Just how fast is he going? Rogue wondered bitterly. It felt like ninety miles an hour. The truck's tiny haul hit another bump, jamming her shoulder harshly into the crate she was wedged against. Rogue twisted beneath the tarp and grumbled. She'd been coiling her neck at an awkward angle underneath the heavy fabric cover for hours now, and she was beginning to think that perhaps the kink was becoming permanent.

But at least the aches and soreness were welcome diversions from the raging cold biting at her skin. Some parts of Canada had the sort of icy chill that ate through flesh like acid and burrowed into the very bone marrow. Cold that froze hot blood into splintered shards that cut and gnawed and sliced from the inside out. Unfortunately, Alberta in winter was one of those places, and Rogue was too much a Southerner to have acclimatized.

She'd managed to doze off earlier, before the truck had made it onto the highway. But at that point she'd been rudely awakened by the interstate's high-speed tossing which now made sleep all but impossible. Rogue had no idea how long she'd been packed in there or how dangerously close she might be to frostbite. Unlike most of her plans, this one hadn't been so well thought through. The decision to abandon her bus in order to stow away in the truck's cramped hitch had been made on the spur of the moment…once Rogue had seen him in the rest stop parking lot.

He's a mutant, her brain chanted in internal litany, the thought warming her. Rogue knew he was a mutant – she'd seen the razor-sharp claws slice through his leather gloves when the danger of the fistfight had up-leveled. His opponent had pulled a gun…a gun the mutant had instantly shredded with only a few quick, sharp movements. In all the years she'd been running, he was the only mutant Rogue had ever encountered. The only *other* mutant, that was, other than herself.

The truck began to slow, Rogue noticed, and she wondered if he was stopping for food. She hoped so – she desperately needed to uncurl her body from its forced ball and warm up a little. The vehicle rolled to a halt, and Rogue had to will herself not to throw aside the tarpaulin and sprint for the heated truck stop she mentally envisioned. She decided to give him five minutes to get inside before making a break for it. Rogue really wished she'd thought all of this out better. How was she going to approach him? What would she say once she did? All she'd known was that she hadn't wanted to let the man leave without her, so she'd acted hastily. But lesson learned: spontaneity was definitely not her forte. Out of morbid curiosity, she tried to clench her frozen hand into a fist and winced at the stabbing pain.

Without warning, the canvas covering was suddenly yanked aside, and a brilliant, white sky blinded Rogue. Sunlight speared into her retinas. Before her eyes could adjust to the piercing brightness of day, she was being roughly hauled up from under her armpits. She felt like an abused rag doll in the hands of a mighty beast. Her body was too battered from the journey and brutal cold to do much more than dangle limply above the earth without protest. And then the ground came slamming up to the soles of Rogue's feet and her confused leg muscles crumpled beneath her. The person manhandling her did nothing to halt her body's downward descent as she collapsed into a bruised heap. Her bag was thrown down next to her in the snow.

"Get up," Rogue heard the man growl, and she squinted up at the amorphous shape in front of her, hoping her pupils would undilate quickly. She cupped a palm over her eyes to shield them, but could only make out a dark form against the snow-white backdrop of sky and landscape. It was him. Rogue knew it. A tingle of awareness informed her of his identity, even if she still couldn't verify the fact with her uncooperative eyesight. He wasn't tall, but he was big. And really menacing.

Rogue tried scrambling to a stand and wobbled wildly; her protesting legs didn't seem to want to work. The mutant grabbed her beneath the elbow through her thick cloak to help her maintain some pathetic level of stability. Muttering a curse under his breath, he snarled, "I don't take passengers. Hitch a ride off someone else."

He gruffly dropped her arm and strode back to his truck. By now, Rogue could make out a little more than just ambiguous blobs…and she didn't see a truck stop. For that matter, she didn't see anything at all. Just snow. Miles and miles and miles of matted gray snow. They were in the middle of nowhere. "Wait!" she cried out, panicking and running sloppily through the powder after his departing back. "Wait!" she repeated through a stiff, achy jaw. "You can't leave me."

He barely broke stride, only looking back to flash her a wolfish grin. "Oh yeah?" he taunted in what appeared to be perverse pleasure. "Watch me."

A bolt of pure dread rippled up from Rogue's stomach and landed as a painful stone in her throat. He was really going to leave her to freeze to death. "Wait," she implored, hating the frantic whine of her voice. Her words were slurring slightly. "Please. If you leave me out here, I'll die from exposure."

This time he didn't turn around, but Rogue could make out his broad shoulders shrugging up in the universal sign of indifference. He said nothing, but rather continued plodding, undeterred, to the driver's side door of the semi, snow crunching beneath his boots in a dreadful cadence. Cold electricity skittered through Rogue's veins and ricocheted wildly in her stomach. Screw the whininess of her voice – she was genuinely terrified now. "*Please*," she begged.

But apparently neither compassion nor even a latent sense of chivalry moved him; he began climbing up into the rig's cab. Desperation poled through Rogue, and her frozen brain finally kicked into action. "I'll pay you!" she cried out. He stopped; hot hope spurted in Rogue's chest. "You just can't leave me out here," she pled.

He paused for a long time before finally turning to her and asking, "How much?"

Rogue's brain scrambled to estimate his asking price. "Five-hundred dollars…half now, half when we get to my destination."

"American or Canadian?"

"I-I'm an American," she drawled in confusion.

"Fuckin' Christ," he growled and rolled his eyes. "The five-hundred! US or Canadian dollars?"

Rogue wanted to smack herself in the forehead. Duh! "Oh. US."

The man said nothing for a long time, and then finally stalked over to her. Bore down on her was actually more like it, reaching her with only a few savage strides. Rogue inhaled sharply and her eyes widened as a zing of energy darted down her spine. God, he had the intimidation routine down pat!

He loomed above her, breathing harshly through his nose, and regarded her for a few minutes in silence. His rough, probing stare made Rogue intensely eager to drop her gaze. It was the eyes – they were pure gold. Like a wildcat's. "You also pick up gas, tolls, food, and whatever else I say."

Rogue nodded readily. Fine. Not a problem. She was prepared to agree to almost anything at this point. Then the man asked, "What's your destination?"

"Calgary," she supplied

He scratched his stubbled chin. "I can get you within a hundred kilometers of it."

Rogue knew she was being taken for a ride, but another visual pan of the barren vista surrounding them reminded her that being taken for a ride was exactly what she needed. "Okay," she finally agreed with a terse nod. "Deal."

Without so much as a word or handshake, the man turned back to his truck, climbed up, and slammed the door.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, too," Rogue mumbled as she made her way awkwardly through the snow back to her belongings. "And aren't you just the most gentlemanly thing north of the Canadian border."

When she reached her stuff, she slung the heavy bag over her shoulder and drudged to the passenger's side. Dry, electric heat blasted Rogue's face as she climbed into the truck and she all but sighed in audible relief. She could tell it had just been turned on, though; crisp coolness still lingered in the cab's air. Apparently the mean man wasn't as affected by cold as she was.

Her aching hands could barely move, and buckling her seatbelt became a strange performance art piece of stabs and misses until the metal finally slid home and clicked into place. Rogue went to tuck her bag in by her feet and discovered a floor littered with burger wrappers and empty beer bottles. Her nose wrinkled. The man was a total slob! Using her boot, she nudged a few items aside to create space.

After a quick engine rev, the truck swiftly regained its deadly velocity on the deserted highway. Rogue dryly noted that her estimate had just about been right…he tended to keep the speedometer around eighty-five. Well, over a hundred fifty kilometers per hour, at any rate. One cold-stiffened hand automatically clutched at the door handle.

The two of them drove in silence. Rogue's face, lips, and mouth were still strangely numb, but her fingers soon began tingling in painful needles. She once more clenched a fist and stifled her reactionary grimace at the stabbing pins that shot through her hands.

Annoyance flicked at Wolverine. If she's so fucking cold, he wondered, why doesn't she do something about it? Christ, her whole body was shaking.

Impatience got the better of him – using his knee to steer, Wolverine grabbed his passenger's hand, peeled off the glove encasing it, and pulled her bare palm to the dashboard heat vent. The sharp, pungent odor of incredible fear instantly slapped the insides of his nostrils. He couldn't remember ever smelling anything so intense. "Shit, sweetheart, I'm not gonna rape you," he remarked as he returned his hold to the steering wheel and his eyes to the road in front of him.

"N-n-no. It…it's not that," she stammered. "I just… Look, it's just safer if you don't touch me. I mean, well, not directly…" she trailed off, staring at his leather gloves.

That was a new one – a woman who wasn't scared of him, but rather for him? "What's your problem, sweetheart? Don't like people touching you?"

"Bad things happen when people touch me," she answered tartly through a prim Southern accent. "Like how metal blades pop out of your fists. And my name's not Sweetheart."

Wolverine cocked an eyebrow in curiosity. She must have seen him at that last rest stop. Her implied message that she too was a mutant wasn't lost on him either. "So, what is your name…*sweetheart*?"

He flashed her a shit-eating grin; her narrowed glare shot back dark daggers. Fire flared in her deep brown eyes and her pouty lips quivered slightly. It was the lips that caught his attention; he'd always been a sucker for big, fat lips. Even when they were so cold they tinged purple. "Rogue," she proclaimed haughtily. "My name is Rogue."

"Wolverine," he provided in response.

She unwrapped her death grip on the door handle, removed the glove, and placed her second hand next to the first on the dash's heating vent. "I thought it was Logan."

Wolverine clenched his back teeth together. "How the fuck do you know that?"

Rogue looked up at him innocently. "That's what the dog tags hanging on your rearview mirror say."

Logan's eyes darted to the mirror in confirmation. He hated appearing foolish. "So what's *your* real name…sweetheart?"

Rogue glowered icily at him. "What makes you think Rogue isn't my real name?"

Logan simply raised an eyebrow as way of response.

"Marie," she stated reluctantly, but then smiled a slight, wistful smile.

"You haven't said it in a while, have you…Marie." His statement lacked the rising intonation of a question.

A soft, melancholy laugh slid out her throat. "No, it's been a long time since I've even thought of using that name. How did you know?" she asked, her eyes colliding with his. Then she shook her head. "Sorry. Stupid question. Of course you'd know what I'm talking about. I've, uh… You're the first mutant I've met. Other than myself, I mean."

Uneasy discomfort slithered into Logan's blood. "Yeah, well, don't be getting any ideas like I'm gonna mentor you, or something. This is strictly business. I drive; you pay me money." After a moment's thought, he added, "Speaking of…"

"Oh. Of course," she replied in a neutral voice and grabbed her heavy bag. Logan caught a quick glimpse into the sack as she rooted around for her wallet. The girl was packed for easy travel. "Here," she stated nonchalantly as she presented him with the two fifty: twelve twenties and a ten. He noticed that her slender fingers were still shaking and discolored from the cold.

After a quick count, Logan took the bills and deftly slipping them into the pocket of his leather jacket. He noted her flinch as his gloved hand brushed her bare palm. "Where'd a young runaway like you get this kind of money anyway?" he inquired.

"I'm twenty-four," Rogue shot back, adding under her breath, "That's not so young." After a brief pause, she asked, "And what makes you think I'm running from anything?"

"Let's just say I know the signs," he grumbled, then repeated his question. "So where'd you get the money?"

"I earned it," she drawled defensively, an indignant look arrowing across her face. "I…uh…"

When she didn't fill in the blank for a few moments, Logan prompted, "Yes…?" He couldn't wait for this story. He wondered if she stripped or just out-and-out turned tricks. Probably not the latter if her mutation made her wary of physical human contact.

Rogue heaved a long, heavy sigh. "I do hacking jobs for clients who find me on the Internet. I was a junior in college studying computer programming when my little condition surfaced," she added in explanation.

"Hacking? You mean illegal stuff?" Logan probed, shooting her a toothy grin.

"You a cop?"

"No."

One side of Rogue's mouth kicked up. "Let's just say I don't suspect I would have been as good at licit programming."

"Is that where you got the name Rogue? Don't you computer nerds usually give yourselves geeky on-line names, or something?"

"Wow," she responded with a condescending tone. "You're not nearly as uninformed as you look. Who knew?"

Logan felt the sharp knife of anger slice through him – people always assumed he was stupid. He shifted in his seat and forcibly stared at the empty road ahead, perfectly content to just let the discussion end there. He'd never really been one for company or conversation anyway.

"Uh, so when were you in the Army? I mean, when'd you get the dog tags?" She was looking around the cab as she spoke, a slash of censure etched into her features. It appeared that Rogue was less than pleased with his idea of cleanliness.

Logan let a low growl of intimidation rumble in the back of his throat. "Oh, Christ. You're not one of those chatty chicks, are you?"

The question was intended to brow-beat her into submissive silence with its implied edict for silence. No such luck. A determined sense of righteousness surfaced on Rogue's face and she crossed her arms across her chest. "Yeah, I guess maybe I am. So were you in the Gulf War, or what?"

Logan exhaled in resignation. "No, I wasn't in Desert Storm. I don't know when I was in the military."

"What do you mean you don't know when you--"

"--Look, I don't remember, okay, sweetheart?" Logan interrupted, his irritation mounting at a steady rate. *This* was why he didn't pick up hitchhikers. "I don't remember anything before fifteen years ago. I wouldn't even know my name's Logan if not for the tags."

A hard quiet hung in the air. Rogue gnawed on her lower lip, then tentatively started figuring, "But you look like you're in your early thirties. If you got your memory back fifteen years ago, you would have been…what…about eighteen? You would have had to have just enlisted--"

"--No," Logan cut into her musings. "I've always looked like this. I don't seem to age much…must be a mutant thing."

"Oh. Hmmmm," Rogue considered, and then brightened. "The military must have records! You can go to them with your dog tags to find out--

"--NO!" Logan roared. "I don't have many memories to work with, but those I do have make me pretty sure the government is *not* the group I want to get in touch with! End of discussion."

"Okay," Rogue said with a shrug of indifference. The calm reaction from his prissy hitchhiker was a bit disconcerting. Logan was accustomed to frightening people, and he'd come to expect that predictable behavior. He barely smelled any fear off her now.

The two of them traveled quietly for a few minutes before passing a billboard advertising a burger joint at an upcoming rest stop. Logan wordlessly pulled into the exit lane.

Rogue looked up from her menu to find their red-haired waitress addressing Logan. His gaze lifted and he gave the woman a brisk nod of recognition.

"Oh, hey…" his eyes darted to the server's nametag, "…Kelly. Yeah. Long time. Good to see you."

If Kelly noticed Logan's lapse in memory, she showed no outward signs. "You'll be wanting your usual?" she asked perkily. Her large breasts bounded with every movement. They were barely confined in the snug pink uniform as it was, and they looked prepared to make a break for freedom at the slightest hint of encouragement.

"Yeah, that's fine," he growled and stood up, announcing, "I'm gonna hit the can."

"Ew! Thanks for the update," Rogue snapped in distaste. She returned her attention to Kelly and ordered her meal. "I'll have a burger, medium-well, and a glass of water with a slice of lemon. And could I get some dijon mustard on the side?"

"Sure thing, sweetie" Kelly responded, writing the order down. She turned to leave, but then seemed to have second thoughts. She leaned over, her deep cleavage practically right in Rogue's face. After looking to make sure Logan was safely in the bathroom, Kelly conspiratorially whispered, "I know it's none of my business, but I… uh…well, I feel like I should kind of, like…warn you…"

"Warn me…?" Rogue inquired. She tried not to inhale the overzealous perfume in which Kelly must have just recently bathed. The musky odor hung in a heavy cloud around the woman, and Rogue had to restrain herself from coughing rudely. The sharp scent actually pinpricked tears in her eyes.

Kelly sighed and leaned in further, guiltily looking both ways before continuing. "Look, he's a good guy and all, but, uh, if you're planning on having sex with him, you should know that he gets, like, freaky intense in bed. It's kind of creepy."

Rogue's eyes grew huge. She did *not* want to hear this! The last thing she needed to know about was Logan's sexual history with this over-stuffed redhead! "Yeah, um, thanks. I have no immediate plans to sleep with Logan, but I appreciate the heads up. I'll keep it in mind should my intentions change," she bit out a touch too acidly.

Kelly shrugged. "Just figured I'd let you know."

The attention of both women suddenly redirected to Logan's approach. His return seemed a little too quick to Rogue, and she wondered in disgust if he'd even bothered to wash his hands. "Can we get this to go?" His unnerving gaze raked over Rogue. "Gotta make good road time for my client."

Kelly smiled brightly for him and replied, "Sure thing, sugar."

"Great." He gave a small head twitch to indicate Rogue and added, "She'll pay."

Rogue leaned her elbow on the passenger's side door to prop up her drooping head. She was completely exhausted. In hindsight, she could see that she'd probably come very near to risking her life out in the cold. Only now, hours later, was she finally feeling a complete return of sensation in her extremities. The cab's lulling heat and her recently filled belly were draining the last of her energy. She was lingering on that sweet border between sleep and lucidity, marveling at the feeling of pure, warm safety radiating out from her stomach in a steady thrum.

Rogue hadn't felt this sense of contentment in years. Not that it was much in an objective sense, but relatively speaking, it was the most she'd had in a very long time. Conversation between her and Logan had been limited to a level of superficiality she assumed was typically shared between a driver and an unknown passenger. Not that she knew for sure…she'd never actually hitched a ride before…and she still didn't really know *why* she'd thought hitching a ride from him was a good idea. Regardless, Rogue hadn't talked to anyone in such a long time. It felt kind of nice.

Maybe it was partly because they were both mutants, Rogue speculated. Logan could empathize with her loneliness. He'd understand that combined look of disgust and terror in people's eyes when they discovered "the dirty little secret." He probably had the same driving urgency to keep moving, for fear of being discovered or unintentionally hurting someone. Or maybe he had people tracking him down, too. Whatever the reason, she felt a more substantial bond with him than she suspected she would have with any random, non-mutant guy just driving a rig.

Also, at some point during the few hours in his company, Rogue had lost her wariness of Logan. Sure, he was an imposing figure, and she had little doubt that he often followed through on his tacit threats. But towards her, he seemed all bluff and bluster.

In fact, she realized in her half-dozing state, she definitely felt something altogether different than fear towards Logan. Rogue's heavy eyelids lifted enough for her to slant a sidelong glance at him. There was a quality to Logan that was, for lack of a better descriptor, ruggedly sexy. His square features weren't remotely handsome, but he was dark and primal and thoroughly masculine. And his amber gaze made heat chase along her spine, zapping clear down to her toes. Without question, he was a total grade-A jerk, but the thought burned through her brain that Logan would be devastatingly hot in bed.

Rogue bolted a hundred percent awake. Whoa! Where did an idea like that come from? Her self-imposed restriction from physical human contact had been achingly difficult these past three years, but not once since her mutation developed had Rogue fantasized sexually. She'd been too caught up in the drama of running away from her parents and their scary new friends…too wrapped up in the misery of loneliness and of being held prisoner by her own skin…too involved in trying to enact her master plan. She hadn't had the mental room to really indulge in sexual urges. But then again, she was only human. Well, sort of, anyway. It was probably just the result of a synaptic misfire, Rogue decided, created by Kelly's words of "warning."

But on the other hand, had Rogue thought her hormones had up and died instead of merely retreating into dormancy? Maybe a nice little fantasy was just what she needed.

Biting her lower lip, Rogue studied Logan. He was strong – her imagination didn't have to work hard to picture the sinewy muscle roping his body. She could envision his hard power hovering above her, thrusting into her. The sweating and grunting. Heat and adrenaline slipped into her bloodstream at the mental image, kicking her heart rate up a notch. Logan would ride her roughly…thoroughly… back and forth, again and again until she'd ache with the need to explode. His mouth would feast greedily on her breasts, gnawing with tender ferocity, his possessive teeth sinking into her skin.

The thought lit up a hot wire of electricity from her nipples straight to her loins. A small gasp escaped Rogue's throat and she felt a gush of moist heat between her legs.

In the driver's seat, Logan's head slammed around to look at her, as if he'd caught her committing a crime red-handed. At his gold flashing glare, Rogue's sexual enjoyment morphed into instantaneous guilt. She catapulted upright in shock, then shrank into her seat and gulped back her mortification.

Oh God, her brain panicked, can he read other people's thoughts? Maybe it was one of his mutant powers. Had he just witnessed that little mental movie of hers? Rogue quickly forced her mind's eye to conjure up an image of Logan in a fluffy pink dress with tiny pigtails in his hair, skipping through a park trailing a balloon after him. The idea was so completely ludicrous she couldn't help but burst out in giggles. Logan was still staring at her accusatorily, apparently finding nothing humorous. "What's so amusing?" he demanded gruffly. Scratch the idea that he could read minds.

Rogue shook her head and tried to stifle the laughter, without success. The more she attempted to repress it, the more she saw those stupid pigtails and that lacy pink frock until she was rolling on the seat in uncontrollable hysterics. Logan shook his head. "You are totally fucking psycho, woman."

Around midnight, Logan pulled off the highway to find lodging. The next exit wasn't for another hundred fifty kilometers, and the last one had been over seventy back. Logan had never been a city guy – too many people – but small towns sort of pissed him off. At that point, he figured he was better off in the wilderness.

But his sugar mommy was coughing up the bucks for a motel room, and Logan was not about to forego a free night on a real mattress. The futon pad in the back of his cab was comfortable enough, but it had its limitations. There was definitely something to being able to sprawl across a full-sized bed…

The backwater stopover was so ridiculously tiny it only qualified as a township under the most liberal of definitions. But its small size did nothing to change the fact that when they got to the motel's front desk, they were told there was only one more room available. "Excuse me?" Logan spat back incredulously to the desk clerk. "Since when did East Bumblefuck become a goddamned tourist attraction?"

Rogue placed a gloved hand on his arm in restraint. "Forgive my companion. He's just curious how such a small town could have so many visitors."

The scrunched up gnome behind the counter looked nervously at Logan and then back at Rogue. The corner of his mouth twitched. "Look, we're the last stop in front of that long stretch of highway," the man whined pathetically. He cleared his throat. "We get a lot of travelers who want to sleep before they get to the next exit."

"Shit," Logan cursed. "Fine, we'll take the room. She'll pay you," he concluded, jamming a thumb in Rogue's direction. Fury crept up her neck and streaked red stains across her face. Logan turned to the door to go outside for a smoke, leaving behind one scared little piece of shit and one royally ticked-off-looking woman.

When she finally joined him outside, Rogue did not look happy. "Would you mind telling me," she fumed in leashed agitation, "how you intend for us to sleep in one room? And I'll give you a hint: your answer better include either the phrase I sleep in my truck or I sleep on the floor."

Logan flashed her a devilish grin. "What if instead it includes the phrase fuck like small woodland creatures?"

Watching the red blotches color her cheeks, Logan was tempted to add something about how she should be up for the tumble, considering how hot she'd been in his truck. Christ, the smell of her! Her scorching wetness had instantly suffused the air, the thick odor overwhelming him so entirely he could practically taste her. It was the most sexual scent he'd ever smelled coming off a woman…and it had gushed off her in waves.

Logan unconsciously licked his lips and looked into her face. Nothing about Rogue was conventionally pretty. At first glance, she was like innocence personified, with that prim Southern accent and those dark, drowning pool eyes…and Logan had never exactly been one for innocence. But further inspection revealed those deep optic pools held faint glints of nasty promises, the mere thought of which made him rock hard. Maybe it was the contrast. Or maybe it was those plump, dick-sucking lips of hers.

"In case I haven't made it clear," Rogue drawled imperiously, "physical contact with me isn't even a remote possibility. So I hate to burst your oh-so implausible bubble, but there will be no fuck-like-small-woodland-creatures festivities tonight."

It was downright comical hearing the word fuck stated so prudishly, especially coming from such a sexual-looking mouth. Logan smirked at her. "That's too bad. You look like you'd be a real freak in the sack. Could be fun."

Fury again splashed across Rogue's face. She made a sound of frustrated disgust and threw her arms in the air, then spun on her heel and strode indignantly to the room. Logan smiled smugly from ear to ear as he trailed after her.

As soon as they walked into the motel accommodations, Rogue made a beeline for the bathroom, passing the single bed without so much as a glance. "I'm going to take a shower," she announced, refusing to look back as she marched regally into the tiny room, her bag still strapped to her shoulder. The door shut behind her somewhat forcefully. Seconds later, Logan heard the taps running. He flopped onto his back on the bed, the mattress springs groaning beneath him, and he grabbed the remote to turn on HBO. Logan moaned in disgust – it *would* be "Battlefield Earth."

Rogue emerged a half-hour later, her skin flushed pink. Her hair hung long in damp tendrils around her scrubbed face, and she was dressed in loose, gray sweatpants and a long-sleeved, cream t-shirt. Wrapped in the figure-hugging top, the silhouette of her body was easily discernable – she was a bit too thin and had below-average-sized tits.

There shouldn't have been anything remotely arousing about Rogue's ordinary appearance just then, but damn if Logan wasn't suddenly sporting the hard-on of the century packed tightly into his jeans. The smell of clean female curled temptingly at his nose. A dark, primitive urge surged through his blood and sent him bolting to a standing position. Shit, he cursed internally. Hot saliva stung his tongue and lust grabbed him hard by the balls.

"I'm going for a walk," Logan declared in a rough voice and he reached for his jacket. Rogue barely looked his way, instead busying herself removing a laptop computer from her knapsack and unwrapping a tangle of important-looking cables. "Okay," she replied distractedly, tucking her wet hair behind one ear. The mingled scents of soap and woman kept tickling his senses. Logan simply stood there for a moment, expecting something else to be communicated, but Rogue just continued unraveling what looked like a phone cord. He curled his hands into fists and walked out the door.

Logan stepped out into the brisk cold, hoping it would help cool the spicy blood pooling hotly in his crotch. Why was he reacting so strongly to Rogue? There was nothing remotely special about her. Maybe it was the idea that she was some kind of forbidden fruit…that she couldn't be touched. Logan had never been good with rules or being told not to do something. Christ, was he making her into some kind of fucking challenge?

Or maybe that wasn't it at all. Just recalling the overpowering scent of her dripping desire made him hard as granite. Maybe it was because he couldn't remember the last time he'd smelled so much hot hunger soaking a woman's panties he'd wanted to screw her into next week.

Yeah – it probably had something to do with that second reason.

Rogue stared intently into her laptop screen; she had to be clever about this. The man at the front desk had told her there was only one bank in town, no ATM.

Simple wire transfer, my butt, she thought, gritting her teeth. Maybe she was getting paranoid after all these years, but over the past few months, Rogue had begun to feel as though the people chasing her were getting closer. Closing in. It wasn't any mutant, heightened sense of alertness. Just a general feeling. Call it a hunch. Or paranoia, her brain offered gleefully, an idea she immediately attempted to dismiss. Regardless, in either case, she wasn't prepared to enact her grand scheme just yet, so she had to keep running…and that meant playing it safe. At least for a little while longer.

Rogue had always been suspicious of computer records – Lord knew she exploited them enough to meet her clients' demands. She knew how much information could be gleaned through them, and she also knew it was the sort of information she couldn't let the people seeking her find out. Like her whereabouts. So that meant no credit cards, cash payments for everything. But accessing the money in her secure accounts when she was constantly on the run was becoming increasingly difficult. She'd been forced to revert to some roundabout methods to make her funds available for inconspicuous withdrawal.

A small-town bank with only one branch and no ATM was a worst-case scenario as far as Rogue was concerned. If her pursuers somehow traced the account, they could pinpoint her location. They'd know exactly where she'd eventually show up…and during bankers' hours, at that. She'd have to channel the funds through a series of dummy accounts she'd kill as soon as the transfers out were complete.

Rogue was just finishing up with her main account, lost deep in concentration, when a low voice washed over her like an all-encompassing black wave. "Shit. Is that your bank balance?" Rogue gave a small yelp of surprise and slammed the laptop closed; Logan was hovering over her shoulder. He turned his brutal golden eyes on her, his gaze imprinting her flesh. "I knew I should have demanded more than five hundred bucks."

Rogue clenched her teeth together; she hated how lost she became when she was working. Until she could make her grand plan a reality, it was dangerous not to be alert at all times. She'd even learned to sleep lightly, but hacking remained her Achilles' heel. She always became too blindly enveloped in her electronic ether-world, engulfed by her thought-processes.

"What the hell are you doing with all that money?" Logan interrogated.

The question caught Rogue off-guard. "I'm going to build a home with a state-of-the art security system," she blurted out, then closed her eyes in disappointment. God, was she so eager for someone to talk to that she'd just tell him anything? Rogue felt completely off-balance; she needed to regain some semblance of self-control here.

Logan eyed her skeptically. "Sounds lonely. Fortresses might keep people out, but they also lock you inside."

Rogue had never really thought of it like that. "Maybe being quarantined isn't such a bad thing," she said glumly. "My mutation makes me dangerous to other people." She looked up at Logan, her eyes large and heavy with heartache. A thick silence stretched between them. Rogue dropped her gaze.

"Here," he said, tossing a candy bar into her lap. "I thought you might be hungry. It's been a while since that burger." Logan had a half-eaten candy bar in his own hand, which he finished off in a single, solid swallow.

Rogue's stomach growled at the thought. She really needed to eat more regularly. But for the past three years, either her stomach had been tied in knots with worry or she'd been too caught up doing work to take notice of her body's need for nourishment. She'd lost quite a bit of weight since she'd begun running…weight she hadn't really been able to afford losing. But once Rogue could build her protective home, she'd have all the time in the world to nurture herself back to health.

"Thanks," she replied far too enthusiastically, tonguing her lips, ripping the wrapper off. When she bit into the chocolate-caramel concoction, her eyes literally rolled back into her head and a low groan of satisfaction purred in her throat. She wolfed it down at a break-neck speed and didn't stop until she'd licked her fingers free of the melted chocolate left behind.

"You should eat better," Logan said, his eyes dropping to her gaunt torso.

Rogue felt a sharp pang of insecurity and shame. Not that she could have done anything physical with the man anyway, but his comment still hurt. She wondered what he'd have thought of her if she were built more like that top-heavy waitress, Kelly. "I'm sorry I don't meet your stringent requirements," she replied in a stung voice.

Logan's expression was indiscernible. "Just eat more. You look kind of…emaciated."

Ouch! God, was he totally oblivious to common social decency? There were some things you just didn't say! "Thank you so much for pointing out my inadequate body," she railed. "I'm sorry if I've been so busy running scared for the past three years that my non-stop worry has left my appearance below your demanding standards. But like I said, you can't touch me anyway, so it really doesn't matter if you think I'm scrawny!"

Frustration and anguish expanded like a balloon within Rogue until her skin felt stretched taut with it. Heat jetted through her veins. She leapt off the bed and moved swiftly for the door. Logan grabbed her by the elbow crook. Rogue immediately panicked but then remembered she was wearing long sleeves and relaxed. She tried to yank her arm free, but he had it inextricably locked in his grasp. "Marie," he said in a low voice. "Who's chasing you?"

"Let go of me," she hissed.

"Who's chasing you, Marie?" Logan again insisted.

Their gazes locked and Rogue felt the fight drain out of her. The energy and anger firing through her system mere moments before seemed to seep away until she felt almost languid with exhaustion. She exhaled. "My parents. With the sponsorship of their creepy new buddies, the Friends of Humanity," she added sardonically.

Logan's sharp eyes narrowed and his jaw set, giving his appearance a cast of aggressive ferocity. "I know those FoH pieces of shit," he growled thickly. "They've got a lot of resources for their mutant-hunting games."

"Believe me, it's far from a game to those jerks," she sneered. Then she softly added, "And lately…"

When she paused, Logan pressed, "What?"

"Well, lately, I've just had this weird feeling like they're…they're getting closer." Rogue couldn't seem to lift her eyes enough to look at Logan. "But then again, lately I've also begun feeling like I'm becoming totally paranoid."

"It could probably go either way."

Rogue suddenly found the reserves to look up. "You think I'm crazy, don't you! That it's all in my head!" Why not? she chided herself. She'd certainly begun thinking it herself recently.

"I didn't say that," he soothed. "I actually think people ignore their gut instincts too often. But, you've also been running for a long time now. Your fear and suspicions are probably strung pretty tight… Like I said, it could go either way."

Rogue stared at Logan's chest and nodded dumbly. He still had his jacket on, and she could smell the mixed scents of leather and tobacco and something intrinsically masculine. The combination went straight to her head; she wanted to lean in and draw deep breaths of him. Resentment that she couldn't churned bitterly in her stomach.

"Go to bed," Logan said, with surprising tenderness. "We've got a long day of driving ahead tomorrow."

"Where are you going to sleep?" Rogue asked in dejection.

"Next to you. Relax – I'm not gonna put any moves on you or anything."

Unfortunately, she knew that. He'd already made it painfully clear just how little her skinny body turned him on. "What if I accidentally touch you during the night?" she contested weakly.

"I'm pretty durable. Besides, you're practically covered from head-to-toe, Marie," Logan said, eying her from her sock-clad feet to her long-sleeved top. He smiled his cocky half-grin and tacked on, "You're just being paranoid."

Rogue knew he was baiting her with that last statement, but she was too tired to do justice to an argument. The corner of her mouth crooked up ruefully and she nodded her reluctant acquiescence, mumbling, "Okay," as she climbed into bed, suddenly aware of just how palpable her exhaustion was. Slumber enshrouded her in a dark veil the moment her head hit the pillow.

The next morning, Rogue awoke curled up against her boyfriend. She felt toasty and drowsy and safe; she couldn't remember the last time she'd rested so soundly. She ran her hand up and down the heated, masculine chest in front of her. It was strong…not like that of a gym-defined model in a Diet Coke commercial…just a naturally powerful physique. Her fingers combed through the crisp hair found there and desire warmed between her thighs. Her body quickened.

Keeping her eyes closed, deliberately clinging to the pleasant state of half-sleep, Rogue nuzzled her nose into the shoulder crook in front of her. She dragged her lips down a muscular plane and swirled her tongue around one flat nipple. He stirred when she began sucking and nibbling there, a scratchy sound of morning lust rolling in his throat. God, she was incredibly aroused! Why did it feel like an eternity since she'd had sex? Liquid desire pooled wetly between her legs.

Rogue arched cat-like, rolling her body along his. Hands found their way up under her shirt and cupped her breasts. She swelled to fill his palms; her nipples twisted erect. Something hot corded tight within her loins and she gasped her pleasure.

Suddenly, the hands exploring her body froze. Every fiber of Rogue's being protested. No! His thick, morning hard-on was stabbing her in the stomach, so she scooted up enough to straddle it. Gripping the shaft between her inner thighs, she proceeded to glide back and forth along his length.

The sweet smell of Rogue's lust swamped Logan's senses. He was drowning in her hot, wet scent…it was like she was in heat. And she was all over him, particularly those lush lips of hers, doing things that made him want to push her down to where they could be most effective. Shit! His sexual need right then was a sharp urgency like he'd never experienced before. He wanted to strip her raw and fuck her into a coma.

Rogue continued to rub herself up and down his throbbing erection, still loosely trapped in his boxers. A frustrated groan tore from his chest. Logan inhaled deeply and once again the smell of her pure hunger flooded his head until he was drunk and dizzy on it. Christ, she was so wet! No woman should smell so tempting: sweet and salty and drugging, like a margarita. Shit, shit, shit! Rogue's teeth nipped ferociously at his throat, her hands were all over his bare chest, her thighs rode and squeezed his arousal. His own hands were still hovering above her breasts, just itching to feel those tight nipples stabbing into his palms again. He was surrounded. Nowhere to run; nowhere to hide.

Oh, fuck it, his brain surrendered, and Logan gave over to the acute demand gripping his body. His mouth came down fiercely on her neck and his fingers curled around her pert breasts. The tangy clean taste of Rogue's skin inundated his mouth and swam across his taste buds. He felt savage and violent and hungry. His dick was pulsing painfully, the pressure building, pounding at the base of his spine. Desire knifed through his body down to the arches of his feet. Fuck, he wanted her!

She had too many clothes on. They'd supposedly been for his protection, but apparently he was immune to Rogue's mutation. He thrust one hand down the front of her sweatpants, his questing fingers seeking the tight knot of pleasure tucked between her legs. He wanted to make her slick and ready for him as quickly as possible. "Yes," she sobbed dreamily. "Oh God, I want you inside me."

"Doing my best to oblige, here," Logan assured her. When he touched a finger to her damp heat, Rogue's eyes fluttered open and she drew back slightly. For one infinite moment, those dark, liquid pools stared at him in wonder.

And then the acrid scent of undiluted fear assaulted him. Logan felt a hard, internal tug, and suddenly it was as though every cell in his body were ripping apart at the molecular level. Pain tore through him like a wildfire across his nerve-endings. He was burning alive… being shredded from the inside out. He roared at the singeing torture. It was suffering like he'd never experienced before, in its purest, most unadulterated form. High-voltage veins spidered lightning out through his skin.

Rogue yanked her body back from their contact and the pain cut off abruptly, like sound captured in a vacuum. Logan felt weak and woozy, as though he'd been knocked on his ass and were being held down by lead weights. Rogue was saying something, but he couldn't make sense of the string of words muddling through his cottony brain. She was probably lecturing him for having taken advantage of her, he suspected, but he just couldn't get his mind straight enough to sort it all out. Logan attempted to apologize, but the words didn't want to form coherently; his tongue felt thick. He tried to sit up and had to put a hand on the bed to stabilize himself. Whoa. He shook his head in attempt to expel the dense fog blanketing it.

The mental haze finally lifted enough for him to see Rogue curled into a ball with her eyes closed, a single phrase pouring repeatedly from her mouth. "Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay, please be okay."

Rogue hugged her knees into herself, an icicle of fear slicing through her stomach. The torrent continued flowing from her lips while another plea drummed in her mind: Not again, not again, not again.

She couldn't take hurting someone else. Not Logan.

"I'm okay, Marie. God dammit! Shut the fuck up for a second and look at me!"

Logan's words managed to sink through the icy dread shrouding her, and both her brain and mouth halted their respective streams of words. "Logan?" she asked, opening her eyes to focus on him.

"Shhh," he coaxed. "I'm a real fast healer. See? Good as new."

Anxious relief swamped her nervous system. He was right – he looked perfect. Better than perfect. She began throwing herself into his arms, then caught herself and jerked backward. "Omigod, I'm so sorry!" she started. "I was half-asleep, and my brain was confused, and I think I thought you were a boyfriend or something, and it's been so long since I've been with anyone and I was so, well, turned on and y-y-you just felt so good and I guess I kind of forgot about my mutation in the confusion and I didn't know what I was doing and I--"

"Marie!" Logan cut her babbling short. "Calm down and take a deep breath."

A nervous grin teetered on her lips. She did as Logan ordered and inhaled…and his scent overwhelmed her. In an instant, her brain was swept blank, everything forgotten except the overpowering sensory overload she was experiencing. It was orgasmic. It was as though her sense of smell were truly alive for the first time in her life. The aroma coming off Logan that had teased her last night – mouthwateringly enticing and wholly male – now permeated the air, and it was spiced with a darker, richer scent that made hot sparks flash between her thighs. "Wow!" She crawled across the bed to Logan and began sniffing around him. "You smell amazing! My God, why does your scent make me so….hungry? You smell completely…"

"Aroused?" he offered skeptically.

"Yeah! That's it!" Then she wondered aloud, "Why should I be able to smell that?"

"I have no idea," Logan responded in an edgy voice. "That's one of *my* mutant abilities."

Understanding clicked in Rogue's brain. Apparently where she merely absorbed a regular human's energy and thoughts and emotions, she also took powers from mutants. That was one heck of a realization to have dropped on her. She tried to grapple with it.

It was hard. Logan's odor kept filling her nostrils, and his tart lust made her increasingly wetter with each deep breath. Compounded with the aggressive energy prowling through her body – which Rogue knew was also Logan's – she felt primitive and feral and Christ she wanted to act on it. She was on all fours, inhaling the heady aroma pouring off his bare skin. A low growl rumbled in the back of her throat.

And then Logan grabbed her sleeved arms and lifted her up and away from him. "I am far too horny right now for you to be doing that. At this point, you're beyond flirting with danger…you're about to start giving danger a blowjob."

Rogue half-groaned, half-whined in frustration. No matter how predatory she might feel tripping off Logan's energy – no matter how revved up her body might be – the fact still remained that she couldn't actually engage him in anything physical. She frowned at the unfairness of it all.

Logan muttered a curse beneath his breath and stood up. "I'm gonna go take a shower, and there better be a lot of soap in there. I haven't had blue balls in a long time, and I have no intention of getting them today."

The implication of his words hit Rogue. She nodded solemnly. Logan snarled and ran an impatient hand through his hair. "Jesus fucking Christ, lady. You're a goddamned cock-tease. I did not need this this morning."

"I didn't do it intentionally!" she flung back in instant irritation. "And hey, who took off his shirt during the night? What made you think *that* was a good idea?"

"Because *someone* cranked the heat all the way the fuck up!" he barked. His disarming eyes blazed pure fire. "Christ, don't give me any I-told-you-so bullshit right now. I'm really not in the mood for it." He began striding towards the bathroom.

"Hey, uh, Logan?" Rogue asked tentatively.

"What!"

"Do you think you could, um…," she trailed off.

He halted. "What!"

"Could you take a really long time in there?" After drawing a deep breath, Rogue closed her eyes and said, "You're not the only one who needs to take care of, uh…business."

Logan looked nonplussed. "You're gonna masturbate out here?"

Rogue blushed down to her toes.

An immoral smile broke on Logan's lips and he scrubbed a hand down his face. "Fuck. There's a mental image I didn't need right now." He turned and went into the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, Logan emerged from the shower. He felt considerably calmer but still a touch surly. Which, in his case, meant he was pretty much back to normal.

"I have to go to the bank down the street to get some cash," Rogue informed him.

He stared at her. "You have an account at this piddly-ass town's bank?"

"I set it up on-line last night," she responded sourly.

Rogue grabbed up her already packed bag and went outside; evidently she was determined to pretend as though nothing had happened. Logan dragged his fingers back through his wet hair, gathered his few belongings together, and followed her out. The two of them tossed their stuff into the truck.

"Hey, Logan?"

"What!" he snapped, venting his pent-up aggression.

"I… Do you think you could come with me into the bank? I'm kind of nervous."

Logan's irritability gave way to some alien impulse…something akin to a protective instinct. "Why?"

"Maybe it's just more paranoia, but I don't like the idea of a single-branch bank. I probably should have opened the account first thing this morning, but I wasn't sure if their records update through constant streaming or if they do a data dump once at night, and I wanted to be sure my money would be available today. But that means those guys tracking me had over eight hours to find me."

"Speak English, Marie," Logan demanded impatiently. "Are you saying you think those FoH assholes might have located you because you opened a bank account last night?"

Rogue nodded.

"Shit," he swore, raking his hand back through his damp hair again. "Why didn't you set it up in a larger bank? We could have stopped at an ATM farther down the road."

Rogue's dark eyes opened large. "Shoot. Yeah. That would have made sense."

Logan pinched his eyes closed in exasperation. "You tech geeks! Always making things harder than they need to be. Christ," he muttered thickly. Then he exhaled loudly in exasperated resignation. "But don't worry, sweetheart. You've got your own personal security guard…at your service."

A sunny smile broke across Rogue's face. "Really?"

"Sure," Logan answered, turning his back on her to head towards the bank. "You still owe me two-hundred fifty bucks. Gotta protect my investment."

Once they entered the small, brick building, Rogue filled out a withdrawal slip, stood in line for ten minutes, and met with a representative to close out the account. The entire visit took less than thirty perfectly uneventful minutes. Rogue was skittish up until the time Logan's truck pulled out of town, at which point she began scowling.

"Why so pissy?" he asked. "I'd think you'd be pleased nothing happened."

"I am," she sighed. "It's just that every time I get all nervous and worked up like this, nothing comes of it and I'm left feeling as though I really am just totally paranoid."

Logan shrugged. "Hey, maybe your fear is justified. Maybe the only reason nothing's happened so far is *because* you've been all freaked out and extra careful."

Rogue seemed to brighten a little at that thought. "I like your take on reality."

Logan darted his gaze to Rogue and found her dark eyes sparkling. "So, we gonna talk about this morning?" he asked gruffly.

The spark died like a doused flame. "What's to talk about?" she replied quietly.

"Oh, I don't know. How about telling me what the fuck exactly happened?"

"I…I don't really know how to explain it," Rogue drawled, then exhaled. "It's as if I suck away your life force or essence or something. I'm like a parasite or some kind of vampire, stealing energy and thoughts and even personality traits…and apparently mutant powers when applicable. Take, take, take, take, take. That's what I do. Isn't that nice?" she asked facetiously.

Logan ignored the sarcasm. An idea had begun forming. "You grab memories too?"

"Some. Well, sort of," she commented. "It's weird – everything gets kind of jumbled up in my brain and then most of it fades away."

"Did you get any off me?" Logan demanded.

"Memories? Yeah, a couple, I guess."

"Like what?" he insisted. When she didn't respond, he pressed, "Come on, Marie. Like what?"

Rogue appeared flustered. "I…I don't know. It's like how dreams vanish after you've been awake too long. It's hard to sort out. They're mostly just scraps of evaporating sensations now."

"Well, then concentrate, dammit!" he thundered. "What did you see?"

"Stop harassing me!" she retaliated. "Let me think! I told you, everything's all mixed up in my head. There are just a few random pictures at this point, and they're disappearing. Um…I…I saw something about a war."

"Which war?"

"I mean, look, it's probably not right. I don't think it could be."

"Which war?" he repeated more forcefully.

"This is going to sound crazy," she hedged, "but I think World War Two."

Logan felt something internal unclench. He'd never told anyone about those mental images bouncing around in his brain. "What else?"

"I don't know, maybe…Japan? I saw a beautiful Asian woman in some sort of silk kimono-type outfit." Rogue shook her head. "Look, that's it. I mean, that doesn't even make sense, does it? World War Two, for Pete's sake?"

"No – World War Two is right," Logan growled. "I don't recall anything about Japan, but I remember fighting Nazis in Europe."

"But…but that's impossible," Rogue protested in disbelief.

"I've got strong self-healing abilities," he explained. "Aging is the process of falling apart – I figure I stay put together too well to really get physically older."

"Jeez," Rogue breathed out in awe. "Whoa! Is that what happens when those blades pop out of your hands? Do they actually slice through your skin?"

"Did you think I had little slots for them?"

"Well, yeah, I guess."

"'Fraid not. I cut and heal every time."

"Oh, gross!" Then Rogue quietly wondered, "Maybe that's why…"

When she didn't supply any further insight, Logan rolled his eyes. Getting information out of Rogue gave new meaning to pulling teeth. "Maybe that's why what?"

She shot him a tentative glance. "Maybe that's why nothing happened when I touched you this morning…I mean, at first."

He blinked a few times. "So, normally you can't touch anyone – at all?"

Marie shook her head.

"I don't know," Logan pondered. "When that energy-sucking bit kicked in, it felt pretty unstoppable. I don't think my healing abilities had any effect."

"Then I don't understand," Rogue groaned. "I haven't been able to touch people without draining them in three years!"

"Wait… So you were, what, twenty, twenty-one when your mutation first surfaced?"

Rogue nodded mutely.

"That's weird. I've met a few mutants," he considered. "Most were either born with their abilities or developed them at puberty. I've only met one who developed his mutation so late in life, and in his case, it was triggered by a traumatic event."

Rogue's eyes popped large and wide, but she said nothing. Not a good sign. "What happened to start all this, Marie?" Logan asked with deliberate calm.

"I…" she broke off and frowned. Logan remained quiet. Time stretched and thinned, threatening to snap, until the oppressive silence seemed to seduce Rogue into filling the void. She closed her eyes and sighed. When she opened them, she kept her gaze locked on the cab's grungy floor. "I was in college, and one night I'd been working on a project at the computer lab. I'd gotten kind of lost in my head and hadn't realized how late it had become. I have this tendency when I do work to lose track of time and my surroundings and, well, pretty much everything but the computer screen in front of me," she explained.

Logan had noticed that tendency. When he'd come back to the motel room from his walk last night, her attention had been locked like a laser on her laptop. He hadn't been remotely quiet slamming the door shut behind him, but Rogue had remained completely undistracted until he'd spoken directly into her ear.

"It was pretty late," she continued, "and even though campus security was always warning students about wandering around alone at night, I started heading back to my dorm. And my brain was still kind of stuck in the problem I was working on, so I wasn't all that aware of things around me…"

When she paused, Logan supplied, "You were attacked?"

Rogue looked up; her chocolaty eyes were deep and liquid with sorrow. "Yes, I was attacked. I didn't even know what was happening until I was on the ground and he was on top of me." Her voice sounded detached, as if her brain were reliving the event but not her heart. "He tied my hands to a bike rack – he'd chosen the spot deliberately because of it – and he used his legs to pin mine down, kneeling on my thighs. Then he stuffed a rag in my mouth. His hands started tearing at my clothes while he tried to get his own jeans down at the same time. He was a bit too eager and couldn't decide what to do first…" she trailed off.

"The bastard raped you," Logan ground out acerbically.

"No," Rogue said, shaking free of her reverie and looking up at Logan. "No, he didn't get a chance to. He was on top of me, and I was so scared…like I'd never been scared before in my life. I felt completely helpless. He'd taken away every resource I had and blocked every course of action available to me. My arms and legs were locked down; my voice had been stolen from me. He was so powerful, and I just felt so…so…power-*less*," she struggled to describe.

"So your body created a self-defense mechanism to protect you," Logan figured out. "You'd been made powerless, so you took his power."

"That's a good way to put it," Rogue said, exhaling and nodding bleakly. "Before he could start…you know…I began absorbing all his energy."

"Why didn't he just pull back?"

"Why didn't you this morning?" she countered.

"Okay," he allowed, "so it's a little disorienting."

Rogue grimaced. "He actually collapsed on top of me. I just kept sucking him dry until someone found us."

"Holy fuck," Logan breathed.

"And you know what scared me most?" she continued, finding momentum in her disclosure. "In that moment, I was so confused and torn between both our personalities, I wasn't even really sure which of the two of us I was." She paused for a moment. "To this day I can still tap into his energy and memories. His name is Cody Robbins; he was an architect student at the time…a senior. He had a girlfriend but liked to attack girls on campus because he got off on their fright and the struggle. His usual pattern was date rape, but the act had begun doing less and less for him. The high he got from assaulting women was like a drug, but he'd started building up a tolerance, so he'd decided to induce more fear in his victims by jumping strangers in the dark. I was his first." Rogue shook her head and spat out a hard, humorless laugh. "Actually, when he stuffed that rag in my mouth, my initial thought was that it was chloroformed and that I'd pass out. But…afterwards…I knew that he liked his girls – that's how he thought of us: his girls – he liked his girls to be awake. It wasn't any fun for him if his girls didn't fight back."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Logan grated, his fingers curling tightly around the steering wheel. "Did he die?"

"Just about," she answered. Her tone of voice was savagely neutral but her body shuddered. "Another minute and I'm sure he would have. But someone found us and pulled him off me – he was in a coma by then. Every once in a while I contact the hospital to check up on his status. The last time I called, he was still unconscious."

Logan digested the information. "Does your brain ever still get mixed up with the stuff you drained off him?"

"It's kind of hard to tell," she drawled slowly. "I don't get confused between memories that are mine and his, but… Well, I think parts of him kind of…integrated into me." She paused, then whispered, "To be honest, my being afraid of hurting people isn't the only reason I get so freaked out when people touch me. Part of it is that…"

When she struggled to make the confession, Logan suggested, "It's `cause you get off on the other person's power surging into you, right? That power lust scares you…"

Rogue blew out a soft breath. "Words can't describe what a rush it is to feel someone else's energy coursing through your veins. At first I assumed that addictive urge was Cody's, and I'd absorbed the personality trait. But now… I-I don't know. It scares me to death to think that maybe that…that hunger was in me all along."

Logan shook his head. "I doubt it. It wouldn't scare you so much if it'd been there befo—Oh shit!" he cried out in a moment of flashing comprehension. "I knew there was something I just wasn't piecing together!"

"What?" Rogue asked, jarring out of her sorrowful memories.

"Earlier, you only began drawing off me when you got scared. Everything was hunky fucking dory until I smelled all that fear pouring off you, and then *bam*!" He added emphasis to the last word by slamming the palm of his hand into the steering wheel.

Rogue's brow crinkled. "So what? You think I won't absorb people's strength if I'm not afraid?"

"You didn't this morning," Logan pointed out.

"Yeah, but I was half-asleep."

"Exactly. You were too out of it to *let* yourself be scared," he concluded. "Most of the time, you probably psyche yourself out. You're so prepared for the worst to happen, you freak out when anyone comes near you."

"I guess that makes sense," she reasoned skeptically, "I mean that fear triggers the process…assuming it's what created the defense reaction in my body in the first place."

She didn't sound convinced. Logan slowed the truck abruptly and pulled over to the side of the empty road. "Logan?" Rogue asked hesitantly. "What are you doing?"

His topaz eyes flashed wickedly as he took his gloves off. "Conducting a little experiment."

Wary suspicion sleeted through Rogue. "Conducting an experiment?! Um…Logan…I don't think I like the sound of that."

"Relax, sweetheart," he assured her with the Devil's own grin. His mischievous smile deepened when he added, "Just lie back and think of England."

She rolled her eyes and snorted inelegantly. "I'm from Mississippi, you arrogant--"

Logan touched her – his bare hand swept across her cheek. Abrupt panic razored through Rogue's body, but the instant it began, his fingers were gone from her skin.

"See?" he indicated. "As soon as I smelled fear, I pulled back. And you didn't get so much as a drop off me."

Rogue was at a complete loss for words; he was absolutely right. But the fact still remained that the mere thought of physical human contact caused anxiety to smash through her like an earthquake. The reaction was downright Pavlovian, and she couldn't exactly just shut it off.

Logan slid predatorily across the seat towards Rogue, and she shrank back against the passenger's side door. He unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned forward to let it retract, his other hand pressing against the window, effectively caging her in. "Logan?" she whispered. "Whatever you're thinking, it's probably not a good idea." She could feel fear growing within her.

"I'm thinking I want to touch you."

Rogue shook her head. "No! Don't! You can smell it – I'm already getting all spooked out. It's not going to work."

A crooked smile slashed across Logan's lips. "Who said I want you calm? I want you to take a big draw off me. Maybe as big a hit as you took off that Cody guy."

Anger flashed through her like lightning. "Why in God's name would you want that?"

"So you can find my lost memories for me," he answered very matter-of-factly.

"No!" she protested. "Are you stupid? Absolutely not!"

Logan's face contorted in fury. "What the fuck, Marie? You can get back my past!"

"I can't!" she sputtered. "Accidentally bumping into strangers is bad enough…but you! Y-y-you're like pure China White! And you want me to…to…deliberately…"

Logan leaned over her. Rogue trailed off as he moved in dangerously close and began sniffing her neck. His warm breath feathered across her pulse. She was torn between pressing back hard against the door and indulging in the sexual caress of air offered by Logan's mouth. A whine escaped her throat. "Shit, Marie, you smell so good. Clean and tangy…like citrus," he identified.

Logan inhaled deeply, sliding along the shell of Rogue's ear, approaching achingly near contact. His lips were so close to her skin, the space between them crackled in unmet expectancy, and that mere sliver of distance was making her frenzied with want. Warm, humid air brushed the sensitive flesh of her earlobe. Her nipples coiled painfully tight; a tremor of electricity quivered along her thighs. "Logan. I-I don't think this is such a good idea," Rogue repeated softly as she felt herself become wet.

He pulled back and breathed in, a deliberately long, savoring inhalation. Logan had gotten the scent of her damp excitement. His lips twisted into a cocky smile and his gold eyes gleamed at her. "I think it's a very good idea."

Then he pressed forward and kissed her. The insistent pressure of his lips pried hers apart; his tongue plunged into her mouth and greedily explored the wet depths within. Alarm exploded deep inside Rogue and she stiffened in fright…right before she felt a sudden influx of concentrated power. A quick blast of electric energy and aggression and strength and naked vitality swirled into a heady concoction that injected directly into her bloodstream. The jolt of impact was just as tremendous as she remembered it; a groan rolled in her throat amid the drowning euphoria. She fisted the front of Logan's jacket and pulled him to her, sucking hungrily at his wet mouth, never wanting to release it.

Then recognition of what was happening slammed home, and Rogue pushed Logan back with a small shriek of horror. The exhilarating freefall crashed to an abrupt halt. Her hand flew to her mouth in dread.

After only a few tense moments, Logan shook off his confusion and looked at her. He hadn't been lying – he was a *very* quick healer. Despite his enervation, Rogue could still see raw desire roiling in his tawny eyes. She could smell it rushing off his skin. And the energy she'd pulled from him was beating through her circulatory system with every mad thump of her heart like some kind of wild amphetamine. Forget China White, the man was like liquid crack. She felt incredibly aroused, totally base, and completely fearless.

Tension coiled inside her like a compressed spring. Without thought, Rogue bounded out of her seat and crawled on top of Logan, her knees straddling his lap. Her mouth came down on his with crushing force, her tongue thrust between his strong lips, her hips rolled into his lower body. There was no sudden power surge – having had just that one pull off Logan, she was as free from fear as he was. Nothing was happening! It was as if she had a temporary respite from the rules that normally governed her life.

Logan was quick to recover from shock, his tongue snaking around hers. He kissed the way Rogue knew he'd make love: with a raw, bone-deep demand he couldn't seem to disguise. A guttural growl reverberated in the base of Logan's throat and he grabbed her waist, yanking her into him. She moaned at the denim-trapped bulge ramming between her thighs. Her heart pounded frantically in her ribcage. She couldn't remember ever feeling so wildly alive, so positively ferocious, so sexed up beyond all reason.

Rogue shoved a hand between their bodies and started undoing Logan's pants, but she couldn't move fast enough. God, she needed to feel him inside her *now*! She was starving for him, half-crazed, on fire with need. Heat raced along her nerves and spiked low in her abdomen; she ground her impatient lower body astride his steely thigh.

Rogue could barely hear Logan's groan of approval over the roar of blood rushing through her head. The sharp thirst between her legs wrenched in unfulfilled longing. She slid to her knees on the cab floor between his feet, and gnawed up along the inside of his jean-clad thigh. When she reached her goal, she raked her voracious teeth along the stiff cotton material. All the while, her hands were still working at his belt and the fly of his jeans. Logan grabbed the back of her head and hoarsely pled, "Oh Christ, Marie!" She was dizzy in lust, hot with frustrated emptiness. And every quick breath was like a hit off some wild opiate – she smelled male hunger, raw and pure and raunchy, mingled with her own wet need. Logan began peeling off her clothes as she worked at his.

By the time she'd slid his jeans down his hips to free him, Logan had her all but stripped. Pinned between the steering wheel and Logan's hard body, Rogue finished the job, twisting herself into awkward positions to slide off her own jeans and boots as rapidly as possible. She was lightheaded at the prospect that she was actually about to have sex. The niggling sensation that this brief escape from her personal prison could be cut short at any moment prompted her to an increased sense of immediacy.

She looked down at Logan's freed erection – sweet baby Jesus the man was packing heat! Rogue reached forward and ran a fingernail up the full length of his arousal; a small bead of liquid squeezed out from the tip. She leaned down and dragged the flat of her tongue across the split head of his shaft. His heartbeat pulsed in her mouth, and a hectic, burning ache echoed dully between her legs. Logan groaned and tugged her into his lap. With one rapid movement, he arched her back over his arm and feasted on her bare breasts. He sucked one nipple ruthlessly into his mouth and pleasure cracked through her, lighting her senses up like a Christmas tree. Then he bit into her flesh, breaking it and drawing blood. The pain was strangely and incredibly erotic, and Rogue bolted upright with a dazed gasp. She looked down and watched the wound close over. Logan stared at the fresh, unbroken skin in mild disbelief.

But his puzzlement was short-lived, apparently obliterated by his driving libido. Anchoring an arm around Rogue, Logan leaned forward and reached for the glove compartment. Once it was open, he leaned farther forward to withdraw a foil packet. The gearshift stabbed Rogue in the small of her back and a pained yelp of surprise jumped out of her mouth. Christ – *this* was why she'd never had sex in a vehicle before. Using his teeth, Logan ripped the condom packet open and swiftly slid it into place, his hungry, tigers' eyes dragging over her nudity.

Rogue shoved Logan's jacket and shirt down his arms as a single unit. As for the jeans…she'd already made sure that the important part of him was accessible; nothing else mattered right now. Her sense of urgency had become unbearable. Rogue hoisted her hips in the air above Logan, feeling the tip of his hard-on slip along her desire-slicked entrance. A frustrated grunt came from Logan, and she looked into his eyes, his pupils so dilated there was only a sliver of topaz around a bottomless black center. Wild anticipation thrummed through her veins.

Then she positioned herself and sank down onto his throbbing erection. Her eyelids slammed closed; he was hot and thick and his penetration instantly filled her to the point of pain. Rogue cried out at the intrusion and her head dropped back. Oh God, it was too much. Logan was inside her, all heat and pulsating hardness, but he'd made her wet enough to stretch and accommodate him. Her nails dug into his hard chest and raked downward, scratching out red trails that immediately healed over. Rogue could feel his pulse snug inside her as she raised her hips, dragging moistly up his length. Pleasure sizzled along her nerve endings. When she'd measured his full length, Logan's fingers dug into her thighs and pressed her back down. He groaned a deep, ragged sound as he filled her again. Rogue moaned.

Faster, she rode him, pulling his rigid, male flesh in and out of her body. Logan surged upwards to meet her thrusts, driving up into her against her weight. Rogue's insides tightened in tortuous rapture. It was pain and beauty all twisted into aching pleasure, driving her closer and closer still to a blinding release. Excruciatingly sweet torture. And God it wasn't enough.

"Fuck, Marie," Logan ground out. "I need to take you hard. Wrap your legs around me."

Rogue did as Logan commanded, and he rolled her to her back across the front seat. Positioning himself above her, Logan plunged into her with a hard, fast stroke. She arched up and cried out. Christ, she was so tight; her soft flesh swallowed him whole, gripping him like wet velvet. Hot saliva pooled under Logan's tongue and he felt his balls draw up close and firm into his body. He was going to come. Soon. "Keep your legs up around me," he commanded. Her slender limbs enfolded around him.

The air all around them was saturated with the sweet aroma of her arousal, and Logan drank it in. The scent flooded his senses. He began pounding into her, and Rogue braced her hands over her head against the passenger's side door to resist his momentum. Her naked body twisted and writhed in ecstasy beneath him. Hectic energy stabbed his stomach muscles, spurring him to even greater speed. Logan knew he was going too fast, but some driving insistence was pushing him to ride her faster and harder yet. He couldn't get enough. And he couldn't slow down. Christ, he'd go slower the second time. Whimpers came from Marie with each slap of contact between them.

Balancing his weight, he lifted Rogue's hips to better receive his heavy thrusts. Logan felt his testicles tighten even more. He hammered mercilessly into her and growled; he was about to peak. And then suddenly, Rogue's body bridged stiffly towards him and her sharp, keening wail cut the air. Her inner muscles twitched out of control, clenching and releasing him repeatedly, all but milking his pleasure out of him.

The look of animal rapture on Rogue's face pushed Logan over the edge; his climax smashed into him like a body blow. His muscles seized up as he continued crushing his hips hard up into her, and his orgasm spurted out in wave after wave of convulsive release. A long, baritone groan tore from deep inside his chest; he slammed a palm into the vinyl seat and grunted again. His body jerked and arched as he emptied himself.

Then Logan's arms crumbled beneath him, his weight crashing down on Rogue with a solid thud. Air whooshed out of her lungs, marked by an "oof" sound at the impact.

For the moment, Logan felt drained and replete, but he knew he'd recover quickly. Thanks to his healing abilities, it would only be a matter of minutes before he was ready for round two with his prissy little tigress. He'd been right about that streak of lasciviousness he'd seen in her and felt smugly self-satisfied for having spotted it.

Just as Logan began recuperating – enough to want to move – Rogue squirmed beneath him and mumbled something. "Hang on a sec, sweetheart," he muttered sleepily into her breasts, his weight still pinning her against the seat. "I just need another minute or so to rise to the occasion."

"Get off of me," she whispered harshly and audibly.

Logan bolted upright. "What the fuck?"

The scent of apprehension began tainting the air. "Get off of me," she repeated, this time more forcefully. "Get off, get off, get off!"

Rogue placed one hand in the middle of his chest and pushed him backwards. She was incredibly strong, Logan noticed, as he all but skidded across the front of the cab and landed in the driver's seat. Now he could smell fear flooding off her skin. A volcano of rage erupted within him. "Back to being scared of me, princess?" he seethed.

Rogue winced. "Not scared of you, Logan. I'm scared of me."

"Spare me the sanctimonious bullshit, Marie!" he spat out in a brutal voice.

Fury bloomed on her face, but only before her eyes narrowed snidely. "Be careful you don't misuse big words you don't understand," she sneered.

A nuclear blast detonated deep within Logan's chest; scorching red mist burned his vision. Did she think she was slumming it with some kind of undereducated outreach fucking charity case? "Keep telling yourself you only wanted to screw me because you were all doped up on my energy," he hissed acidly. "You and I both know how much you've been itching to spread your thighs for me, sweetheart."

"Well I must have been suffering temporary insanity," she snapped, not even bothering to deny the accusation. "Obviously, not being able to touch anyone for so long has wreaked havoc on my mental stability."

"Or maybe," he theorized through thick sarcasm, "it's not that you couldn't touch anyone, but that no man in his right mind would come within a hundred meters of a snotty fucking bitch like you!"

Dark anger surged up and crimsoned her face. "Well, then the implications about *your* mental capabilities must be positively staggering!"

"Hey, stud service is simply part of the five-hundred dollar complete package deal," he shot back with a mock half-bow. His eyes dropped to her body. "Believe me, I wouldn't have touched your bony ass if I weren't being well financially compensated!"

Devastation sprang up on Rogue's face as the insult hit its mark, and she curled her fists into two tight balls.

"Go on," Logan taunted her. "I dare you to take a swing at me. Oh, but that's right," he mocked, "you're afraid you might like touching me too much!"

Instead of the sharp retort Logan expected her to volley back, Rogue looked as though she'd taken a punch to the gut. Dazed shock and hurt gripped her features; her mouth hung open, and her dark eyes became bottomless pools.

Embarrassment then flushed Rogue's naked skin from head to toe as she realized her state of undress. She turned her back on Logan with a disdainful sniff and began scrambling for her clothing.

Shit! What the fuck had just happened? One minute he'd been having the most carnal sex he could ever have dreamt up, and the next he'd been madder than all hell. But then, she hadn't *really* been so carnal, had she! Logan realized. It had just been *his* mojo she'd been vibing off of. It had only been a warped set of circumstances creating a deceptive illusion. He felt oddly robbed. And violently pissed off.

Christ, did Logan feel pissed! Rogue had pulled her jeans on and was now working on hooking her bra while turned away from him. He could see her shoulder blades shifting beneath her pale, satiny skin as she twisted to latch the scrap of cotton into place. Logan pulled off the used condom, hitched his pants back up from around his still-booted ankles, and grabbed his jacket with the shirt tucked inside, sliding the two back on as one piece. Muttering a curse under his breath, he slipped outside to get a smoke. He slammed the driver's side door behind him.

When the windows defogged enough to see outside, Rogue spotted the top of Logan's head over the hood of the truck. His back was to her; he was leaning rigidly against the grill sucking down a cigarette. Despite the fact that Rogue had never inhaled so much as a single drag in her life, she was still buzzing on enough straggling Logan leftovers to actually crave a post-coital smoke. The thought of nicotine and tar swirling through her lungs in soothing eddies sounded mouthwateringly seductive.

The man was ticked off…and not without good reason, either, Rogue sourly noted as she crossed her arms under her breasts and slumped back into the seat. But he'd been such a world-class jerk-wad, something inside her had kind of snapped and she'd bared her teeth in response. It hadn't mattered, though; Logan was too instinctually intelligent, and he'd known exactly what to say to lash her to the bone, further fueling her irritation. Damn him! Rogue was dying to chalk up her aggravation to his temperament still scalding through her system like lava, but she knew she'd already come down too far from that high to blame her foul mood on it.

God, his strength had been like liquid fire inside her veins. Hot and wild and primitive and demanding…a sensation any heroine junkie would salivate over. Rogue covered her face with her hands and cringed. The things she'd said; worse yet, done! She'd been like an unleashed creature. Positively wanton! Rogue had never been a prude, but she'd certainly never had sex like a rutting beast before, clawing madly at a man and climaxing with such shattering force and speed. In the front seat of a semi, no less!

But the question that kept drumming through her brain was, now that she was back to supposed normality, why didn't the thought of repeating that hard, hot sex sound even remotely unappealing? Because, for some unimaginable reason, conjuring up mental replays of her and Logan's performance made only darts of excitement shoot hotly between her thighs…without so much as an ounce of disgust. Had she absorbed something permanent off of him? Somehow incorporated his libidinous crudity into her personality? After all, even though her overall strength always increased a little when she drew a person's power, she'd been able to shove Logan backwards almost effortlessly. She'd already taken two sizeable pulls off him, perhaps his energy was just stockpiling within her.

And he was such a deliciously strong man. Juicy strength that made her press her legs together hard to restrain the aching pangs generating at their apex. Rogue had been right: Logan was incredibly intense when it came to sex. And he'd wanted to go a second time, she remembered. Maybe more than that. A shiver rippled up her skin at the sudden thought. Why couldn't she have held onto that fearlessness just a little longer?

Rogue sighed in exasperation. He hated her now, she realized, watching the back of his head. He thought she was as creeped out by the ferocity of his lovemaking as any of those other women. She didn't exactly have names, dates, or even faces, but Rogue knew there had been a good number of others. And they'd all been frightened of him…at least a little. Logan had always smelled it.

It wasn't fair! Rogue's fear was neither of Logan nor his sexual intensity. Her mutation just made her afraid when *anyone* came near enough to touch her. She loathed that adage about life not always being fair. She sighed again. He was right: she could keep telling herself that it had been his energy making her so licentious, but she'd wanted him before she'd ever laid a hand on him. Before she'd drunk so much as a single drop of his delectable aggression. And she'd wanted him in a way that would make any respectable Southern belle blush furiously. She'd wanted him so badly she could taste it.

Rogue continued watching the back of Logan's head. He kept raking his fingers back through his thick, black hair. She'd thought he wasn't handsome when she first saw him. She'd thought his face was too angular, too stern and set. His jaw was almost perfectly square, as if chiseled from stone. His mouth too feral…his nose looked as though it had been broken and healed countless times. And his biting eyes could cut glass. A small smile touched her lips – he was the sexiest thing she'd ever seen.

Plus, he had those strong, perfectly bowed, not-too-thin-not-too-full lips that sucked at her mouth in a way that made her knees melt bonelessly. And that was to say nothing of his powerful body. Whew! What a man. A girl could overheat just thinking about it.

Rogue was suddenly shaken out of her adolescent fantasizing when she saw Logan's attention jerk up as if he sensed something. His head slammed sharply right; his nostrils flared in and out, trying to pick up a scent. Rogue shifted in her seat and leaned forward.

Without warning, a huge dog – or wolf or *something* – leapt onto Logan. Rogue felt terror grip her bowels and turn her legs to water. Huge didn't begin to cover it; this thing looked like a mass of coiled muscle and slobbering, gnashing teeth. It knocked Logan to the ground in front of the truck, and out of Rogue's range of visibility. Her heart jumped into her throat and the bottom fell out of her stomach.

Prompted by sheer adrenaline, she flung the cab door open and dropped to her feet outside. Rogue ran around to the front of the truck and saw Logan grappling with the gigantic animal. It was snapping its fangs aggressively towards Logan's throat. Even though it wasn't human, the thought instantly popped into Rogue's mind that she might be able to drain it of its energy. She didn't know what might happen, but she knew she had to try…for Logan's sake, at least.

Unfortunately, man and beast were rolling around so frantically she wasn't sure how to get her hand wedged in there. Taking a few tentative steps closer while removing one glove, Rogue approached the snarling mess of entangled fighters. Logan saw her and his eyes popped large in surprise. "Behind you!" he called out in warning.

But before she could turn around, pain exploded against the back of Rogue's head. She saw bright blobs spot in front of her eyes… followed by a bottomless sinkhole of blackness.

Still struggling with the animal, Logan watched as a man smashed a long chunk of wood against the base of Rogue's skull. She collapsed into a pile like a lifeless flour sack; the man grabbed her beneath her arms and began dragging her off the road to his vehicle.

A high-voltage current of raw, angry power surged through Logan's veins. His hand curled into a fist, and he drove it into the side of his opponent's head. The feel of solid meat and bone met his knuckles and the dog flew off him, landing on the ground with a whining animal whimper. The thing appeared incapacitated, which was in its favor, because Logan had been prepared to slice the stupid beast to little doggie bits if a filleting had been necessary.

Turning his attention back to the man who'd swiped Rogue, Logan saw the bastard folding her legs hurriedly into the back seat of his car. Logan stomped a path to the vehicle, curled a hand around the guy's throat from behind, spun him around, and slammed him up against the driver's side door. "Talk," he growled in unleashed fury.

The man made a few croaking noises and clawed impotently at Logan's arm. His dangling feet made weak attempts at kicking Logan's shins. Forcibly letting some of his fury drain, Logan lowered the man until his feet touched ground. Information could hardly be extracted from someone whose trachea had been crushed, after all. "Let's try this again," Logan fumed, reining back his rage. "Talk!"

After a sharp inhalation, the man started sputtering. "Others – right behind me. Be here – soon." His fingers were still wrapped and twitching around Logan's large hand, attempting to pull it entirely away from his breathing passage.

"Who?" Logan seethed.

"Others. Got here first – had dog. Creed…gave go ahead…" he panted. He paused again to gasp violently.

Graydon Creed! Logan's brain pounded out. The Fucking Friends of Humanity! "How'd you find her?"

"Bank…account," the man choked out.

With a quick draw and flick of his fist, Logan jabbed the guy hard in the face, his front knuckles driving into soft tissue. Blood burst and the man slithered unconsciously into a useless puddle at Logan's feet. Logan hauled Rogue out of the backseat. In the spirit of saving time, he'd have slung her over her shoulder if not for the head injury. As it was, he cradled her in his arms, mounted into the truck, and buckled her up as hastily but as gently as possible, attempting to minimize her movement.

He hit the gas and the truck took off like a bat out of hell. Graydon Creed was a dangerous man – he was smart and strong and had a whole fucking army of redneck idiots ready to perpetrate his mutant hate crimes. How the fuck had the FoH found them in the middle of a deserted interstate? The question nagged at Logan.

Okay, so Rogue had opened an account in Podunk, Alberta, and they'd found her through that. Logan reasoned that there had only been one highway in and out of that town – the bastards must have tracked it in either direction! The guy who'd attacked them was probably only scouting ahead and hadn't been intended as some kind of vanguard. He must have just seen a perfect opportunity while Logan and Rogue were pulled over.

Logan knew he had to get off the main road…start taking back road to connecting back road until the FoH didn't have a clue where he'd gone. Jesus! Rogue must have spent the last few years barely a step in front of these assholes. Logan risked a glance at her and tapped her on the cheek with a few unsuccessful attempts to rouse her. Dammit, he needed to get somewhere safe – quickly – so he could examine her injuries.

At the first exit, Logan left the highway.

"Marie?" Logan asked, brushing a clump of her long hair away from her face.

Rogue's eyes fluttered open; she smiled serenely at him. "Logan," she drawled calmly.

The corner of his mouth hitched up. She said his name as if she'd done nothing more than run into him at afternoon tea. He continued massaging the palm of her hand with his thumb. "How ya feeling, sweetheart?"

Rogue tried to sit up, then winced at the pain and sank back into the bed. "Ow," she complained, rubbing the nape of her neck with her free hand. "My head feels like I was hit by a boulder."

"Actually, a two by four," Logan growled. "I think you had a concussion."

Her eyes tried focusing on the room around her. "Where are we?"

"A motel. I took us about a hundred fifty kilometers into the middle of nowhere."

"Why?" she asked, her voice quavering in worry.

"The Friends of Humanity," Logan exhaled. "You were right to be paranoid."

Fear sprang large in Rogue's eyes and a sudden wall of its odor punched Logan in the face. She yanked her hand out of his.

"Here," he offered, placing his hand near hers on the sheet covering her. "Take a quick hit off of me. It'll fix your injury up in no time."

She shook her head obstinately then flinched at the resulting pain.

Logan chafed at her stubbornness. "Think of Manhattan – Times Square – teeming with people," he crooned, "you caught in the middle of the jumble. You're only wearing shorts and a tank top. Everyone's jostling you."

Logan smelled her anxiety building, but still she refused to move her hand. Impatience spurted hotly in his stomach, and he pressed one finger to her bare flesh. In the span of a heartbeat, excruciating pain tore through him, knives of acid shredding his skin from the inside. But the sensation ended just as abruptly as it had begun when she immediately jerked back her arm. The entire incident was so short-lived, he shook off the after-effects in a matter of seconds.

Rogue sat up and rolled her neck a few times. She shot him a rueful smile indicating her healed state as well as her disapproval of his doctoring methods. "Hey, um… Thanks. For saving me back there, I mean. I owe you."

"I can think of a few positions you can use to pay me back," he said grinning.

A small muscle ticked in Rogue's jaw, but in no other way did she acknowledge his comment. "Should we be worried about the Friends of Humanity finding us here?" she asked, jumping off the bed.

"I don't think so," Logan responded. "I was pretty good about exiting frequently."

"Where's my bag?"

"Over there," Logan answered, indicating the closet.

She nodded. "Could you give me a couple minutes to shower and change? I feel kind of grubby."

"Sure," he responded, settling himself into his chair. Logan stretched his legs out long in front of him, crossing his feet at the ankles. His hands clasped behind his head.

Rogue raised an eyebrow and glared at him. "A few minutes *alone*?"

"Nothing I haven't seen already."

Rogue's composure held, but her skin turned beet red. "That may be true," she claimed with an edge to her voice, "but it's nothing I feel comfortable showing off right now."

"You should. Show it off," he clarified. "You have a great body."

"If I recall, you said I looked emaciated. And you told me I have a bony ass."

The contrast of hearing curse words come out in her taut, demure accent always amused Logan. He couldn't help but shoot her a snarky grin. "Either it was before I knew better or I was lying because you'd pissed me off. Besides, your DSLs could make up for all matter of failings."

"My Digital Subscriber Lines?" she asked, halting her search through her bag to stand up and look at him in complete bewilderment.

"Dick-Sucking Lips," he casually corrected.

Shock landed like a slap across her face. "God! You're positively… shameless!"

"Yeah," he taunted, "but who all but molested me in the front seat of my own truck?"

Rogue's dark eyes grew huge and her jaw set in fury. Words seemed to fail her until she spat out, "You suck!"

Logan tossed her a toothy grin and leaned forward. "True, but I do it so well. And if you're extra nice to me, I'll even let you be the lucky recipient of my expertise." He wagged his eyebrows at her. Rogue's moist scent quickly drenched the air, and an unexpected rush of heated blood lanced through Logan's groin. Christ, he really wanted nothing more than to lick and suck at her until she melted across his tongue. She'd taste all hot and salty and drip like honey.

"Arg!" Rogue cried out in frustrated defeat. She slapped a hand to her forehead and clenched her eyes closed. After a fortifying inhalation, she lifted her eyelids and pointed to the door. "Get out," she groaned.

As it turned out, Logan had gotten them two separate rooms with a connecting door. When Rogue emerged from the shower, a small motel towel tucked tightly under her arms, Logan was back in her room again. He was leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his broad chest, one leg crossed over the other. Even just standing there, wearing nothing more than jeans and a leather jacket, the man exuded so much raw masculinity Rogue's breath momentarily caught and flickered in her chest.

He looked impatiently bored, but when he raised his bruising eyes, an unholy smile spread across his face as he let his gaze travel up and down her towel-swathed body. He did nothing to hide his appraisal, and Rogue felt his eyes all over her skin like a physical touch. "Like I said, a great body." His hungry stare fixed on her mouth and her throat went dry. "And lips I'm just dying to see wrapped around my dick."

Rogue groused. Way to spoil a moment. "Must you always be such a vulgarian?"

"Always" Logan replied, his topaz eyes flashing. "Especially around you. That mouth of yours makes me think up the nastiest shit."

Against her brain's will, Rogue found herself becoming aroused. Logan's smirk deepened, and she couldn't help but imagine the dirty images going through his mind…images that made her heat from the inside out and sent electricity skating through her skin. Logan's smirk broke into a full-on grin, and Rogue felt her cheeks warm. Strange as it might seem, the man could look almost charming at times.

She sighed in deliberate irritation, determined not to be swayed. "I still have to get dressed. Do you mind?"

"I don't mind," he smirked, unabashedly eying her shower-misted legs. "I was just checking to see if you wanted Italian or Chinese food for dinner. I figured we should make reservations – you never know when a town with a population of three and a dog might be unable to accommodate two for dinner."

"What a cosmopolitan choice in cuisine," Rogue muttered. "Either's fine, really…but I'm probably more in the mood for Chinese."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Then why didn't you just say Chinese?"

"Because I wanted to annoy you," Rogue chimed. She began pushing his back, directing him towards the door. "Go make the reservations and let me get dressed."

When she was ready, they piled into his truck to travel the short distance to the restaurant. The cab was cold and Rogue rubbed her gloved hands together, blowing misty breath into them to warm up as Logan drove. An awkward silence charged the space between the two of them, and Rogue silently chewed the inside of her cheek. "Logan?" she finally asked. "I wasn't really scared of you. When we were, you know…together…in your truck. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah. I know," he mumbled, darting his eyes to her. "And… Christ, I said some shitty things," he grumbled. He scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. "Sorry I called you a snotty fucking bitch. You're not a bitch."

Rogue scowled. Only Logan could make an apology sound like an insult. "Thanks. I'll work on the `snotty' and `fucking' parts."

"Definitely the fucking part," he replied, the corner of his mouth twisting up.

Then Logan reached his hand out to her and dragged a finger down her cheekbone. Rogue closed her eyes in sensual enjoyment of the tingling shocks left in its wake. As he withdrew, she lifted her eyelids, suddenly remembering how he'd also been holding her hand earlier when she'd returned to consciousness. "Why do you keep touching my skin?" she asked.

Logan turned to look at her. His molten gaze was so hot and penetrating it practically scored her soft flesh. "I want you to get used to it."

Liquidy desire drizzled down Rogue's sternum and curled her toes in her boots. "Oh," was all she could manage to answer, and it came out more as a sigh than a word. She might have felt cold before, but invisible flames now licked the insides of her veins. Heated oxygen expanded in her lungs. Suddenly, she felt stifled in her winter coat.

Logan put on his signal and turned into a parking lot; the restaurant sprang up in front of them. He parked and the two of them scrambled down to solid ground. Rogue hadn't realized until just then that she hadn't eaten all day, and her stomach made small gurgling noises in protest of the hunger strike when she got scent of food. It smelled like dinner would be pure MSG, but she didn't particularly care at the moment.

They made their way inside and were immediately seated. Once they settled in, Logan looked at Rogue with a look of dire earnestness and said in a low, important-sounding voice, "I know a place you can go."

Rogue eyed him skeptically. "What do you mean `a place I can go'?"

"An institute--"

"I'm not insane!" she blazed.

"Not that kind of institute, Marie. Would you calm down?" he hissed in a quelling whisper, looking around at the restaurant's other patrons. "I'm talking about a school. A school for mutants. I know the guy who runs it – Charles Xavier. He helps mutants control their powers." The waiter arrived just then and Logan looked up at him. "We'll have the Peking Duck special."

The waiter nodded once and repeated, "Peking Duck," before taking off for the kitchen.

"You didn't even bother asking me if I like Peking Duck!"

"Do you like Peking Duck?"

Rogue exhaled a deep sigh of exasperation. "Yes."

Logan shrugged. "You'd be safe at Xavier's Institute; Charles would make sure of it. He's got better security than you could ever afford."

"I don't know," Rogue replied doubtfully in a soft voice. "The way I can take other mutants' powers? I'm kind of a mutant among mutants, don't you think? It's probably better if I just stick with my plan and stay away from everyone."

"The other students will get used to you," he reassured her. Rogue started to interrupt, but Logan continued speaking over her. "And if they don't, fuck `em. Keep to yourself, skulk in corners. It's what you'd be doing in motels anyway. But at least there you'd be safe from those dickholes chasing you. And Christ, Marie, the Professor could help you figure out how to control your mutation."

Rogue sighed and compressed her lips into a tight line. "I'll think about."

During the night, Rogue awoke for some unknown reason. After a mental shrug, she snuggled deeply into her motel comforter and quickly passed back into sleep. But she was immediately roused from slumber once again when a large, heated body plastered against her back and the mattress weighed heavily to one side, rolling her towards the solid mass. An arm curled around her stomach and began massaging one of her small breasts. There was definitely something hard prodding her in the rear.

"Logan?" she asked, turning within his pinning grasp to face him.

"You were expecting someone else?" his familiar voice scratched.

"No, but I wasn't exactly expecting you, either." She yawned.

"Surprise."

Rogue knuckled her eyes sleepily. "What are you doing here?"

"I want to fuck like monkeys `til dawn," he stated

Logan's tone of voice was so calm and straightforward, Rogue wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. She rubbed one eye with the heel of her palm. "You want to… What do you want to do?"

With deliberate annunciation on each syllable, he repeated himself, "I-want-to-fuck-like-mon-keys-til-dawn."

Rogue's eyes bulleted open. "God, Logan! What am I…here to service you every time you get an itch?"

"Nah," he responded, leaning back against the headboard, basketing his head with his hands. "Just whenever I get a big old boner."

"Ugh!" she whispered in furious disgust. "Why do you have to be like that? One second I'm thinking there's actually something almost charming about you, and the next you're…you're…"

"Hard as a rock and looking to get laid?" he suggested through a thick grin. "Admit it, sweetheart, you can't get enough of me."

"Oh God," Rogue sighed in resignation, dragging a frustrated hand down her face. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I can think of a few things," Logan offered, sitting forward. "Starting with those thick lips of yours." He ran the pad of one thumb over her bottom lip.

Rogue closed her eyes. "Logan," she whispered across a soft wisp of air.

"Shhh, Marie." He pushed her heavy hair out of her face and she lifted her lashes to look at him. "Open your mouth for me," he ordered.

He leaned in to kiss her, and Rogue parted her lips as he'd instructed. Logan's mouth touched hers – he tasted like spice and heat. The palms of Rogue's hands pressed hard against the mattress and the oral embrace deepened; his tongue wound through her mouth. Warmth tingled on her lips and sleeted through her chest. She felt a familiar tickle of need in her lower body.

In intuitive response, Logan slid a hand along Rogue's satin-clad thigh and inserted it between her legs. The fabric of her nightgown prevented true contact between them, but the barrier proved a minimal deterrent to her pleasure as he forced her thighs apart and wiggled a silk-wrapped finger to her wet entrance. Flames of delight instantly fanned to life when he found the ultra-sensitive bundle of nerves buried amid her feminine flesh and began massaging vigorously. Her nightgown's sleek material created the most deliciously smooth friction. Rogue's body wrenched in wild reaction to the almost intolerable pleasure. She wanted him to slip those thick fingers inside her.

Rogue dazed with passion so quickly, so completely, that Logan had the lower half of her nightgown pushed up around her waist and was draping her knees over his shoulders before she could protest. When she realized what he was planning, the first hints of nervousness started building in the pit of her stomach. "Wait a minute," she began.

Logan shot her a lopsided grin. "Not a chance, sweetheart."

Then he licked her. Back to front, the velvet rasp of his tongue dragging intimately across her flesh. Rogue flew into a million pieces; her body lurched. Logan's fingers dug into her hips and locked her lower body squarely against his rough mouth. He sucked with crisp suction on the engorged bud at the center of her pleasure, and her world burst into flames around her. She wanted to shriek, but no sound came from her throat; blazing electricity broadcast outward through every cell of her arched body. Her insides screamed and her feet curled tightly in midair. She was so close…

More. She wanted more.

Logan's tongue stabbed into her with a back-and-forth rocking motion, each stroke curling past the hyper-sensitized nub, driving her to maddening heights. Heat filled Rogue like a moist bubble against the oral onslaught, pressure mounting, mounting, mounting, until the frustrating pressure was too much and a violent kaleidoscope of sensation erupted inside her. Her world exploded into iridescent bliss, gushing out in warm, fluid flames. Rogue's hands coiled the sheets. Her body buzzed.

Logan put her feet down on the mattress and spread her knees, crawling up between them like a prowling predator. His teeth clamped down on one nipple – in the aftermath of her fast, explosive orgasm, the pain sank through her in a way no mere tender caress could have. Rogue felt another inexorable wave snatch her up, and she knew she'd be tossed and carried and drowned amid the pounding surf.

An inkling of fear clutched Rogue's stomach with an icy hand and squeezed tightly. Doubt slinked through her brain. What if she got scared in the middle of their lovemaking? What if both of them were too caught up in the sexual act when a panic attack began that they couldn't stop? What if Logan collapsed on top of her, pinning her so she was unable to push him away? She could suck him dry. She could kill him.

Anxiety began germinating within Rogue, and it wrapped an invisible, steel band around her lungs. Her pulse rate spiked. She repelled Logan and squirmed out from under him, scooting back against the headboard. "Wait, no. Stop, stop, *stop*," she said, shaking her head frantically. Her legs recoiled into her body. "I can't do this. I mean, how are we supposed to make it work?"

Anger rose like a red floodtide on Logan's face. "Insert tab A into slot B. Easiest directions in the world."

"No!" she insisted. "There are too many ifs. What if something makes me afraid? We might be too…preoccupied…to be able to halt what we're doing in time."

"Marie," Logan spat out in brutal incredulity. "You can't be serious. You're not gonna leave me like this."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm just too scared."

His unnerving eyes bore into her tender skin like drill bits. "You're fucking kidding me!"

Rogue shook her head.

"Son of a bitch!" Logan raged. "You're *killing* me here."

"I'm sorry," she reiterated. "I'm not trying to be cruel."

"Cruel doesn't even begin to cover it," he stormed. "Christ, I just went down on you!"

Annoyance snapped at Rogue. "I didn't realize this was a game of tit for tat."

"Hell, I'd be willing to settle for a fast titty-fuck, even if it is straight out of high school."

"Oh my God," Rogue muttered in disgust. How could she have thought for even one millisecond that this man was remotely charming? He was the biggest slime bag on Earth. "You know what? No one forced you to come over here and…and…do what you just did. Get out, please. Just go back to your room and take care of yourself."

"Take care of myself," Logan repeated in disbelief, his eyes searching the ceiling for unfound inspiration. "Un-fucking-believable."

Hot rage continued to expand within her. "Well, believe it. I'm sorry you were…how did you so eloquently word it? `Hard as a rock and looking to get laid'? But I'm afraid life's just full of disappointments."

"That's not all you're afraid of," he growled softly.

"What did you say?" she asked in restrained fury.

Logan spun on her and his flashing golden gaze sent cold tremors cascading down her spine. He was half-dressed, his chest bare above a pair of loose boxers. Dark hair sprinkled across angry, flexing muscles. He was furious, like some kind of untamed beast. "Sweetheart, you're so scared, it's pathetic. Because what you're really scared of is how much you want me."

A sharp, indrawn breath hissed between Rogue's teeth. "No, what I'm really scared of is acting on my urge to crack your skull in two. But then, that would have to be one mean feat to accomplish on someone as thickheaded as you! Now, which word of `get out' did you not understand?"

"Must have been the `get'," he mumbled in disgust as he headed for the adjoining door. "'Cause I sure as hell didn't get *any*!" He walked to his room and slammed the adjoining door closed behind him.

Rogue folded her arms across her chest and gave a sour, "Hmmph." There was a loud series of creaks as she heard Logan plop down onto his bed. Great…their headboards shared a wall! The unmistakable sounds of male masturbation immediately leaked through to Rogue, and she uncomfortably overheard every individual grunt and groan. Logan's climax came fast and hard, and before he'd had so much as a chance to catch his breath, she heard him snoring. She rolled her eyes. Only a man could transition so easily from anger to self-pleasure to slumber in the span of three minutes.

Rogue stretched her legs out along the top of the bed and leaned her back against the headboard. Her arms were still crossed over her chest. Sleep was not going to come for a while yet – she had too much adrenaline pumping through her veins, and her brain couldn't stop arguing with Logan. Where did he get off? Okay, so he hadn't gotten off, and that was kind of the point, but still! Of all the nerve, to just *assume*… As if it were something owed to him…and it had been her duty to provide it!

Rogue's silent fuming continued into the night and was only interrupted when she heard more noises emanating from Logan's room… except this time, the sounds were loud, effortful groans. Rogue's wordless tirade came to an abrupt halt and she pressed an ear against their mutual wall. These were not the grunts of perfunctory masturbation; they were long, protracted, savage moans pushing out from the bottom of a man's diaphragm. Oh God – he was…he was having… sex! He was actually having sex with someone else over there! Blind fury forked white-hot through Rogue. That… despicable… *bastard*! How could he have gone from her bed, not an hour ago, into the arms of some other woman? Oh God! Maybe it was a hooker he'd just picked up. Forget being a slime bag – the man was the lowest form of…no, even lower than that… He was… There weren't words loathsome enough to describe him!

Rogue bolted out of bed and stalked across the floor. She had no idea what she was going to say, but she was sure a few choice words would come to her in a fit of divine inspiration. Rogue tossed wide the door to Logan's room and stormed into his room.

To her incredible surprise, Rogue found Logan alone, thrashing wildly in his sleep. There was no intimate coupling scene, as she'd anticipated. A small wash of unwelcome relief flushed over her. It was immediately followed by a sense of embarrassed resentment to her reaction.

The thin bed sheet Logan had used to cover himself was twisted and coiled around his nearly nude body. It was as if a rowdy wrestling match were taking place between man and bedding, and the linen was decidedly slipping into the loser's position. Rogue's feelings of relief were quickly overtaken by worry. Whatever Logan was seeing behind his clenched lids was no ordinary nightmare. He looked as though he were reliving an experience straight out of the innermost depths of hell.

Rogue approached him, her eyes wide with uncertainty. Despite the cold temperature, Logan's dark skin was drenched in sweat, his black hair all but glistening with it in the filtered moonlight slitting through the blinds. His face was screwed tightly, as if he were suffering indescribable torture. Rogue grabbed the sheet's corner and used it to place a hand on Logan's hot flesh. His body heat burned like a furnace through the light cotton material. She shook his shoulder. "Logan," she whispered.

Aside from the continued flailing of his limbs and the deep sounds of his distress, there was no reply. Rogue redoubled her efforts, shaking harder and hissing his name with more force and volume. "Logan!"

Suddenly, he bolted awake and sat up with a loud roar, his piercing eyes instantly digging into hers. Rogue was so startled she made a choked sound and jumped backwards. Unfortunately, it was neither soon enough nor far enough away to prevent pain from slicing through her.

Logan came awake with a start to find himself staring into Rogue's dark eyes. His heart was pounding like muted thunder in his chest, and he had to blink a few times to clear his vision of sweat. He'd been having The Dream again – the one he could never remember upon waking. "Marie?" he asked in confusion.

Rogue's eyes were bulging wide – panicky, almost feverish – and her mouth hung open stammering out staccatos of air. Logan's brows crushed together. He was still in a half-stupor of sleep. What the hell was she doing here?

The deluge of terror pouring off her skin finally caught his nose, and Logan realized something was weighing down his arm. His gaze broke from Rogue's huge eyes, dropping to his hand raised in front of him. The long blades usually tucked behind his skin were extended and looked to disappear into Rogue's body. Logan blinked a few times. Understanding finally clicked in his brain with a sobering, adrenaline surge.

"Shit, no!" Horror ripped through his body and made his insides go cold. "Fuck! No!" Logan retracted the claws and Rogue's legs buckled and folded beneath her. He caught her under her arms. A sense of helpless desperation gripped his stomach in an iron clamp, and his gaze locked on her face again. Those deep, nearly black eyes rolled white and her body became a deadweight hanging in his hands, like an immense sack of grain. "Come on, baby, no. Shit, Marie, quit fucking around," he pled in frenzied distress.

Dark, inky fluid soaked through the front of her nightgown and began spreading across her right breast. An earthy smell tainted the air. "Oh fuck," he croaked. Rogue's head lolled forward and she swallowed hard. Her eyes swayed and focused on him again. "That's it, sweetheart," Logan coaxed, brushing her hair back. "Come on back to me." Liquid gurgled in her lungs when she rasped in a deep breath. Logan couldn't seem to get his mind to function properly – some notion danced just beyond comprehension, swimming in the gray miasma of his thoughts, but his brain was too frantic to grasp it.

Rogue's chin dropped to her chest then bobbed back up; her dazed eyes settled on Logan's once more. Moisture rattled in her chest when she tried to wheeze in oxygen. Terror and dread and an overwhelming sense of futile desperation streamed through Logan's brain and sank his chest. Rogue's fear was so thick he could taste it, sharp and bitter on his tongue, as if he'd been sucking on pennies. Her sorrowful eyes glowed softly in the bright moonlight, and she breathed across a wet whisper, "I-I'm…so-sorry."

Logan's forehead furrowed in puzzlement, but then Rogue's bare palm settled on his cheek and instant pain obliterated his nerve endings like a hot blast of radiation. His body began ripping, his cells tearing in two, the very molecules of his organs being shredded into jagged pieces, as if by a rusty blade. Battery acid ate away at the inside of his skin. It was burning and slicing and hacking and scraping all rolled into one. Logan's gaze bore into Rogue's horror-filled eyes and he pushed out the words, "Do it!" right before falling down, down, down into dark oblivion.

Life blasted through Rogue; undiluted rapture all but split her in two. Logan's energy poured into her like a drenching downpour to a dehydrated mouth. The stabbing ache radiating out from her chest subsided and power whipped through her. She'd never ridden the knife-edge separation between pain and pleasure so tightly, and the division was becoming increasingly unclear. Rogue's fingers dug into Logan's face with an orgasmic flex. Somewhere in her brain, she knew she had to stop, but her thirst was so great. She felt as though she were drowning in brilliant, sparkling euphoria.

Their contact broke only when Logan collapsed backwards into the bed in depletion. Rogue jolted forward and rocked unsteadily on her feet, jarred by the loss of chaotic influx. She felt pulled taut, vibrating with the power of potential, like a strung bow desperately longing to loose an arrow. Her eyes dropped to Logan on the bed and every wired up cell of her body jumped to full attention. His skin had actually ripped open in large, bloody gashes that were now emptying out onto the white motel sheets.

I did that to him! she realized in echoing dread.

Rogue slipped the sleeve of her thin nightgown over her hand, and her fingers flew to Logan's throat to find his pulse. Oh my God! her brain screamed in silent accusation. He's dead! Her hand flitted frantically over his skin, detecting no faint beat of blood. Then she found it, weak but present, and she sighed in desperate relief. As long as Logan was alive, he'd heal. A hard pulse of anxiety drained out of her.

Rogue sank to a seated position on the bed beside Logan and exhaled raggedly. Her head dropped into her hands, as if her neck were suddenly incapable of supporting such monumental weight. She'd almost killed him. Her lusty greed had pushed her to take far more energy from Logan than she'd probably ever needed. Rogue raked an unsteady hand back through her hair.

I have to get out of here! The thought sprang to life within her accelerated body. She'd been right – she was a mutant among mutants and no one had any business trusting her. Least of all Logan, with his energy that poured through her like golden magma. For three years Rogue had eluded her would-be captors without Logan's help; she could keep it up for another six or eight months, right? Just until she could afford to build her protective home. Her prison cell.

Rogue felt her chest squeeze and her eyes fell to Logan's face. She didn't want to run again. But she couldn't stay with Logan, and she'd known that from the very beginning. Isolation was the dominating theme of her life. Why the hell had she stowed away in his truck in the first place? Loneliness rolled through her in waves and fisted her throat. A choked sob whimpered out before she could swallow back the painful knot of emotion and threatening tears.

There was no time for this! Rogue ground the heels of her palms into her stinging eyes and shook her head free of nonsense. She was a practical woman…it was time to start behaving as one. She rushed to her room to begin packing, neatly arranging her belongings within her sack. When she was done, she made the bed and tidied up the space. Activity and order were almost tangible concepts, and her mind grabbed feverishly onto them. She found a piece of motel stationary and jotted down a quick note to Logan, finishing up by folding the paper into perfect thirds. Then she pulled out her wallet and left money tucked inside the folds of the letter. She placed the paper bundle on the bedside nightstand.

She was officially tapped out of money now; she'd have to stop at an ATM. Rogue's eyes burned and prickled from lack of sleep, but her brain was bouncing in hectic rhythm. She pinched and massaged the bridge of her nose and clenched her eyes tightly. Without a doubt, this was the least planning she'd ever put into *anything*. Normally, Rogue was good about choosing a destination, mapping out an intended route, chartering transportation, and basically leaving nothing to chance. But she wanted to be well and gone by the time Logan awoke, so she had to move quickly. Her mind spun out of control. Rogue had done some research the night before, and unfortunately knew that this rest stop exit had neither train nor bus service. She'd have to traipse alongside the highway that rolled out of town – in the middle of God only knew where – and hope she'd happen upon another town from which she could hop a train or bus to anywhere. She sighed. Spontaneity was *definitely* not her forte.

Rogue looked to the blinded window; soon, the pre-dawn light would begin frosting the sky in bubblegum taffy hues. As much as she hated to do it, her first stop really did have to be a branch of one of the bank chains in which she held an account. She'd need money to buy a ticket. That was, assuming she found a town with mass transit. The landscape around her looked pretty barren, but there were walls of trees blocking her view of the horizon, and she put her hope in the unknown.

Rogue wished the tree line extended to the freeway, but unfortunately, it was many, many miles off. She had no idea where she'd be going, and her only guide would be the road. Still, she would have preferred some form of cover under which to walk while she followed the highway. Instead, she had only open, snowy plains. She took a deep breath, hitched her bag up on her shoulders, and decided they'd have to do as she stepped out into the bitter morning cold. She refused to allow herself to look back.

Logan woke up with a pounding hangover. Splinters of bright sunlight streamed through the blinds and stabbed his eyes. Squinting in pain, he sat up and drew a palm to his throbbing head. Through slitted eyes, he saw the motel room around him, and memories immediately oozed back into his brain.

Logan bolted upright and jumped out of bed, momentarily wobbling on his feet. When he regained his equilibrium, Logan dashed to the adjoining door and into Rogue's motel room. What immediately struck him was its unlived in appearance. The bed was made to perfection, the counters bare of any personal products or belongings…except for the bedside dresser, which had a folded up piece of paper resting on top of it.

Logan walked over and picked up the thirded note. Tucked inside were a bunch of bills. The paper had only a brief message:

Logan:

Here's the two fifty we agreed upon plus another fifty to reimburse you for the cost of the rooms. I can't express how sorry I am. It's just safest if I stay away…

Marie

Red-hot rage burned through Logan's blood system. The sound of paper crumpling caught his attention, and he realized he'd unconsciously fisted the sheet of stationary. He looked at the wadded up letter and twenties in his hand.

How fucking magnanimous of Rogue to take all the blame for last night! For Christ's sake, he'd stabbed her through the fucking chest, and somehow she'd decided everything was her fault? Son of a *bitch*! A tornado of mad emotions whirled through Logan, and he stormed back to his room to get dressed. Her back must be killing her from dragging that fucking cross around!

Logan packed his stuff and checked out of the motel as quickly as possible. He drove out to the main road and stopped the truck, cranking down the parking brake. A fast movement hoisted him out of the cab and down to the asphalt pavement. Standing in the middle of the deserted highway, Logan lifted his nose and sniffed rapidly in both directions, his nostrils flaring in and out. The faintest thread of Rogue's sweet scent captured him and he began following it like a cartoon character ensnared by the aroma of hot apple pie. The ribbon of odor flitting through the air hooked his olfactory senses, growing more substantial the farther he walked in one direction.

Logan strode back to the truck and jumped in. The day was well into afternoon, which meant Rogue had probably been hiking for hours now. Logan rolled down the window, smelled her in the wind, and began driving.

After an excruciating hour of pursuing Rogue's sweet scent, the smell simply vanished like mist in the sun. Logan pulled over to the side of the road and backtracked on foot, but further inspection merely confirmed his initial findings. Rogue hadn't left the road in either direction…it was as if she'd simply stepped off the face of the earth.

Then the other scent hit him: vehicle exhaust. It was nothing that would normally have alerted his attention on an open highway, but Logan realized that this car seemed to have materialized at the exact spot where Rogue disappeared. Logan walked to the other side of the road and inhaled deeply. No – the car hadn't just magically appeared, he determined; it had come from the opposite direction and then turned around. The likelihood of it being a coincidence that these two occurrences happened at the exact same location was pretty fucking slim. Logan's blood boiled. He took his leather jacket off, stalked back to the truck, climbed in, and started tracking the new smell. There was little doubt in his mind what he'd find at the end of the trail.

Logan looked around at the night gathering; if Rogue weren't in so much danger, he'd have laughed at the clichéd nature of the FoH rally. Pointed white hoods and burning crosses as far as the eye could see. How original.

Then he saw Rogue – she'd been strung up on a cross and given what appeared to be the five wounds of Christ. Jesus, what a group of sick fucks! A red floodtide of hot anger scorched through Logan. He could see her life's blood ebbing out through the gaping puncture in her side. What was the point of this symbolism? Was she supposed to suffer for the sins of all mutant-kind? These shitholes didn't even bother trying to make sense!

Logan stepped out into the large gathering and called out, "Hey!" The evening activities immediately halted, and everyone turned their attention on the new visitor. A few guns flicked up to point at him, only to be tentatively lowered. "Nobody fucking moves," Logan hissed. He held the detonator button out in front of him and made sure the firelight revealed the plastic explosives with which he'd covered himself from head to toe. It was enough to take out a significant radius and then some.

"The girl leaves with me," Logan announced. His voice brooked no argument.

Logan's adrenaline was jacked up to full volume, streaming prickling heat through his blood. He knew this group would realize a single gunshot could set off the explosives as easily as his detonator, but he prayed they didn't have a marksman on site. It would just take one well-aimed bullet to the face. Cold sweat traced icy fingers down his spine.

Logan maneuvered himself over towards Rogue; the flickering light cast from the burning crosses bathed the sea of white sheets in dancing orange. Logan's attention momentarily diverted up to Rogue, hanging on the cross now just above him. Shit, she looked bad. She was unconscious and dark fluid was flowing freely from her side. The iron, metallic pungency of her blood stung his nostrils.

"You," Logan commanded a white hood near him, "cut her down."

The man obeyed, but didn't attempt to be gentle about the process. Rogue dropped to the dusty ground with a disheartening lack of response and a flat, slapping sound that made Logan wince. He inched over to her, keeping one hand on the detonator and his eyes on the crowd around him. Bending his knees – but not dropping his gaze – Logan scooped Rogue up as best he could with one arm, forcing her to a lifeless standing position with her weight leaning along his length. He hitched her up a few times to better her stance, and she whimpered in painful protest. As far as Logan was concerned, the pathetic wisp of sound was sweeter than the most glorious of operatic arias. She was alive.

With her single, momentary brush near consciousness, the scent of mortal dread began dancing within the earthy dirt and mineral blood smells caked on Rogue. Logan knew he probably only had this one small window of opportunity before she slipped too far away to even feel fear. He placed his palm to her face and felt the now familiar drag of torture rip through him.

Rogue swirled up a spiral of pain. She'd been a step away from plunging into a sea of milky white, anesthetizing calm when invisible hands had snaked around her waist and yanked her backwards from the edge. Now she was flying back up a violent staircase, pain beating at her body with every flight gained. But strangely, even as torment shrieked through her nerve endings, the fervor of that assault was simultaneously diminishing in tiny increments. Abstractly, she could feel skin and muscle mending, the raging, aching tide receding little by little.

When she resurfaced to full consciousness, Rogue was immediately struck aware by two facts. One: her brutalized body had healed. And two: Logan's heavy form was collapsed against her small frame. Her eyelids pushed their way open, and she absorbed the surrounding scene. Memories of her abduction flooded hotly into her pounding brain…compounded by a mental collage of images from Logan's head.

Rogue knew exactly what she had to do – Logan had been repeating instructions over and over again in his mind for the better part of an hour in case he'd needed to transfer his energy to her. Even amid such a frantic setting as the one into which Rogue suddenly found herself thrust, she could appreciate Logan's ability to have created such a brilliant contingency plan on the spur of the moment.

An ocean of white hoods – tinged bright orange in the jumping firelight – faced Rogue and waited in hesitancy. She positioned her body behind Logan's, using the wall of explosives his chest made to deter gunshots. It was the most logical action to take, but it still felt cowardly. Even though she'd undoubtedly die with him should the explosives be shot, Rogue felt cheap using Logan for bullet protection after all he'd done for her.

Rogue lifted Logan's deadweight far too easily; her parasitically acquired strength creeped her out. It was neither right nor natural… and it just kept increasing! Logan felt feather-light in her arms, and Rogue knew he was anything but. She dragged him towards the truck while the still unsure Friends half-followed as a pack of confusion.

Logan had parked his rig such that the front was pointed to the road for a quick getaway. He'd also positioned it so the passenger's side door was the closest to her – this allowed Rogue to continue using his body for cover as she mounted the truck and dragged his body up behind her. The man had thought of everything.

Logan had left the doors unlocked and the key in the ignition, so once the two of them were safely in the cab, Rogue cranked the engine and took off. She'd never driven a truck before, but Logan's knowledge was tucked securely in her brain and came to her like second nature. She could hear diminishing shouts to action in her wake. Then she began hearing gunshots pinging off the back of the truck.

Rogue's eyes flew to the side mirror where she saw the mass of headlights quickly begin following them. She floored the gas and hoped she could make it to the river before some kamikaze pulled around beside her and shot at the explosives covering Logan. Logan! Thank God for Logan – he'd literally thought of everything! And he'd made sure to repeat the instructions over and over again in his brain like some kind of religious litany so the information would be available for her.

High on nerves and excitement, Rogue drove one-handed while her other hand blind-groped at Logan. She checked his pulse and thrill rocketed through her at its strong beat. Then she began stripping him of the explosives. He'd attached the sheets of plastic to himself in horizontal strips that unpeeled quite easily. Easily was of course a relative term when half the population usually south of the Mason-Dixon line was fast on your heels as you steered an eighteen-wheeler through an unknown, darkened woods.

Relief poured through Rogue when they reached the river before any of the Friends could catch up to them. She felt a burst of wild hope and joy as they began crossing the wooden structure spanning the waterway. Salvation. She felt like whooping out loud, but settled on rolling down the window and tossing the stripped explosives over the edge of the bridge. There'd be no waiting to see what happened when they hit bottom, because other bombs were about to start dropping. Ones that would far overshadow the mere firecrackers going off in the waters below.

Rogue again looked in her side mirror and saw the pursuing cars bottleneck at the other end of the bridge. They trickled on in single-file. A smile began curving her lips upwards. Damn, but Logan was a genius in a pinch. She just hoped his plan worked.

It *would* work. There was no reason for it not to. The truck reached the other end of the bridge and Rogue's itchy finger could wait no longer. She hit the remote control detonator on the dash and kept the gas pedal to the floor. A nanosecond of hesitancy caused Rogue's heart to hitch in fear, panic spiking hard within her chest and throat.

It didn't work!

But then the C-4 Logan had lined along the bridge went off in succession. It was a glorious display of pyrotechnics, beginning with the explosive closest to them, decimating the bridge inch by inch to the other side. The cars on the bridge were destroyed in a brilliant blaze. Most of the vehicles queued up on the other side never made it onto the bridge, their owners merely witnessing the demolition process, stranded on the opposite side of the river.

She didn't have any clothes to change into. She didn't have her bag. Not her shampoo or toothbrush or anything! She didn't have her ATM cards…God, or her laptop! Those FoH bastards had everything she owned. Used to own, she winced inwardly.

Rogue paced a frantic tread across the motel room she'd gotten for her and Logan…paid for using money she'd found in his wallet. After renting them the room – once she'd felt confident no one would see – Rogue had slung Logan's limp body over her shoulder and snuck in.

Her newfound strength was still overwhelming and more than a bit frightening to her. But Rogue didn't have the mental energy to worry it over in her mind just then; she was too preoccupied trying to will Logan to wake up. She felt coiled up and ready to spring from the power she'd siphoned off him, and part of her brain still wasn't positive he'd awaken from such a strong drain.

But stretched out on the bed, Logan's chest rose and fell in a strong, even rhythm that encouraged Rogue. She felt like she was burning up, and she pulled her torn sweater up and over her head. Jesus! Had she rented the room with all this blood soaked through her clothes? Rogue tried to remember the desk clerk, and she settled her mind by recalling that it was late and he'd seemed distracted by his mini TV.

Why's it so hot in here? she wondered. The heat wasn't even on. Was this how Logan felt all the time? Rogue quickly shucked off her jeans and dry-scrubbed her hands over her face. She went into the bathroom and used a washcloth to sponge down her taut skin with cold water; she washed away the streaks of brown, dried blood from the healed flesh below her ribcage.

When Rogue came back into the main room, Logan was turned on his side, breathing deeply. He no longer appeared dangerously unconscious – he just looked as though he were sleeping. Rogue sat on the bed beside him; her hand came up to push back a few unruly locks of dark hair that had fallen across his closed eyes. She skimmed her fingers along his craggy face and cupped his cheek. He'd risked himself in more ways than could be counted to save her tonight. She couldn't begin to express in words the gratitude pulsing hotly in her chest.

Rogue lay down in front of Logan, curling her body into his like a proverbial spoon. In the automatic movement of someone accustomed to sleeping with a partner, Logan locked an arm around her tiny waist. The last of Rogue's adrenaline sapped out, and she snuggled back against him, surrendering to the deep exhaustion splintering her bones.

Logan awoke and inhaled. Marie. Her tangy scent invaded his senses. His eyes creaked open and he saw a sleep-tousled mess of her hair splayed across the pillow in front of him. He felt her skin beneath his calloused fingers. Her body was tucked flush against his, her buttocks nestled into his rapidly expanding groin. Logan slid his hand up and down her torso, surprised to find she wore nothing more than underwear and a bra. Her flesh was pebbled in goosebumps. God that's hot, flashed wildly in his brain.

Logan's fingertips moved boldly along the curves of Rogue's small body, and he felt her begin to stir awake. She looked so pale and fragile in the blue light slashing through the blinds from the parking lot outside. The image of her from hours earlier – limp, dangling, bloody – blinked over and over in his mind. Anger and fear and a sense of overwhelming relief flooded through Logan's system. He pushed Rogue's hair aside and sank his mouth onto the tender flesh of her neck; his arm curled insistently around her delicate waist.

"Logan?" came Rogue's muffled, waking question.

"God dammit, Marie," Logan whispered harshly, his body straining intently against hers. His thigh split her legs from behind, rubbing across her sensitive flesh.

Rogue inhaled sharply and awoke. "Wuh--?" she asked thickly.

"How could you just walk away?" he seethed against her heating skin, his throat clogged with an unidentifiable ache.

Logan's fingers slipped inside her panties and began plucking and teasing out the hypersensitive knot at the focal point of her pleasure. Rogue moaned a cracked sound; her body bowed. "Logan!" she cried out.

"You didn't even talk to me," Logan fumed quietly. "Just left a fucking note!"

Logan yanked her underwear down uncivilly and a groan stuttered out of Rogue. Maintaining pressure on her plump clitoris, Logan pushed his jeans down his thighs. He retrieved a condom from his back pocket, ripped open the wrapper, and slid it on.

Logan's teeth sank into that tender spot where neck meets shoulder, but he didn't break her flesh. "Do you have any idea how much you fucking scared me?" he breathed into Rogue's neck. "Do you know what it was like to find you bleeding to death?"

Then Logan buried himself in her from behind with a brutal jab. There was mortal need wrapped up in the claim of her body, and for one shimmering moment, that single wet, ruthless stroke stole his breath. Rogue gulped out a smothered cry. Some invisible force hit Logan square in the solar plexus and his chest twisted into a tight tangle of emotion. When he didn't move, Rogue snaked her hand around and dug her fingers into his buttocks in mute plea. His paralysis broke. Logan exhaled and began swirling his finger on her taut clitoris once more, his lower body pumping – slowly at first, then increasing in both speed and ferocity – in an inexorable push and pull. God, he wanted to lose himself between her soft thighs.

Sinking into Rogue was like coming home. Logan closed his eyes and a shudder wracked his body as he picked up momentum. He didn't want to be charming. He didn't want to be gentle. Logan needed to feel Rogue alive and in his arms in the most visceral, elemental way he'd ever experienced needing a woman. He wanted to fuck her senseless and cherish her limitlessly. A vicious snarl sprang unbidden from his lips as his violent tempo increased, his hard thighs ramming her from behind.

Logan's hips pistoned faster, and the engorged knot of flesh beneath his fingertips became even more slippery. His brain throbbed madly, every synapse firing frantically. Rogue's tight body enveloped him, clutched him, as if in a fist. Logan slicked his full length into her, every thrust sending an intense wave of rapture sizzling up his flesh. Each inhalation was a wild hit of damp sexual need, the tangy salt of sweat, and that elusive scent that was solely Rogue's.

A dangerous mix of necessity and anger and fear and something a little bit desperate swamped Logan, contracting to a pinpoint of pinching tension – sweet, aching, singing tension – and then bursting forth in climax. His body jerked and bucked below Rogue's turned-up ass as he emptied himself into her. He roared out in convulsive release.

With his singeing orgasm, the last of Logan's immediate energy seeped out of him. He crumpled limply into the mattress, panting into Rogue's back and hearing her exhausted respiration mirrored in the echoing darkness.

Rolled up on his side, cupping Rogue's sweat-soaked body into his, Logan's thoughts quickly turned sour. Christ, he'd never taken a woman so savagely before. Logan's sexual appetite had always been so inherently frightening to women, he'd never before allowed himself free rein of his passion. Not as if it had ever mattered, though…his lovers had still always been nervous of him.

*Except for Marie*. The realization bounced like an excited particle in his brain. Logan had never before experienced completely unleashed sex as he had with Rogue. That time with her in his truck, her bravery had ridden on the tails of borrowed energy… But not this time. And it was clear she wasn't remotely scared. In fact, all of Logan's senses indicated quite the opposite. The implicit trust that accompanied her absence of fear was the most priceless gift he could imagine receiving.

Then Logan heard soft sniveling in the dark, and he spun Rogue around to face him. "Shit!" he exclaimed. "I hurt you!"

"Hush up," she said in denial. "I… It's just…" Rogue swiped at the tears sparkling on her cheeks and breathed a choppy stammer of air. "I'm just going to miss you so much when you leave." Tears welled up once more in her large eyes and spilled over.

"Hey, hey, hey," Logan replied, trying futilely to halt her weeping with the pads of his thumbs as fat drops rolled over the backs of his hands. "I'm not going anywhere."

Rogue smiled faintly, her eyes glazed in a cast of sorrow as they dropped to his chest. "You will. Once I tell you what I know."

Logan's movements slowed and he repeated her uneasy words, "What you know…"

Rogue nodded sadly in reply and swallowed. "God, Logan, there's so much… You're even older than you think. Did you know you were in World War One?" Her gaze remained locked below his chin as she murmured the question in a low voice.

Logan shook his head in slow disbelief. "No."

"You were," Rogue drawled. "And you were in Japan before that…maybe even as many as fifty or sixty years earlier."

"You saw more of my memories?" he asked dumbly.

"Yes. I saw a lot. I…well, I *took* a lot, right?" Rogue admitted with a shrug of shame. "Did you know the metal of your claws – it's grafted to your entire skeleton?"

"No," Logan answered in quiet incredulity, but an irritating kernel inside his brain rubbed at him, telling him he knew she was telling the truth. Strange, dreadful curiosity wrapped cold fingers around his heart. "I thought my sturdy bones were a result of my strong immunity," he muttered in a gravelly voice.

"No – it's because of that metal…and it isn't natural. It runs throughout your whole body. Put there by men." Her thick lashes finally lifted to meet his gaze. Her lower lip wobbled, but she kept talking. "You lost your memory because people experimented on you. They cut you open and…and did that to you. And they did it because they knew about your mutation. They knew you'd be able to survive the operation. But it nearly killed you. I…" she cut off, her voice wavering.

"What?" Logan goaded. He wasn't quite sure he wanted Rogue to continue, but he prompted her anyway. It felt as though a giant hole had been punched through his stomach, as if it had been nothing more than a paper drum. A queasy energy radiated out through his flesh.

Rogue visibly gulped back her fear, her eyes moving in their sockets. "I can see and…and *feel*…what it… Oh God …!"

Rogue's tiny frame shuddered, and Logan pulled her into him, trying desperately to impart warmth and comfort with his large body. "Fuck, I'm sorry, baby," he whispered into her hair. She was suffering because of him, and he felt like the biggest shit in the world for causing her this pain. But at the same time, she had knowledge he desperately needed to know. When her shaking quelled, Logan quietly pressed, "Who did it, Marie?"

She frowned. "The Canadian government. It was called something like Project X…look, I don't know all the details…but there's something special about the metal. It was when you were a soldier," Rogue drawled with an animated flare of weepy frustration. She paused momentarily and breathed deeply until the hitching sobs in her diaphragm calmed. "But, I…I can point out on a map where they did the experimentation. It was some kind of make-shift laboratory they set up."

"You serious?" Logan asked. The cold that had been slithering out to his extremities halted and retreated in a fast one-eighty, driven back by the coiling heat of irrational fury.

Rogue looked back up at him, her face red and soggy. She compressed her lips together into a thin line and nodded. "Yes."

Logan squeezed his eyes closed and breathed in; the cool inhalation rippled out through his chest. He opened his eyes to look at Rogue. "You're right. I need to go."

Rogue nodded, her gaze once more fixated on the tensile black coils matting Logan's chest. "I know. I knew you would."

"Come with me."

She again looked up at him and chewed her lower lip. A slow tear trailed silver moonlight down her already wet cheek. "I can't," she whispered dreadfully. "I'm…I'm so tired. Tired of running, tired of being scared… I can't do it anymore. I just can't."

"I'll protect you. I'll take care of you," Logan argued.

"I know you would." Rogue smiled and touched his face. "But you mentioned a place…"

Logan's brow unfurrowed. "Xavier's Institute. The school for mutants."

Rogue nodded silently.

Neither spoke for a long time. Logan's thumb circled a soothing trace on Rogue's damp cheek. She closed her eyes and burrowed her nose into his chest. Finally, Logan's deep voice scratched through the quiet. "I'll take you to Charles in the morning," he stated flatly.

"Charles," Logan acknowledged with a curt nod.

"This is sooner than expected," the professor commented. "Did you find any useful information on your expedition?"

"Yeah. Some stuff. The facility was abandoned, but I got a few leads," Logan replied enigmatically, looking to the horizon and dragging his hand back through his hair. "How is she?"

"Rogue? Fine. She's doing quite well in her training, in fact."

Logan looked at Charles and raised an eyebrow. "What kind of progress she making?"

The professor smiled. "To be honest, her development has been quite remarkable. I helped her separate what in her brain is the actual on-off switch for her mutation from the fear that's triggering it. When she's calm, she can activate her abilities without being afraid. Unfortunately, her control when she's scared is still a little erratic, but at least now she feels comfortable about not accidentally hurting people."

Logan felt a strange glow of warmth and nodded. "Where is she?"

"I believe she's in the dining room at the moment," the professor answered.

Logan grunted his farewell and made his way inside. When he got to the dining room, he immediately spotted Rogue. She was laughing, sitting across a small table from that asshole Scott Summers. Unlike all the time she'd been with Logan, Rogue's arms were bare, her hands completely free of gloves. Apparently still not quite comfortable with this state of undress, Rogue flinched slightly if her fingers accidentally brushed Scott's arm as they spoke. He was leaning into her with a look of absorbed interest. Dickhead, Logan thought.

Even from the doorway, Logan could see Rogue's pale skin had a tinge of healthy pinkness in her cheeks and her eyes twinkled mercilessly. Her features appeared more rounded and less gaunt. She looked… happy. Vibrantly alive.

It suddenly slammed into Logan that Rogue really had no need for him; the realization sank a heavy stone in his stomach. She could be with anyone now, even that pretty-boy fucknut Scott. Not just a guy who could smell her fear building or recuperate easily from one of her draining sessions, but *any* guy. A twinge of jealousy for Summers and his easy humor with Rogue slinked through Logan's veins. He clenched his back teeth and slowly ground them together.

It was probably for the best, anyway. Why would Rogue want a guy who couldn't stay put in one place for too long? Logan's wanderlust, combined with his need to discover the truth about his past, had him constantly on the road. And despite the fact that Rogue had been bouncing from town to town for years now, it was clear she'd never have deliberately chosen that lifestyle for herself if necessity hadn't insisted on it. She'd been dying to plant her feet, and nesting at Xavier's seemed to agree with her. She looked genuinely content.

Logan dropped his eyes. His jaw ticked.

"Logan!? OMIGODLOGAN!"

Logan looked back up to find Rogue sprinting towards him, a mega-watt smile plastered across her face. "Logan!" She leapt from the ground a good distance from him and vaulted straight into his arms. He managed to catch the flying mass, but her momentum – combined with his lack of readiness – had him stumbling backwards out of the dining room's doorframe.

"Oh God, Logan! I missed you so much!" Rogue managed to squeal the words out while she crushed him in an impressive hug.

Heat bathed Logan, and it took him a moment to realize that he was grinning from ear to ear. "Hey, sweetheart. Christ, you feel good." His eyelids dropped closed and he sank into her embrace. All the scents that had danced solely in his mind's eye for the past two months rolled over him, and he ingested them in gulpfuls of air.

Rogue eventually jumped down off Logan, dismounting him with almost as much enthusiasm as she'd used to launch herself into his arms. Her smile never faltered and she bounced lightly on her toes. "How was it? Did you find what you were looking for? Are you back for good now?"

"I have a lot I have to follow up on."

Rogue managed to keep the corners of her mouth lifted, but her eyes betrayed her disappointment at the news. A bright, enthusiastic light winked out. Logan took a deep breath and continued, "Look, I… I don't expect you to wait around for me to just drop in. I hear you're doing really well. You could be with anyone you want now."

She sank her teeth into her full lower lip; her eyes were huge. "I want to be with you."

Just like that. Emotion twisted sharply within Logan's chest. Before he could think better of his actions, his mouth landed on Rogue's, his inertia pushing her backwards until he'd trapped her against the wall. Logan pinned her like a butterfly to corkboard and feasted hungrily on her soft, pink tongue. He grabbed beneath her thigh and pulled one leg up around him, rolling his lower body into hers. Christ, he needed her. She felt so soft and perfect – just the way he remembered – and thoughts of penetrating her sleek tightness made hot saliva pool in his mouth and his blood migrate south.

"Logan?" Rogue whispered against his lips.

"Mmmm?"

She pressed against his chest to look into his eyes. "Just promise me you'll always come back," she requested a bit breathily across her passion-swollen lips. "Even if it's only for a short while."

Something tight unclenched deep inside him. Rogue: the only woman to match his intensity. The only woman to trust him implicitly. The only woman to cause his heart to physically ache when they were apart. "Fuck, Marie, I can't seem to stay away." His arms slipped tightly around her waist.

"Good," she drawled lazily. "Then let's go up to my room."

"Can I finally get that big, sloppy blowjob I've been wanting out of you?" Logan slid out through a toothy grin.

Rogue rolled her eyes back into her skull but couldn't repress her smile. "God, Logan, you're positively incorrigible."

"That's not a yes," he reprimanded.

She smirked. "You'll notice it's not exactly a no either."

Logan pulled back in surprised mirth, and Rogue raised a seductive eyebrow in challenge. Shock transformed into hunger as once more Logan's tongue plunged past her lips and began greedily exploring her hot, wet mouth. Shit, it felt good to be home.

THE END