had not denied it so she presumed she had been correct in her presumption and felt it safe to impart to him, “Yes. Yes I do, because I’m one too---Logan and I, we’re both mutants.”


Strangely, she thought, that information appeared not to move Branloch one way or the other. He continued with his impassiveness, even moving back from Storm a little, which relived her. She felt the tenseness melt from her shoulders, having not even realised her body had become quite so pensive.


“What, if I may ask,---powers---do you possess?” he asked finally.


“My colleagues call me Storm, so that might give you a clue,” she said with slight joviality to lighten the mood.


“Storm,” he repeated her code name, suddenly looking like he was contemplating something, the concept of it maybe. “So you can manipulate the winds, the rains?” He tilted his head questioningly.


Ororo nodded, “And other things besides.”


Branloch snorted a quiet laugh, but not in mocking or disbelief, “What an odd coincidence.”


“What is?”


“I remember, as a young boy, being told that my Uncle, my Mother’s brother,” he clarified, “had an ability that was remarkably similar,” he crocked an off-kilt smile, as if at a memory.


“Truly?” Ororo asked in genuine surprise; the idea that their could be someone else out their that shared her amazing ability was something she had never before considered. But if an ability like telepathy was something that manifested in fairly large numbers, then it should indeed follow that a power such as hers would not be unique.


“Yes,” was all he offered.


“Then there is a history of mutation in your family?”


“No...” he thought for a moment, focusing into the middle distance before his sparkling eyes came back to Ororo, “not exactly.”


Ororo shook her head, her brow creasing slightly, “I don’t understand.”


“He wasn’t a mutant...and neither am I,” he added.


“How can you be so sure?” He seemed to be so certain of the truth of what he’d said that it confused Ororo---what other explanation could there be for such phenomena?


“Trust me my dear, I know,” he said with a confident smile that didn’t in the least serve to warm his expression; it remained oddly hard, cold because of his startling complexion. He turned from her to look out over the glinting waterfall.


His perceived complacency suddenly annoyed Ororo, but she couldn’t be sure why. Then it came to her... “If you are not a mutant, how can you explain your own mental powers,” she took on a definite look of irritation, matching how she felt internally, as she added, “and why did you use them on me?” For any doubt had gone from her mind now, and his earlier denials to such actions not only seemed pointless, but duplicitous also.


Branloch turned away from the water again, “My powers---if that’s what yae want tae call them---are not telepathy,” he began to explain, appearing to ignore Storm’s last question, “although, I will admit to a certain amount of...empathy. But I am no mutant.”


“What then?” she insisted.


“Why don’t I just show you?” he proposed, but in truth never intended to give her the option. He could smell it even now and taste it even more so. The heat she radiated towards him was as the sun to his icy skin; an intensity that could burn. He longed to feel its sear...


Ororo couldn’t stop the veil from descending over her. She hadn’t had much time to feel even the smallest amount of alarm about it before an odd sense of tranquillity overcame her, the last concrete thing she was aware of was seeing his pale form coming at a slow pace towards her, and then...There was a mixture of sensations, at once vague and vivid; nebulous yet intense. But through it all she became increasingly aware of a physical presence that held her; it was nowhere and everywhere until it reduced down slowly into a very real conclusion; an arm wrapped here, a hand trailing through her hair there, a torso pressed to hers...Suddenly in her minds eye she could see a clear image, one of eyes that shone like emeralds. But they began to change, slowly flooding from their edges into a sharp yellow with red running through them like the most delicate of blood vessels...The image should have shocked her but she felt nothing but a preternatural calm, an acceptance almost. The embrace became constricting but she didn’t struggle against it as the eyes faded from her ‘view’, replaced by a placid sea of white that slowly darkened into the sky of the night. Her head was tilted back her eyes now open to the world around her, the lids half drawn back in their heaviness. Somewhere she knew what was transpiring, she knew it was wrong but could not react to it, for there was another place that welcomed it, wanted it and she was powerless to override that...


The hiss sounded as if it were somebody else’s noise, echoing from down a long and distant tunnel. The fire that spread over the left side of her neck sent ripples through her entire body, a thunderous shudder that she couldn’t control. And then there was the pain, a sharpness that was soon dowsed by a covering balm; rich, warm and fluid.


Her life was seeping like the water that ran close by...her life was seeping and there was nothing she could do...


Yes there was...


Storm had no idea of how much time had passed but she had come to be aware of everything, in one great lighten bolt of consciousness; being held in a ‘lovers’ clasp, his mouth pressed to her skin, his teeth embedded in her neck...! With a sudden blast of will over strength Ororo wrenched herself free from the man and stumbled backwards as she clasped her hand around the wound. Her palm was instantly covered; warm and sticky as the blood continued to flow. The shock had yet to set in and she reverted to pure instinct; eyes blinding white.


As the winds got up in the small nook, Branloch looked around in wonder; his pale face stained crimson around the mouth and chin from his feast and his eyes remained in their altered state, the condition she had imagined them. “Impressive,” he almost seemed to snarl, his voice taking on an animalistic edge as he made to come towards her, struck by her display of power.


Ororo didn’t respond immediately, desperately trying to concentrate her powers as she was. “You will regret this, you monster!” she threatened with all the sternness of her former goddess self, “keep your distance!” Sparks began to cry out from her, trailing from her hair, her eyes, eventually her entire body as she wrapped herself in a protective cloak of natural electricity.


It worked as an intimidating display, for he began to back away from her; his lips drawn back into a sneer of sorts but one that revelled in an odd kind of delight. She decided that it would no be there for long, determined that he would regret his actions; here and now...


* * *


Logan looked out of the front window of the cottage, craning his eyes upwards at the tempest that raged through the skies. It had started so suddenly, around twenty or so minutes ago, that he was in absolutely no doubt as to the cause; beginning in one small spot, only to spread from there like a rolling plume of firm smoke. Besides, when a storm was natural, he could sense it coming hours before hand; the electricity and static building up, stirring subtly every hair on his body, the heavy scent of the deluge about to come. This was most certainly not natural.


He paced from the window and then back again; how many times he’d repeated this futile journey he couldn’t say but what he was sure of was that he’d been feeling like the biggest jackass in the world since Ororo had walked out. Their fight had been replaying over and over in his mind---it was their first. In eight months, not a crossed word, and then this. And on their first holiday too. He truly did feel like kicking himself. Perhaps he was just being an over zealous, over concerned or maybe just the classic irrationally jealous idiot, but then his thoughts turned to how strange she’d been acting, and then inevitably, to that man. And again, he scowled and his mind darkened, and the heat of annoyance he’d felt returned. Again and again, he toiled in this loop of guilt and then justification, keeping him from going out there and tracking her down to apologise. But as soon as this storm hit it put him on an entirely different track.


A reel of thunder rolled across the valley so violently that it rocked the cottage to its foundations, making all lose things on shelves and tables tinker against one another rapidly, but not quite fall. It was swiftly followed by an intense dazzling light that lit the entire room as if a photographer’s flash bulb had burst into life. That was odd in itself; the lightening having proceeded and not preceded the thunder. If any more proof were needed that this was not Mother Natures doing, he thought to himself grimly.


He strode over to the coat stand and grabbed up his leather, throwing it on quickly. But abruptly he stopped, his ears twitching with a new noise; soft at first, extraordinarily faint beneath the racket of the growing storm. Someone was approaching the house he soon realised. It must be Ororo, he thought with some relief and then with some trepidation at the thought of her still clearly agitated state. An angry goddess remained a prospect he balked at handling.


He stood and waited as the footsteps came closer, but as they did he soon realised that there was something...not quite right about them. They were too heavy, too brisk. Without realising it, Logan adopted the semblance of an offensive posture; a creeping crouch, knees bent, just slightly, as if ready to pounce; his hands curling into cautious fists at his sides. It was then that he caught a scent, through the lashing rain and wind, and even through the thick wooden door. A feral grumble started in his throat; it was a scent he didn’t recognise, and right now, that was enough to put him on edge.


*Thump!* *Thump!* *Thump!* *Thump!* *Thump!*


The bangs that shook the door were muffled by the wind and as soon as they hit, Logan felt that familiar itch between his knuckles along with an inexplicable anger. Abruptly pulling out of his sunken posture he bounded the short distance to the door and yanked it open to be confronted by a tall broad man, flat cap making his face a black unknowable and a shot gun slung over his shoulder.


“Who the fuck are you?” The X-Man was not in the mood for formal pleasantries, especially when strangers presented themselves armed.


“Miller,” the man said gruffly, making his discord apparent. “Jude Miller---an I’m here tae get your arse outta trouble so I’d appreciate a little bit o’ courtesy.”


Logan grinned for a moment, despite himself, at the notion that someone felt they needed to bail him out of trouble. Added to the fact that he didn’t know what in the world this lunatic was talking about. “Get me outta trouble?” he laughed sharply.


“Aye,” Jude replied before shoving past Logan and entering the cottage, “so yae’d best be grateful. I’m only here as a favour. If it were up to me I’d still be out home, warm in mae livin’ room with mae feet up.”


Logan managed to swallow down his indignation at the man simply entering ‘his’ domain, and slammed the door back shut before the puddle on the flagstones at the threshold got any larger. “A favour?” he asked, “Fer who?”


Miller’s gaze was wondering around the cottage with definite interest, but none-the-less with a certain amount of familiarity that suggested he’d seen it before but had not been here for quite some time. “Young Shirley,” he said as he eyed over the beams on the ceiling, eventually turning to Logan and clarifying, “the young lass from the café.”



Logan nodded vaguely, his confusion growing but not more so than his irritation. But always at the back of his mind his worry for Ororo grew as the storm didn’t appear to be subsiding, moreover, it was becoming wilder. “Right,” he acknowledged distractedly as he glanced out of the window behind him, eager to get out there.


“I told her we should stay out of it but,” he laughed fondly if not somewhat satirically, “she was worried---even came up tae the house after Morag had closed up an asked me tae come up here.”


“Yeah, that’s great,” he said sarcastically, “but if you’d mind tellin’ me what the fuck it is I should be so worried about?” he barked at the stranger, “then you can go an’ sit in yer damn cosy livin’ room to yer hearts content.”


Millar took his time, not warmed one bit by Logan’s attitude, regretting that he’d even bothered to come up here. Perching on the edge of the reading chair closest to him, he tipped back the peak of his cap a little, taking his eyes from its shade. “Yae wonna believe me,” he told Logan wryly.


“Won’t believe what?” Logan asked, his irritation boiling over by now. “Look, my girlfriend’s out there somewhere, an I was just about ta go after her,” he said flinging an arm behind him to point in the direction of the door, “so if you’ve got somethin’ to tell me, spit it out!”


The look on the fair haired man’s face changed swiftly, it dropped from its hard expression to something much more serious, if that were possible, with a glimmer of concern, “How long has she been out there lad?” he asked quickly.


“What is it to you?”


“Stop messin’ aboot, an’ tell me how long she’s been gone?!” Miller stood up sharply, his gun swinging down to rattle off the high side of the chair.


“A couple of hours,” Logan shrugged, “Why, what’s goin’ on?” he demanded more forcefully, only seconds away from releasing his lethal weapons, against his better judgment, he knew.


“Before dark?”


“Yes!” Enough with the stalling; Logan moved over to Miller so quickly that the man, who didn’t particularly seem the shakeable type, almost gasped in surprise. Grasping up large fistfuls of his coat about his throat, the saturated rain water squelched out of them as his hands tightened their grip, he pinned him against one of the supportive beams, making the thick chunk of blackened wood shudder. Moving forwards, he pulled him eyeball to eyeball, “If you don’t tell me what’s goin’ on in the next three seconds, I’ll be more than happy ta introduce you to six little friends a’mine,” he growled brusquely in a low tone.


Miller locked eyes with him unflinchingly, his mouth slowly shaping before he said the word...“Vampires.”


Logan’s brow creased and he didn’t move for a moment, but eventually his mouth cracked into a grin and he laughed briefly. Letting go of the man’s coat he took a couple of steps back, “Vampires?” he repeated with a raised eyebrow, before issuing his gruff, rather cold laugh again. “Are you fuckin’ insane?”


The man made a jerking movement with his shoulders, straightening his coat back to how it was, “Look here,” he began resentfully, “if I had it my way I’d’a left yae up here tae yer fate, an’ believe me, I’m beginnin’ tae wish I had. An’ if yae choose no’ tae believe me then that’s yer look out mate. But what I’m tellin’ yae is true. Like it or not.” Both men reflexively looked up as another monstrously loud clap of thunder rocked the cottage, making the lights flicker out for just a moment.


“I haven’t got time fer this,” Logan said dismissively as he turned towards the door, “go tell yer fairy tales to some other schmuck.”


“I’ve no doubt yae’ve already met him.” Logan stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn, that was until Miller added, “An I’m sure he’s taken some interest in yae’re lady-friend, am I right?”


Logan’s scowl deepened, thoughts of that man, near Ororo, making his chest tighten with anger. He had no doubt that they were one and the same and perhaps, perhaps this was all making sense. But he couldn’t entertain the idea and dismissed it immediately. The guy was insane. Vampires? But still, if this Branloch was some kind of threat, then he wanted to find Storm as soon as he could. “I’m goin’ to find Ororo, an’ I suggest you take a hike bub, or he won’t be the only one in fer some serious hurtin’ tonight.”


“Branloch will be a lot harder tae take on than yae’d think,” he warned, ignoring the threat, “An’ he wonna be alone, not for long anyhow.”


“Will you stop talkin’ bullshit, ‘cause I ain’t listenin’!” Logan snapped, “I couldn’t give a toss who or what this guy is. An’ besides, ‘Ro can pretty much take care of herself.” As much as he wanted to believe that Ororo was fine the increasing virulence of the storm was telling him other wise, and he was itching to get out there, just to make sure. But he wouldn’t believe this... he refused to believe a word of it.


* * *


She wasn’t sure whether the bleeding had stopped but neither was she about to slow down and find out; her hand still clamped about her neck to staunch the flow. The nearly black stain ran down her front and over her shoulder, covering her hand and dying a section of her hair in its solid dark; not even the rains that she could not endeavour to cease could wash its viscous mark away. She floundered forwards, almost stumbling up the gravelled path that she vaguely recognised for a second, but couldn’t be sure. Her only hope was that she had somehow managed to be close to the cottage. She couldn’t be sure, she couldn’t be sure...


He had vanished.


Before she had had the chance to fend him away, Branloch had simply vanished; disappeared amid a black fog into thin air. Everything had subsequently turned into the haze of a dream, a horrid nightmare, tinged with all the dubiety that goes along with it. Still, she could not bring herself to think that word...


It were as if she was outside herself now, she could imagine seeing herself scrambling through the thickets in desperate escape. Her mind skewed, she currently had very little sense of anything around her, only making her way blindly for somewhere, anywhere that took her further from that place. But the certain rational faculties that she managed to grasp to, like slippery eels betwixt her fingers, feared her loss of blood would lead to collapse, or worse; the almost certain onset of shock. Forcing herself to concentrate she soon realised that she was close, a sudden flush of recognition for her surroundings giving her focus. She struggled to make her winds take her...


* * *


“Let me come with yae---tae be on the safe-side.”


“I don’t need yer goddamn help,” Logan spat back as he headed for the door once more and yanked it open. And it was fortunate that he still had a firm hold of the handle lest he would have been blown back into the room by the powerful blast of wind that forced its way past him; its strength and the accompanying rain knocking over several things within, including Miller. Though it was a good job he had fallen, as it prevented him from seeing the spectacle of the white haired weather witch descending in on a low wind as the tempest briefly became of hurricane force.


Logan’s hazel eyes stared wildly at the sight, not caring one bit whether the stranger had seen the display of her powers or not. He was paralysed for a moment as he tried to take it all in; the sight of her crashing into the forecourt area, propelling forwards in an unstable run. But the one thing he noticed most keenly was the nasty great stain that soaked her clothes, skin and hair on the left side of her upper body. It was only his instant instinct to protect that stopped the snarling rage that threatened to surface.


“Logan...”


He rushed out of the door, somehow finding the strength to resist her winds that still pummelled him and the front of the house mercilessly. He couldn’t say anything as he caught her in his arms, the air had already been knocked out of him and he was barely managing the difficult task of remaining upright. As soon as she fell into his arms, like a weight of stone, he was practically overcome by the sharp metalic scent, that tangy, salty scent of blood. He gathered himself together enough to heave her fully into his arms, sweeping her legs from the ground, and rush into the cottage with her. But every second that her blood assaulted his senses was another second that his feral side screamed for release. Louder and louder and louder...


Slamming the door back shut with a donkey-kick, he rushed over to the sofa, quickly laying her flat upon it. He tried to assess any damage, his eyes swiftly looking over every inch. She was a mess; her clothes soaked right through, clinging to her body, leaves and blades of grass clung there too. And the blood continued to come...


A shadow fell across her body as Jude Miller came to a stop just behind a kneeling Logan. “Now d’yae believe me?” he said, not smugly, but justified. He reached down and made to move the hair from covering her neck and the flow of blood, but his hand was roughly smacked away.


“Don’t touch her!” Logan snarled; the look in his eyes as he glared up at the man enough for him to back away. He’d been confronted by plenty of wild animals in his time, more than enough to know when not to push it. He only fleetingly thought it strange that that would be the first thing to come into his mind when his eyes locked with Logan’s; a wild animal---manic and purely feral.


No matter how irrational Logan’s mind was becoming with overwhelming rage, he still resisted Miller’s charges as absurd. This couldn’t be what he claimed, it simply couldn’t...He ventured a hand now, to where the other man had tried, pulling away the wet clump of marked hair that stuck to it. He wasn’t aware that he was holding his breath pensively as he did this. But as her neck was revealed to him, he couldn’t see anything. That was not the relief though; he could see nothing for one reason and one reason only. There was simply too much blood. He tried to wipe it away as carefully as he could, but to no avail, for more came in its place obscuring the flesh once more.


He didn’t realise that Miller had moved away from him until his movement alerted him to the fact that he’d come back to his side, bearing a cloth. “Here,” he said as he handed the white and yellow checked tea towel down to him, “press this to it.”


Logan did as he was instructed; balling the material up and pressing it as hard as he dared to where the blood stemmed from. It was all they could do; they couldn’t tourniquet the wound for obvious reasons. All they could do was press the cloth to it and hope. The storm began to fade outside; only Logan appreciating its significance and consequently not sure as to whether that was a good or a bad thing.


“Yae’d be best tae move her up stairs,” Jude suggested as he wearily rubbed a hand over his chin, desperately trying to ignore the fact that it was shaking. He must have been insane to have come here. Absolutely insane. To risk his own neck for strangers? Madness. But in his heart he knew it was time, he knew that this had to end.


Logan didn’t argue at his suggestion; quickly letting go of the cloth and sliding his arms beneath her body. He took her weight, which seemed to have become even denser than before, against him and made for the stairs, surmounting them speedily. Miller was not far behind.


*


Logan lay Ororo down on their bed and eased her wet cardigan off, casting it aside. She had long since lapsed into unconsciousness and as a result the weather had returned to its neat flatness that it had formally held. No evidence of the storm remained in the sky, only the wet on the ground.


“Yae know,” Jude said after a time of silence, watching as Logan tended to her, “he’ll be back for her.” He paused again, noticing how still Logan had become, a tense posture in his back. He wasn’t sure how his next words would go down with this man that he barely knew, but had gleaned enough about to know he was easily provoked. He spoke them anyway. “He very rarely leaves them alive. And when he does, it’s only fer one reason.”


That was the final straw.


Logan jumped to his feet and bolted to the door. He could not contain it any longer. If all good-will-out then so would bad. He raced down the stairs with the other man calling after him, “Yae dunna know what yae’re up against!” But he ignored him, thinking, in his own ineffable confidence, that neither did Branloch.


Jude was left there, torn; did he stay here, or did he go and help Logan? There was really only one choice. Nobody could stand up to that fiend alone. No matter how convinced that person was that it could be otherwise. People had tried...and lost, too many times for him to recall. He looked down at the woman, Ororo he had called her, lying there in a deathly pallor, in spite of her dark tone; the death mask told on everybody, the world over. But this wouldn’t be death...it would be far worse.


The clang of the front door being flung open snapped him from thought and he knew what he had to do. If they didn’t go after him, and the rest, then she’d be doomed anyway. He left the room and started or the stairs, bringing his shot gun around to the front and cocking it with a loud clack as he went.


-TBC-





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