The trouble started that night.

Mistress Red was bustled off to see her sister and the rest of the Company were ushered into Shaw Manor by what seemed like a small army of staff, a small army which was among the first things about Shaw Manor to set Stray’s teeth on edge. For while each servant bustled and harried them, moving silently and diligently to do their master’s bidding, they neither smiled nor laughed. And their footsteps caused no sound. As soon as the Company were inside the men and the women were separated, the fact that half the Company was married making no difference to the servants. They had their orders, and not one of them was willing to get on Sebastian Shaw’s bad side for the sake of a group of miscreants of the road. It wasn’t that the couples’ being separated was strange, per se: According to Ororo it was common for the men to bunk with the groomsmen and the women with the scullery maids when the Company worked an engagement at a manor house. What was unusual was where everyone would be sleeping: The men were to be banished to the other side of the manor, while each woman had been assigned her own room amongst the other guests. Stray couldn’t help but be worried, because if Shaw had enough space to give her a double bed and her own bath tub then he had enough space to let her share them with Logan-

Be that as it may however, the Company were guests within Shaw Manor and as guests they were bound by the same standards of behaviour as everyone else- Whether they liked it or no. So when the men were ushered off towards their side of the house- a wing which could only be reached by a maze of corridors and a traipse across an unlit inner courtyard- nobody objected. The couples just touched briefly, murmuring that they would see one another soon, and then allowed themselves to be separated. Half of the Company had spent time as pad-feet or lock-picks anyway, so finding a way to sport with their husbands wouldn’t be much of a chore; In fact, judging by some of the women’s reactions they were looking forward to the challenge. Though clearly annoyed Logan was no different, merely giving Stray’s hand a squeeze and telling her softly that once she locked her doors and kept his cut-iron about her then everything would be fine-

Despite such reassurances though his absence weighed heavily on Stray.

She couldn’t help the sense of unease which stole through her as he was led away.

The evening passed without incident though, and for that she was grateful. Since the wedding wouldn’t take place until Mabsday (about four days hence by Stray’s reckoning) the Company had time to settle into their surroundings and unpack what Ororo unceremoniously referred to as their “bag of tricks.” To that end the women began sorting through costumes and props in Ororo’s room: None of their acts would fool Emmalaine of course, but it was her guests they were here to entertain and entertained they would be. Besides, half of the Company’s magic was their ability to keep their Curses from seeming like what they were; When Gainsborough made himself appear and disappear a fire-controlling boy nick-named Singe always took care to make the room’s candles flicker into complete darkness for a moment, just as ’Ro made a show of being seen with her darts before Scott used his Curse to knock a hole through a curtain or cloth. It was a strange fact of audiences, Ororo said, that they both wanted and did not want to believe in magic; The Company of Miracles had only survived for so long because they were adept at turning this ambivalence to their advantage.

And since the penalty for discovery as a group of Cursed would be summary execution, Ororo felt sticking to their usual cover to be an excellent plan.

All too soon though the tower-bell chimed the twelve-hour and began trooping back to their rooms, loudly declaring themselves ready for bed. Stray was unconvinced: Mistress Tabitha Smythe was putting on scent and fixing her hair even as she supposedly readied herself for sleep, which was hardly a ringing endorsement of their claims. Be that as it may though the women closed their doors one by one; Their candles were likewise blown out as the corridor descended into an almost unnatural hush. Stray undressed and lay in bed, feeling the soft mattress beneath her and the linens against her arms; It had been a long time since she had lain in such luxury and yet sleep wouldn’t come. She tried counting the ceiling slats, listening to the leaves of the Echoing Green as they sighed to her. Her body was restless though and her skin seemed to hum hungrily: She missed Logan, she realised, missed the feel of his fur against her cheek, the weight on his arm against her waist. They hadn’t been parted even a night and yet she somehow couldn’t imagine slumber without him-

It was then that she heard the noise, coming from the corridor outside her room.

It was also when she realised that she’d accidentally pulled off Logan’s cut-iron as she undressed.

For a split second she considered going looking for it despite the room’s darkness, but then metal sounded on metal as her lock turned, footsteps thrumming softly outside as if someone was shifting impatiently from foot to foot outside. The door-handle rattled, a soft, irritated oath sounding when it didn’t move any. Stray day up in bed, her heart hammering. She frowned, padding out of bed and putting her ear to the wood.

At the sound of her movement the handle stilled and she heard a soft, quiet knock.

“Stray?” Logan’s voice whispered from the other side of the door. “Stray, are you in there?”

Relief flooded through her. “Where the blazes else would I be?” And she opened the door to find him standing in the corridor, legs covered in long-johns and hair standing on end. A pair of leather gloves in one hand, what looked like a long skein of silk in the other. He was barefoot and naked from the waist up, his tanned, muscular body threaded here and there with that dark-as-India-ink-hair she loved so much-

Suddenly the room felt very, very warm.

Suddenly Stray felt very, very warm too.

“Your door was locked,” he said then. His smile was sure and easy, there in the darkness.“Why was that again?”

And he crossed his arms over his massive chest, leaning nonchalantly on the door-frame. The movement made the muscles in his arms stand up and he grinned when he saw her blush.

“You told me to lock it, Logan,” she said. “I just did as you asked.”

“Did you now?” He made a show of scratching his chin with one hand, gloves and silk transferred to his other. “I supposed you did, at that. Maybe you deserve a treat- For being so obedient.”

And without warning he suddenly darted into the room and picked her up, swinging her around like she weighed nothing. Tickling her through the fabric of her night-shirt as she laughed and tried to hush him, his fingers delicious against her skin. He dropped both gloves and silk skein to the floor where they made a slight thump, but before she could object he was swinging her around again. She wondered whether he had decided to beat Lord Sebastian to her bed, or whether this was the pressure of finally making it through the Never-Still coming out to play. “I couldn’t sleep without you!” he told her, nuzzling his face against her belly. “I was lying in that big, ridiculous bed and all I could think about was my poor, lovely, lonely little chatelaine-”

She smiled, unsure at his sudden exuberance but willing to go with it. She’d had enough angry, irritated Logan to last her a lifetime. “Well your little chatelaine was missing you too,” she whispered. “She was missing you very much. But will you-” She took a deep breath. “Will you stay here tonight with me, Logan?”

And she bit her lip, nervousness suddenly filling her. This was normally the point where his good mood disappeared and he began talking about duty and honour and not doing things she’d regret- none of which, Stray was sure, would apply to anything she wanted to do with him. It must have been her lucky night however: Logan’s expression turned devilish, his eyes twinkling as he pulled her closer.

Without a word he set her standing on her bed, his arms tight around her thighs, and though his feet were on the floor he was eye to eye with her bust.

“Of course I’ll stay,” he said softly, reaching out and brushing a kiss on the swell of her breast through the fabric. Both his hands were now resting on the flare of her hips, holding her steady, and the feel of it drew out an involuntary little moan from deep in her throat. “Of course I’ll stay with you, my darling Stray,” he was murmuring, “My darling, pretty little Stray…”

And with those words he began to kiss her through the thin nightshirt. His long fingers sliding around to knead her thighs and backside, his chest pressed tightly against her belly as he stared up into her eyes. Stray let out a sigh, her fingers curling in his hair; His mouth felt very hot and wet against her, every inch of him solid and hard and, and…new. Wetness bloomed at her breast and she realised he’d taken the nipple into his mouth through the fabric. Her body jolted at the sensation, heat beginning to sing through her even as he suckled harder, his teeth now scraping the aureole in something that felt too sharp to be pleasure, too good to be pain. She instinctively arched her back, forcing him to take more of her into his mouth- Good, it felt so good when he touched her like this- And as she moved she felt his body respond and answer, felt the thick, warm length of him rise until his staff was pressing against her calf, the velvety head scraping against her skin through her shirt. She sighed in contentment, her hands roaming across his beard, his face, anywhere that was covered. He took her hands and brought them to scrape against his chest, protected as it was by hair. His grip on her tightened painfully and Stray fought the urge to yelp- it was an accident, she couldn’t bear to have him stop because of an accident- But before she could even acknowledge that thought to herself she was pushed onto her back. Her head clipping the bed-frame, pain blooming behind her eyes. Unbidden tears, more of surprise than of injury, made her vision blur and she tried to sit up; She couldn’t though, because suddenly Logan’s weight was pinning her, forcing the breath from her chest. She opened her mouth to ask what happening and his hand sealed her lips. His other arm snaking around her waist, his grip now harsh against her. Stray frowned: Logan had never tried to stop her words or breath before, he’d never failed to ask if she was alright when she had obviously been hurt. Even transformed he seemed more afraid of himself than of her, feared harming her with a dread she couldn’t quite understand. So why was he behaving like this? She tried to ask but he tightened the hand over her mouth; she felt his breath at her ear, felt spittle and pain as he gave her throat a sharp, hard bite.

“Do you like this, little chatelaine?” he was asking her, fingers raking against her. His hand didn’t feel good at her breast now, it felt tearing and harsh and wrong. “Are you enjoying our little game?”

“No.” She shook her head angrily and he actually laughed at her. She tried to move but he held her too fast to have that happen, tried to hold back tears but she didn’t think she’d be able to for long. The hand against her breast was changing, growing, transforming. The wolf within him- the being which had previously always protected her- coming out to play. He must have seen her staring because he laughed again, harsh and tearing in her ear even as she wriggled. She could feel the press of his cock against the back of her thighs and now it filled her with a fright too wordless to explain. “That’s it, you move for me,” he muttered. “You put all that flesh I paid for to good damn use-”

“You never paid for me, Logan,” she said in bewilderment, “You never had to pay for me-”

His voice was caustic. “There’s no such thing as a woman who doesn’t make you pay.”

And with those words he made another grab for her wrists, the skein of silk in his hand this time. Now Stray fought back with desperation- They said silk bound a body more surely than iron or magic, and a silk-merchant’s daughter knew they were right. She managed to get one hand loose, reaching towards the bedside candle-lamp and trying to grasp it. But instead of grasping the candelabra her fingers brushed against Logan’s cut-iron there where it had fallen against her pillow. As soon as her flesh grazed it Stray felt something- a soft, dull light flickering in the darkness. Maybe Logan felt it too because he stopped moving suddenly, body tensing as he raised his head to stare at the door. Stray barely made out the bamf! followed by a muffled curse before her door was yanked open. The scent of brimstone was everywhere as Gainsborough and Logan tumbled into the room. For a moment the men stared, eyes widening in shock as they saw Stray’s predicament; Gainsborough opened his mouth to ask something but was apparently unable to make the words come out. The real Logan was across the room in a heartbeat, dark-as-violence fur springing from beneath his skin as the wolf surged forth from within him. Whether he wanted to punish or defend his mate, Stray couldn’t tell, because she ducked her head under her arms in fright. She heard a hiss, followed by an enraged snarl and multiple, deeper-sounding bamfs! as furniture crashed and shattered around her-

And when she opened her eyes the impostor-Logan was gone, Gainsborough along with him. The real Logan was lying on the floor, bloodied, a shower of tiny golden feathers fluttering down on him like so many drops of rain. The girl crept gingerly forward, still not entirely certain of the man before her-

And then the feral, hairy beast turned familiar hazel eyes on her.

The man Stray knew to be the real Logan held his arms out to her and she curled up in his lap and wept.