The question hung in the air, full of whispered horror. The woman pressed a hand against her cheek, stemming the flow of blood from the deep cut the furious woman's stinging blow had caused her.
“Do you know what I did to her?” Her body shook, images racing through her mind, attaching themselves to emotions, sickening her. “I almost killed her!”
“Now, now, no need for hysterics,” said a cultured, masculine voice behind her. The tall man bent down to caress the hair of the woman at her feet, the short black strands falling back from the now bruised face. She watched with disgust when the woman both flinched and leaned into his touch, and he smiled, clearly pleased with her reaction.
She fought the nausea that soured her mouth. “You should have told me,” she spat at him. She returned her contemptuous gaze to the cowering younger woman, disgusted further by the adoring expression on her face when she wrapped her arms around his leather-clad leg. “I would never have agreed to our deal if I had known what this creature had done to me.”
He shrugged, his smile turning mocking as he stood to his full height. His fingers continued to run along the brunette’s hair, sliding softly overtop its sleek lines. “It’s of no consequence. I found this creature, as you so lovingly refer to her, extremely anxious to find you so she could rectify what she has done. I have delivered my part of the bargain by bringing her to you. It’s your turn now.”
“Pick someone else.”
His eyes narrowed. “He won’t like that.”
“I don’t care. Pick someone else, or the deal is off.”
He appeared calm, but she knew differently, noting how the muscles on his forearms twitched with restraint. “Outside of the telepath, she is the best candidate to provide my employer with the information he seeks,” he told her, as though bored. “You can have her back afterwards,” he continued, his voice becoming soothing, hypnotic. “We can achieve both our goals without disturbing a single hair on her pretty little head.”
She hissed, baring her fanglike teeth. “Unlike this lapdog, your pheromones are useless on me. The deal is off. I’m getting her myself.”
He laughed, crossing his arms over his heavily muscled chest. “That should go over well. And how do you intend on keeping her with you when you do?”
“I will tell her the truth.”
His laughter deepened. “Oh yes. The truth shall set you free, and all that, I take it? I am sure she will believe every word that comes from you.”
The wounded woman began to weep. “I’m sorry.”
The softly spoken amends was so ridiculously insufficient in relation to the enormity of what she had done, that her assaulter could only pull her head back sharply, as though hit.
“It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this,” she tried to explain to her former guardian, desperation in her voice. “She told me…” The man moved quickly to stand in front of the apologist, cutting off her words with a vicious tug on her hair, recognizing that the other woman’s fury had grown murderous.
“You mustn’t kill her, my dear. If you hope to reconcile with your little nightingale, you will need her help, and mine.” His eyes took on an appreciative gleam, the scent of the angry woman’s growing hatred intensely arousing to him. “I must say, I am disappointed. Where is my reward for orchestrating her return to you, my beauty?” he asked, licking the corner of his mouth, stepping close to her. “A show of gratitude is in order, I should think.”
She sneered. “My gratitude is reserved for things that are appreciated, boy.” She emphasized the last word, rejecting his advances. “You have done me no favor.”
He pretended to experience pain, placing a hand over his heart where the strange design of his tattoo branched around in solid black streaks. “It is because of me that your little family reunion will be soon in coming. Surely you can think a way to show your appreciation for that?” He was standing right in front of her now, his lips just above hers.
“I only did what she told me to do,” the forgotten woman at their feet declared through her tears, her jealousy evident, watching the two powerful mutants above her. A white booted foot suddenly shot out, its stiletto heel cracking against her skull and she crumpled to the ground, unconscious from the vicious kick.
He tsked, shaking his head in feigned disapproval. “Temper, temper, aoi hana.”
She lifted her head haughtily. “Clean up after your little pet, and be sure to keep her away from me until our departure. Tell your benefactor I will honor our agreement, but after this is done, you best stay away.” She gave him one last baleful look before striding across the empty confines of the abandoned river-side warehouse.
Alone now, he bent down to sling the woman’s prone form over his tattooed shoulder, an anticipatory thrill shooting through him.
His revenge was close at hand. He could almost smell it.
His eyes felt starchy, dry from the lack of lubrication that blinking would have normally provided. But he couldn’t help but stare at her.
This is some scary shit, he thought, brushing a lock of platinum hair away from her sleeping face. Her love made him vulnerable. Marie told him last night that she always loved him, but she had loved Scott as well. Choking back the burning jealousy that churned in his gut, his thoughts turned to the X-Men leader and his frown deepened as the memory of the other woman that they both had loved flooded into his mind.
Jean had been calm and composed; a sharp contrast to the wild and impulsive Wolverine. He had clung to the idea that a love from someone like her would anchor him, her serenity a balm to his turbulence, lost as he was without a home to call his own. He had hid behind his forced pursuit of the beautiful telepath, convinced that he could be the good guy for her, when all along it had been to prove it to someone else.
His eyes softened, looking at the woman sleeping peacefully beside him. Holding her lifeless in his arms, at the top of the Statue of Liberty, had brought out emotions in him that at the time he had been unwilling to accept. It was wrong; she was too young, too innocent, too pure. She had her whole life in front of her, and he gave her nothing but the anguished nightmares of an unclaimed past. He left as soon as he could, had tried to stay away many times afterwards, but he always found himself drawn back to her. Only to constantly hurt her, making her bear witness to the mistakes he made as he barreled through life, blind to a love he pretended was only a schoolgirl’s crush.
How could he have walked away from her, when every piece of him was created to hold her, protect her, love her? He should have grabbed their future with both fists instead of casting her aside to battle the specters of a past that never should have mattered. He almost lost her, living her life without him, loving another. Logan took a steadying breath, trying to will away the images of her and Scott together, resting his eyes on her again.
Damn, but she’s gorgeous. Not a line or blemish on her exquisite face, her full red lips still swollen from his kisses, thick black fans of eyelashes hiding sea colored eyes that he knew burned with love and passion. For him. Her deep slumber told him how much she trusted him, and a rush of protectiveness and belonging coursed through him. Oh, she’s got me good, my Marie.
Logan slipped out of bed and donned on a pair of jeans, making sure to not disturb her. He was hungry, and instinct propelled him outside to the hallway, running down the spiral iron staircase nearby that opened up into the kitchen, intent on getting some food for the both of them. He didn’t want to share his Marie with anyone today.
He found Nanna sitting at the island counter in the middle of the large room, sipping at a mug of coffee. He could smell eggs, toast and bacon coming from the covered tray set beside her, juice and coffee set in separate thermoses alongside the plates it contained. He kept his eyes on her as he sat down, a wary look on his face. The two appraised each other silently for a few moments.
“Are y’all responsible for yanking the heart out of my Anina all those years ago?” She kept her hard, ebony eyes latched onto him.
He cleared his throat. “Depends ma’am. Are you the Christian, forgivin’ type?”
She sipped more of her coffee, but he had caught the flash of amusement that flickered across her face before she became serious again. “Ah just need to know that her heart is in safe-keepin’, is all.”
“Sealed tight, ma’am.” His voice was firm.
She nodded, and continued to drink her coffee. Logan stood up to dig out the cigar from his jeans, intending to go outside, but stopped when he saw her reaching into her housecoat to pull out a lighter. She lit his cigar for him when he finally managed to pull it out and his eyebrow elevated even higher in surprise when Nanna pulled out a cigarette. She lit it, dragging the smoke deep into her lungs before blowing it out to the side of her face with a long, drawn out exhale. It balanced between two bony fingers as she got up to grab a mug from the cupboard, waving away his thanks when she placed it in front him, filled with coffee. With a sigh, she sat back down and began to speak.
“She’s the spittin’ image of her momma. Every picture and paintin’ of Priscilla is gone now, Carrie saw to that, but no one could ever forget how beautiful Prissy was. God forgive me, but I hope Carrie is flayin’ a deep shade of roast down there where she deserves to be.” Her hands were steady but Logan could hear her heart beating fast. He stayed quiet, knowing she had more to say. “Ah raised Owen myself after his parents died in a car crash. He was the loneliest little boy you could come across, easy pickins’ for a girl clever enough to give him a bit o’ her attention. Carrie and Priscilla lived across the bayou, poorer than poor, stayin’ in a houseboat alone after refusin’ to live in town after their crazy momma killed herself. Twin girls as beautiful as the good Lord can make’em.”
“They were identical, outside of their colorin’,” she continued. “Carrie was like the day with that white blonde hair and cold blue eyes, and Prissy was the night with her dark mahogany hair and warm green eyes. Poor boy didn’t stand a chance once Carrie set her sights on him.” She broke off here, lost in the memory, thinking of the sickly young man who couldn’t do enough for his pretty young girlfriend. Then a shadow came across her face. “The banks of the Pearl River must have overflowed from the screams that came from that girl when Owen and Prissy up and eloped.”
Logan stared at her, surprised.
Nanna smiled bitterly. “Oh yes, Owen married Prissy instead of Carrie. It was easy to see why, when you compared the two. Prissy was all sweetness and light, while Carrie was all bitterness and dark. Ah’ll never forget how Carrie carried on, accusin’ her sister of vile things, voodoo and such, but the deed was done. The gold ring was on her sister’s hand, not hers, so she left for parts unknown. And things were good for a while. Every day we would hear Prissy sing and everyday Owen would listen to her, the happiest I had ever seen him.”
Nanna sipped at her coffee, rolling the burning ember of the cigarette into a point with the edge of a well used ashtray she had pulled out from under the counter. “Little Anna Marie came along almost nine months to the day. Her poor momma gave up the ghost to give life to her. There was no warnin’, no time to get Prissy to the hospital. One minute she was walkin’ in the back garden, and the next she was screamin' on her bed, bleedin’ her short life away. Sixteen was all she was,” she informed Logan softly, eyes sad.
“But Owen, he pulled through. Don’t know how, but he did, and he tried to raise that baby right. And Ah swear, little Anina knew how to sing before she could speak a proper word. When her daddy would get all sad, missin’ his pretty Prissy, that little girl would know and start singin’ for him.” Her voice became wistful, remembering. “It was the most beautiful sound in the world, just like her momma’s. And a father could not love a child more than that man did his Anna Marie. Then Miss Carrie came ‘round again.” Her eyes got dark here, her face showing her age. She looked intently at Logan, and he saw the hatred in their depths.
“She showed up with some kind of strong mojo, ain’t no other way to understand it. The moment Owen D’Ancanto laid eyes again on that woman, he was lost. It was like Prissy never existed. Carrie sucked Owen dry of any love he could give, includin’ the love for his own daughter, keeping it all on her.”
She shook her head. “It was a terrible thing, watchin’ Anina lose her daddy’s love. After they married, Carrie would beat her down if she so much as heard a peep of song from that poor child, and Anna Marie never said a word about it to anyone. Carrie convinced Owen his daughter was the devil’s own and after a short while, he sent her away. We lost our little singin’ angel.” Nanna bit back a sob, looking away. “Anna Marie was only seven years old.”
Tears had begun to roll down the woman’s cheeks and Logan leaned forward, heart pounding with anger. So many questions came to mind, crowding his thoughts, picturing Marie as the child she was. But he maintained his silence, seeing how important it was for Nanna to tell him her story. The guilt on her face was unmistakable, its smell surrounding her like a musty blanket that weighed heavily on her thin, aged shoulders.
“The will of a wicked woman is the wind beneath the devil’s wings, Mr. Logan. Carrie had Owen trussed up good. It wasn’t until she died some five years later, getting her drunk self killed in her fancy car, that Owen came out from under her spell. It was like watchin’ a man unbury himself. When he couldn’t find Anna Marie at the school he sent her away to, that poor man just about lost his mind.” She looked at him, eyes still reflecting her contempt for the woman responsible for driving Marie away from her home. “Someone had stolen her away, and Carrie had known all along. She told the boardin’ school that Anina was home so no one would be the wiser about her kidnappin’. Imagine the evil needed for that? Imagine not caring about a nine year old child disappearin’?”
She took another deep drag from her cigarette, the smoke calming her down somewhat as she blew it out of her mouth. “Owen searched high and low for his little girl, but nothin’ came of it. It had been three years since she was last seen, there was no clue left behind to help the authorities find her. He never stopped tryin’, mind you. Then came that Christmas Eve when he suddenly up and went to New York. And not a day too soon, dyin’ like he was. Cancer got a hold of him, somethin’ quick.” Grief flashed across her face. “When Anna Marie came home the week later, she only had him for a little while before he reunited with his Prissy. And Anina sang to him every single day, up until he died in her forgivin’ arms.”
Nanna stubbed out her cigarette and stood up, wiping tears impatiently from her face. “That girl was half alive herself when she showed up that day. Anna Marie came back to nurse a nasty heartbreak, not just for a daddy she could barely remember. All this time, through all the high falutin’ world tours, even with the openin’ of her home to these blessed children, she’s been hurtin’.” She looked to him, pinning him with a knowing glare.
“And then y’all came along. Mr. Summers is a good man, but I always knew he wasn’t the one for my Anna Marie. The way she’s been looking at you these past few weeks, it reminded me of the way Owen would look at Prissy. No more truer love than that.” She pointed to the tray of food. “Get that up to her, and don’t fret none ‘bout the rest of the day. Ah’ll be sure to bring up some lunch and dinner. Seems to me that there’s a lot y’all need to make up for to that girl, so stop your dilly-dallying and get your fine ass up there already.”
She took his cigar out of his hands and clenched it in between her teeth before taking the ashtray and making her way outside, the sun now peaking over the horizon to usher in the new day.