Marie lifted her arm, looking down with faint surprise at the bruise darkening on her bicep. She supposed confining Carol had some downsides. But she’d take sanity over invulnerable skin any day.
Logan followed her gaze, eyes widening at the perfect imprints his calfskin-covered fingers left on her arm. He brought a hand to his mouth, whirled, and ran to the bathroom.
Her newly heightened senses made the sound of his retching even more awful. And the smell. To top it off, Rogue was wide awake now and trying to take back control. Marie tightened her hold on herself. She felt Rogue’s reluctance, but finally her protector agreed to relinquish the reins for a while.
As the adrenaline worked its way out, Marie’s hysteria dissipated, leaving a strange calm in its wake. She couldn’t help feeling that the man heaving in the bathroom was not entirely to blame for his actions. Well no, he was to blame, but he was not unprovoked. Rogue had a way of pushing boundaries.
Most of all, that bath time show was not lost on Marie. Neither was the role Carol played in cooking it up. A suggestion here, an insinuation there, and Rogue’s weakened mind had been in no state to even realize she was being manipulated.
Revenge? That just wasn’t Rogue—not at all. She knew too well what a destructive force revenge was, had experienced firsthand what it could do to people. Marie still didn’t know exactly what happened out in that clearing, but sometimes when Rogue was dreaming, the sound of voices slipped through the barriers and echoed eerily in her bedroom.
A rough growl: I’m here to repay a debt. And her mama’s voice: You threw me to the wolves, Rogue. Payback’s a bitch.
This was the first time in years Marie had come out and taken full control of the body she had long ceased thinking was ‘hers’. It was ‘ours,’ from the moment Rogue rose up from her subconscious. She still wasn’t entirely sure who or what Rogue was—a mix, she supposed, of herself and the many personalities she had absorbed along the way.
She was pulled from her thoughts when Logan emerged from the bathroom, eyeing her with a blend of curiosity and shame. Mostly shame. He kept his distance, leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room. Marie didn’t think a man like him could ever look completely nonthreatening, but he was certainly trying hard.
“Listen.” Her voice came out strong and clear, and she knew Rogue was bolstering her. She rubbed her cheeks to eradicate every trace of her tears. “I dunno how much time I’ve got, so lemme explain some things. My name’s Marie D’Ancanto. Me an’ Rogue are—well, we’ve lived in this body our whole lives. We’re . . . the real us.”
He folded his arms, brows knit in confusion.
She searched for the words. “Me an’ Rogue are real. We weren’t absorbed. Ya know my mutation . . . my skin . . . I sort of absorb people. Their memories, their mutations, their personalities. Some of’em just last a few days, like you, after you touched us. But some of’em stick around a lot longer. Maybe forever, if we absorb enough . . . I mean if we . . .”
“Kill them?” he finished bluntly.
Marie nodded.
“So . . . you’re Marie. And Rogue is you. But Marie and Rogue aren’t the same person?” His tone was skeptical.
She quirked a brow at him. “Are Logan and Wolverine the same person?”
He looked down. “I—I used to think so. I ain’t so sure anymore.”
Marie felt her heart soften a little. He looked so torn, so lost. It must have taken a lot for him to admit that. “I know what it’s like, havin’ somethin’ inside of ya, somethin’ hard to control. Rogue wants me to let her out right now. She woulda slugged ya already if I wasn’t holdin’ her back.”
He grimaced. “I deserve it.”
“Maybe so. But ya don’t always get what ya deserve, Logan.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Come on. Let’s uh, getcha some ice for that.”
She followed his gaze to her arm. “Doesn’t hurt.”
He merely grunted and walked off to the kitchen. Marie fell into step beside him. “Look, I know what Rogue’s been doin’. I know ya lost your temper. Maybe I overreacted too. The point is, it’s—it’s okay.”
He retrieved the bucket from the freezer, spilling some ice chips out onto a cloth and folding it into a compress. She let him wrap it around her arm. He searched her eyes with an intensity that nearly burned. “Don’t say it’s okay. I don’t wantcha to think this is okay.”
She gave him a tight smile. “We can’t dwell on this. Like I said, I dunno how much time I’ve got. I need to get back before Carol gets loose—”
“Carol Danvers?”
“Yeah. She’s, um—kinda off her rocker. Everybody thinks I’m the one that went crazy after I absorbed her. Truth is, she just couldn’t handle it, bein’ trapped in here.” Marie tapped the side of her head. “She used to torment me somethin’ awful. Rogue was the only one who could keep her in line. And now that Rogue’s, ya know, different, Carol thinks she can take over our mind for good.”
Logan frowned. “We have to call Chuck.”
“If ya want. But Rogue thinks you’re the only one who can help her, the only one who understands. Ya helped her a lot, when ya were inside our head. She won’t let me see what happened out in that clearing, but whatever it was . . . it changed her. She won’t come into the mansion—I mean, the place inside my head where everybody lives. She stays outside in the woods. Sometimes I hear monsters howlin’ out there. And sometimes I’m not sure if the howlin’s comin’ from the monsters or from Rogue.”
“Chuck said she integrated the w—the, er, monsters. Made’em part of her.”
“Yeah. I think so. They were too strong to fight off.” Marie’s voice dropped. “She—she put everything she had into protectin’ me. I think she gave herself up to save me.”
Logan stood a little taller. “That ain’t your fault. She made a choice. If you—if she’ll still let me, I’m gonna do whatever I can to help her get right again. That’s a promise.”
Marie paused for a long moment. She sensed the sincerity in his words. But she also wondered what prompted his devotion to her. “I know Rogue has, um, led you on. She doesn’t really understand, ya know? That we can’t be touched.” Marie looked down at her flimsy nightgown, her bare hands. She shivered. “She oughta know better. She was the one always tellin’ me . . . I’ll see if I can make her wear gloves from now on.”
He folded her hands in his bigger ones. “She doesn’t like’em. I can cover up. She shouldn’t have to.”
Marie felt a shudder go through her as his warm leather-encased hands moved over her own. “She’s—ya can’t keep lettin’ her pretend. She can’t hide away forever.” Her voice was suddenly breathy. She cleared her throat. “That’s exactly what she’s been lettin’ me do for so long. I’ve come to see now that it wasn’t helpin’ either of us. I gotta learn to be strong. And so does she.”
“I won’t make her do anything she doesn’t like,” Logan said firmly. “I promised to help her—you—both of you.”
Marie pulled her hands from his. “Sometimes ya gotta hurt somebody to help’em. I dunno what happened to Rogue out in that forest, but ya gotta help her face it. Please, Logan. She’ll never come to terms with it if she keeps runnin’.”
The sound of straining metal echoed in Marie’s mind. “Dangit.” She pulled off the compress and watched as the bruise disappeared before her eyes. She looked up at Logan. “Carol’s breakin’ out. I gotta go.”
Logan ran his fingertips over her now flawless skin. “Like it never happened,” he muttered.
Marie gave him a pitying look. “Tell that to Rogue. She’s spittin’ mad, and Carol’s powers are comin’ back. Maybe we should, like, tie me up or somethin’, while I’m still in control.”
“No!” The ferocity in his voice made her jump, and he immediately calmed. “Sorry. Sorry, it’s just . . . when she was out in the woods . . . nevermind. You just go do what you need to. I’ll handle Rogue.”
“O-okay. I’ll come back when I can. And just so you know, I’m not a big fan of Wolverine, but um, Logan seems like a pretty good guy.” She felt a blush spread on her cheeks.
He just looked at her, speechless.
“Bye, Logan.” She turned her focus inward, back to her room, back to the crude prison Carol was busy dismantling.
The cabin faded, and his voice sounded far away: “Goodbye, Marie.”
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Logan took in the transformation occurring before him. Deep coffee-colored eyes gradually lightened and sharpened to a piercing emerald shade. He realized just how beautiful her features were, the soft arches of her eyebrows, the straight nose and high cheekbones set in perfect contrast to pouty, undeniably feminine lips. And all of it framed by long, tousled auburn hair with streaks of pure white peeking out at the front.
He watched, captivated, as the softness in those features hardened into a fierce strength just as beautiful. She stood straighter, the set of her shoulders proud and sure. He didn’t let his eyes go any further down than that. It would lead to madness, without a doubt.
There he stood, so busy admiring the exquisite creature before him that he was caught off guard when her right hook connected brutally with his jaw. The clang of knuckles on metal rang out in the cabin. His head snapped back, and he reeled in utter bewilderment for a moment. Then the blinding pain gave way to a dull throb as his healing kicked in.
Her face was twisted with rage when he managed to focus on her. Tears swam in her eyes as she shook out her fist. That had to have hurt her as much as it did him. Where the hell did she learn to throw a punch like that?
“Feel better now?” he asked grimly.
She shook her head, growling.
“Want another go?” He turned his cheek to her.
She shook her head again.
“Rogue, I’m—” he started to say he was sorry, as he had to Marie, but the words wouldn’t come. In their place a low, mournful whine rose up.
She seemed to understand. She stepped into him and rubbed her cheek against his chest for a brief moment. Then she snagged the last little bottle of bourbon, downed it in three gulps, and marched off to her room. It wasn’t forgiveness. But it was a start.
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She woke up angry. The alpha had scared Marie. Marie Marie Marie. The word summoned a dozen new memories every time she thought of it. Marie was . . . her, only not. Her, only even moreso.
She was supposed to keep Marie locked in the room, supposed to protect her, but last night Marie got out and got hurt. She remembered the smell of fear, saw a flash of a bruised arm.
But when she looked down at her arm, there was no bruise. How strange. Was it a dream?
No. The soreness in her right hand said otherwise. She licked her tender knuckles.
She tossed off the blanket and searched the cabin for the alpha, but he was nowhere. She tracked his scent to the door, and opened it a crack to peek outside.
The cold hit her skin, sharp and strong. Her eyes traced the footprints in the thin layer of snow to the lake’s shore. There the alpha stood with his back to her. He wore no shirt or shoes. The sun was just beginning to rise over the water, staining the sky with warm yellows and pinks.
She watched, enthralled by the muscles under his skin as he moved. Every sweep of his arms smooth as—silk. The word brought a ghost of sensation against her fingers. The Silk Brocade.
Ba duan jin. She mouthed the sounds silently a few times before they escaped as a whisper into the still air.
He froze at the sound, then slowly turned to face her. “What did you say?” he asked as though he knew the answer.
She just stepped out of the cabin and let her own bare feet touch down on each of his footprints in the snow. She came to stand by him at the shore. It felt so easy to turn her gaze to the sunrise and inhale, raising her arms above her head in a movement her body remembered, even if she didn’t.
----------------------------------
Logan had attained a state of perfect balance, every bit of his attention focused on the movement of chi through his body, when that whisper sliced through his concentration like a knife: “Ba duan jin.”
He watched in fascination as she looked out over the lake and began the first piece of the brocade. He knew she taught self-defense at the school, even remembered Chuck saying something about an advanced martial arts seminar, but he never expected . . . this. Her calm, practiced movements as she focused her chi. Her deep breaths visible in the cold morning air as a look of concentration he hadn’t seen before came upon her features.
She cast him a glance that said, Well? What are you waiting for?.
Logan let out a breath of amusement, then settled his stance and began to move with her. Time seemed to slow down as they worked their way through all eight pieces of the brocade. Logan wasn’t sure when exactly his eyes had fallen shut, but when he opened them, she was gazing at him curiously.
“Rogue?” he asked. Those eyes were definitely green, but he figured it didn’t hurt to be sure.
She nodded.
“I heard you speak,” he said.
She shook her head.
He bit back a growl of frustration. “Where did you learn chi kung?” Come to think of it, where did he learn it? He had vague recollections of a Shaolin monastery, but nothing concrete.
She shrugged.
“Fine then. Keep your secrets. Now get inside before ya end up with frostbite.”
She pouted at him playfully, then traipsed back to the cabin.
Logan let his eyes roam across the morning sky. It was a new day. For the first time in a long time, he looked forward to all the possibilities that entailed.
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She heard the kettle whistle, eggs cracking, the sizzle when they hit the skillet. She liked to help the alpha make food, but she didn’t want to go into the kitchen, because she knew he would talk to her. Which wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t try to make her talk back.
She wasn’t ready to talk yet. So she stayed in the bathroom, brushing her hair in front of the mirror.
I’m Rogue, she thought as the woman in the mirror swept the brush through her hair in slow strokes.
It didn’t surprise her. She had known all along, on some level, since the alpha and the sitting man and even Marie called her that. This was just the first time it really clicked. The first time she looked at herself and took it in, this vital piece of her.
A name. It felt like . . . it made her real. She didn’t know whether she was happy or afraid. It was confusing to think she could be feeling both at once.
Rogue set the brush down on the counter, looking at her hand for a long moment. Something was missing. She strode into the bedroom and opened the suitcase at the foot of the bed, pulling out a pair of silk gloves.
The alpha never let their bare skin touch. The few times she tried to touch his face, he grabbed her wrist and growled a warning. But if she wore these, then maybe he would let her trace his lips. And he could dress like he did by the lake. She could watch the muscles under his skin whenever he moved. Rogue liked that idea.
The silk slid easily over her fingers. And for the first time, it felt comforting rather than restricting.
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