Logan paced the small county jail cell. Wall, bars, wall, bed, sink, toilet. Wall, bars, wall, bed, sink, toilet. Around and around he prowled, for the hundredth time, cursing under his breath, scenarios running through his head, each worse than the last. They would figure out his papers were forged. They would run his prints in a wider database, attracting attention. The next jail wouldn’t buy the story about a metal plate in his head setting off the detector, and would x-ray him.

“Logan Smith. Visitor!”

Logan interrupted his restless circuit of his cell, eyes narrowing in suspicion. No one would be visiting him. He realized they must have assigned him some kind of public defender. He stood by the bars, hands together in front, letting the paunchy guard handcuff him before escorting him down the hallway. It would be so easy to let the claws out. Two seconds to take out the guard, another five to get down the hallway...

Yeah, and then what, dumbass? he thought wryly. They had his picture, his prints, his papers. They’d get the claws on the security cameras, and he’d be on the run for real. He had to keep cool and play this out as best as he could, but inside him the Wolverine was howling.

They sat him in a chair, and he watchfully assessed the woman across from him through the scratched Plexiglass shield. She didn’t look like his idea of a public defender, but what did he know --- until last night when his luck had run out his only experience with the American justice system had been on television.

The woman was older, mid 50’s perhaps, and impeccably dressed. Her blonde hair was gracefully swept up at the back of her neck, with no attempt to hide the strands of iron grey lacing through it. A silk blouse and tailored skirt completed the package, hiding a body that must have once been striking and was still trim and elegant. Logan thought at first that he must have been called to the visiting room by mistake, maybe the name the unimaginative forger had chosen matched some missing relative of hers. Until he met her eyes. There was a cold grim knowledge there that he recognized. This woman was hard as nails underneath the silk and pearls. He picked up the phone.

“Yeah.”

“Mr. Smith.” He didn’t miss the slight mocking emphasis on the last name, the subtle acknowledgement that he was no more a Smith than she was a turnip. “You’re in a bit of a fix, aren’t you?”

Logan narrowed his eyes further, waiting. Damn this plexiglass, he couldn’t get even a hint of her scent to know her intent.

“I was in the bar last night. You’re quite a scrapper, aren’t you? I’m surprised even the taser took you down.”

He’d admit it, she had taken him by surprise. She had been in that dive bar, watching the fights?

“Ya come here to make a statement in my defense?” he asked sarcastically. “Testify that the little pissant started something he couldn’t finish?”

She smiled with all the warmth of a crocodile. “Oh, everyone knows that already. And everyone knows that Matt McCready is, as you say, a little pissant. Unfortunately, he is also the sheriff’s brother-in-law.”

Logan felt her eyes on him as he took that in. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The cold smile again. “Don’t look so bleak, honey. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have an offer.”

“What kind of offer?”

“Does it even matter? Is there anything you wouldn’t do to get out of here?” She leaned back, crossing her legs carefully, her silk hose making a gentle swishing sound. “The good news is, the sheriff doesn’t like his brother-in-law much more than you do. And he likes me a whole lot.”

“So you got the pull to get me out of here.” He didn’t bother phrasing it as a question, this woman wasn’t the kind to make promises she couldn’t keep. “In exchange for what? You want someone beaten, or even killed, you got no need to go trawling the jails for likely candidates for the job.”

She smiled again. “You’re right there. But I’m scouting for a different kind of talent.” The hard eyes looked him up and down. “You’re a mutant, right? Have to be, not a mark on you after a night like that.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. It was getting to be a familiar refrain.

She drew in a little closer to him. “Have you heard of The Manor House?”

Now Logan was completely puzzled. “The whorehouse?”

Her eyes got even colder for a moment, before she sat back again. “Yes, the whorehouse. I have many more palatable terms for my establishment, but we can be direct, can we not?”

“You own that place?” Logan’s grudging respect for the woman bumped up a notch. The Manor House was legend -- high-priced, well-connected, discreet. The kind of place senators and diplomats went to get their rocks off. Logan had heard whispers of it everywhere but had never been certain that it actually existed. This woman definitely had the pull to get him out of here if she wanted, but why on earth would she bother? And what had she been doing at a place like that bar last night?

“As I said, I was talent-scouting,” she said.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. What was this?

“No need to curse, honey. Just a little bit of telepathy. Very helpful in my line of business. Enough to know the fix you’re in, and what you’d do to get out of it. And to get a little sense of your special talents. And there’s...something in your hands?”

FUCK.

“What do you want from me?”

“Don’t be so angry, honey. Not much. A term of employment. Let’s say a three-month contract. Not too much to ask, given how long you’d likely be kept here if the assault charge gets upheld, as it would without my … intervention.”

“So I’d be -- what, your muscle? Like a bouncer?”

She smiled, shaking her head mockingly. “Don’t be dense, honey. I’m not looking for a bouncer. You’d be my whore.”

The shock of it made his claws snick out a few inches, and he barely pulled them back in time. Her eyes didn’t miss a thing, but hopefully the security cameras hadn’t caught it. He couldn’t even force a response out, more stunned than furious. She calmly watched as he got himself under control.

“So surprised? I pride myself on keeping a good variety of talent. People come to me for the unusual -- the exotic. Short-term contracts like yours are my bread-and-butter. Don’t worry, I’ve got enough of a read on you to know that only women are your style. And you’re not terribly -- discriminating as it is. So maybe the ones you’ll meet aren’t as young as you’re used to, but surely that would be no obstacle for a man as virile as yourself?”

“I’m not a goddamn whore,” he ground out.

She smiled again. “I know, honey. Whores get paid.”

He couldn’t suppress the growl. “So this is what you do -- go around blackmailing people into working for you?”

A mocking light in her eyes. She leaned forward, her voice becoming breathy and intimate. “As any good whore would say -- no, honey, you’re my very first.” She shrugged. “I didn't get as far as I did by letting golden opportunities pass me by." She sat back again and gave him a considering look. "Well, there it is honey. Time is money, and I’m not going to wait around for your answer.”

She leaned back, watching him trying to keep the emotion out of his face. He could feel now the gentle press on his mind. “Don’t worry so much,” she continued. “I need a nice dangerous type to round out my selection, but you’re not to everybody’s taste. A little too ferocious, aren’t you? Consider yourself window-dressing if you like. Stand there looking all growly and scowly, show the claws from time to time to give the ladies a thrill.” Her eyes grew hard and cold again. “But if you get picked, then you play it straight. Bait-and-switch is just bad business, and you don’t make it as a whore by being a tease.”

“What makes you think I’m not going to say okay and then cut out of there the second I’m free?”

“Oh, honey, you may be a hard one to read, but I’m not going to set this deal in motion until I know for a fact that you realize how well and truly fucked you are. And with all the information they have on you? One word from me, and you’d be on the run for well and good. If that was something you could tolerate you wouldn’t still be here. So do your time in here, and hope that they don’t figure out who and what you are, or do your time with me. That’s the choice, honey. So what do you say -- take it or leave it?”

Logan leaned against the wall of the elegant sitting room, arms crossed in front of his chest. He had staked out this spot in the corner, where the light was dimmest, his first night at the house. He could see the door from here, and it was as far as possible from where the few other men-for-hire tended to congregate, drinking casually in club chairs around small tables. The women-for-hire usually lounged in a similar room across the hall.

He soon learned that Miss Frost, as the silk-and-pearls crocodile preferred to be called, was as good as her word. She did not actually seem to care that Logan had been at the house for weeks and had yet to be picked. She had called him out of his corner a few times, even made him pop the claws for a few of the greying matrons and trophy wives who frequented the house, but he did his best to look forbidding and they always ended up choosing someone else. If he wasn’t so relieved he might have developed some sort of complex about it.

Miss Frost passed him now, heels clicking in the small gaps where lush oriental rugs did not cover the hardwoods. “Growly and scowly,” she murmured as she passed him, and Logan couldn’t entirely suppress the quirk of his lip. He was so scowly it was giving him a damn headache by the end of each night. When this was all over he might actually smile for three months straight just for a change.

The door opened, letting in a gust of wind, and three young women tumbled inside. Two, a brassy Asian girl in a yellow coat and a short-haired brunette in a black trench coat, were giggling and shoving each other. The third -- in a dark green hooded cloak, turned slightly away from his view -- seemed to be dragging her heels reluctantly, pulled along by the other two. Logan expected they were new recruits, he hadn’t seen them before and they didn’t seem to know that staff entered through the side door. Miss Frost glided up to meet them, and as Logan curiously watched he realized they were in fact customers, or at least one of them was.

Logan couldn’t make out every word, but it was clear that the brassy Asian girl was doing the talking. “...needs a date...this place...best...” Logan picked up on the occasional word, in between snaps of the girl’s gum. With another giggle she shoved the girl in the hooded cloak forward again, and Logan got a glimpse of her face for the first time.

His first thought was that she was way too young to be a client or even a new recruit. Wide, innocent brown eyes in a pale heart-shaped face, lush pink lips, and an embarrassed flush on her cheeks -- she looked like no more than a teenager. As he watched, however, she pushed the hood off her face and unclasped the fastenings of her cloak, slipping it off her shoulders, and he revised his age estimate upward, guessing she was probably in her early twenties.

She was dressed for an evening out, in a tasteful black cocktail dress and heels, the glimmer of silver jewelry at her neck and ears. Although she was young her body was definitely adult, lush and mature, and she carried herself with confidence despite her apparent hesitation about being there. Her auburn hair fell loose around her neck and shoulders, with two unusual white stripes falling to each side of her face. Even more oddly, she was wearing opera-length gloves, in black with the slightest shimmer, covering her from fingertips to upper arms, leaving only a small soft area of creamy skin exposed between the top of the gloves and the shoulders of her sleeveless dress. On anyone else the gloves would have looked like a ridiculous affectation, but for some reason they seemed exactly right on her. Logan had a sudden vision of those gloves running over his naked body, his tongue licking that small stripe of creamy exposed skin, and blinked in surprise at his reaction to it.

Miss Frost spoke a few more words to the other two girls, and with a laugh and a hug to the third they were tumbling out the door again, leaving the third girl in the hands of the madam. The girl with the unusual hair held her green cloak in front of her, folded over her arms, hesitating just the slightest bit as Miss Frost guided her to where the other men were congregated.

Logan watched with a feeling he couldn’t quite identify as the girl’s eyes ran over the other men. He wasn’t much for socializing, but of course in the weeks he had been there he had become familiar with the other men and the type of customer they usually attracted. There was an All-American Joe type, blond and buff and looking like he subsisted entirely on whole milk and apple pie. There was a sulky-looking slender young Latino man, who was equally popular with male and female clients. Logan watched as Roger, a somewhat older, elegant man raised a glass in acknowledgement of the girl -- he was especially popular with the rich girls looking to work out their daddy issues.

Instead of moving closer at his encouragement, the girl took a step back. Miss Frost, too practiced to try to push, spoke a few words to her, but the girl backed up a few steps more, half-turning toward the door. “...a mistake...” Logan heard her say. Without meaning to, Logan pushed away from the wall, taking a step toward the girl. The movement caught the girl’s eye, and she turned to look at him right as he froze, surprised by his instinctual action. Their eyes locked for a minute, and he felt the force of her gaze like a physical thing. The girl broke the contact in a moment, looking away, and Logan was surprised to feel faintly disappointed.

The girl turned her head toward Miss Frost. “Is he...?” she asked, flicking her gaze towards Logan again. Miss Frost expertly smothered the surprise on her face. “You have excellent taste,” she said in her smooth, practiced voice. “Come meet Logan.”

Logan took a step back as they approached, leaning against the wall in his usual pose, but he had trouble summoning his usual scowl. And if his crossed arms happened to flex a little as the girl approached, rippling the muscles under his flannel shirt, he was sure it was completely involuntary.

Miss Frost was in the middle of her prepared spiel about Logan. “...a superhealer, so guaranteed to be disease free -- if you are protected against pregnancy no further precautions are required...” she was saying, casting a significant glance toward the girl, who blushed but then nodded. “And one more feature...” Miss Frost said. Logan knew that was his cue. As much as it had irritated him to act like a trained dog in the past, he had been glad to pop the claws for the other potential clients, knowing that was the deciding factor in driving them away. He felt strangely reluctant to do it in front of this girl.

“Logan?” Miss Frost cued, the subtlest edge to her voice, and Logan held one hand out, letting the claws glide out slowly in contrast to the vicious snap with which he usually displayed them.

To his surprise the girl reached out, running a satin-gloved finger along the blunt edge of one claw, stopping just short of the skin of his knuckle. Logan suppressed a shiver. “Does it hurt? When they come out?”

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. And then, without really intending to, he heard himself adding, “Every time.” The girl simply nodded in acknowledgement, as if that was what she expected. Miss Frost looked taken aback. Logan wasn’t sure if Miss Frost had never thought about the display of claws hurting him, or if she was simply as surprised as Logan himself was by his honesty. He slid the claws back in, and they all watched as the skin healed over.

“A mutant,” the girl said. But she said it with wonder, not disgust as most did. “I never expected...” she said, and trailed off.

Miss Frost filled the awkward silence. “We can meet some of the others...”

“No,” the girl interrupted. Adding more softly but with equal certainty in her voice, “He’s the one I want.” Logan felt his heart rate speed up as the girl met his gaze briefly again, and then looked away.

“Well then.” Logan had never seen the usually unflappable Miss Frost so disconcerted. “Let’s go to my office and discuss the details.”

Logan had never been inside Miss Frost’s office, and had idly wondered what went on there during these “pre-appointment consultations,” as she liked to call them. He sat awkwardly in one of the two chairs in front of the desk, and the girl sat in the other. He realized belatedly he should have held her chair for her in a gesture he had only seen on television. What the fuck am I doing here? he thought, not for the first time but certainly more fervently than he had ever thought it before.

Miss Frost sat in her chair across the desk, tapping her nails thoughtfully on the leather blotter. “As you may be aware, Miss D’Ancanto, we pride ourselves at The Manor House on fulfilling all of our clients’ special requests. Your friend -- Jubilee was it? -- mentioned that you had a few requirements?”

The girl blushed, but seemed to be making a conscious effort to hold her head high. She looked Miss Frost in the eye, again flicking only the occasional glance to Logan.

“I want the whole night,” she said. Miss Frost nodded calmly. Logan knew that this was not uncommon, but he felt a warm tendril of satisfaction uncurl in his belly at the girl’s words.

The girl took a deep breath. “And I want...” she seemed to be searching for the words. “If I say stop, I want it to stop right away. Not even a second later. And I want him to only touch me when I say.” She looked Logan right in the eye, her head held high even as the blush on her cheeks intensified. “I want control. Complete control.”

Logan felt a growl start in his chest at the thought of it. Miss Frost was looking quite concerned again. “You should probably know...Logan is new to this. He is not as...practiced...as some of the others. Perhaps there is someone more suitable...”

They both saw the disappointment flash over the girl’s face before she schooled her expression into neutrality.

“No,” Logan growled, making both women jump. “No one else. I can do it.”

Miss Frost’s brief look of bafflement echoed Logan’s own thoughts. What the hell are you doing? She just gave you an out and you turned it down.

She turned back to Miss D’Ancanto. “Well. Then. Was there anything else?”

The girl hesitated, dropping her eyes to her lap. Her gloved hands fidgeted nervously before she seemed to still them with a conscious effort. She looked up at Miss Frost, and then away again. Logan wondered what request she could possibly be formulating that was apparently more outrageous than the last had been.

“I want...” She took a deep breath. “As much as possible, I want it to seem real.” Her gaze flicked to Logan, and then back down to her hands. When she spoke again it was so soft he could barely hear it, even sitting next to her as he was, but he heard the loneliness and desolation in the soft words. “I want him to pretend like he really wants me.”

Logan felt her words jolt right to his groin. Pretend? He realized now that he had been uncomfortably hard since the girl took off her cloak. In any other situation he would have had her up against the wall already.

He realized belatedly that Miss Frost had been checking in on his thoughts again, and he closed his mind against her with irritation as her amused smile turned to one of reassurance aimed at Miss D’Ancanto. “I don’t believe that will be a problem,” she said in her smooth professional voice. “Now if that is all, your friend has already authorized a charge to her credit card that will be more than sufficient. Room 8.”

She handed a key to Logan, and he stared at the object in his palm as if he had never seen anything like it before. What the fuck am I doing here? he thought again. He realized that both women were watching him uncertainly. He tightened his fist around the key and stood up. “Let’s go,” he said.

Logan strode down the hallway, doubts and self-recriminations running through his head, realizing only halfway down that the girl was struggling to keep up with his long strides.

“Sorry,” he said gruffly, and even to his own ears the words sounded more like an accusation than an apology. Christ, he was going to scare her away before they even got in the room, and he had no idea if that was what he wanted to happen or not. He slowed his pace, and felt her eyes on him as he fumbled with the key. He had never actually been in one of the “appointment” rooms. It was a remarkably ordinary bedroom. Luxurious, certainly, in keeping with the rest of the house, but no rotating bed or red brocade wallpaper or handy selection of whips mounted on the wall.

There was, however, a small bar in the corner, and Logan was downing a glass of whisky in half a minute flat. He turned around to find the girl still in the doorway, eyes wide.

“Oh. Wanna drink?” he asked belatedly.

“Um, no thanks. But thank you.” A small half-smile turned her mouth up at the corners and lit her eyes. Was she laughing at him?

He suddenly realized how it must have looked to her -- the way he had barrelled down the hall, and then downed his drink like he was about to face a firing squad.

He felt an answering quirk to his own lips. “Sorry. Again.” He thought of her words -- I want him to pretend like he really wants me -- and realized he was not exactly being reassuring. He felt ridiculous saying it, like a child complaining about being picked last for kickball, but he said it anyway. “No one ever picked me before.”

He could tell that surprised her. Well, that was something. She looked at him seriously. “Are you sorry that I did?”

He was suddenly sure of his answer. He shook his head slowly. “No.”

She smiled again, warm and wide this time. “Me neither.” Finally, she stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind her.

They each took a step closer, and then stopped. “This is weird,” she said. “How do you think we begin?”

Logan looked at her -- the lush body, the creamy skin, the flushed cheeks. Forget the rest, he thought. You want her, all you have to do is make damn sure she wants you back.

He took the remaining steps until he was standing right in front of her, stopping himself from gathering her up against his body in the nick of time, suddenly remembering her rules. Instead, he ghosted his fingers along the lock of white hair, then rubbed his thumb just a hair’s breadth away from her lower lip, finally brushing his fingertips just barely over the soft draped fabric of her dress between her shoulder and breast.

“Your rules,” he said. “Complete control. So tell me what you want.” He saw her shiver at the low, husky tone of his voice, smelled the spike in her arousal at his words. He felt it himself, thinking of the words that might fall from those soft lips, the requests she might have for him. His body was painfully aware of the heat that radiated from hers, so close that their clothes brushed, their breaths mingled.

He saw the challenge light her eyes. “I want to see you,” she said, and he damn near came in his jeans.

He leaned down, nuzzling his face into her hair a bit, his words a warm breath in her ear. “Go ahead.”

She pulled her head back in surprise, but then the light of challenge was back. She placed her gloved fingers on his chest, pressing a little as if testing the texture of underlying skin and muscle before her nimble fingers made quick work of the buttons of his shirt. She had to get up on tiptoes to push it off his shoulders, and he laughed at her little noise of frustration when he didn’t help at all. She pulled his undershirt out of his jeans, and he had to close his eyes as the fabric scraped his oversensitive skin. This time he helped, lifting his arms and throwing the shirt free.

“Oh.” Her eyes were wide, as she took in his chest. She reached a hand out towards him, and then stopped. “Can I … touch you?” she asked seriously.

He smiled at that. “Darlin’, you don’t have to ask. I’m all yours.”

She drew in her breath at that, and then smiled. She pulled on each finger of the glove on her right hand, and then stripped it off. She repeated the action with her other glove, and he had just a moment to wonder at the softness and paleness of her skin, as if she rarely went without the gloves, before her hands on his chest made him forget his own name.

He was not usually one for soft touches. His history was more about fuck-’em-hard-and-fast-in-an-alley-and-then-head-home-alone, but something about having to restrain himself in the face of her gentle, almost reverent exploration aroused him almost to the breaking point. Her soft hand ran across his neck, bristling the small hairs at the nape, over his chest, brushing against his nipple and making him suck in a harsh breath and stifle a groan. One hand drifted down his side, and he automatically grabbed her hand to halt it as she hit his ticklish spot.

Fast as lightning, the mood was broken. She jerked back, wrenching her hand from his, accusation in her eyes. Christ, her damn rule. What was with that, anyway? “Sorry,” he said, although even he could hear the irritation in his own voice. “I’m ticklish.”

Suddenly her eyes softened and grew blurry with incipient tears. She turned away and he saw her wipe the tears away with a quick angry swipe. What the hell? He tried to soften his voice. “Darlin’? What’s wrong? I’ll -- I’ll be more careful.”

She took a step away and a deep shaky breath. “I’m so stupid.”

“What do you mean?”

She whirled around now, eyes blazing, voice bitter. “I mean I don’t know anything! I’ve never even touched a man like this. Never kissed anyone goodnight on my doorstep, never made out in the backseat of a car, nothing. I thought somehow I could learn it all in one night, but that was just stupid. How can you make up for all the touch you missed over a decade in one night?”

He was sure he looked as stunned as he felt, mouth hanging open. This luscious girl had never been touched? “How...why...” he heard himself sputter.

Her face closed down, and she shut her eyes wearily. “It doesn’t matter why. I was...sick. And now that I’m...better I thought if I met someone and really liked them, and was ready to -- to be with them -- they would know. They would know right away that I didn’t know anything, and then I would have to explain, and I just thought -- I just stupidly thought that I could do this all in one night and then afterwards I would just be normal. Not a virgin, not ignorant as hell, not so anxious about what I should or shouldn’t be doing that I can’t even let myself feel...” She was almost trembling with agitation, the words spilling out of her in an ungovernable rush.

“Hey,” he said. “Stop it.” Unable to touch her without fear of her reaction, he did the next best thing, stepping up close to her again, letting her feel the heat of his body, his breath in her ear. I can do this for her, he realized. I want to do this for her.

“I’ll show you anything you want to know. Teach you anything you want to learn. And I’ll make damn sure you feel it...”

He saw the shudder run through her at his words. She slowly leaned forward until her forehead was resting against his bare chest, her trembling subsiding as she took in his warmth. Then her arms wrapped around him, her cheek -- still damp from her tears -- pressed against his hot skin. She seemed to melt against his body with a sigh. “I want that,” she said softly. And more urgently, as her arms tightened around his waist, “God, I want that so much.”

He clenched his fists at his side to keep his arms from wrapping around her. He was not someone for whom reassuring words came naturally, and he groped for what he wanted to say. “This is good,” he said finally. “You’re good at this.”

She laughed, half a chuckle and half a snuffle against his chest. “Oh, great. I passed Hugging 101. What’s next, Professor?”

Christ, a brief image of her in a short plaid skirt and that was not helping his restraint. “Let me take your hands?” he asked. She nodded, and he put his large warm hands over hers, turning them and taking a step back so that the wall was at his back, guiding her hands over his body in the path she had traced earlier. “This was good, when you did this,” he said, guiding her hand over the nape of his neck. “And this...this feels very good," he said, guiding her hand to his nipple, pressing down hard so she could feel the change in texture, moving her thumb to flick a little.

Half-unconsciously, he started tilting his hips, pressing the bulge in his jeans gently against her soft belly as he moved her hands over his body. “I’m a little ticklish here,” he said, skimming her hand over his side and shivering, “but here feels good.” He pressed her hand against the warm skin of his taut belly, muscles rippling at her touch. “Truth is, darlin’, men are so happy to be touched they don’t really care too much where or how you do it.”

Her eyes were heavy with lust, the scent of her arousal pooling around her body. She leaned her head in, licking at his nipple, and then sucking. “Christ!” he ground out, and she smiled. “I’ll remember that spot,” she said with a mischievous glint, and he growled a bit. “And how about here?” she said, pure wickedness in her eyes as she pressed her hand against the bulge in his jeans.

The growl choked off into an anguished moan as the simple pressure of her hand almost made his knees buckle. He felt those deep chocolate eyes on his as she slowly unbuckled his belt, pulling it completely off with a satisfying swish. “Especially there,” he rasped, as her small soft hands worked the buttons of his fly. He toed off his shoes and socks as she reached the last button and hesitated.

Logan fought the urge to take control. He wanted to pull her hard against him, devour her mouth, press her up against the wall and plunge into her sweet body. Instead he clenched his fists and waited. She stood up on her tiptoes, hands still on the last button, slowly drawing closer and closer until her breath mingled with his.

“Darlin’...” he said, and heard the underlying plea in his own voice.

“Marie,” she said, her lips finally meeting his, soft and sweet and hot, tongue slicking over his lower lip as she released the last button and took him fully and firmly in her hand. He groaned into her mouth, deepening the kiss, possessing, invading, shuddering with pleasure as her hand moved over him, sweet torture and relief all at once.

“Marie,” he said, as they broke the kiss, each gasping for breath. “God, Marie...” as he dived back in, sucking her lower lip, tongue slick against his, reflexively pushing his body hard into the warmth of her hand.

She pushed his jeans off his hips and he kicked them aside. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of him completely naked.

“Oh. Wow.” she said. She moved her hand experimentally, drinking in his expression as he clenched his jaw and threw his head back with the pleasure of it. He heard her breath hitch, saw her pupils dilate further. “Show me how,” she said. “Tell me everything.”

Logan’s hand covered hers. Christ, he was so aroused he would be lucky if he could formulate a sentence. “Like this,” he said, his hand guiding hers. “Harder than you might think. Like...God, Marie, just like that.”

“It feels...” she started to say, and then stopped, apparently at a loss for words. “I like touching you.”

He groaned at her words, his breath coming in pants as her hand began to move on his body with more confidence. Suddenly she stopped, and his heart stuttered as she dropped to her knees before him. Her hand moved on him again, her breath hot against his cock. “Tell me...” she said again.

“Christ, Marie,” he said. “Just...please, take me in your mouth. Suck on me.” His body tensed with pleasure as she followed his instructions, licking and then sucking him into her mouth.

“Harder, baby...Jesus, like that. And your hand...” He showed her what to do, her soft hand and sweet mouth on his body driving him wild.

“More. You can take more.” He didn’t even know what he was saying now, he just knew he never wanted her to stop, never wanted this to end. “God, baby, that’s so good. Harder, baby. Please.”

God, she was so perfect. Unpracticed, but so responsive, so eager. He was making rough noises in the back of his throat now, hands hovering over her head as he fought the urge to bury them in her soft striped hair.

“That’s it, darlin’. Fuck, Marie...more. C’mon baby...oh fuck, that’s it. Fuck, don’t stop. Christ, Marie...” The smell of his and her arousal surrounded them, as erotic to his heightened senses as the sight of her -- kneeling before him fully dressed, the silky curtain of her hair brushing his thighs, her eyelashes dark crescents on her flushed cheeks as she closed her eyes with pleasure, her small pale hand on his body. Her other hand crept up to the back of his thigh, squeezing as she pulled him harder into her soft warm mouth.

His hands clenched and opened helplessly. “Fuck, Marie. So good. Oh, fuck.” He wasn’t sure she was ready, knew he should stop her. “Marie...Christ, Marie, stop. God, baby, I’m gonna...”

Her eyes fluttered open and met his for a moment, and he saw the understanding in them as instead of stopping she took him deeper, sucked harder, squeezed tighter.

“Oh, fuck!” He felt all the sensation in his body gather like a ball of lightning at the base of his spine. The urge to touch her was unbearable, and in a moment of clarity he instinctively held his arms rigid at his sides, palms out, popping the claws into the wall to pin himself in place. The surge of pain made everything more acute, the unaccustomed restraint unbearably erotic. He pressed his shoulderblades back against the wall to try to restrain himself from thrusting into her sweet mouth as he came hard with a roar.

“Ah God...oh, fuck...fuck, Marie...” he couldn’t stop the raspy words as he pulsed into her mouth, feeling her lick and swallow around his body, her hand still moving gently, drawing out the pleasure of the release, keeping him shuddering and spasming helplessly for infinite moments.

“Marie...” A final lick and she released him, rocking back to sit on her heels. He sheathed the claws with a snap, falling into a crouch in front of her, still recovering, breath coming in desperate pants, his heart racing, sweat sheening his skin.

“God, Marie...I need to touch you.” It was more a low, gravelly command than a request, but still he waited for her response.

Her eyes met his, dazed with lust, her voice sounding almost sleepy with arousal. “Yeah. Touch me, Logan.”

“Touch me, Logan.”

After the past minutes of tortuous restraint, her soft words of permission affected Logan like a drug. A rush of desire and possessiveness washed over him, the animal inside him slouching closer to the surface. He pulled her to her feet, prowling around her in a circle, his instincts at war with each other. He wanted to tease her slowly and he wanted to claim her swiftly. He wanted to caress her tenderly and he wanted to ravish her mercilessly.

She stood, eyes closed, every other sense attuned to him as he circled and stalked her. Finally he stopped behind her back, warm fingers brushing her hair aside, his hot breath on the back of her neck sending shivers down her spine. The slow purr of her zipper followed the path of her shivers, her dress falling open from her neck to the base of her spine.

She kept her eyes closed as she felt the cool air of the room on her back, and then his warm touch, brushing from the nape of her neck to the hollow of her back. Up and down he brushed his fingertips over the exposed skin, his touch too firm to tickle but too light to satisfy. She bit her lip, but couldn’t stifle the soft sound in her throat, a wordless plea.

As if that was what he had been waiting for, his hands moved up to her shoulders, sliding under the loosened dress, and then down her arms until the dress puddled at her feet. She heard his soft grunt of appreciation as he took in her body, now wearing only her dark green lace bra and panties and her heels.

She felt one warm finger teasingly tracing the lacy edge of her bra cups, and then it disappeared. A quick warm brush as the touch reappeared at the center of her back and then her bra fell away to join her dress at her feet. She felt him step closer to her, and her eyes opened in shock as he pressed his naked warmth full against her back and she realized he was fully aroused again. One brawny arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her even closer, pressing her back hard against his chest, while his head ducked into the juncture of her neck and shoulder, stubble scraping and tickling the skin, his mouth gently nipping and sucking a path towards her ear.

As his teeth closed gently on her earlobe, his other hand came up, cupping her breast. She gasped at the combination of feelings. Her nipple pebbled under his large palm as she drank in the sight of his hand, dark against her pale flesh, large and long-fingered but deft as he caressed and rubbed and flicked until her knees weakened.

Another growl of approval from him as his touch sapped the strength from her legs, shifting her weight against his arousal, pressed hard against her bottom. His strong frame now held the bulk of her weight as she relaxed into him, her whole body liquid with pleasure. She watched hazily as the hand on her breast drifted down, tracing a light pattern on her belly before delving into the front of her panties to circle and stroke.

She looped her arms around his neck as his hard warm thigh came between her legs from behind, bracing and caressing, his body now moving in counterpoint to his hand, pressing hard into her, bolts of pleasure shooting through her with every movement. She could feel his breath rough and warm on her neck as his sucking bites and nibbles grew more firm, teeth scraping, tongue rasping.

She realized he had not spoken a word since she had given him permission to touch her. On some mostly subconscious level she had perceived the change in him. As gentle as he was being with her, the way he was touching her was not calculated or planned. From the time he stood and circled her she had sensed the emergence of a different side to him -- untamed and primal. It was nothing like she had expected from this night, but she realized now that it was what had drawn her to him at first sight -- why she had backed away from the urbane, practiced men downstairs and yet gravitated toward Logan. There was a wildness in him that called out to her, and suddenly it felt like all that she had ever wanted.

She felt it now, rising within her in an ungovernable rush. The sharp nip of his teeth, the warm slickness of his tongue, his firm hands on her body stroking her, his panting breaths against her skin, the press of his cock hard and hot against her -- all the sensations combined to create an unbearable tension, driving her to impulsive action. Without thought, she tightened the arms she had looped around his neck, turning her head into his sweat-sheened skin and firmly biting him there, tasting salt and sweat and skin and man.

Her action triggered an explosion of movement and she was suddenly on the bed, Logan’s body braced above her, his hazel eyes gazing into hers with a dark predatory intent. He was pressed fully against her, his arms barely keeping the bulk of his weight off her as he started to move against her in slow, deep, wild thrusts, his low growl rumbling against the skin of her neck and reverberating against her belly as he ground down into her softness.

The burst of movement and new position shocked her to awareness, even as it heightened the keen pleasure she felt with his every motion. Her eyes widened, suddenly unsure. She had wanted him to lose control with her, wanted to join him in his wild abandon, and yet abruptly she realized that was the very thing she was here to prevent. Her lust-hazed brain had lost sight of the danger that could result, and it suddenly came back to her in a flood of cold fear.

“Logan...” she said, trying to ease up from under him with tentative movements. His eyes narrowed, and with a possessive growl he pulled her underneath him again, his hard warm body inexorably holding her in place as he resumed the rough motions, his breath panting in her ear in gruff wordless sounds and snuffles. Her fear spiked higher. If her control slipped now, she would kill him, pinned under his weight as she was. She felt a hysterical bubble of panic start to rise up within her, eroding her control. Almost desperately she grabbed at the hair at his temples, pulling his head up until his eyes met hers again. “Logan, listen to me! I say stop you stop, remember? Stop!”

A shudder ran through him, and she saw awareness return to his eyes. He froze in place, his whole body rigid, searching her eyes and inhaling her scent, and then sat up with a muffled curse. He moved to sit heavily on the edge of the bed, face turned away from her. He rubbed a hand over his face, sucking in harsh breaths as he got himself under control. “I scared you,” he said, his voice flat with self-loathing.

“No,” she said, and stopped short as he turned a cynical gaze on her. “I mean, yes, but just at the end.” She felt like she was on the edge of tears. She was still so aroused she wanted to throw herself at him and damn the consequences, but the ever-present fear of her skin ran too deep. She could not allow herself be reckless, could not take that risk knowing that he might be the one to pay the price.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair, hearing her own voice thick with unshed tears. “Logan, I wish I could explain better. Everything you did, I wanted.” A ripple of the muscles in his naked back caused her throat to go dry, and she swallowed. “I still want it. I just...I have to know that if I really need you to, you’ll stop. I’m not trying to tease, I know how unfair this must seem, but I can’t do this unless I know that you’ll be able to let me go. It’s...it’s the only way.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, encouraged when he didn’t draw away. She leaned forward, pressing her body shamelessly against his back, whispering in his ear, knowing that she was exposed and vulnerable -- all her fear and loneliness reflected in her voice. “Please understand. Please.”

She squeaked with surprise as he suddenly pulled her around to sit on his lap, face buried in her hair. She felt his chest heave against her as he took deep breaths, and wished she could see his face. “Christ, you’re a lot of work,” he finally grumbled, and she laughed, half-sobbing in relief. His mouth settled on hers again -- his kiss slower this time, seductive and warm, as he brushed a hand gently through her hair. He pulled back, his eyes intent and serious as he studied her. She knew he didn’t understand why, but he at least seemed to understand how important this was to her. “I promise,” he said solemnly. “If you say stop, I’ll let you go. No matter what.”

She felt the relieved tears prickling at the corner of her eyes, before his lips gently kissed them away. He pulled them both towards the center of the bed until he was sitting, leaning back against the headboard. Guided by his warm hand on her thigh, she turned so she was straddling his lap, and they both groaned at the delicious pressure, his chest hair tickling her nipples, his taut belly pressed tight to hers.

His hand smoothed down her back, tightening when it hit the base of her spine to pull her more firmly against him. She instinctively took over the movement, rocking rhythmically against him, feeling the pleasure build again. She leaned down and this time she took control of the kiss, sucking his lower lip into her mouth, slicking her tongue against his, chasing the sweet-smoky taste of whiskey in his mouth and then drawing back to look into his face to see the expression of fierce pleasure she had caused.

He dipped his head to lick and suckle at her breasts, the rasp of his tongue and pull of his lips driving her to grind into his firm body harder and faster. “Logan,” she gasped, as his hands tightened on her hips, his strong grip helping her push into him even harder, as his hips pressed up into hers, circling slightly, driving her to the edge with delicious firm undulations.

“Marie,” he said, closing his eyes, his head thrown back, his body arching into hers. “Fuck, Marie...I need to be inside you.”

“Yes...God, yes,” she said, the thought of it bringing a new rush of wetness, and she saw him inhale the scent, his nostrils flaring. He held out his hand and she held her breath as his claw slid out, watching wide-eyed as he cut the sides of her panties and pulled them off her. He snicked the claw back in and unthinking, she grabbed his hand, licking gently between the knuckles where the skin was newly healed.

“Marie...ah, God, baby...” he shuddered, and she smiled, biting down on the knuckle, making him buck uncontrollably up into her. “Now, baby...please,” he said, and she felt his hands firm on her hips, helping her rise up to her knees. He moved his hands then, winding them into her hair, pressing a hard kiss against her lips before leaning back again, keeping his hands in place so her eyes were fixed on him. “Look at me,” he said, a low gravely command, and she watched his eyes darken with desire as she took him into her body, holding her breath against the sting as she sank down onto him, adjusting to the sensation.

She felt his hands tighten in her hair, but he let her set the pace, the painful stretch giving way to blinding pleasure as her movements became more assured. She found a rhythm that made his eyes snap shut, cords of muscle standing out on his neck as he began bucking underneath her, stretching and filling her with delicious friction.

He ran a rough hand from the small of her back up to press between her shoulder blades, arching her forward into his mouth as he licked and sucked at her breasts, her neck, her lips. She felt pressure rising within her, every sensation in her body coalescing to a point of unbearable tension as she balanced on the knife-edge of sensation. He seemed to know, his hand coming between their bodies to press and circle on a point of unbearable pleasure, his rough voice rasping against her skin.

“C’mon baby...so beautiful...let me see you...come for me, darlin’...come now...” The growled command sent her over, and she was shaking, screaming, spasming with the force of it, his body relentlessly pushing into her again and again to sustain and suspend the delicious thick rush of feeling for endless moments. Then she was boneless, dazed, collapsed in a heap against his chest.

She realized he was saying something, and she made the heroic effort to try to process language. “Whuh?” she said.

He laughed, a half-chuckle, half-growl, and God that was sexy. “I said, don’t go to sleep yet. We’re not through.” A slow, slick press of his body into hers to emphasize his point.

“You’re kidding...I can’t...” she started, stunned at the idea.

“Hush, darlin’. You can and will. I could make you come for me all night long if I wanted. Do you believe me?” His low, rumbled words left no room for doubt, nor did another long, luxurious thrust of his cock into her warmth, re-igniting a flame deep within her belly. She nodded her dazed head at the simple truth of his words. Tonight her body was his to command.

Another low growl from him at her assent, and then he was lifting, turning her, his breath again hot on her neck, his voice low in her ear as he placed her hands so they were grasping the top edge of the headboard.

“Hold on tight, baby,” he murmured, and then he was pushing into her from behind, hot and hard, wet and slick, spreading her knees to go deeper. She gasped with the shock of the sensation caused by the new angle. She felt his hand roaming her front, tracing the taut line of her neck, teasing her breasts, dipping low to circle and stroke against her tender slick skin. And then soon he was beyond teasing, his gentle rocking thrusts becoming wild and uncontrolled as he pounded into her, fucking her with primal abandon.

She knew this was a display of dominance on his part as he arched over her, rubbing his scent on her, marking her with his hands and mouth, claiming her with the relentless press of his body into hers, pushing her heedlessly toward another orgasm. She knew it and yet she gloried in it, raw shocks of pleasure coursing through her as he ground his body into hers. She held tight to the headboard, seeking the leverage to push back against him, driving him deeper, answering his wildness with her own, hearing the low growls and rough noises he was making with every movement of his body into hers.

She was so close, she felt her whole body tense and she turned her head to see him, the dark force of his hazel eyes burning a path through her body to the place where they were joined. Unconsciously she licked and then bit her lower lip at the sight of him and she saw his attention snap there. Suddenly his hands came down hard over hers on the headboard and she felt the glide under the smooth skin of his palms as his claws snapped out reflexively, and then he was coming hard, shuddering against her, growling deep and low against her skin.

The feel of him losing control sent her over, a blaze of sensation washing over her as he clasped her closer, his belly damp with sweat pressed hard against her back, his fists clenching rhythmically on her hips as his body pulsed within her, short rough thrusts of his hips drawing out the sensation, making her shudder and keen with the hot liquid force of her orgasm.

This time they collapsed together, Logan pulling Marie close to his side, still feeling her body shake with aftershocks. He smoothed her hair, nestling her head into his shoulder, as a warm satisfaction relaxed every muscle in his body.

“Don’t let me fall asleep,” she slurred, and he smiled. She was mostly asleep already.

“Sure, darlin’,” he said, watching with amusement the laxness take her muscles as she slid into slumber. He heaved a satisfied sigh, enjoying the soft trusting weight of her body pressed against his, and let his own mind drift into sleep.
_____________

Logan lay propped up on one elbow, watching Marie sleep. He had been watching her for more than an hour now, as the pale light of dawn spread to a warm golden glow across her skin. At some point in the night she had managed to get the sheet twined around her. He was tempted to untangle the sheet from her body so that he could feel her pressed against him again, but for now she looked so delicious in sleep that he did not have the heart to disturb her.

Instead he just studied the rise and fall of her breath underneath her lush breasts, the lingering flush on her cheeks, her lips swollen by the force of his kisses. One silver lock was stuck to her cheek, and he traced it with a fingertip, tucking it behind her ear.

He alternated between admiring her -- so adorable and fuckable that he wanted to cuddle and corrupt her all at once -- and luxuriating in thoughts of what he would do to her when she awoke. He had promised to show her everything. He thought he would start by tasting her...

Suddenly her eyelids fluttered, and he was looking into her deep brown eyes. “Mornin’,” he rumbled, smiling.

For an instant she smiled back, her eyes still hazy with sleep, but as he watched the smile melted from her face, replaced by a dawning look of horror. He smelled her fear, keen and acrid in the air. He felt a coldness spreading in his chest, and then a wave of hot fury burning it away.

“What the fuck, Marie?”

She was frantically trying to cover herself, scrabbling away from him, back towards the headboard. Goddamn her, she had given him the best night of his life, and now she was horrified to wake up next to him? Didn’t even want him to look at her? Daylight comes and you’re just a whore to her, he thought, the anger welling up within him and making his knuckles itch.

“Jesus Christ, Marie -- all of a sudden you’re too good for me?” He practically spat the words at her.

“Logan, wait...just let me explain...” she was pressed up against the headboard, still trying to cover every inch of her with the sheet.

“Don’t fuckin’ run away from me,” he snarled. As she frantically tried to push back even further, one foot slipped out from under the sheet and he grabbed her ankle, pulling her down the bed towards him.

“NO! Logan, let GO!”

He opened his mouth to reply, but in the next instant his jaw snapped shut, clenched against the unbearable pain. He felt every inch of his skin blaze in agony as every muscle in his body seized. He felt like his bones were breaking, tendons snapping. Through a red haze of pain, he saw Marie’s terrified face, eyes wide, mouth moving to form words he couldn’t hear over the roaring in his ears. He realized that his hand was still gripping her ankle so hard he could feel the bones rub together under her skin, and her fingers were desperately trying to loosen his grip.

I’m hurting her, he realized, and with a guttural howl of effort he managed to pry his own fingers off her skin.

Suddenly the pain ceased. He still felt his heart pounding, breath rasping, body aching, but the unbearable torment had stopped as if a switch had been thrown. He could hear Marie’s words now.

“...I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

She seemed to suddenly realize she was free, and launched herself off the bed. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, one more time, before turning to run toward the door.

“Miss Frost!” he heard her cry out, as he slid into unconsciousness.

Logan struggled towards consciousness. His head was pounding, and every muscle and tendon in his body ached. His eyelids were heavy and sticky as he struggled to open them.

“Miss Frost!” he heard a strange voice call.

By the time he got his eyes open Miss Frost was there, dismissing the girl who had apparently been watching for him to awaken. She sat in the chair next to his bed and regarded him, the expression on her face unreadable.

“Is she okay?” he rasped, his throat aching. With economical movements, Miss Frost poured water into a glass from a pitcher at his bedside, and handed it to him as he struggled up to his elbows.

“Miss D’Ancanto? She’s fine. You, on the other hand, look like hell.”

Logan managed a smirk. “Don’t tell me you were worried about me?”

Miss Frost smiled coldly. “Of course I was. Disposing of corpses is so effortful.”

Logan managed to drag himself to a sitting position.

“What the hell happened?”

Miss Frost sat back looking thoughtful, as if she was deciding how much to tell him. In the end she shrugged. “Turns out the lovely Miss D’Ancanto is a mutant too. Her skin is poisonous to others -- sucks their life force right out of them. Quite the talent if you ask me, but I can see how it could be a tad inconvenient. Apparently she recently learned control, and came here for...her test-run, you might say. She said it turned itself back on when she fell asleep, and she didn’t have a chance to warn you. Poor dear was quite broken up about it.”

Logan rubbed a weary hand over his face. “So she’s okay?”

That same cryptic look. Logan could almost see the wheels turning in her mind.

“What? What aren’t you telling me?”

“Give me a minute, Logan, it’s not often I struggle with moral dilemmas.” She sighed. “Oh well, I suppose you would be determined to know anyway, and I have to admit I do feel somewhat responsible for your current sorry state. You don’t have to worry, Miss D’Ancanto looked healthy as a horse. But I have to admit that I checked in on her mind a little bit. I like to have all the facts, especially in a crisis. And there is a little more to her mutation than she told me.”

“More than knocking me out cold for a few minutes? Like what?”

“More than knocking you out cold for a few days.” Miss Frost smiled again, obviously enjoying Logan’s surprise. “Like I said, quite a talent. But it’s not just life force she gets when she touches someone.” Her gaze turned distant. “How do I put this? I looked inside her head, and you were there.”

“Huh?” This was a little too much for Logan’s already pounding head to comprehend.

“Like I said, more than life force. Your thoughts, memories, even emotions. While she was talking to me, you were prowling around in her head. Quite comical actually, both of us trying to hold a conversation, neither of us willing to admit to the other that we knew about your presence there.”

“Fuck.” Logan leaned his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes.

“No kidding.” For the first time, Miss Frost’s cold facade seemed to crack. He saw genuine disquiet in her eyes, heard a slight tremor in her voice. “I saw in Miss D’Ancanto’s head what they did to you. The metal, and the tank.” She closed her eyes and shivered.

Logan felt something wrench in his gut. If he needed more proof that his memories were goddamn intolerable, seeing them affect a cold-hearted bitch like Miss Frost was it. The thought that he had forced all of that on Marie -- not even just for her to glimpse like Miss Frost, but for her to have to live with like he did -- it made him sick.

“Goddamnit,” he said. “I shouldn’ta touched her like that. I promised her I wouldn’t, and I did it anyway. And now she’s got all that crap to deal with.”

Miss Frost’s eyes snapped open again and the cold facade was back. “Well, honey, we all have our crosses to bear.”

Logan smoothed his hand over his face again and then ran it through his hair, spiking it even further. “You know we’re done here, right? I’m not sticking around.” There was no way he was going back on display, potentially being picked by another woman. The memory of Marie was going to be in every corner of this place.

Miss Frost looked mulish for a moment, and Logan felt her press on his mind. He tried to keep his thoughts off Marie while pushing Miss Frost out of his head, but knew he wasn’t entirely successful. He was still spun for a loop, his mind in turmoil over everything that had happened with Marie and everything else he had just learned from Miss Frost, and his concentration was shot. Unbidden, a memory came to him -- watching Marie in the early morning light, stroking back the lock of her hair...

He saw Miss Frost’s eyes light with understanding and then a hint of pity, and he suddenly felt very exposed. Goddamn, if she started to try to talk with him about his feelings for Marie, he was going to sock her one. She simply nodded, however. “I release you from the remainder of your contract. I didn’t get this far in life without knowing when to cut my losses.”

She moved towards the door, but then hesitated, one hand on the doorjamb. Without turning to face him, she spoke again, her voice carefully neutral. “She told me to let her know as soon as you recovered. You could go find her, you know. See how she feels.”

Logan snorted. “You’re a romantic all of a sudden?” She turned at that, a shadow of hurt crossing her face, making Logan wonder. Maybe there really was a soft heart under that diamond-hard exterior of hers. His voice gentled. “She just wanted to get experience. Wanted to feel normal, so she could go find a nice normal guy to be with.” He smiled bitterly. “Last thing she needs is a fucked-up mutant she met in a whorehouse showing up on her doorstep, asking her how she feels about him.” He shook his head. “I’ve hurt her enough.”
_______________

Logan bounced off the metal fencing that formed the side of the cage, gasping from the blow to his gut. He straightened up and rolled his shoulders, shaking the sweat out of his eyes. Christ, he needed to get his head in the game before this asshole got in a lucky shot that took him down.

His concentration was shot to hell lately, and if he didn’t get it together it was going to land him in trouble. He either finished his competitors off too quickly, causing angry rumbles to circulate through the crowd, or he got distracted and almost got taken down. He narrowed his eyes at the big bald lug coming toward him again, and watched for his opening. A wet smack of his fist to the guy’s chest, opening up his guard, and then he took him down with one well-placed uppercut.

He didn’t even wait for the emcee to call the victory. Yeah, yeah, King of the Cage, he thought cynically. Lord of the Shitheap. Some accomplishment. He shrugged on his shirt, grabbing his leather jacket and making his way towards the bar, brushing off congratulatory backslaps and the come-ons of the fight groupies with no attempt at politeness.

The bartender set him up with the glass of whiskey without needing to be asked, and Logan hung his head wearily, lifting the glass and inhaling the scent. He had always been more of a beer guy, but since that night two weeks ago with Marie, he had pretty much been drowning himself in whiskey. Not that it mattered, thanks to his healing factor he could drink gallons of the stuff, and none of it helped to numb the pain. The restless dissatisfaction -- despair, a voice in the back of his head corrected -- that had haunted him since that night had pervaded his every waking moment.

For the thousandth time, he wondered where Marie was right now. Some moments his imagination tortured him with thoughts of her curled up in a ball, shaking from his nightmares, haunted by his memories. Other times he thought maybe she had pushed him out of her mind with little effort, sloughed off his consciousness like a change of clothes, and was now happily dating and bedding the next man -- the normal one -- with Logan dismissed from her thoughts as no more than a means to that end. He didn’t know which image tormented him more.

It should have been so easy to slip back into his former life. It had never really bothered him before -- being constantly on the move, living moment to moment, finding fights and fucks with little effort. It was his time at the Manor House, his night with Marie, that had been the aberration. And yet...nothing had seemed right since. The fight circuit depressed him, the fight groupies repulsed him, the beer tasted bitter in his mouth.

If he was being truthful with himself, and he was probably just dejected enough tonight to actually be truthful with himself, he drank the whiskey because of Marie. Not to forget her, but to remember her. When he smelled it, when he sipped it, he could almost imagine the taste of the whiskey mingling with the taste of Marie in his mouth that night, the smell of whiskey mixing in his nose with her own, sweet scent. Pathetic, he told himself, but he dipped his nose into the glass and took another deep inhale of the amber liquid anyway.

His eyes closed, nose still buried in the glass, he heard someone sit on the barstool next to him.

“Molson’s. Make it two,” a woman’s low voice said, and he heard the clink of the mugs as the bartender handed them across. He heard the slide of a mug towards him, and opened his eyes in time to stop the skid of it in front of him.

“Sorry, darlin’. I’m drinkin’ alone tonight,” he said gruffly, sending the mug skidding back over, not bothering to even look at her, his eyes following the movement of the mug instead.

“That’s a shame,” she said, her voice clearer now, just as she stopped the mug herself with one slender gloved hand. “After all, you’re the one who gave me a taste for the stuff.”

His eyes snapped up to hers in disbelief. Marie. She was even more gorgeous than he remembered, her beautiful face looking at him seriously, color high in her cheeks. He downed his whiskey in one shot, and reached back over for the beer. She looked like fucking sin, in tight black leather pants and heeled boots. He could just make out some kind of sheer top under her fitted leather jacket, tantalizing in how it covered her completely and yet revealed a shadow of what was underneath. A sheer scarf was wrapped around her neck, and her hands were encased in thin leather gloves.

“What are you doing here, Marie?” It came out harsh, not like he had intended, but he was afraid to know the answer.

She looked down into her beer and then flicked him a sideways glance, smiling a little. “Would you believe I was just passing by?”

A grunt from him, indicating that no, that would not be believed.

She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes again. “I wanted to apologize.”

He leaned back against the bar on one elbow, looking her over with a lift of his eyebrow. “You tracked me two thousand miles to the middle of Bumfuck, Alberta Province, to apologize?”

Her bravado crumpled as a wave of humiliation rushed over her face. In a flash, she was off the barstool and headed for the door, weaving skillfully around the remaining few patrons.

“Fuck!” Logan chased after her, catching her just as she hit the parking lot. “Marie, wait...I’m sorry.”

He caught her arm, but she jerked it free. Her whole body was shaking. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t believe I did this. I’ve done enough to you, you were probably glad to see the last of me, and then I chased you down like some fucking teenage stalker...”

“Marie, no...” But her words were coming in a pressured rush, it was like she couldn’t even hear him. She paced frantically in her agitation, her arms wrapped tight around her body.

“It’s just that...Miss Frost said she told you about my mutation, how I have you in my head?” She didn’t even look up to see his nod as the words kept spilling out. “I guess I got confused. Maybe it wasn’t even you, maybe it was just me telling myself what I wanted to hear. I don’t know anymore. I just thought -- I just thought maybe I could let myself believe it for a little while...” her voice gave out abruptly on a sob.

She suddenly dropped to a crouch, balancing on the balls of her feet, her back against the door of the parked car behind her. She put her hands over her ears, rocking back and forth. “Shut up...shut up!” she said, and as Logan watched, frozen in shock, she jerked her head back, banging it hard against the car door.

“Jesus Christ, Marie!” He fell to his knees in front of her, the gravel of the parking lot biting into his shins even through his jeans, and laced his fingers through the hair at the back of her head. “Stop it!”

The agitation seemed to drain out of her suddenly. She sank down until she was sitting back against the car door and put her forehead down on her bent knees. Logan’s hand was still in her hair as he made small, ineffectual soothing motions. They sat there in silence for a few minutes, Logan feeling his heart pounding in his chest as he watched her pulse flutter equally rapidly in her neck.

Finally, he took a deep breath. “What did he tell you?” She looked up numbly. “The me in your head. What did he tell you that you wanted to believe?”

A half sob from her at that. “Impossible things.” She shook her head, and at first he thought she wasn’t going to say anymore. “That I’m not poison. That I’m not cursed. That he didn’t hate me. That he cared for me. And that he wasn’t afraid of me.” She put her head down again, and he saw the tears leaking out from under her eyelids. “I just thought...if there was just one person out there who wasn’t afraid of me, maybe it might be okay.”

Logan felt something within himself break -- irrevocably, irreparably. He scooped her up into his arms, sitting back now against the car himself, ignoring her weak attempts to break free of his solid grasp. He tucked her head into the crook of his neck and rocked them both.

“Marie...it’s true. You should believe it. All of that’s true, and I shoulda told it to you myself. I shouldn’ta waited for you to find me. That me in your head is less of a fuckin’ coward than I am, but what you said about the way I feel about you -- it’s all true.”

He felt her shake her head against him, her voice so soft it was barely audible even to his keen ears. “How could it be? After how I hurt you? I know how people feel about me when they just know what I can do, and you’ve felt it. I knew I shouldn’t have tried. I’m so sorry that I tried...”

He looked down at her, something that had been nudging at the back of his mind finally clicking into place. Suddenly he was furious. “Dammit, Marie, is that what you think? Is that why you’re dressed like this, covered from head to toe? You think you’re just going to be able to bury yourself away like that? Never touch anyone again?”

He laced his fingers into her hair again, pulling her face up to his. “On or off, Marie?”

“What?” Her eyes were dazed.

“Hell -- it doesn’t matter,” he said, pulling the edge of the sheer scarf up to cover her mouth, his mouth warming and wetting the fabric until it was barely a barrier at all, tasting again the combination of whiskey and Marie -- so unbearably enticing it made something in his chest tighten painfully. His hands dove under her jacket, feeling her smooth skin through the thin shirt, one hand rubbing her back and the other creeping up to palm her breast as his mouth continued to tease and invade and cajole.

Finally he drew back, leaving them both gasping. “I’m not scared of you, Marie. And I’ve been miserable without you. I don’t care if your skin stays on, and we have to be careful. But if you want to try to practice your control some more, I’ll give you all the practice you can stand.” He flashed a wolfish grin at the thought of that, before his eyes met hers again, intent. “If I’m in your head, you know what I am. I’m screwed up in lots of different ways, and I can be a mean sonuvabitch sometimes. You deserve a lot better’n me, but if for some reason I’m what you want, I’m not stupid enough to let you go twice.”

He pulled them both to their feet, setting her in front of him, steadying her with his hands on her waist. She still looked dazed, and an icy flicker of doubt whipped through him. Why wasn’t she saying anything?

“Marie? Darlin’?”

“Off,” she breathed.

“Huh?”

A slow smile started to spread across her face, lighting her eyes, making his blood sing. “My skin -- it’s off.”

He felt the answering smile on his face. “Good.” A deep, warm, blazing, rough kiss, with nothing between them. “Let’s go.”